If you asked people what they think of when it comes to St. Francis, many will probably point to his love of nature and animals. But there are so many other aspects to Francis and his story. We want to bring those stories to you, as well as the way his followers today are continuing to live out his message. 

This month’s cover story reflects the way that Francis would preach to people in the town square. But this time, it’s done with a bit of a twist. Franciscan Fathers Casey Cole and Roberto “Tito” Serrano decided that Major League Baseball stadiums were the new town squares, so they embarked on an adventure to meet people and evangelize through their presence. You can read all about their summer tour.

The other articles in this month’s issue also touch on aspects of Francis’ life. For instance, the story of Francis and the wolf of Gubbio is reflected in the article “Sisters to Brother Wolf” in this issue. Also featured in October, Father Murray Bodo, OFM, writes on the beauty and power of St. Francis’ embrace of “Sister Death.” 

We hope you enjoy this celebration of St. Francis’ life and his ongoing ministry, which includes this magazine. 

The lives of three women with a shared desire to provide healing and protection to neglected animals intertwine at the Saint Francis Wolf Sanctuary.

Nicole Rogers had just moved into a red barn house in the rural town of Montgomery, Texas. It was nightfall. Nestled in towering pines, wildlife, and a creek that opens into a lake, Nicole would describe her home as a safe haven. 

But not on this evening. An intensifying chorus of howls made her think her house was surrounded by wolves. She hollered for her sixth-grade daughter to come quickly inside.

Since when did Texas have wolves? The next morning Nicole introduced herself to her neighbor, “Hey, we just moved in, and last night it sounded like there was a pack of wolves around here.”

“It is a pack of wolves,” her neighbor confirmed. “When the wind blows this way, you can hear all the wolves across the lake at the Saint Francis Wolf Sanctuary.”

From India and Africa to Texas

Not long after Nicole’s conversation with her neighbor, she visited the Saint Francis Wolf Sanctuary (SFWS), where she met sanctuary founder Jean LeFevre. Neither of them knew their paths would one day be mysteriously intertwined.

Jean was eclectic. She had snowy, Gandalf-like hair, a thick British accent, and “eyes as blue as Paul Newman’s.” The Seneca Wolf Clan Nation had named her a Peace Elder, giving her the title of Grandmother, partly because of her dedication to animal conservation.

“She brought a wolf dog out for everyone to touch,” Nicole recalls. “I remember thinking to myself, ‘I don’t know if that animal likes that,’ but Ms. Jean just had this aura and deep sense of peace about her that made the animals feel comfortable. She epitomized that Native American perspective on wolves—honoring them as the sentient beings they are. She believed the wolves could help heal people, and people could help heal the wolves’ trauma. You walked away feeling like you had been somewhere sacred.”

How did a British woman end up becoming a Peace Elder for the Senecas and start a wolf sanctuary in Montgomery, Texas?

When Jean was a young woman, she and her parents fled the Blitz in England and settled in India. At age 17, Jean became one of the first women in the country to obtain her pilot’s license to fly Tiger Moths. She met her husband, John, in 1946; they were married in Chennai the next year. They left India in 1949 and moved to East Africa. Jean worked in India and Africa with the Red Cross and the Girl Scouts. She and John raised their three sons in Tanzania before moving back to England in the early 1960s.

Living in India and Africa during turbulent times was perhaps how Jean became so drawn toward inclusive, nonjudgmental spirituality. She discovered what she was looking for in the community and beliefs of the White Eagle Lodge, founded in the United Kingdom, which, according to its website, “teaches a universal spiritual path of brotherhood towards all life.”

Advocating for Animals

“Her grounding in religion, animals, and people summarizes where she came from and how she got where she was,” reflects her middle son, Calvin LeFevre.

Calvin recalls the animal sanctuaries she started, including Shangri-La in Kent (England). He remembers her foray into animal activism—how she became a vegetarian, spoke out about the cruelty of Battery chickens crammed into tiny cages, traveled frequently to Newfoundland with model Celia Hammond to bring attention to the brutal clubbing of baby seals for fur coats, and opposed the vivisection of animals and the cruel use of them for beauty and health products.

She helped establish the Kit Wilson Trust for Animal Welfare, which has become one of the most well-respected animal welfare societies in the United Kingdom.

He remembers the numerous animals that had been badly mistreated that she helped to save and lead a secure and loved life—the donkey that had been struck with a beer bottle in a Welsh coal mine, the lamb with its legs broken that had been stolen by some teenagers then tossed out the window of a moving car, and too many dogs and cats to count.

“She was a strong advocate of the need for people to help animals and animals to help people,” Calvin says. “Francis of Assisi was one of her favorite saints. There was a relationship between animals and people that she knew was vital. That’s the thing she stood for more than anything else: connecting people and animals. That spiritual and emotional bond would help heal the scars and trauma of both people and animals in need.”

