If you asked, I suspect that you would find someone you know who has some connection to those statistics. Many families have been affected by the drug crisis, which seems to be running rampant throughout the world today. And while this crisis is certainly not something new, it does seem to be growing, according to the statistics. Sometimes, the situation can seem helpless.

I have lived through the war on drugs and “Just Say No” era. I have also seen that those slogans, with all the best intentions behind them, aren’t working. But then there are the stories of people who find their way out of the dark night of drug addiction. One of those individuals is featured on page 32 of this month’s issue.

Father Michael Joseph (M.J.) Groark, OFM Cap, could have very well been one of the statistics. However, with the help of faith and the Capuchin Franciscans, Father M.J. faced his addiction and eventually found his way to the priesthood. His story is an honest look at what addiction can do to someone and the hope of making it to the other side toward recovery.

Let us pray for all those touched by the illness of addiction, that they may find peace and healing.

As the nation battles an opioid crisis, Father M.J. Groark shares his story in hopes of showing others a path to recovery and redemption.

When Michael Joseph (M.J.) Groark found the Capuchin Friars, he knew he was home. He felt called to pursue a vocation to the priesthood, but he worried they might not let him enter. Covered in tattoos, he had “a hell of a backstory,” as he puts it, centered around his addiction to opioids, heroin, and other substances.

But after hearing M.J.’s story of addiction and recovery, sin and redemption, a friar told him, “You’re going to help so many people.”

Father M.J. was vested in the habit in 2009 and ordained a Capuchin priest on December 7, 2019. Currently based in Chicago, he serves as the vocation director for the Capuchin Franciscan Province of St. Joseph. Today, he gives talks to parish groups and other ministries on his backstory, which he says he receives many requests for, given the opioid crisis in the United States today. “You name it. I’ve done it. I’ve been to the gates of hell,” Father M.J. says.

Through those darkest days, his parents’ newfound Catholic faith sustained them and would provide a lifeline to M.J. Today he testifies to the transformation that took root the day he tagged along for Mass and experienced the presence of Jesus in a palpable way.

‘A Reckless Existence’

Raised Lutheran in Sacramento, California, Father M.J. grew up in a “poor, rough neighborhood.” His parents, however, worked hard to shield him and his brothers from negative influences and give them a happy childhood. They raised them to know the Bible and Jesus.

M.J.’s introduction to drugs came in high school in Portland, Oregon. He thought he would convert the school for Jesus but quickly learned that wasn’t the way to be popular with his classmates. “That was the first time in my life where I realized how easy it is to compartmentalize God, morality, my value system, in order to feel accepted,” he recalls.

He got into sports and cliques, and his interest in God waned. “Then I got into my experimental phase. About the 10th grade, I found out what marijuana was like and drinking and chasing girls,” Father M.J. recalls.

For many young people, these phases are temporary, but for others they can be the start of a dark trajectory. “That sort of harmless, experimental phase for me went from zero to 100 real quick,” says Father M.J. By his sophomore and junior years, he was “experimenting with every substance out there”—hallucinogens, amphetamines, alcohol.

_{Some of Father M.J.’s tattoos are covered up, while others prominently feature religious imagery, a testament to his spiritual evolution.}

“I was just living a reckless kind of existence,” Father M.J. recalls. Yet he was able to fool everyone into thinking that he was OK.

“I was very good at wearing masks. I would show up to church a couple of times a month in my Sunday-best clothes and make my parents think everything was great,” says Father M.J. “I was getting 4.0 grades at school, honor roll, the whole nine yards. I was a magician at life. No one knew who the real me was and the trouble I was getting into.”

At 16, M.J. started his first job at one of the camera stores his father oversaw as a district manager. He was a natural at both photography and sales, quickly becoming a top salesperson. All the while he continued to live in extremes.

“On the weekends, I was getting blackout drunk and high. I started selling drugs and running with gang members, living this crazy lifestyle that no one knew was bubbling in the background,” Father M.J. says.

Dealing drugs gave him more money to spend on using substances and partying, and it made him popular with his peers. He did so well in school he was on the verge of graduating early. He was also earning good money working for his dad.

“The day I graduated high school I was basically making more money than any of my teachers just on my salary alone. I was very cocky and prideful,” Father M.J. remembers.

