I witnessed this a few years ago after the city of Gatlinburg, Tennessee, experienced a devastating fire. While on a trip there shortly after the fire, my family visited the site of my uncle’s chalet. This place that had been the site of so much joy for our families was now a pile of burnt ruins. I distinctly remember, though, standing at the site and noticing new growth coming up from the charred ground. Yes, change was coming. 

In her article in this issue, “In the Hands of Christ,” author Maureen O’Brien writes about the changes she has experienced while caring for her aging mother, who has dementia. And in his article “The Church’s Best-Kept Secret,” Mark P. Shea shows us the possibilities for change contained within the Church’s social teachings. 

Even we at Franciscan Media are dealing with change. In recent months, we have experienced a number of goodbyes and hellos. Our latest one is saying goodbye to our art director, Mary Catherine “MC”  Kozusko, who is leaving us after six years to take on a new challenge. But at the same time, we will be welcoming art director Frank Gutbrod, who will bring his own perspective and style to this magazine. 

And so the cycle of change continues. As we stand in the midst of it, we say thank you for what has been and welcome to what’s yet to come.

An exploration of the Catholic Church’s social teaching can guide our approach to living out the Gospel.

Many people feel and confused by Catholic social teaching. The irony is that this is not because the Church keeps its social justice tradition a secret, but because we are often unable to perceive it. We look for it not through the lens of the Church’s teaching, but through the lens of human traditions. In short, we tend to evaluate the Church’s tradition in light of our politics and culture instead of evaluating our politics and culture in light of the Church’s teaching. 

In this article, I want to sketch out the basics of the Church’s social teaching and urge us to experiment with looking at the world through it rather than through the lens of our politics. 

Four Pillars

Picture the Church’s social doctrine as a throne founded on four pillars: the dignity of the human person, the common good, subsidiarity, and solidarity. Seated on that throne is any person you will ever meet. Just as a chair requires that each leg be of equal length and strength, so the four pillars of Catholic social teaching are equally important. They exist in harmony in the mind of the Church and must not be set in competition with one another. 

The Dignity of the Human Person

The first principle of Catholic social teaching flows from two basic facts revealed in Scripture: a) human beings are made in the image and likeness of God; and b) Jesus Christ was crucified and raised for the salvation of every human being without any exception whatsoever. The implications can be summarized this way: Human beings, made in the image and likeness of God, are sacred from conception to natural death and intended for eternal happiness with God. 

Because of this, persons are due honor not because of their income bracket, looks, skin color, ancestry, intelligence, mental health, physical condition, age, citizenship, religion or lack thereof, sexual orientation, gender, or anything they do or don’t do. They possess dignity for one reason only: because they are made in the image and likeness of God. And it makes not one ounce of difference if that person believes in God or not: They retain that dignity because of who they are. 

Since our dignity does not proceed from anything we do, it cannot be taken from us by anything we do either. Because our dignity owes to the fact that we alone in creation are made in the image and likeness of God, it follows that the Church was simply right when it articulated the 20th century’s single most shocking doctrine (a development its members have barely begun to grasp): Man is “the only creature on earth which God willed for itself” (“Gaudium et Spes,” 24). 

This means that no human being is a means to an end. No human being’s good can be subordinated to some human system. Therefore, all systems—political, military, economic, scientific, religious, philosophical, and ecclesial—are made for the human person, not the other way around. 

The problem we face is that, as G.K. Chesterton said, “Men do not differ much about what things they will call evils; they differ enormously about what evils they will call excusable.” As a result, enormous pressure is placed on Catholics to find different classes of human beings who can be thrown away in the service of some political, social, or economic system. 

In some circles, the pressure is to regard the unborn, sick, or elderly as disposable. In others, it is to see the brown, the poor, the refugee that way. And very commonly, those who favor one group weaponize their preferred form of human life against another. 

As an example, a prominent figure in a well-known apologetics apostolate responded to the 2022 massacre of small children in Uvalde, Texas, by tweeting (within just a few hours of the slaughter): “Is gun violence a pro-life issue? My answer is ‘No.’” For those who see through the American political lens, abortion is a conservative issue while gun violence is liberal. For those who think with the Church, things that kill people are assaults on human life. 