Embracing Brother Wolf

Jean and John followed their sons to America in 1983 and eventually settled in Montgomery, Texas, where she helped build the church and retreat center for the White Eagle Lodge of the Americas. She became the head minister of the church and oversaw its retreat center.

Jean was initiated into the Seneca Wolf Medicine Lodge in 1976. She studied under an elder of the Wolf Clan Nation and, after being named a Peace Elder, was certified in teaching the Seneca tradition.

In 2002, a timber wolf was found between Montgomery and Houston. The wolf was caught in a trap and had a bullet in its shoulder. It had reportedly escaped from the North American Wolf Association (NAWA), which, according to SFWS and the Indigo Mountain Nature Center, was an irresponsible sanctuary filled with malnourished and unvaccinated wolves.

The veterinarian caring for the wolf happened to know Jean LeFevre—that shamanistic woman who would take in anything with a soul, which was everything. One look into the wolf’s sad eyes was all it took for Jean.

She named the wolf Mystery. Jean would soon rescue several other neglected wolves from NAWA upon its closing: Timbre, Duchess, Yukon, Wacipi, and Spirit.

The Saint Francis Wolf Sanctuary was born.

Feathers on the Path

Nicole remembers once asking Jean if she could borrow an eagle feather for a ceremony with her good friend, who was Native American. Jean informed Nicole that all her feathers had been stolen. But with compassionate eyes, she smiled and said, “If it’s meant to happen, one will be in your path.” Nicole’s friend woke up two days later to find an eagle feather outside her front door. When Nicole shared the story with Jean, she simply smiled in response, as if she was not the slightest bit surprised by the universe’s offering.

Jean and Nicole were cut from the same cloth: two adventurers whose souls were formed by Africa. Nicole spent 25 years working in public health all around the world: from Denton, Texas, to the Ivory Coast in West Africa to Bangladesh, New Orleans, Boston, and San Antonio. Her most formative and rewarding years were in Africa, living among the Attie and Dioula tribes.

Her return to the United States, with its self-centeredness and greed, was a trying transition, having been surrounded by African tribes who did not even have a word for “I” in their language. The red barn house she purchased in Montgomery would become her contemplative sanctum, where she brought the wisdom she learned from Africa into her daily meditative practice.

In 2016, Nicole lost her job in public health and found herself seemingly stuck in this small, rural Texas town, unsure where to go or what to do. She recalls sitting on her screened-in porch night after night, contemplating her future in that liminal space as she listened to the birds and the bullfrogs and the wolves. A feather would soon appear.

A Legacy Bestowed

Just two weeks after losing her job, Nicole was notified through an online job platform that SFWS was in search of administrative leadership. The SFWS board reached out to her without even knowing she was unemployed.

Jean was nearing the final years of her life after a long battle with dementia, and her family hoped her legacy could be carried on at a new site for the sanctuary. Nicole had ample nonprofit experience but nothing remotely close to managing an animal sanctuary. Yet, having experienced the magic of Jean and the wolves she saved, she could not shake the opportunity from her mind. She decided to go for it.

Around that same time, Nicole’s father had been admitted into the ICU. One day while visiting him, she received a call from SFWS, asking her to come in for another interview. She knew her father would want her to pursue her passions, so she told him that she was going to go try to get the job, kissed him on the head, and left the ICU. Fifteen minutes later, he passed away. The next week, Nicole Rogers was hired as executive director.

Crossroads

Managing a wolf sanctuary is difficult enough. Relocating a sanctuary and finding a sufficient piece of property was even more challenging.

In today’s market for exotic animals, people fail to realize how difficult it is to manage a sanctuary the right—and legal—way. Nicole says 80 percent of wolves are euthanized by the time they are 3 years old because of people’s inability to keep up with these large carnivores, which act like puppies for only the first few weeks of their lives.

Wolves require spacious enclosures when living in captivity with daily enrichment to support both their mental and physical health, a special diet requiring up to 20 pounds of meat per week, and a bonded social life with other wolves. Nicole and SFWS were prepared to give the wolves to another sanctuary they trusted before settling for a piece of land that was anything less than perfect.

There were days when Nicole wondered if her time as executive director would be short-lived or if the sanctuary would fold altogether. “I was starting to get really anxious,” she recalls. “I felt like there was no way we were going to raise enough money to build out the new sanctuary in time. But I could just see that smile of Jean when she told me, ‘If it’s meant to happen, one will be in your path.’”

Prior to Nicole joining SFWS, the board had purchased a desirable property 17 miles away but did not have the money to develop the land into the sanctuary they needed. Nicole felt that she had been entrusted to carry and care for Jean’s legacy, yet the future of SFWS seemed to hang in the balance.

