And while the subject of ecology is triggering for some as a political hot potato, it isn’t really a political issue at all. It’s a justice issue—certainly, a life issue. Do we not care for our children, siblings, parents, friends, and neighbors? As Francis taught us—and as Pope Francis continues to teach—the earth should be as valued as the family members in our home. 

“Given the complexity of the ecological crisis and its multiple causes,” Pope Francis wrote in 2015’s Laudato Si’, “we need to realize that the solutions will not emerge from just one way of interpreting and transforming reality.” 

Agreed. That’s why, in this issue, we approach the subject of care for our common home from different perspectives. But they both lead to one conclusion about our planet: Handle with care. 

This friar points to three ways we can better understand and live the joy of the beatitudes in our everyday lives. 

Do you feel that your life is blessed? Maybe a better question is: What does it mean to have a blessed life? 

I often see the word blessed in social media hashtags and photo descriptions. “Just got a promotion, so blessed!” or “Cancer-free, feeling blessed!” For many people, blessing is synonymous with good fortune and that God is the reason for our happiness. On one level, it’s wonderful to see people with thankful hearts giving credit to God. On another level, it’s a bit unsettling to see Jesus’ words so ignored. 

In the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Jesus offers the beatitudes (literally, “the blessings”), and they couldn’t be further from our modern usage of the word. Rather than list desirable states of happiness, Jesus says that those who are truly blessed are the poor, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemakers, and even those who are persecuted. Not exactly a life that many desire, is it? I can hardly think of a time when I saw someone on social media using the hashtag “blessed” when getting evicted, learning of a terminal illness, or being made fun of. 

How do we make sense of Jesus’ words then? What is the point of this sort of suffering? For me, there is only one satisfactory answer: Our experiences of affliction are meaningful in themselves, not only because they lead us to greater union with God in the future but also because they offer us joy in the present moment as we experience a taste of the kingdom of heaven and our salvation is brought to fulfillment. As Christians, we do not simply endure these conditions to receive something later; these conditions offer us the very grace of God that makes our lives blessed in the here and now. I believe that this can be seen in three ways: greater dependence on God, empathy for others, and focus on what matters most. 

Dependence on God

The 1992 United States men’s Olympic basketball team was something to behold—Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Karl Malone, Patrick Ewing, Scottie Pippen, John Stockton, Larry Bird, and so on. On the world’s greatest stage against the best competition possible, they won each game by an average of 44 points and won the gold medal game—a game played against the second-best team in the world—by 32 points. The US team was incredible and rightly deserved to be called the “Dream Team.” 

Do you remember who the coach was? Probably not. For the record, it was Chuck Daly, but really, who cares who the coach of that team was? When you have a team like that, including Michael Jordan, the coach is not getting much credit. My guess is that anyone reading this could have coached that team and it still would have won the gold because it was the players that made the difference. But what if that coach had taken five people no one had ever heard of and won the gold medal? Had he stood against all odds and achieved something miraculous, people would be lining up around the corner to have this man coach their kids. 

This is what God wants. He wants to be seen as the miracle worker, the one who created everything in existence and holds everything in the palm of his hand. He wants to be relied on more than anything else and receive all the credit for being God. 

When we seemingly have all we need—high-paying job, comfortable house, supportive friends—it can be easy to believe that we’re successful because of our own actions. If we’re the authors of our own destiny, what is the need for prayer? What is the need for giving thanks? What is the need for God? How foolish we are in those moments. 

Conversely, it is in times of great need—when we’ve lost our job, when we’re short on rent, when we find ourselves abandoned and alone—that we realize how little control we actually have in life and how much we rely on God’s help. While poverty is by no means a guarantee for faith, there is no doubt that it can flourish among the materially poor; they have faith, not despite their poverty, but precisely because of it. There’s no greater blessing than being content with what you have and living without worry because you know that God will always provide. 

I’d invite you to pause for a moment and ask yourself: Do you pray as if your life depends on it? In other words, is your prayer fueled by desperation and outright dependence on God? The world considers an independent, comfortable life to be a blessing, but it doesn’t compare to the ultimate blessing of surrendering completely to God and trusting that he will take care of it all. 