That’s why there are so many other things the Church insists (in “Evangelium Vitae”) are also pro-life issues: war, torture, bodily mutilation, coercion of free will, violence, murder, arbitrary imprisonment, mistreatment of the environment, capital punishment, deportation, disease and lack of health care, drug abuse, hunger, poor working conditions, poverty, slavery, subhuman living conditions, suicide, euthanasia, prostitution, artificial contraception and responsible procreation, sexual abuse, sexual promiscuity, and sterilization. It is fine if a person wants to focus on defending the unborn as, say, Dominicans focus on preaching or Benedictines focus on contemplation. The problem comes when we pit the unborn against all the forms of human life threatened by these other evils and declare that those other lives don’t matter. They do. 

And because, as the saying goes, “All Lives Matter,” it follows that the dignity of the human person leads inexorably to the second pillar of Catholic social teaching. 

The Common Good

The basic idea of the common good is that because each person is made in the image and likeness of God, therefore all persons are. That means that we are to be more pro-life, not less. 

Two useful images for getting at the basic concept of the common good are Abraham (from the Old Testament) and the concept of the body of Christ (1 Cor 12:12). 

Abraham is chosen by God, significantly, so that “Through you shall all the nations be blessed” (Gal 3:8). The “nations” refers to the gentiles: all those peoples all over the world who are not chosen. In other words, a foundational biblical concept is that the chosen are chosen for the sake of the unchosen. That idea is brought to its most profound consummation when Paul tells us that Jesus, the chosen one, “became poor although he was rich, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (2 Cor 8:9). So he calls us to imitate Jesus by viewing everything we have as a gift and by recalling that every gift we have, material as well as spiritual, is to be regarded as entrusted to us for the good of somebody else. 

Jesus’ teaching on this score is shocking and radical. He urges us not only to “give to the one who asks of you” (Mt 5:42) but also to make certain that they cannot repay you (Lk 14:12–14). Jesus repeatedly offers us a view of our possessions as only valuable if their use is directed toward other people who need it more than we do. As St. John Chrysostom puts it, “The rich exist for the sake of the poor. The poor exist for the salvation of the rich.” 

This means that the common good is far more commonly a matter of justice than charity. Justice means giving people their due. If I hand you 10 bucks I don’t owe you, that’s charity. If I walk past you as you are bleeding on the sidewalk, I don’t sin against charity, but against justice as the priest and the Levite did in the parable of the good Samaritan. That is why the state exists: to do justice, not charity. Because you are owed your life. It is justice, not charity, to see that people have things like food, water, shelter, health care, and education. That is why taxes are not theft, but the due we owe to the common good. 

The primal school of the common good is the family, and a lot of Catholic social teaching can be summarized as, “If it’s good for the family, it’s good.” Though the family is the basic building block of society, the Gospel adds one crucial point: Building blocks are for building. So Jesus insists that the family is subordinate to the kingdom of God, and the Gospel (and experience) warns of what happens when we put blood, kin, race, and nation ahead of the demands of the Gospel. 

Subsidiarity

In order for the common good to be served, it is vital that each human being become personally involved in being sacraments of God’s grace and provision to our neighbor. That is where the principle of subsidiarity comes in. 

Subsidiarity means that the people closest to a problem or need should address it, and we only go up the ladder of power and authority a step at a time when they can’t or won’t. Most children are housed, most naked people clothed, most students taught, most bellies filled, and most neighborhoods kept in good order by ordinary people going to work, caring for their families, and doing the ordinary things people do. 

So if you need bread, you don’t phone the White House and ask the 101st Airborne to airlift you a loaf. You make it or buy it yourself. 

But suppose the grocer says, “We don’t serve your kind here.” At that point, you move up the ladder of authority and phone the cops to say you are being denied your constitutional right to shop. Usually that does the job. But suppose the cops side with the bigots as they sometimes did during the struggles of the early ’60s? Then you go higher still, as high as it takes. In the ’60s, that meant passage of the Civil Rights Act at the federal level. 