A Spiritual Connection

Sometime in the 1970s, a 15-year-old girl ran away from her home in Gonzales, Texas, and sneaked onto a tanker stationed in a Houston port. She had no idea where the steamboat was heading, but fate took her to Kenya. The girl’s name was Gypsy Cole. Gypsy lived with the Maasai until her late 20s, when she decided to move to Costa Rica. She eventually found her way back to Gonzales, where she obtained a degree in psychology and became a counselor.

Once she returned to Texas, she learned of the Saint Francis Wolf Sanctuary and Jean’s story, so she decided to visit it and see the wolves living there. She fell in love. Six months into Nicole’s role as executive director, she received a call from an attorney representing the estate of Gypsy Cole. Gypsy had left over a quarter of a million dollars in her will for SFWS because of the spiritual connection she felt when she was at the sanctuary.

“Gypsy Cole single-handedly saved the sanctuary,” Nicole reflects.

Nicole struggles to include her name with Gypsy and Jean, but there’s no denying that SFWS wouldn’t be what it is today without this trinity of women, who were all formed by Africa, by adventure, by animals.

“Nicole has carried it on,” Calvin LeFevre reflects. “When Mom started the wolf sanctuary in 2001, she would have all kinds of groups come by: veterans, battered women’s groups, autistic children, people with disabilities, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts. She always knew animals have a strong part in helping people heal.”

It’s this link between animals and humans, this philosophy bestowed by Jean LeFevre, that the Saint Francis Wolf Sanctuary tries to cultivate today. Adds Nicole, “Jean really understood that it took this profound empathy and compassion to protect our connectedness to animals, to one another.”

Jean passed away on July 8, 2020, just days after the last piece of equipment was moved to the new sanctuary. God found a feather.

Learn more about the Saint Francis Wolf Sanctuary.

At San Damiano, the Crucified Christ challenged Saint Francis to “go rebuild My house.” That task meant Francis had to transform himself first. 

Every pilgrim who visits Assisi must make the short walk outside the city walls and spend time at the sanctuary of San Damiano. It is one of the most important places in the Franciscan story. The event most often repeated about this place is the encounter between Francis and the image of Christ Crucified who spoke to him and said: “Francis, go rebuild My house; as you see, it is all being destroyed.”

Thomas of Celano tells the whole story:

With his heart already completely changed—soon his body was also to be changed—he was walking one day by the church of San Damiano, which was abandoned by everyone and almost in ruins. Led by the Spirit he went in to pray and knelt down devoutly before the crucifix. He was shaken by unusual experiences and discovered that he was different from when he had entered. As soon as he had this feeling, there occurred something unheard of in previous ages: with the lips of the painting, the image of Christ crucified spoke to him. ‘Francis,’ it said, calling him by name, ‘go rebuild My house; as you see, it is all being destroyed.’

Francis was more than a little stunned, trembling, and stuttering like a man out of his senses. He prepared himself to obey and pulled himself together to carry out the command. He felt this mysterious change in himself, but he could not describe it. So it is better for us to remain silent about it too. From that time on, compassion for the Crucified was impressed into his holy soul. And we honestly believe the wounds of the sacred Passion were impressed deep in his heart, though not yet on his flesh.” —Second Life, #10, Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, Volume 2: The Founder, New City Press, p. 249

Herein begins the mystery of the cross in Francis’ life. At first he interpreted his experience in a literal manner, doing all he could to provide the means, with stones and mortar, to rebuild the physical structure of San Damiano, which actually was in ruins.

Although this may have been part of the intent of the revelation, Francis quickly realized that the rebuilding process had to include the transformation of his heart, his inner self. He would have to rebuild his inner self, and in doing so, discover his true identity. A simultaneous vocation unfolded: rebuilding the place and rebuilding his person.

Focused on Christ

How did Francis go about rebuilding his life? The process slowly unfolded from his gazing upon the Crucified Savior over time.

What were the steps? Saint Clare, a contemporary companion of Francis, described it best in her Second Letter to Agnes of Prague, when she wrote: “Gaze upon Christ, consider Christ, contemplate Christ, imitate Christ.” Those four steps would become the pathway into the discovery of a new heart, a new power and a new self.

I want to focus on just the last of these four directives: “imitate Christ.” That is the key to understanding what happened to Francis at San Damiano and the key to an effective rebuilding of one’s life.

To imitate relates to the word “image.” In our context here, it means I become the image upon whom I gaze. Francis would learn that his self-image, that is, his identity, was to become that of Christ on the cross. Both Francis and Clare must have spent countless hours contemplating this mystery. The change that would take place within Francis’ heart was imaged by what he gazed upon, and this new self would become his tool for renewing the house of God.