Empathy

When I was in high school, my faith wasn’t strong. I believed, but I didn’t really understand. A major breakthrough came for me sitting in adoration my freshman year, somewhat distracted, thinking about my girlfriend. I thought about how much I loved her, how I would do anything for her no matter what happened, and how amazingly reassuring it felt to know that this feeling was reciprocated. Then it clicked. This is how God feels about me. No matter what I do or what I need, God will always be there for me, wanting nothing more than for me to be around. It was my experience of vulnerability and self-sacrifice with this girl that helped me feel the presence of God in my life. 

And then two days later she abruptly broke up with me. Plot twist! I share this story simply to say that I know what it’s like to have your heart pierced and to feel like your world is crashing down around you. When I encounter a student who has just gone through a breakup, I will not for a second think to say, “Well, another one will come along,” or “Oh, you’ll get over it.” More than some intellectual exercise, I can feel what they feel. 

When I ask myself why Jesus considers afflictions like mourning and persecution to be signs of blessing, I always turn to the line attributed to St. Oscar Romero: “There are certain things in life that can only be seen through eyes that have cried.” While I think any person of goodwill can intellectually understand another’s pain, there is something to actually experiencing pain yourself that opens your eyes to the pain of others around you. You don’t just see with your eyes; you feel with your heart. 

And in doing so, do we not grow closer with one another? When you are able to mourn with others and feel their pain, it’s nearly impossible to remain detached. Our common experience binds us. It creates a brotherhood and sisterhood of concern, the recognition that we are not random ships passing in the night but people with a deep connection, responsible for others’ well-being. 

While I would never advocate for more tragedy in our lives, I think we could all use a little more heartbreak, particularly over our enemies. So often we are fueled by resentment and indignation toward those who cause pain and division in this world. But what if we could recognize our “enemies” as both perpetrators and victims? What if we could see them as wounded individuals, trapped in the cycles of sin and pain, causing harm because that’s what they’ve received? Imagine how different our world would be if we were able to feel empathy and even a sense of communion and mutual responsibility toward those who do evil. 

This is the way Jesus acted, and it is what we must imitate. On the cross, he spoke of the people that condemned and crucified him, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” His heart was not filled with rage; it broke for them. He loved them because he understood what they had been through. 

I’d invite you to pause again and ask yourself: Have you ever experienced tragedy that ended up helping you love others more? In other words, has a moment of personal pain opened your eyes to the pain of others in a way that you can never see them the same way again? The world considers happiness and bliss to be a blessing, but it doesn’t compare to the ultimate blessing of developing a deep sense of love and responsibility for the body of Christ, including even our enemies. 

Focus

A few years ago, I worked at a refugee camp in Mexico where men and women could get a meal, medical attention, and a place to sleep for the night. One day, I met a man who was on this 1,000-mile trek for the third time. He told me what he had been through, the dangers of extortion and violence, and how he feared for his life as he traveled through Mexico on his way to Texas. 

In my ignorance, I asked him why he did it. The danger didn’t seem something worth risking. He simply responded, “What choice do I have?” It turns out that, as a child, this man had been brought to the United States, where he lived for 20 years. He had a wife and two young girls waiting for him. When he asked, “What choice do I have?” he meant that he would rather die than not do everything he could to return to them. It’s what he desired more than anything else, what made life worth living, and what he was willing to die for to achieve. 

This is the sort of hunger that Jesus desires. This is the sort of single-minded devotion, pure motivation, and focused attitude that the kingdom requires. The Gospel is not something we do in our spare time or something we give up on when the going gets tough. It’s the sort of thing we’d rather die for than abandon. 

As strange as it sounds, I don’t believe our world has much desire left in it. Despite its insatiable appetite for creature comforts, giving in to seemingly every impulse of the day, I don’t believe the world knows much about actual desire. I’m talking about the desire that fuels us to a future goal, focuses our attention away from temptations and distractions, and remains steadfast when things get difficult. In other words, it’s the ability to want something so much that you’re willing to make any sacrifice to achieve it. 

When Jesus speaks of being hungry, having a pure heart, and the willingness to endure persecution, this is what he’s referring to. Not that he wants us to suffer, but that he wants our desire for the Gospel to be so great that we are willing and able to endure suffering in this world. He wants people who are so focused on him and the joy of the kingdom he offers that riches, acclaim, comfort, and earthly happiness are not tempting in the least. They’re distractions, immediate gratifications that do not last. Because Christians desire what cannot be fulfilled by this world, going without the pleasures of this world does not bother us one bit. 