The point is that we are to try to keep participation in the love of neighbor in as many local hands as possible, so that we can all participate in the work and not just write a check to some faceless bureaucracy. But there are indeed some matters that require responses from higher and more powerful authorities. 

Indeed, the current and previous two popes (shockingly to many Americans) have noted that there are some matters that require a “true world political authority” to address. So, for instance, as global pandemics, climate change, and superpower threats to peace proliferate, the Church would regard global responses not as a violation, but as a fulfillment of the very same principle of subsidiarity, which holds that you, and not some remote bureaucrat, are the one responsible to make your kid his peanut butter sandwich. 

The sole exception here is in the use of violence. Subsidiarity very much wants you and me to take responsibility to deliver mac and cheese to our sick neighbor and to do our part to help our local community. But it absolutely forbids us to hold our neighbor prisoner in our closet or inflict the death penalty on him because we decided he has it coming. This is restricted to the state and the bigger the act of violence, the higher up the ladder we go. That is why the mayor of Seattle can’t declare war on the city of London. War is declared by nation-states and, if the Church had its way, it would be declared only by the United Nations. Because violence tends to destroy the last principle of Catholic social teaching: solidarity. 

Solidarity

Solidarity means we are all in this together, and none of us can say, “Your end of the Titanic is sinking.” 

As St. John Paul II puts it, solidarity “is not a feeling of vague compassion or shallow distress at the misfortunes of so many people both near and far. On the contrary, it is a firm and persevering determination to commit oneself to the common good; that is to say, to the good of all and of each individual, because we are all really responsible for all.” 

As with all Catholic social teaching, solidarity has deep biblical roots in both the Old and New Testaments. The author of the Acts of the Apostles summarizes those roots nicely when he says that God “made from one the whole human race to dwell on the entire surface of the earth, and he fixed the ordered seasons and the boundaries of their regions, so that people might seek God, even perhaps grope for him and find him, though indeed he is not far from any one of us” (Acts 17:26–27). 

There is only one race—the human race—in the biblical view. Nobody is a lesser species, and each is connected to all. And that connection is only deepened by the grace of Baptism, which extends our solidarity into eternity with the truth that “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3:28). 

A number of things spring from this. For instance, as Pope Francis points out in “Laudato Si’,” the crisis surrounding the dignity of the least of these—whether the unborn or the poor—is the same as the crisis surrounding the destruction of the environment because the earth is “our common home.” What happens to creation inevitably affects what happens to us. Poisoned air suffocates us. Polluted water makes us sick. And the destruction caused by climate change affects all of us. 

In addition, our solidarity with one another is both global and intergenerational. The global nature of solidarity is experienced by millions every day on the Internet, but also through international commerce—and international spread of pandemic. Its intergenerational nature is reflected in the immense debt we owe our ancestors and in the equally immense debt we owe our children to pay it forward by doing what we can to leave the world better than we found it. 

Another implication of solidarity is our obligation to challenge and reform “structures of sin.” An example of this is found in Acts 19:23–40. When Paul went to Ephesus to preach the Gospel, he did not simply threaten a religious system that worshipped Diana, the moon goddess. He threatened an entire socioeconomic and political system organized around her temple, one of the seven wonders of the world. 

Consequently, it was not just a gaggle of random members of the cult of Diana that attacked him. It was a mob organized and spurred on by the silversmiths of Ephesus, who made their living selling Diana trinkets to pilgrims. The Gospel threatened (and in good time would eventually dismantle) a religious-economic-sociopolitical structure of sin in Ephesus that stood opposed to the kingdom of God. The analogy of this to such modern ills as gun violence, human trafficking, or our abortion regime is not hard to see. 

The point of the four pillars is to draw on the fullness of the Church’s tradition and to be formed to live that tradition harmoniously, not in conflict and competition. It is possible to do this with the help of the Holy Spirit, the grace of the sacraments, and the guidance of the magisterium. Let us move forward as the body of Christ with minds and hearts formed by Christ and not the traditions of humanity, so that we can help sanctify ourselves and our neighbors and renew the face of the earth.  

Adult children taking on the care of a parent with dementia embody Christ’s love. 