The Incarnation Is Key

The key to this is the Incarnation. In the Incarnation, God revealed to us who God is. The Incarnation showed us the face of God. But what does this image portray? What do we see? What Francis and Clare saw in the person of the Incarnate Christ was humility, poverty and charity. The most visible, tangible expression of this was the cross.

In the Incarnation, Francis saw that becoming human was the basis for humility. In embracing our humanness, Jesus did not cling to being God. This choice was the epitome of humility. In so choosing, Jesus could accept everything to which human nature is prone, even death. This image of Christ as seen on the cross became an essential component of Francis’ new self.

Like Jesus, humility for Francis meant not to cling to anything or appropriate any goods, titles, honors or position. It meant to be a servant to all, even inanimate creatures. It meant generosity of spirit and generosity of heart, the willingness to let all others be first. It meant obedience to all, being subject to all, just like Jesus, the Word made flesh, who did not cling to honor, status or power.

In recognizing his true self in this image, Francis embraced the essence of his being and the realization that he needed nothing else to give him worth.

The poverty Francis saw in the Crucified was the poverty of being a human creature. Although Jesus was God, he did not cling to this status. He didn’t hold on to it. In letting go of divinity, Jesus accepted the status of a human creature, being dependent, powerless, helpless and empty on his own.

This is the essence of poverty. Some call it poverty of being or ontological poverty. This true picture of humanity, modeled in the Incarnation, enabled Saint Paul to write that Jesus, “though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness” (Philippians 2:6-7).

Jesus, as God, chose to become human, or poor, in order to reveal God’s self, which is love, and teach us our true identity. Again, this poverty of God was most visible by the fact of God’s Son on the cross. Here Jesus embraced powerlessness, emptiness and utter helplessness and opened himself to complete abandonment and trust in his Father. These were, and are, essential components of the human makeup.

All-Embracing Love

The other element that the image of Christ on the cross portrayed was that of charity, compassionate love. Jesus’ outstretched arms drew in all humanity, welcoming every creature into the embrace of God’s tender love through mercy, forgiveness and acceptance of all. This meant recognizing and accepting the worth and dignity of each one.

As we internalize the same, we are slowly transformed into the image of Jesus, which is the image of our true self.

The path into this discovery of self is the cross. The cross is a mirror. In seeing myself in that mirror, I see Christ Crucified, and in seeing Christ Crucified, I see my most authentic self. As I am transformed into that image, I become the person God has always intended me to be.

The distinguishing marks that identify me are the same I see in Jesus: poverty, humility and charity, which are identifying marks of the face of God. Paul’s words in Galatians 2:20 are then very fitting: “It is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.” Then I am my true and genuine self.

This reflection is difficult to describe and I’m sure equally difficult to understand or accept. Yet it lies at the heart of Francis’ spirituality and mission. It also ties in most intimately with his experience before the San Damiano Crucifix and the invitation to rebuild the Church. It was a transformed heart, a transformed self, into the image of Christ that became the tools by which society, the Church and all life could be rebuilt.

As we embrace this process, we take a major step towards discovering who we are as a disciple of Christ; we are also well on the way to rebuilding our inner life and ultimately rebuilding the house of God.

God’s Project

How can we make this real and concrete? It seems to me we must come to a moment in life where, like Francis, we say: “This is what I want and desire with all my heart.” Once that is clear, then the rhythm of daily prayer is essential. We need to beg God for the kind of transformation of heart needed to have a dwelling place for humility and poverty and charity. We cannot achieve this on our own power. It is God’s project, God’s work, and only grace can make it happen.

The other arena is that of relationships, whether among friends, in the family, community life or one’s workplace. It is here that humility, poverty and compassionate charity are brought to life and nowhere else.

Francis’ biographers point out that, when people met up with Francis or heard him preach, it was not simply a question of listening to words of peace and joy. Nor were people merely persuaded to reflect upon reasons for forgiving each other, doing penance or thanking and praising God. Rather, they were confronted with these realities in the person of Francis. They were in the living presence of forgiveness, peace, faith and love, because Francis had integrated these values into his person by taking on the image of Christ on the cross.

Francis became conformed to the Crucified to such a degree that at the end of his life he appeared like the Crucified with the wounds of Christ engraved into his flesh. This would complete what began at San Damiano when “the wounds of the sacred Passion were impressed deep in his heart, though not yet on his flesh.”

Francis sought repeatedly for ways to encourage the brothers to give birth to these essentials, to strive for purity of heart, and thus give birth to Christ in their own lives. This is the transformation that must go hand in hand with all other endeavors in proclaiming the Kingdom of God. This is the inner rebuilding that gives life and spirit to any outward effort.