I’d invite you to pause one last time and ask yourself: What do you desire so much that you are willing to give up absolutely everything to obtain it, even your life? The world considers remaining on this earth for as long as possible in order to obtain as much as possible the mark of blessing, but it doesn’t compare to the ultimate blessing of living every moment with eyes fixed on the kingdom, knowing where we’re going and how we’re going to get there. 

True Blessing

So, what does it mean to be blessed? For our world, it means being comfortable in the here and now, having what we want without much difficulty or pain. It’s enjoyable, and I have no doubt that God wants us to taste the fruits of goodness from time to time. 

The problem, as the beatitudes point out, is not so much in the comforts themselves, but in what they do to us. When we are comfortable by earthly standards, it is all too easy to remain comfortable with the standard of earth. We like this world and we do not want to leave it, which means defending what we have, seeing others as threats to our comfort, and taking any means necessary to maintain it. Talk about gaining the whole world and losing your soul. 

As Christians, the beauty of the beatitudes is that they remind us that this world is not our home. What we have in this life does not define our worth, nor does it represent anything that is lasting. The reason that Jesus says that those who are truly blessed are those who suffer (poverty, mourning, and the like) is not because he wants us to suffer; it’s because he wants us to realize that nothing in this world can ever fully satisfy. Only he can. And so, even though suffering may appear at first to be without benefit, if it helps us depend more on God, grow in empathy, and focus us on what really matters, how can it be anything but a blessing? 

When we allow ourselves to be as open as a child in our relationship with creation, we are one step closer to bringing about the kingdom of God. 

Sometimes, the things you learn in books, in the classroom, or in church become suddenly relevant and clear at random moments in your life. One such moment came for me when I found myself singing “Amazing Grace” at a somber backyard funeral for a honeybee. My oldest daughter, Sophia, not quite 4 years old, stood in front of me, with tears making streaks in the dirt on her cheeks. She sang the words to the familiar hymn along with me, pausing at times to sob a little more as I hugged her tight. In front of us was a small circle made of little pebbles and stones with a single flower, plucked from my garden, placed in the middle. 

About 30 minutes prior, my girls had been playing in their mud kitchen when they decided to go jump on the trampoline. As Sophia climbed up the little plastic steps, she noticed something in the netting wiggling around. It was a small honeybee, buzzing weakly as it tried to shimmy its little body through one of the holes in the net. 

“It’s stuck!!” Sophia cried. “We have to save it!” 

Rescuing a Honeybee

“Sweetie,” I said in my most sympathetic voice, “I don’t know if we can save it. It looks very stuck, and I’m afraid we would squish it if we tried to get it out.” 

“No!” Sophia said. “I’ve done it before. I push something against them, and they fall out and they fly away. Let me go get a rock.” With that, she jumped down and scoured the yard for the smoothest rock she could find. 

I watched as my daughter carefully pressed the smooth side of the rock against the bee, which by now had stopped buzzing and wiggling. It didn’t take long for the little bee to fall out of the netting where it had been stuck and fall onto the blue mat surrounding the trampoline. I cringed as I saw it lying there, motionless. Our honeybee didn’t make it. 

“I’m sorry, Soph,” I said, as she hurriedly crawled around the outside of the net to check on the bee. 

“Did it die?” she asked, looking up at me. As the sunlight reflected off the tears shimmering in her bright blue eyes, I knew she already knew. “Yes, baby. It died. You tried so hard to save it and you did a wonderful thing. It’s not your fault. The little bee was lucky to have a girl like you who cared so much about it.” 

Sophia burst into tears. As she wept over the bee, she asked me if we could bury it, and that’s how I ended up spending my afternoon singing hymns beside the grave of a poor bee that accidentally flew into our trampoline net. 

Spirituality and the Environment

As the afternoon darkened into evening, the whole incident remained on my mind. I had recently begun my second year as an online graduate student with the Franciscan School of Theology, and most of my evenings were spent delving into the spiritual profundity of Sts. Francis, Clare, and Bonaventure, Blessed Duns Scotus, and other theologians within and outside of the Franciscan tradition. We had learned about St. Francis’ care for the earth and his belief that each element of the universe, each creature, and each human being are all family. Throughout my time exploring all of this, I have asked myself, How important is spirituality in modern environmentalism? 