In the Catholic faith we have an endless source of renewal available to us through the Mass, the sacraments, Scripture, and the saints. In my own life, I’ve observed that key words come to me when I need strength or wisdom. 

In the last few years, the words of St. Teresa of Avila have emerged front and center as I navigate my mother’s dementia diagnosis. This beloved passage deeply resonates when caring for a loved one with dementia and Alzheimer’s: “Christ has no body but yours; yours are the hands with which he blesses the world.” 

The Centers for Disease Control estimates that over 5.8 million people in the United States have been diagnosed with dementia, and because it is a disease that frequently results in the loss of autonomy, there are, alongside all these patients, millions and millions of caregivers. As I’ve crossed paths with dozens of family members in this role, St. Teresa’s words have become increasingly clear. I’ve been left in awe by the stories I’ve witnessed and heard. 

I became curious about all these caring hands of Christ, and whether the caregivers saw within themselves the spirituality that I perceive in them. While there are countless sons, husbands, and wives also involved in this unwavering work, I will share here the stories of three daughters I had the privilege of interviewing. 

‘I Didn’t Sign Up for This’ 

I met Brenda, the older sister of a friend, at a local coffee shop and was transfixed by her beauty: long blond hair, high cheekbones, glamorously dressed in black leather and faux fur. 

One thing I’ve learned from interviewing people about what’s in their hearts is that heartaches quickly spill out. Within minutes, tears sprang to her eyes. Her mother, a demanding and belittling person, leaves both her daughters exhausted. Their situation might be more arduous than most: Their mother has always had a cold personality, ever since they were children. Yet the women are committed to ensuring that the end of their 85-year-old mother’s life will be as safe and comfortable as possible. 

“I draw from the human,” Brenda told me. “She’s a human. But it’s difficult. I’m always doing things, and it’s never good enough. I do everything for her. Taxes, medicines, insurance, appointments. ‘Bring me coffee next time,’ my mother says. ‘Plain coffee?’ ‘Yeah, plain coffee.’ I bring it to her. ‘There’s no flavor to this.’” 

Brenda shrugged. “I get no reward.” 

I let that sink in. While I had only just met Brenda, my admiration swiftly ran deep: Wow, here is a woman of integrity. 

We paused for a moment, sipping our cooling lattes. I put my cup down, picked up my notebook and pen. “Do you ever call out to God?” 

She laughed. “Yeah, alone in my car. I thought I would live a fun, easy life at this age, here in my fifties. I thought I could go and do things without worry. Be free. And I say, ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’” 

We both cracked up over the absurd, common truth of yelling at God in our cars about our burdens. Isn’t this the most aching situation of all? No matter the details, we will navigate something painful we did not sign up for. 

I was eager to switch to the topic I specifically came to ask her about. “St. Teresa of Avila says, ‘Christ has no hands on earth but ours’. It’s us. And our hands. And I see this in women like you. What do you think?” 

She thought for a minute, then nodded. “That would make sense.” 

“So what hands does he have? The daughters like you bringing the bags and bags of Walmart Christmas gifts. You are doing the work of Christ.” 

Though she could recognize it in the work of others, there was resistance in applying this idea to herself. She stiffened, her tone crisp. “That’s a little extreme.” 

“But is it? If you look through the lens of that saying, who the heck is taking care of your mom?” 

She got a faraway look on her face then, a bit dreamy. “Right. Yeah.” 

“Your hands,” I stress. 

“My hands,” she softly agrees. 

Brenda unspools a story of how heart-wrenching her life has been with her mother, ever since she was a little girl. “My mom put me in therapy when I was 10 to deal with my volatile behavior after she divorced my dad. The therapist must have figured out that my mom wasn’t able to give me the love I needed. She told me I’d have to find my mothering elsewhere. I was so desperate. That therapist used to let me drink Earl Grey tea. I had never had it, and I loved how it made me feel so wonderful. Drinking it was so warming and gave me a boost of energy. Just a little milk or cream. She had these mugs, and such a soft voice.” 

I felt goosebumps, hearing of the hands that reached toward Brenda, back when she was alone and vulnerable, offering her wisdom and guidance and Earl Grey tea. 