A Dangerous Descent

The day after graduation, he was promoted to manager of a store in Portland, Oregon, that grossed $5 million annually. He oversaw a staff of a dozen.

At the same time, he continued dealing and taking more dangerous drugs. He worked at the store during the day and spent the nights partying. He was promoted two more times, making his dad proud. But around this time, in 2002, things began to turn. One day a friend told M.J. about a new drug that hit the streets called OxyContin and showed him how to chop and snort it. “The first pill that I did was like heaven, or at least what I thought heaven would be like,” he recalls. “That’s how evil this stuff is. It just embraced me totally and made me feel like Superman—and loved, I suppose.”

He quickly became hooked on OxyContin, taking multiple pills a day, unable to stop. Soon, he mixed the pills with other drugs in order to get the same high. Friends overdosed and died during this time, but M.J. thought he was invincible. Then the drugs started to become more expensive and harder to get. At this point, M.J. started calling in sick to work, and the image he was so careful to maintain was slipping. Then another friend approached him with a street-level heroin.

“I immediately found relief. Those were much easier to get. I was doing up to 10 balloons of heroin a day. I was able to kind of maintain this for a while, maybe a few more months,” still calling in sick and making excuses.

_{The newly ordained Father M.J. Groark performs his first priestly blessing upon his mother, Anna.}

It all came to a head when his dad confronted him at work. It turned out his father was investigating him and had proof that his son was embezzling from the company.

“My dad is a strong man, a strong businessman, and he began to weep. That was a shocking moment for me, seeing my dad just cry,” Father M.J. says.

His father called him out and asked if he was on drugs. Instead of admitting what he had done and asking for help, he turned his back on his father and his promising future. “I’m standing there high on heroin, full of ego, and I remember being just like, ‘I don’t have time to listen to you, old man. I don’t need this crap.'”

His father fired him, and within 90 days the bank took everything he owned. M.J. ended up living on the streets of Portland.

“The last conversation that I had with either of my parents was when my dad fired me. I was so embarrassed and so addicted to heroin that I spent the next two years just eating out of trash cans, robbing people, and engaging in terrible behavior,” he says. For a period of time, he was with a woman who engaged in prostitution to support herself.

A Mother’s Prayer

When M.J. was a junior in high school, his parents had converted to Catholicism. While their son was on the streets not communicating with them, they were growing deeper in their faith. In 2006, they decided to take a pay cut and move from Vancouver, Washington, to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to work for a Catholic religious goods store.

Their faith got them through the dark times when their son was on the streets, feeding his addiction. “Our faith was all we had,” says Anna Groark, Father M.J.’s mother. “We prayed almost constantly for several years. I went to daily Mass, asked everyone I could to pray for him.”

On the day of their move to Milwaukee, Anna went back into the empty house. She pictured her son and put him in the hands of Mary at the foot of the cross. She asked Mary to either put her son in jail or take him to heaven because then she’d know he was safe.

“I did not feel peace, however, until the night I prayed for Mother Mary to intercede on his behalf that he would be delivered from whatever hell he was in, whatever that meant—either recovery or death,” Anna says today. “I felt that even death would be better than not knowing where he was or what condition he would be in.”

Around this same time, M.J. hit bottom. “I just had this moment of clarity that this was enough. So I hustled up enough change to make a phone call because we had pay phones back then. I got 35 cents and I knew my dad’s cell phone number by heart.”

It is a day he will never forget.

“My dad picks up the phone and that’s the first time we had heard each other’s voices in two years. It was 3 p.m. in Milwaukee, and they were on their knees praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet for my deliverance.”

His parents asked M.J. where he was and sent his brothers who still lived in Portland to pick him up. They took him to the airport and on a plane bound for Milwaukee. All the while, he was detoxing from the drugs. He remembers getting off the plane wearing the clothes he had been in for months. He had a thick beard and no laces on his duct-taped shoes. At first, his mom walked right past him because she didn’t recognize him. His parents had prayed hard for their son to come back to them and, when their prayers were answered, they were overwhelmed.

“We knew M.J. was in trouble, but we did not know that the trouble was heroin until the evening before he arrived,” Anna recalls. “I spent the night trying to figure out what to do with a heroin addict. It’s not something that you would ever think you need to know.”