Is there room for spirituality in the 21st century—one characterized by the imminent threat of environmental disaster and fueled by capitalism and consumerism? With the rampant environmental destruction that threatens all human and nonhuman life on earth, one may plausibly ask such a question. It may seem difficult, if not irresponsible or misguided, to place any emphasis on spirituality during a time when the physical world cries out for our attention and care. Undoubtedly, the surface-level problems that contribute to the destruction of the earth are physical: deforestation, excessive oil drilling, pollution, greenhouse gas emissions, the overuse of nonrenewable resources, and widespread consumerism, to name a few. Similarly, plastic usage has caused problems in landfills, animal habitats, humans, and wildlife. 

Scientists, environmental advocates, Indigenous communities, and activists have fought for systemic change and, in many cases, there are viable and specific solutions that exist and have been proposed. Yet, such changes are, in most cases, slow to occur. Despite the ever-increasing evidence that the natural world is deteriorating at levels that will alter life on earth if human action remains unchecked and unchanged, such harmful practices are still rampant. It is because of this that we must be moved to consider the fundamental causes of such damaging human behavior and seek solutions that address these issues. What is an effective way to change human behavior if knowledge of the harm caused by these behaviors is widely known and understood and, when practical, science-backed solutions are equally apparent? 

Love the World to Bring Change

In the introduction to his book How to Raise a Wild Child: The Art and Science of Falling in Love with Nature, paleontologist and environmentalist Scott D. Sampson states, “Greener technologies, simpler lifestyles, and restructured economies are essential, but insufficient. Exterior transformations must be accompanied by an interior revolution in thinking.” Likewise, in her book Saving Us: A Climate Scientist’s Case for Hope and Healing in a Divided World, climate scientist Katharine Hayhoe asserts that “personal and lived experiences [are] far more compelling than reeling off distant facts,” and experiences connecting one to nature are a far greater indicator of the likelihood that one will want to care for the environment than the actual knowledge of scientific facts surrounding the climate crisis and sustainable solutions. 

Simply put, we must foster a genuine and affectionate connection to our world before we can effect change within it. Before we can progress to the practical solutions in a way that will be sustainable and transformative, humanity needs an inner conversion—one that recognizes the innate value of the earth and our fundamental connection to all that exists within it and even outside of it. 

This returns us to my first question: Is spirituality relevant in the face of a climate crisis? My answer is yes—that is, if our spirituality leads us into deeper love and communion with the natural world. This is not to say that spirituality is more important than science-backed, practical solutions. On the contrary, my hope is that spiritual transformation would prompt further practice and acceptance of such solutions. 

It is also important to keep in mind that one approach to spirituality will not apply to everyone universally, nor is there only one spiritual perspective that may prompt a deepening connection to and care for the environment. Even within a single faith tradition, spiritual practices will be as varied and unique as there are people. Franciscan spirituality can act as a guide through one spiritual path among many that may be applicable and transformative for particular people within the context of various spiritual and religious traditions. 

During his life, St. Francis of Assisi loved the bees. He was known to set out various forms of sustenance for them in the winter so that they didn’t starve. His love for the world was holistic: He believed that everything within creation owed its existence to the outpouring of God’s self-diffusive love. He recognized this in the smallest of insects, in the trees, in the moon and sun, and in the people he met. Each thing and each being existed simply because God desired it so. St. Francis lived in this reality by treating all that he encountered with respect, love, and care. 

It is through God’s love for us that we may begin to love God’s creation, and it is through God’s creation that we may then learn to love God. In The Universal Christ: How a Forgotten Reality Can Change Everything We See, Hope For, and Believe, Father Richard Rohr states: “St. Bonaventure taught that to work up to loving God, start by loving the very humblest and simplest things. . . . Don’t start by trying to love God, or even people; love rocks and elements first, move to trees, then animals, and then humans. Angels will then seem like a real possibility, and God is then just a short leap away. It works. In fact, it might be the only way to love, because how you do anything is how you do everything.” 