The image of Christ in Francis was very real, as we read in Celano:

The brothers who
lived with him know
that daily, constantly, talk of Jesus
was always on his lips,
sweet and pleasant conversations
about Him,
kind words full of love.
Out of the fullness of his heart
his mouth spoke.
So the spring of radiant love
that filled his heart within
gushed forth.
He was always with Jesus:
Jesus in his heart,
Jesus in his mouth,
Jesus in his ears,
Jesus in his eyes,
Jesus in his hands,
he bore Jesus always
in his whole body….
With amazing love he bore
in his heart and always held onto Christ Jesus and Him crucified.

—Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, Volume 1: The Saint, New City Press, p. 283-4

Airing on ABC stations beginning October 2 (check local listings), the inspiring life of Servant of God Sister Thea Bowman (1937–1990) is told through photographs, film clips, songs, and commentary by many who knew her in this moving and hope-filled documentary from NewGroup Media and the Diocese of Jackson, Mississippi.

It was during the national outrage over the George Floyd murder in May 2020 that the film’s award-winning writer and producer, Franciscan Sister Judith Ann Zielinski, thought of a powerful way to contribute to racial healing and change in the United States: telling the story of Sister Thea Bowman.

Zielinski recalls that, though there was substantial information online, there existed “no coherent telling of Bowman’s childhood and family in Mississippi, her conversion to Catholicism at age 9, and her decision at age 15 to enter the convent in Wisconsin,” she says. “Nor were the twists and turns of her vocation, her personal growth as a Black woman, preacher, and prophet, her commitment to Franciscan religious life, her clarion call for racial justice and human dignity, or her death from breast cancer at the age of 53.”

This one-hour documentary focuses on Bowman’s love for peace and nonviolence as well as her prophetic love for the Church. Some say that the moment she got all of the US bishops gathered at their semiannual meeting in 1989, a year before she died, to join hands and sing her version of “We Shall Overcome” as “We Will Live in Love” as the first miracle on her way to sainthood.

Sister Thea is one of six Black Americans whose causes for canonization are being considered: Pierre Toussaint, Henriette DeLille, Mother Mary Lange, Julia Greeley, and Augustus Tolton are the others. This film allows the beauty of Thea’s life and spirituality to show the great holiness and authentic joy within our Black Catholic community.

Not yet rated • Racism, intolerance. 

Thirteen Lives

Based on true events, Oscar-winning director Ron Howard brings to the screen the compelling 2018 story of the rescue of a Thai boys’ soccer team and their coach, who were stranded in the Tham Luang cave when it became flooded by unexpected rains.

When the team fails to appear for a birthday party, the parents raise the alarm. A team of Royal Thai Navy SEALS is called in but find it impossible to enter the cave. A caver from Britain who lives locally, Vern Unsworth (Lewis FitzGerald), knows the complexity of the cave system and suggests that the governor (Sahajak Boonthanakit) contact the British Cave Rescue Council. The council, in turn, engages Rick Stanton (Viggo Mortensen) and John Volanthen (Colin Farrell), who pack their gear and leave immediately to assist in the rescue.

Meanwhile, a self-taught groundwater management expert, Thai American Thanet Natisri (Nophand Boonyai), leads a team to pump the cave and divert groundwater from the mountain above the cave, potentially flooding the crops of farmers willing to help. While Thirteen Lives, available on Amazon Prime, is ultimately a feel-good story, the film is bolstered by William Nicholson’s script and the claustrophobic cinematography. The narrative is strengthened by showing the resolve of 10,000 experts and volunteers from 18 countries who joined forces with Thai efforts to rescue the boys and their coach. The world came together to do good over a period of a few weeks four years ago. May this film inspire us to do likewise.

Not yet rated, PG-13 • Peril 

Aftershock

Through the stories of two young Black mothers who died during or after childbirth, directors Paula Eiselt and Tonya Lewis Lee reveal the growing epidemic in America of preventable maternal morbidity among women of color. The film asks why Black mothers are much more likely to die than their White counterparts with the same postpartum symptoms. The single fathers and other family members who are interviewed make important observations about the consequences of the medicalization of childbirth and the production-line birthing industry. They call for upholding midwifery and birthing centers as natural preferences.

Streaming on Hulu, the film makes a statement that tugs at the heart: “When Black mothers die, there is a ripple effect in the family and the community. We call it ‘aftershock.’”

Not yet rated, TV-MA • Racism, injustice, women in labor and distress, mature themes. 

Two Franciscans, inspired by St. Francis’ style of preaching, visited all 30 Major League Baseball stadiums this past summer. They were as surprised by their encounters as were the thousands of sports fans they met along the way.

When you go to the ballpark during the summer, you expect to see hot dog vendors and beer carts, people touting their home team’s gear and rooting for more home runs. What you don’t expect to see are two Franciscan friars, beers in hand, blessing concession workers and hearing confessions.