They took him to their apartment and started calling rehabs. They had trouble finding a place to take him because he had no insurance, there were waiting lists, and some were too expensive. So his parents said a rosary.

“I’m shaking and screaming and wailing, and they are praying for me,” says Father M.J. “The next click of a mouse on Google took my mom to a website for a place called Genesis in Milwaukee.”

Genesis was run by the city of Milwaukee and didn’t charge for treatment. “It was hell on earth, and it saved my life,” recalls Father M.J. “It was just the most amazing gift God could give me to be in this place.”

He spent about two months there. When he was released, his parents thought he was going to disappear again or seek out drugs. But he surprised them by saying he was tired of being miserable and asked that they take him to their church.

_{Father M.J. chats with Anthony Brown, bread truck coordinator for Port Ministries in Chicago, which provides food for those in need.}

‘Jesus Is Here’

They took him to noon Mass at the Basilica of St. Josaphat, which is run by Conventual Franciscans, and left him in the back while they went to the front for Mass. It turned out to be another pivotal moment.

“I’m sitting in the very last pew, just totally broken and ashamed,” he remembers. “For some reason when I saw the priest with the Eucharist in his hand, it was the most real thing I’ve ever experienced. I thought, Jesus is truly here. Christ is present on this altar fully and substantially. I didn’t know that intellectually, but I knew it in my gut.”

He remembers feeling an invitation to ask Jesus for forgiveness.

“Every fiber and molecule in my body just said, ‘Run to him as fast as you can,'” Father M.J. recalls. “I didn’t know what that meant, or I didn’t even know what Catholics were, but I was 100 percent convinced that God was calling me to something.”

He held that in his heart and cried. Next, M.J. started getting his life together. He got a job and paid rent to his parents. He attended therapy and 12-step meetings. Eventually M.J. told his parents he wanted to become Catholic.

“On Easter Sunday 2007, I stood at the altar at St. Francis Church in Cedarburg, Wisconsin, and I got confirmed and I received my first Eucharist,” he says. “My parents are like levitating just watching their prodigal son come into the Church. ” Unbeknownst to his parents, when they took M.J. to Mass that first day he was out of rehab, God had started calling him to the priesthood. He broke the news on the way home from Mass the day he was received into the Church. His father almost wrecked the car.

That started a discernment period where M.J. explored becoming a priest for the archdiocese and also visited some religious orders. Nothing felt right. But one day he saw Franciscan Father Benedict Groschel talking about Father Solanus Casey. He spent that whole night searching online for everything he could find about Solanus, the Capuchins, and St. Francis of Assisi. “I started reading about Francis and I was just enthralled. I fell madly in love with this man.”

He emailed the Capuchin vocation director and met with him the next day. “He brought me to the friary in Chicago, and immediately I knew this was where I was supposed to be.”

“We were so thrilled,” recalls his mother. “I was a convert to Catholicism and Michael [my husband] was a revert. We had raised our children in the Lutheran tradition. I honestly never thought any of our three boys would be Catholic.” Now all three of her sons are Catholic.

Father M.J. knows he is one of the lucky ones to come out on the other side of opioid addiction. His is a story of hope when so many lives are lost to opioid addiction each year, one he feels called to share with others.

“It’s a story about metanoia and it’s a story about God,” he explains. “I’m the key player in this particular narrative, but really it tells me something about who God is, about God’s mercy and grace and patience, his commitment to me.”

What does the Franciscan way of life have to offer laypeople?

In 2010, I accepted the position of executive director of the Franciscan Action Network (FAN). When I interviewed for the position I was asked about my experiences working with Franciscans. My answer was: “Where I grew up, there was a Franciscan high school. I didn’t attend it, but some of my friends did.”

When I was young, my limited understanding of St. Francis centered around the blessing of the animals on his feast day, statues of St. Francis at the birdbath, and the stories the nuns told about St. Francis talking to the birds. When I graduated from high school, two of my friends who attended the Franciscan high school left to enter a Franciscan seminary. My mother challenged me, asking if I was also feeling God calling me to be a Franciscan. My snarky response was, “If God calls me, I am going to tell him he has the wrong number.”