In this way, one’s spirituality—the means through which one engages with and loves God—involves stepping stones that naturally lead to love for creation as well. When we become more aware of the reality that nothing in creation exists outside of the love of God, we may then be led further into love for the world around us. The spirituality of St. Francis was one that looked at the world from the ground up. He recognized the unique value each creature, each person, and even each created thing held, and it was through this that he lived his life in radical love for the sake of others and creation. 

A Radical Conversion

Unless we learn to weep for the suffering of a bee, we will not understand what it is to weep for the suffering of the earth. What St. Francis’ life can show us is that our actions on behalf of creation may be strengthened when we first experience a radical conversion of the heart—one that, like St. Francis, recognizes the innate value of the small things, the unloved things, and the forgotten things. In this way, his story can invite us to adopt an environmentalism that is motivated by our spiritual convictions and by the love that those convictions must naturally bring to the surface—an environmentalism of the heart. 

Our spirituality can be a means by which we are led more deeply into the reality of the love of God manifest in all things, and, through this revelation, we may be led to deeper love ourselves. When we believe the wind to be our brother and water to be our sister, when we call a tree by name or lovingly gaze at an insect, when we truly recognize that the earth and all her creatures are family, we can venture to love them, not just for their usefulness, their beauty, or their purpose in our own lives, but for themselves. 

Jesus said that nobody can enter the kingdom of God unless they become like a little child (Mt 18:3). My daughter didn’t study theology or memorize St. Francis’ “Canticle of the Creatures.” It was the inherent value of the bee—its worthiness of being saved, wept over, and buried—that was innate within her. Might our children be the ones to show us the kingdom of God all around us? For what awaits is to behold the world with that childlike wonder and awe and to recognize that every atom of our universe is a miracle spoken into existence by the loving word of God. To see the kingdom of God in our midst, we need to become like children: This will mean weeping, like a child does for the honeybee; it also means pursuing the rescue of the honeybee, even as an older voice might tell us it’s too hard or impossible. 

May we allow our spirituality to be the hand that guides us back to these fundamental truths that we have long since forgotten—truths that were etched into our hearts as children as we innocently marveled at the glory of God around us. Perhaps then, our spirituality may manifest in our lives as action, advocacy, and care for this beautiful planet we call home. 

I quip that even Hitler had a mother. Much of his anger and evildoing may be rooted in an unhappy childhood, his heartbreak over rejection, or his dream of becoming a great artist being shattered. None are an excuse for the incredible evil that he perpetuated. I am not justifying evildoing of any kind; I’m simply suggesting that, rather than judging people’s behaviors, we should try to understand why people behaved as they did. It is a way of exhibiting compassion—and possibly extending a healing hand—rather than perpetuating hurt. Did God love Hitler, Stalin, or others who have committed gravely horrible acts? We are taught that God loves us no matter what; thus, what are the implications of this fundamental Catholic teaching? 

Communal Pain

Sometimes, relationships become impossible because of the conclusions that we come to based on someone’s actions or stated opinions. How one reacts to others makes all the difference whether one is dealing with one person, a collective, or someone of another culture. Context is important, as is someone’s past. Some wounds are visible, some are unconscious, and, according to epigenetic research, some are passed down generationally. 

I have a fear and distrust of medical doctors that is likely tied to my experiences in a full-body cast for a year, beginning at 9 months of age. That wound is unconscious. I can breathe deeply and attempt to calm myself, but my blood pressure skyrockets at the sight of someone in a white coat or for any medical procedure. 

The study of epigenetics reveals that trauma experienced by Holocaust survivors, soldiers, or victims of a variety of abuses is sometimes passed down into the DNA of future generations. Thus, being wounded does not just happen at the individual level, but it may also occur communally and collectively. 

I am not suggesting that there is no such thing as sin, but rather that judging others and even myself is tricky and problematic. We are gifted with animal instincts, and our amygdala, or reptilian brain, is like a superhero when it is protecting us from bears, bees, or someone swinging a knife. However, it also can be set off by angry words, hollering, or any fight-or-flight situation. 

Withholding Judgement

We currently are experiencing so many shootings at schools and public places. There are no easy answers to this troubling phenomenon, and I do not want to engage in political rhetoric here. What I do know, however, is that whenever we get background on these shooters, there is consistently deep pain behind their stories. The shooter is often suicidal and was bullied in school or at work. Typically, the shooter has experienced rejection and does not feel loved. 