“What a miracle,” I shook my head. “People are put in our path for a reason. That therapist gave you sustenance. You made it to adulthood, and now here you are, all these years later, such a good person, simply trying to bring your elderly, confused mother the coffee she wants.” 

‘Help Me Make This Better’ 

I’d known Jenette through a mutual friend, but we’d never interacted in depth. Due to icy weather, we ended up connecting for an interview over Zoom. 

She appeared on my screen with a warm smile, tortoiseshell glasses, and, behind her, a photograph of baby lambs in mist. Very quickly, I learned that she not only does everything for her mother in assisted living, she has the added responsibility of caring for a sister who is physically and intellectually disabled. Her sister is also housed in assisted living, but at a location half an hour in the opposite direction from their mother. 

Ever since she was a child, Jenette understood she would, at some point in her life, have to protect and care for her sister. It was staggering to learn about how Jenette structures her days to tend to her family’s never-ending needs, yet she is an upbeat, strong woman full of gratitude. 

When I asked if she was brought up in a faith, she reflected that she was raised to be kind, and to help people, and recounted the adage that hung on the refrigerator in her childhood home: “God will never give me more than I can handle, but I wish he didn’t trust me so much.” 

I thought of the weight on Brenda’s shoulders, how she, too, strove to be strong. But since it’s inevitable that even the hardiest among us must break open sometimes, I told Jenette about what Brenda confided. “I interviewed another daughter like you who admitted that sometimes she just shouts, ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’ And actually, there’s profanity in there.”  

Jenette laughed. “That has come out of my mouth so many times! I’ve used that exact phrase!” 

I wanted to offer her the support she deserved. “You give so much! Do you pray?” 

“I do. When things get difficult, that’s when I hit my knees. Sometimes when it’s really bad I am in a fetal position on the floor. It’s like, let me just be here for a while.” 

Is there anything more moving than when someone—a stranger, especially—shares their most wounded moments? I felt incredible respect, picturing a woman in her 60s, overcome with her obligations in using her hands in the world, weeping, curled up as tight as a baby. 

“What happens to get you to that point?” I asked. 

She didn’t hesitate. “Loss. Loss of the confidence to be able to keep doing what I need to do. Please help me make this better. A feeling of being put upon. I just wish I didn’t have the responsibility. But . . . I have two magnificent friends who are also taking care of their mothers. We meet for coffee or tea. We meet in a parking lot with our chairs and talk. We just need a break. How could anybody do this without some kind of support? We all feel grateful for the lives we have. We are healthy, have a nice place to live. We have each other. We live in a nice country. We all say to each other, ‘I’m so blessed to have you as friends.’” 

In hearing that Jenette had friends being there for her, I saw once again that there is a flow to the hands of Christ. One pair keeps giving to the next. 

I put forth my St. Teresa quote. “So, what do you think? Where is Jesus except in us?” 

In the same way Brenda seemed comforted by these words, Jenette repeated, “In us.” 

“I guess what I am saying,” I offered as we began to close, “is that I believe in Christ’s beauty. I feel that St. Teresa is expressing, ‘We’re doing beautiful work.’ That we are embodying something really precious.” 

‘He Just Wants Me to Be With Him’ 

Lisa is both my friend and my hairdresser, a warmhearted, welcoming person. Over the years, we have talked about the challenges of our aging parents. I knew about her mother’s decline, including a partial leg amputation, and then the sorrow of losing her mom and having to put her dad in assisted living. It was a particular story of Lisa’s that first illuminated the truth of the St. Teresa quote for me. 

As she trimmed my hair one day, Lisa told me about a recent visit to her dad. Every Sunday, he delights in the Whoopie Pies she brings him. “He always asks about his car. Well, the car is long gone, and he doesn’t remember. He worries obsessively about the car’s battery dying. So sometimes I leave his room for a few moments, and when I return, I assure him—and I do have to lie—that the battery is fine. That the car turned over. And he’s relieved. 

“But then,” she continued, recounting the recent visit, “as the afternoon drew to a close, and I was packing up to leave, I turned around and I saw my dad talking to someone who wasn’t there. And it broke my heart. He was so animated, and certain the person was on his bed. I knew it was time to go. Sometimes it’s just so hard to see him like that.” 