Franciscan Lifestyle

When I accepted the position at FAN, I was somewhat apprehensive. I had only a rudimentary understanding of who Francis of Assisi was and what it meant to be Franciscan. I decided that if I was going to do this, it had to be more than just a job that I did from 9 to 5 and then went home. It had to be a commitment to a lifestyle.

This became especially obvious a week after I accepted the offer, when Sister Margaret Mary Kimmins, the FAN board president, called to tell me they had run out of money and could not afford to pay me. But she hoped I would still take the position. I guessed that the poverty part was going to start early. But as Father Murray Bodo says of Francis, “Poverty was never an end in itself, but a means to the indwelling of God and a way of life that makes present the kingdom of God.”

When I expressed my apprehension to Sister Margaret Mary, she simply said, “Let me share a story.” She told a joke about two priests—a Jesuit and a Franciscan—who were fishing. They noticed a person drowning across the river. The Jesuit started to calculate the wind speed, the water current, how much energy it would take for him to swim out, and how much strength he would need to pull the person back. The Franciscan jumped in the water and realized he had no idea how to swim. Sister Margaret Mary told me not to worry, just jump in the water and trust the Holy Spirit to guide you. She went on to become my good friend and mentor.

Jumping Into the River

This decision wasn’t something I could make on my own. Many years earlier, Stella and I formed a life partnership when we fell in love and got married. Our relationship was anything but typical. Stella was a single mom when we first started dating. So our decisions, our lifestyles, our commitments didn’t just involve two adults starting out together; they involved a 7-year-old as well. Stella and I built a very comfortable life together.

At the time, we both had good jobs and made decent money. We had a nice house and got to go on vacations to Disney World. Our older daughter, Dina, was thinking about college while our younger daughter, Jenna, was a preteen starting to exert her independence. In short, we were the stereotypical White, comfortable, middle-class family.

One day, Stella read an article about the need for foster parents and said, “We should do this.” We didn’t spend a lot of time thinking and discerning; we just jumped into the river. The agency asked us if we would think about taking in two children, a brother and sister who were considered challenging to place as they were a little older and African American. A year later we adopted Delvon and Briana.

As Father Murray said in his book The Way of St. Francis, “Francis spent the rest of his life drawing people out from behind the comfortable walls of their boredom.” Our life went from being comfortable to being transformed. We had to rethink our own attitudes and beliefs. St. Clare challenges us to become a mirror of Christ: to reflect Christ in our lives, to help build up the body of Christ through transformation in love.

But if we were going to become a mirror of Christ, we first had to look into the mirror. Stella and I realized that we had to rethink parenting. We began to understand that parenting White children was very different from parenting Black children. We never had to have “the talk” with our White children. We didn’t worry about our White children being pulled over by the police for simply driving while Black or teachers who singled out our Black children whenever there was a disruption in the class.

As an activist who regularly participated in marches and rallies, I thought I understood racism. Looking in the mirror, I began to realize that I really didn’t understand. After some discernment, we made a decision not only to adopt Delvon and Briana but to open our home to other children as well. In addition to taking in other foster kids, we welcomed friends of our children who needed a safe haven.

Invisible People

Francis believed that the Gospels were not a series of static stories about historical events that we read each Sunday so we can feel good about ourselves. The Gospel was and is a way of life. Many of us believe that we first have to be in right relationship with God, which we often equate with piety. Then after we are in right relationship with God, we can work on being in right relationship with creation. But Francis, in his writings and his life, suggests that we must first be in right relationship with all of God’s beautiful and wondrous creation. Only then can we enter into right relationship with God.

Stella and I had to think about what that meant. We were already following the Gospel, but were we living the Gospel? Our parish had a program where people would donate clothing for the poor and homeless. We set out collection boxes, and someone would gather them up and take them to a homeless shelter. One day, several of us were sorting through the coats. One of our team mentioned reading about a woman who made a big pot of soup every Sunday and brought it to a bridge where the homeless congregate to serve them.

Ann Deennean, who was considered a quiet leader in our church, spoke up. She told us to remember that when St. Francis went to help the lepers, he didn’t bring food and clothes and leave them at the outskirts of the leper colony. He entered into a relationship with them; he listened to their stories and learned their names. In doing so, he was transformed.