While mental illness is sometimes attributed to the troubled person, we should consider what caused it. How can we mitigate the breeding of such hatred in our society? Might we think about addressing others with a more healing attitude rather than judgment? Might we intercede when we see someone not treated with respect and teach our children to do the same? Might we imitate Pope Francis and ask, “Who am I to judge?” 

God calls each one of us to accept and live out the unique task he has entrusted to us. Our vocation therefore defines how we are to be in the world, forming and shaping every facet of our lives. Mother Teresa knew this well. 

Often, when I was with her during her visits to the United States, someone would tell her they wanted to be just like her by going to Calcutta and caring for the poorest of the poor. Mother always had the same response: “Don’t come. There is one Mother Teresa. You must do whatever Jesus wants you to do, wherever he asks you to do it, and do it with great love. I am doing what Jesus has asked me to do.” 

The inspiring lives of the saints can lead us to want to become just like them, but as Mother Teresa knew, their lives should instead encourage us to say yes to whatever the Lord asks of us. This is an extremely important lesson to learn right at the start. It is common that people eager to climb the heights of spiritual perfection often try to adopt a life of prayer they admire in someone else. Seminarians often fall into this temptation. In their eagerness to please the Lord, they often heap all sorts of burdens upon themselves that Jesus never asked them to carry. 

I once led a day of recollection at a seminary, and I told the men in formation the following: “If after ordination you are planning to live off boiled potatoes and a little red wine, spending all your free time in the confessional of your parish church, don’t! We already have a St. John Vianney. What worked in 18th-century France will not work in the 21st century in the United States. Instead, why not become the saintly parish priest that Jesus wants you to become?” 

Freedom in God

It is an essential and important truth of the spiritual life that God knows us better than we know ourselves. We are not in charge of who we should become! No matter how spectacular the person we have in mind, God defines each one of us. From all eternity, God has known the persons he created us to be and knows us better than anyone else. Our greatest responsibility is to allow God’s spirit to form us according to the divine plan. The full, abundant life Jesus promises will only come about to the extent that we become the person God wants us to be. 

We must always yield to God. This is what it means to die to self. Only this will allow God’s work to reach its completion. Whenever we try to take control and tell the Lord who we think we should become, we end up discouraged and disappointed—maybe even resentful. 

It does not bother me that I am not John Vianney, Padre Pio, Maximilian Kolbe, or Josemaría Escrivá. While I greatly admire the lives of holy women and men in our family of faith, I am not them—and they are not me. My singular hope is that the virtues that appeal to me in their lives might bear fruit within my own, as I become evermore the Fr. Gary Caster that God longs to have me be. 

Personally, I find this wonderfully freeing. I admit that it used to be a bit frustrating that I didn’t seem to be growing into the incredible Fr. Gary I had envisioned. Now I laugh when I compare that to the man—the priest—God is helping me to become. The things God continues to teach me about myself, I never would have learned in the super-priest version of my own imagination. In our daily willingness to yield to God’s plan, we find true freedom and lasting peace. 

I have learned that the plan of God is much more exciting than anything I ever could have fashioned for myself. The impulse to become like the people we admire can become a great hindrance to our spiritual life. Our vocation, or state of life, should form our life of prayer and spiritual practices. “Pray as you are” is a straightforward way to remember this. I am not a hermit, a monastic, or even a mendicant friar. I am a secular priest. 

So, please, pray as you are and not as you wish or think you should. Always be faithful to your state of life. In the seemingly mundane, ordinary circumstances of your life, the most extraordinary and unexpected thing can happen: You become a saint! 

Prayer

Dear God, 
I often lose my way in life, but so did many of the saints— 
your cherished sons and daughters who used grace as their trusted compass. 
They were imperfect, yet they maintained a perfect faith in God. 
I strive to uphold that kind of steadiness and love. 
I offer this prayer to all the women and men  
who came before me and cleared a path to righteousness. 
May the saints guide me to a clearing 
where I can breathe in your mercy. 
Amen. 