I was moved by imagining this scene, the sorrow of this daughter, trying her best to be there with love. I asked if she would consider reflecting with me on the topic of spirituality in dementia and Alzheimer’s. Her answer moved me. 

“It’s in his innocence. My dad asks, ‘Where’s my watch?’ He looks down and lifts his sleeve. ‘Oh, there it is.’ And he’s cute. They all love him. The workers love to say hi to my dad. He says of the women, ‘They’re my groupies.’ And they crack up. Nothing bothers him. He always has a little smile. When I think of him, I think, I want to come visit you. He just wants me to be with him. To be present. We watch TV together, and when I look over, he’s fallen asleep. But he’s happy I’m there.” 

I shake my head in admiration. “It’s such unsung, unseen work.” 

Lisa agreed. “When I was moving my parents, the assisted living director called and said, ‘Your dad’s going to need a garbage pail, a shower curtain, a laundry basket.’ I was working all day and called my friend in sheer panic. I said, ‘Do you have any time today to go to Walmart?’ She said ‘Yeah, what do you need?’ I come home from work that day and all the stuff is sitting on my porch. My friend said, ‘I got it. I got this.’ It restores your faith in people,” Lisa said. 

It absolutely does. I know these stories will continue, in my own role as a daughter and in the lives of all the caregivers. While the challenges of caring for those with dementia and Alzheimer’s will remain daunting, and painful, it’s also an opportunity to see the Teresa of Avila quote in action. The endless love and tender caring. The comfort of knowing that Christ can be found in all the hands that give to us, and in our hands as we give to those still fiercely cherished and loved.

But that seemingly nominal tweet has real science behind it. According to a report by the Educational Fund to Stop Gun Violence, “Overwhelming evidence shows firearm ownership and access is associated with increased homicide, suicide, unintentional firearm deaths, and injuries.” 

Research has shown us repeatedly that guns do not make us safer. And yet we are awash with them—outnumbered even. There are an estimated 450 million guns in the United States (compared to a population of 335 million). Gun sales always spike after mass shootings, and so the cycle continues. 

Life before Liberty

When the worst of COVID-19 was finally in our rearview mirrors, those who survived should have rejoiced. Instead, we got angry. As of this writing, there have been 34,683 deaths and 65,971 injuries from gun violence over the past 12 months—over 15,000 in 2023 alone. 

By the time this issue of the magazine reaches your mailbox, that number will surely increase. And it is worth mentioning that mass shootings are outpacing the days of the year. This is nothing new for our country, and it’s only gotten worse since the pandemic. 

Behind the gun violence statistics, though, are human beings whose right to stay alive simply outweighs anyone’s right to bear arms. It’s even in the Declaration of Independence: Life comes before liberty. 

The Church agrees. After the Robb Elementary School shooting in 2022, Archbishop Paul S. Coakley of Oklahoma City, then-chairman of the US bishops’ Committee on Domestic Justice and Human Development, pleaded with Congress to enact sensible gun legislation: “Bipartisanship is never more important than when it is required to protect life and end the culture of death,” he wrote, appealing to lawmakers, “not just as elected officials but as mothers and fathers, grandparents, and aunts and uncles of little children or teachers whom you expect to return home safely today.” 

Sick and Tired

“In retrospect, Sandy Hook marked the end of the US gun control debate. Once America decided killing children was bearable, it was over,” journalist Dan Hodges tweeted in 2015. The cynic in me agreed with this until June 2022 when Roe v. Wade was overturned by the Supreme Court, a victory for pro-lifers. 

As Catholics, if we feel it’s important to protect the unborn, we should feel as passionately about protecting those already born. That means mandatory background checks for gun sales from both licensed and unlicensed sellers and a full ban on assault weapons and high-capacity magazines. It means protecting our most vulnerable: the young, the poor, the sick. 

A 2021 Pew Research poll found that 53 percent of Americans favored stricter gun laws—a decline from 2019. The pandemic, we’re learning, made us more scared and more violent. Is gun violence not, at its heart, a pro-life issue? Isn’t a human life more valuable than a weapon? Are our children not worth stricter gun laws? 