And yet that is what I spent my summer doing: traveling the country with a classmate, Father Roberto “Tito” Serrano, OFM, visiting all 30 Major League Baseball stadiums, spreading the Gospel. From May 19 to August 3, we covered nearly 18,000 miles to bring the good news of Jesus to fans of America’s pastime.

Missionary Zeal, with a Twist

The thought of two Franciscan friars spending their summer in ballparks rather than churches might seem a bit strange to some. One of the most common questions we heard all summer was, “How did you convince your superiors to let you do this?” The reality is it didn’t require any extraordinary negotiation tactics because what we did wasn’t that extraordinary for Franciscans: Preaching in the public square is what we’ve done for 800 years.

Back in 2013, Father Tito and I learned this as novices. In teaching us about the Franciscan charism, one friar stressed that St. Francis didn’t send his brothers to preach in churches; he sent them to the marketplace—the place where people gathered for commerce and entertainment—in order to reach those who weren’t already moved by the Gospel. He told us that we must discover what that meant for the 21st century. Where do people gather? How will we go out to meet them rather than wait for them to come to us? My mind immediately went to arenas filled with tens of thousands of fans each night.

To say that we stuck out at these games is an understatement. Far from the comfortable confines of the church, often in places with no history of Catholicism, the average fan couldn’t help but stare as we walked by. Many asked questions using the only experience they had: “Are you Jedi?” With a wave in front of their faces we would respond, “These are not the men you’re looking for.”

Others, familiar with baseball, wondered if we were San Diego Padres fans. “Actually, they’re fans of us,” we would respond.

The most common phrase we heard all summer, preceding almost every question, was, “OK, so I have to ask . . .” And then we were talking. As repetitive as it became, we knew that the peculiarity of our attire was our greatest asset to evangelization. Unlike the street preachers holding megaphones, shouting at passersby, far removed from the pamphlet-handing zealots at events, there was nothing intrusive about our ministry. We showed up, made ourselves visible, and allowed people to approach us.

Seeds Planted

Upon learning that we were not cosplaying (wearing a costume to portray a character) but were, in fact, real priests, some would immediately turn and walk away, probably a bit embarrassed. No offense taken. Many, however, asked a follow-up question. They took interest in what we were doing—not only during the summer but also about our lives. They had never met a real friar, didn’t know that we still existed. A seed was planted, a new idea formed. We handed them a card with our website and a question: “Is it time to come home?”

Once they had their fill of questions answered, it was our turn. Shying away from direct approaches like asking them if they were saved or bluntly asking them if they would consider going to church, we simply asked if we could pray for them. All of a sudden, strangers were opening up to us about their struggles and fears. All of a sudden, we were pointing their attention beyond themselves to the only One who can truly help. Some people allowed us to pray for them right there in the ballpark, while others accepted that we would keep them in prayer that evening. All of them walked away with an encounter of prayer that they likely hadn’t had in years.

_{Like the early Franciscan friars, Fathers Casey Cole and Tito Serrano did their share of walking as they preached the Gospel to baseball’s faithful.}

In one case, a man had just found out that his mother had been diagnosed with cancer that week and was struggling to deal with it himself. A concession worker was dealing with housing issues and was worried about her well-being. One man, a former Catholic, hadn’t been to church in 25 years. There had been a nagging feeling inside him for some time to return, but it was our presence right before him, in “his arena,” that caused him to ask for the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

But it wasn’t only the curious and wayward who approached us. In fact, the majority of our conversations were with practicing Catholics, people who knew who and what we are, attend Mass regularly, and believe in the teachings of the Church. For some, this might appear like a waste of time for an evangelization tour, just time spent “preaching to the choir.” But whoever said the choir didn’t need to be preached to? The goal of evangelization is not simply to convert one to the cause (moving on once they’ve been baptized); it is to foster a greater love for Christ in everyone we meet.

Having faith doesn’t preclude one from deeper encounters with Christ. We found our encounters with fellow believers anything but a waste of time because our presence was inspiring to them. It showed people that faith need not be a Sunday-only activity but could be brought to every facet of our lives. Even the most mundane and secular of things—baseball—could be an opportunity to encounter God’s work in the world.

Venturing Out to the ‘Marketplace’

Of course, for true fans, baseball is anything but a mundane or worldly endeavor: It’s an experience of the transcendent. People asked us throughout the summer what might be next for us—if we would spend next year visiting football stadiums or going to Broadway musicals—continuing our journey to different “marketplaces.” While there’s no way of saying what the future will hold, and we certainly don’t want to say that God can’t be found in these places, we knew from the beginning that there was something particularly special about baseball. As James Earl Jones’ character famously posits in the film Field of Dreams: “This game . . . reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.” We agree.

Baseball is a sport with a profound sense of history. The oldest professional sport in the United States, its statistics date back over 150 years. For decades, it shaped the American landscape, defining eras and forming generations. Along our tour, Father Tito and I made sure to experience this. We went to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, where we saw baseballs used over 100 years ago.