Our family loves to hit the road. In fact, my husband, Mark, is famous among family and friends for the trips he plans. Not only does he find the best locations for us to visit, but he also finds many interesting and unique stops along the way. 

Before we even had kids, Mark and I were determined to raise them to be explorers of the world around them. And apparently it has worked. One of our kids has moved to Florida; another attends school in Arizona. Our third child has plans to study abroad. Our children have been raised on road trips, beginning with our oldest daughter, Maddie. When she was only 6 months old, we packed her up, along with the portable crib, and headed north to Upper Michigan. 

With the birth of each subsequent kid, the car became louder and fuller, but still we went. Over the years, our family of six has taken in national parks, beaches, amusement parks, and much more. 

Joy and Pain

We are very aware of how blessed we are to be able to go on such adventures and have always made that clear to our kids. In that spirit, Mark and I took great care in not only showcasing the highlights and beauty of our country, but also helping the kids see the larger picture of the world and our nation, including the more difficult aspects. 

In order to do so, we often planned stops at places that carried with them important lessons. For instance, in addition to taking them to the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC, we also took them to the US Holocaust Memorial Museum. On our way back from a trip to the beach, we stopped at the site of the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in Montgomery, Alabama. We walked around the nearby square, viewing statues and displays that conveyed the story of the civil unrest that followed. 

Some of the things they have seen that have given them pause to reflect have not been sites, though, but rather situations. While driving our son to college, for the first time they witnessed the reality of slaughterhouses. And they saw firsthand the situation at the border during one of our trips. Each experience has led to profound conversations and reflections among us—conversations that very well may have never happened had they not been prompted by those experiences. 

As our kids grow older, they have begun their own adventures. Mark and I take great pride in their desire to explore the world around them, taking in the fun and beauty while also facing the hard realities within those experiences. For it is only through doing so that any of us can truly open our eyes and see the whole picture. 

Sidebar: Explore the Catholic World

In the late 1980s, I lived in Brooklyn. I had a pretty nice, reasonably priced, one-bedroom apartment, but my neighborhood was, to be charitable, tired. On weekends, there was nothing of interest to keep me there, so I got in the habit of taking the subway under the East River to Manhattan.

The indispensable handbook to planning my weekend escapes was the American Institute of Architects Guide to New York City. It gave me an in-depth view of the history of New York City and an in-depth view of the evolution of architecture and design in the city. So I explored historic districts such as Greenwich Village, Murray Hill, Lower Manhattan, and even that tourist mecca, the South Street Seaport, which displaced the old Fulton Fish Market. (It’s nice enough in an outdoor shopping mall kind of way, but I say bring back the fish.

One of the surprises of the AIA Guide was the editors’ enthusiasm for Catholic churches and shrines in Manhattan. The main reason? When we Catholics build a church or chapel, we tend to fill it with cool stuff. 􏰁e hire artists, sculptors, wood-carvers, and stained glass designers to make our churches beautiful.

In Manhattan, there are many churches that are just plain red brick outside, the kind of place that you might breeze right by without giving it a second look. But the AIA editors instructed me to step inside and see wonderful things, such as the massive mural of the crucifixion over the high altar of St. Stephen’s Church; the mural was commissioned from the Italian immigrant artist who painted the murals in the US Capitol. I was directed down to the Battery where, from the front steps of the little chapel built on the site of Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton’s home, you get a wonderful view of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

And at Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral, up one aisle and down the other, I found row upon row of statues of the saints, standing amid banks of real candles. For more than 200 years, Old St. Patrick’s has welcomed wave after wave of newcomers to America, from the Irish (during the Civil War, the Irish Brigade considered St. Patrick’s their spiritual headquarters), to the Italians, who gave us the annual Feast of San Gennaro, to the Chinese who attend Mass at the old cathedral today.

I’ve always liked tracking down the unexpected, and the AIA Guide directed my footsteps. One of my favorite walking tours was to the sites associated with Alfred E. Smith, the first Catholic to win the nomination for president 􏰄he lost). Smith’s old neighborhood, once heavily Irish, is part of Chinatown now, but it still has the feel he would recognize—streets teeming with immigrants, tiny, crowded shops run by entrepreneurs from the old country, and noisy, crazy traffic. So, Al Smith’s neighborhood has changed, but not really. —Thomas J. Craughwell