My mind still goes back to 10-year-old Amerie Jo Garza, one of 19 students murdered at Robb Elementary in Uvalde, Texas. Her father, Angel Garza, posted this message about his daughter on social media that we should take to heart: “Please don’t take a second for granted. Hug your family. Tell them you love them. I love you, Amerie Jo. Watch over your baby brother for me.” 

Individualism is a dead end; it goes against every aspect of our nature. But so is the kind of us-versus-them tribalism of our highly polarized culture, defining membership with litmus tests. To be truly at home on earth, we need real community: not uniformity, but unity among diverse members who share common values and common causes. Community is what Jesus formed around him in his ministry. Community is what the early Christians cultivated. Community is what we’re made for; it’s what God calls us to, in all of its different forms. 

When we think of community, most of us probably think of our families, our parishes, and perhaps our neighborhoods, towns, or cities. But what about our workplaces, those organizations where we devote so much of our time and our productive energy, and which have such a massive impact on the flourishing or destruction of our planet? If “God’s plan for the world is that men [and women] should work together to renew and constantly perfect the temporal order,” as the Second Vatican Council documents put it, then shouldn’t the organizations where we work be part of that temporal order we’re called to help perfect? Can’t they become transformative arenas where we form community with others, grow in skill and wisdom together, and contribute our gifts for the world’s betterment? 

Take Time for Discernment

What might such workplaces look like? A truly healthy organization, whether nonprofit or for-profit, has a clear mission to provide useful, quality goods or services and to promote the common good: a strong financial bottom line, yes, but also doing right by employees, vendors, customers, social systems, and the environment. It also has deeply conscious servant leaders and a strong organizational culture that help all workers become their best selves. It’s a place that values everyone’s sacred dignity, where it’s safe to be vulnerable, to make mistakes, and even to fail—especially for the sake of creativity or ambitious goals. 

Creating and sustaining flourishing workplaces begins with discernment. The kind of organization I just described is very rare; many, if not most of us, probably work for organizations whose purposes or methods may be doubtful, whose leadership and community culture are lacking, or all of the above. 

But if we Christians are called to perfect the temporal order, and our professional time and talent are precious, then we’re called to discern where and how we invest them. Unless financial or other circumstances absolutely force our hand, we Christians don’t get a free pass to do work that fails to serve or even damages the common good. Insofar as we have options and choices, we’re called to seek out organizations that embody communal values. 

If such workplaces aren’t available or accessible to us, we have to discern whether an organization at least has reasonable potential to become a healthy community and whether we can assist in that transformation. In some cases, we may be called to help create those organizations ourselves. 

The Part We Play

Whatever organization we’re part of and whatever our role in it, how we show up at our work is crucial. One of the most empowering things I find about the good news Jesus preached is that transformation always starts small and starts from within. All of us can be leaven, in our own unique ways and professional environments. 

As I think about the people with whom I’ve worked, who have really helped organizations grow into better versions of themselves, I’ve seen common themes emerge in how they show up. First, strong contributors have a high degree of personal integrity. They are honest and trustworthy, with a solid moral compass. They are also highly competent: They work hard, hold themselves to high personal standards of performance, and enjoy the process of constantly improving their craft. 

Because any workplace community requires collaboration, however, self-awareness and emotional intelligence are key. Compassion, kindness, vulnerability, intuition, patience, acceptance, transparency, and tact greatly contribute to the overall well-being of the organization—whatever our level of responsibility and organizational power happens to be. 

Using Our Imagination

Finally, we’re called to be curious. No organization is static; they’re always changing, and each of us can bring our imagination to the common cause of helping our workplaces grow toward the ideal. We can ask rigorous questions about our organization’s mission and values. We can dream of new ways to improve how work gets done. We can put ourselves in the shoes of others—especially the vulnerable, inside and outside our organization—to learn about and advocate for their needs. 

No workplace is perfect, and no forms of workplace community can substitute for the loving connections we can make among family members and friends. There are limits to what belonging can look like in an arrangement where you’re getting paid to do a job, and where you can easily be let go if you fail to perform, if the organization’s priorities or finances shift, or simply because of personality clashes or poor management. 