In Rockford, Illinois, we walked on the field where the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League played. In Kansas City, we learned about the history of the Negro Leagues. In Louisville, we actually held bats used in real games by Babe Ruth and Roberto Clemente. It was like holding a relic, a mediating of the past right before us.

At the games themselves, there is a remarkable sense of community in the stands. Like other sports, fans come dressed in common attire and feel a part of a common cause. But with baseball, it’s more than that. For some it might seem like a slow or boring sport, but the reality is that it is the only game that allows for contemplation, discussion, and socializing. The pace of the game insists on it. Football is too intense. Basketball, soccer, and hockey are too unrelenting. Golf and tennis are too formal. And so, in baseball stadiums, people talk to one another. Strangers in the same section meet and have conversations. There is a connection with those around you, giving the sense that you are together in something.

Furthermore, who can ignore the sense of common gesture and ritual in this sport? As different as every game is, as diverse as each population is, every fan at every game we attended knew when to stand and when to sit. They knew how to respond to invitations by the organ, all the words to “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and when to appropriately boo the umpire. Without much instruction, thousands of people acted in unison.

Creating a Sacred Space at the Ballpark

Finally, who can forget the structures themselves? As much as every sport now plays in luxuriously furnished arenas, there is something about the character of a baseball stadium that stands out. No one field has the same dimensions of any other. In the design of baseball stadiums, attention is given not only to viewing the game but also to the perspective of the outfield.

Many have artistic features, architectural wonders, and historical landmarks. Fans yearn to see the Green Monster in Boston, the ivy wall in Chicago, the fountains in Kansas City, the white picket fence roof in New York. Even the grass itself is cut with designs and patterns. In baseball, there is a sense of beauty and wonder. Stadiums are the closest our world has to the cathedrals of the Church.

These are not insignificant connections: tradition, community, ritual, beauty. Despite being a secular institution, there are things about this sport that draw people into a deeper experience of life. There are things about this seemingly God-free place that are good and that should be encouraged. Baseball fans have found and help perpetuate foundational qualities of a good and true life, values that draw people closer to God rather than further away.

_{(LEFT) Father Casey and his dad, Mark, have a catch at the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa, where the popular film starring Kevin Costner took place. (RIGHT)  A bus that once transported the Rockford Peaches of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League is a piece of history at League Field in Huntingburg, Indiana, where parts of the film A League of Their Own were shot.}

And so, we must lean into this. This becomes our starting point. When St. Paul went into the Greek temple, he did not admonish them for worshipping false gods; he found a shrine dedicated to “to an unknown god” and built upon it. He identified something true that they had found and encouraged them for it. Let me tell you why that’s right and how I can add to it. So it can be with baseball. So it can be with anything good that we find in our world.

For Franciscans, our approach to evangelization is not to replace the evil in the world with the good of the Church; it is to find the work of God already underway in the world so that we can name it and help bring it to completion. When we find a people dedicated to tradition, community, ritual, and beauty, our work as friars is easy.

We have everything people are looking for, plus something even greater: the good news of Jesus Christ that our salvation is at hand. Evangelization doesn’t have to be about tearing down the world—it’s about helping people see God in it.

First, Listen

To do this, every Christian must recognize that the work of evangelization actually has very little to do with talking about Jesus. While explicit conversations about faith are essential and must ultimately be the goal of everything we do, this is but one of many steps in the process of evangelization. And it’s definitely not the first.

Prior to opening our mouths and telling people what “they need to hear,” there must be a period of discernment on our part. Before we say a word, we must learn to listen. Who are we talking with? What do they need? What are they willing to hear? What might they already know and have to offer us? As Pope Francis teaches in his encyclical The Joy of the Gospel, evangelists need to “accompany with mercy and patience.” It is about taking the time to walk with people in the journey of life, attending to their needs and concerns, building trust in our care for them. It is then that our proclamation of the Gospel will be most effective, for it is then that we have already witnessed to it.

As much as Father Tito and I spent time explaining our life and what we were doing at the ballparks, we tried to steer the conversation back to the people we were talking to. We asked them what their experience of going to church was like, what they thought the Catholic Church needed, and how we could be better priests to serve the world.

In the spirit of the synodal process, we recognized that our purpose at the ballparks was as much to listen as it was to preach.

It Takes a Team

In the end, it was an exhausting, chaotic, absolutely absurd, yet undeniably fruitful journey. Over the course of three months, we traveled the width of this country nearly six times, gave dozens of talks, met thousands of people, and made ourselves present to three quarters of a million strangers. This was anything but an ordinary, easygoing summer. Looking back, it’s amazing that we were even able to pull it off. There’s no way that I could have done it on my own.