But like other communities, our workplaces can be beautiful, thriving opportunities to become our best selves, build relationships of care, contribute to something larger, and accomplish together what we could never do on our own. Even if healthier organizations can’t solve all the world’s problems and fully “perfect the temporal order,” they can help us be better, together.

Wild Isles with David Attenborough

Amazon Prime 
I’ve said it before: If God ever deigned to adopt a human voice, it would sound like Sir David Attenborough. In the 70th year of his television career, Attenborough’s passion and advocacy for wildlife is on full display in Amazon Prime’s Wild Isles. 

And while this docuseries doesn’t exactly break new ground within the genre of wildlife filmmaking, Attenborough is worth your time. And the living legend always seems to say, implicitly, that our wildlife is very much endangered given climate change and our role in it. Handle with care. 

Waco: American Apocalypse

Netflix 
Thirty years have passed since the Waco tragedy in central Texas, and we’re still no closer to understanding exactly what led us to it. Was it government overreach? Or the denouement of a cult leader gone mad? Director Tiller Russell chooses to let the story unfold gradually and allows viewers to draw their own conclusions. The result is a docuseries of searing power. 

Sadly, the ripple effects of Waco are still felt. In the “audience” during the siege was an Army veteran named Timothy McVeigh who would go on to bomb the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma two years later, becoming a kind of sick hero to the far right. 

Cunk on Earth

Netflix 
History can be fascinating. It can also be tedious, funny, or intensely boring. In this mockumentary series, Diane Morgan plays Philomena Cunk, a journalist with, at best, a peripheral interest in the subjects she’s presenting. Whether she’s reporting on the Renaissance, burgeoning world religions, or the powerful Roman Empire, Morgan’s deadpan delivery is side-splitting. Her interviews with real experts in various fields must be seen to be believed. 

Deliberately flip and hilariously insufferable, Cunk presents these moments in history with an irresistible wink (and a yawn). 

Beef

Netflix 
Everything Everywhere All at Once—which dominated at this year’s Academy Awards—certainly didn’t introduce us to Asian storytelling, so much as it reminded us of how important these stories are to our human family. Though Netflix’s Beef, which includes an impressive cast of Asian actors, is a darker, more cynical exercise, it’s one of the best shows streaming today. 

The premise is simple: Ali Wong and Steven Yuen play two Californians involved in a road rage incident that spirals quickly and threatens to upend their lives. Though the show is certainly not for children, the cast is stunning, particularly the two leads who manage to elicit our sympathies even when they don’t deserve them. 

The Last Movie Stars

MAX 
Groucho Marx once said, “Marriage is the chief cause of divorce.” Paul Newman and longtime wife Joanne Woodward might have been the exception to that rule. Married for 50 years until Newman’s death in 2008, the two weathered countless personal and professional storms but always came out stronger. 

Unlike most documentaries, The Last Movie Stars dramatizes interview transcripts taken from Woodward and Newman throughout. And while this artistic direction may not always work, here it is used to great effect and humanizes two American acting titans. 

Produced by Martin Scorsese, this sweet, six-part series looks at one of the most enduring Hollywood love stories. 

Trainwreck: Woodstock ’99

Netflix 
The unofficial mission statement of Woodstock 1969 was simple: celebrating our shared humanity through music. Thirty years later, Woodstock 1999 in Rome, New York, could best be described as a three-day hellscape of corporate greed, filth, and crime. And that is what makes Trainwreck: Woodstock ’99 so innately watchable: how far as a culture we’ve fallen. 

It’s nearly impossible to summarize all of what went wrong with this festival. But here’s an earnest effort: After three days, five rapes were reported along with dozens of sexual harassment claims. Trench mouth from human waste afflicted many attendees, while the summer sun and a lack of shade—combined with 200,000 concertgoers—created its own “heat island,” where the temperatures are elevated because of human activity. Price gouging, fires, a lack of water, and rampant vandalism would ultimately be its legacy. 

Trainwreck is stunning for how shocking it truly is. The Woodstock brand was irreparably damaged because of poor planning and corporate greed. And profit became the priority over the safety and wellness of its audience.