As a Franciscan, I learned very early on in our formation that St. Francis never sent the brothers out alone, but two by two, just as Jesus did. During formation, we were taught that there was something about being together that might be less efficient than working on our own but would never be as effective. For years, I repeated this line myself all the while working on my own. I produced a successful YouTube channel alone. I gave talks around the country alone. I wrote books alone. In each of these endeavors, I was able to work at my pace and control every bit of the messaging; and I was successful. Working together seemed great in theory, but how could it beat working on your own?

This summer, I found out how. On the one hand, there is the obvious aspect of sharing the workload. I had someone else to split the thousands of miles of traveling, someone to help carry video equipment, someone to step in when catastrophe struck and I was too tired to figure things out. Practically, I just couldn’t have done it on my own.

But it’s more than that. As we walked around the stadiums together, I began to notice that people only approached us when we were together. If one went to the restroom or to a concession stand, no one stopped us. No one asked questions. Alone, we were each just random guys dressed in weird clothes. Together, we were something different. Without saying a word, the fact that we were together interested people.

It was as if our very presence validated the other. The way we talked and laughed with one another normalized us. Our conversations may have been clunkier than a one-on-one, and our talks were far less smooth than I’m used to, and yet the connections we made were unlike anything I’ve experienced on my own. This summer, it was our brotherhood in Christ—not our words—that spoke loudest.

This is, I believe, a lesson for us all. Every Christian has a responsibility to proclaim the Gospel. Every disciple has a call to teach the faith. Few of us will formally vow to live in fraternity to do so, but that doesn’t mean we need each other any less. As a faith based in the sacrificial love of God, it is not enough to speak words alone. Christianity is fundamentally lived—and shared—together. No words can match the way we treat each other. No testimony will ever be as powerful as our lives lived together.

The reason that Jesus sent the disciples out two by two is because our faith is not something that words can ever fully capture. It has to be shown. To do that, you need a team.

(PBS, check local listings) 

“I have heard their groans and sighs, and seen their tears,” Harriet Tubman once said of enslaved people. “And I would give every drop of blood in my veins to free them.” This was no wishful thinking: Though the precise number Tubman freed is debated still, historians agree that she rescued around 70 people over the course of 13 trips on the Underground Railroad.

But this latter-day Moses (her code name during night raids) had an interior life that was just as rich and complex as her public one. And in PBS’ absorbing documentary Harriet Tubman: Visions of Freedom, we are given a substantive, three-dimensional glimpse into an American legend.

Born Araminta Ross in Maryland, a slave state, in 1822, Tubman faced the same daily horrors and degradations enslaved people endured. One incident peppered her life for the remainder of it. After she refused to help an overseer subdue an enslaved boy in a general store, she was struck in the head with a metal weight.

Denied medical care despite a skull fracture, she would suffer “spells” or seizures often, but Tubman saw them as doorways to the divine: conversations with the God she loved. After she freed herself in 1849, she used her wits and geographical abilities (not to mention a pistol that she wasn’t afraid to brandish) to free enslaved people.

While the handsome Visions of Freedom doesn’t break a lot of new ground in its portrait of Tubman, in many ways it doesn’t have to. Sometimes a celebration of a noble life is more than enough. Tubman, a stubborn and stalwart revolutionary, has earned her rightful place in American history. It’s our duty to study it.

Becoming Frederick Douglass

(PBS, check local listings) 

A contemporary of Harriet Tubman’s and fellow Marylander, Frederick Douglass’ journey to emancipation looked much different, but his life and his legacy are just as important.

Becoming Frederick Douglass, interestingly, opens with what we don’t know about the man—namely the year he was born. Sadly, neither did he. Estimates place his year of birth around 1818. Growing up enslaved but with a deep intelligence and curiosity, Douglass had to be covert in learning to read. Once he gained that ability, he took his first steps toward freedom. He eventually escaped the Maryland plantation and began a life as an abolitionist, writer, orator, and political leader.

Perhaps what is most impressive about Douglass is that he refused to savor his freedom in obscurity. He traveled, lectured, pestered, and prodded lawmakers to see reason. And he used his platform to criticize President Abraham Lincoln for, among other things, the unfair treatment of Black Union soldiers. That kind of grit and righteous indignation would be his trademark.

Douglass’ uphill climb, post-enslavement, was steep, trying to sell a concept that most of White America at the time wasn’t ready to buy: that (then and now) Black lives matter. All of God’s children, regardless of skin tone, are beloved. Douglass knew it in his bones.

Becoming unfolds like a flower at daybreak—a methodical and deeply affecting plunge into an extraordinary American life, as well as a thoughtful look at the sin of slavery. But no one said it better than Douglass himself: “I have seen the cruelty and brutality of slavery. I was a graduate from this peculiar institution, with my diploma written on my back.”