We decided to stop dropping off stuff at the back door of a homeless shelter and go to the bridge where we could spend time with the homeless people, learn their names, share their stories, and pray with them, not for them. In doing so, while we were helping the poor, we were becoming like St. Francis.

I carried that lesson with me when I moved to Washington, DC. Each morning when I arrived at the Metro station I encountered a homeless man. He had a sign saying he was a homeless vet and needed help. He would stand there saying “Good morning” and “God bless you” to the crowds of people who passed through the station. Sometimes I put a dollar in his can.

One morning I stopped and asked him his name. He said it was John and went on to share his story. Every day after that as I was walking into the station I would say, “Good morning, John. How are you today?” One day he said to me: “You know, I am invisible. Every single day I am invisible to thousands of people who pass by me. But not to you. You see me. Why are you different?”

After that encounter, I started packing extra peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apples, and maybe some extra granola bars. As I made my way through DC, I would stop and talk with homeless people, learn their names, listen to their stories, and share my food.

Care for Creation

Stella and I decided that if we were going to be in right relationship with creation—if we were going to “be Franciscan” and really believe in the interconnectedness of creation—we had to start with changes to our own lifestyle.

St. Francis lived a life of total ecological integrity. He did not separate the spiritual from the material. He viewed the earth and all nature as God’s creation, a place of continual incarnation. He considered all of creation to be his brothers and sisters.

Food is a key factor in determining lifestyle. What kind of food we eat, where we get our food, and how we prepare it all help define our relationship with creation. So Stella and I eat a mostly plant-based diet. We try as much as possible to buy all our food locally at farmers’ markets. We get to spend wonderful Saturday mornings meeting with and sharing the stories of the farmers who grow our food. When we sit down and give thanks for our food, we feel more connected knowing where it came from. We also try not to waste food. When we trim our vegetables, we save the ends and skins and make broth. We strain the veggies and add them to our compost.

I planted a small garden in my backyard. I had visions of growing lots of vegetables and inviting friends over to share in wonderful feasts from the fruits of my garden. I soon realized that instead I was feeding rabbits, birds, squirrels, and the hedgehog who took up residence under my shed. At first I was angry and started researching ways to keep the critters out.

One morning I noticed a squirrel gingerly scooting across the top of my fence so he could get close enough to pull a nearly ripe tomato off the vine. I saw birds swoop down and pick up the parts of the tomato that the squirrel had dropped. I spied a rabbit skillfully finding a tiny crack in the fence so she could get in and feed on the spinach leaves.

I realized my vision had come true: I had grown a garden and was sharing it with my friends. Stella and I intentionally looked for a place to live that was energy efficient, large enough to offer hospitality to folks who needed a place to stay, and close enough to walk to work and stores. We felt that following in the footsteps of St. Francis meant reducing our carbon footprint as much as possible. So we found a house where we could welcome travelers who were coming to DC with a bed, a good meal, and a glass of wine.

We have welcomed folks coming to protest and maybe get arrested with me the next day. Others come in for work or maybe to visit their children at college. Some stay a night, others for a week, and one for almost a year. Some we have known and others we meet for the first time. They all become family when they enter our home.

We gave up one of our cars and use the remaining one sparingly. This not only helps the environment but also makes us more aware of our surroundings.

The Gospel Way of Life

My parents were Irish Catholic immigrants who came to America in 1950. They got off the boat with nothing: no money, no education, and no real job skills. What they did have was a strong faith and a commitment to justice, like St. Francis.

Being Franciscan is not about wearing a brown or gray habit or a Tau cross. It is a way of living, choosing to embrace all creation, not being a passive observer or a victim. For St. Francis, prayer was a way of life, a way of being. If I look in the mirror and I don’t see Christ, how can I expect to be the image of Christ to others?

Not everyone is called to be a professed Franciscan. But everyone is called to be Franciscan.

There is a path to deeper connection and inner peace if you incorporate the rosary into your daily life.

Growing up as a Protestant kid in the southern United States, I hardly knew what a rosary was, much less how to pray with one. The circular strand of beads seemed to me no more than a collector’s item or baseless superstition. I didn’t know the rosary had a methodology based on Jesus’ life until I went through the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA) at age 30.

By the time I became Catholic, I no longer felt skeptical of the rosary but had no real intention of taking up the practice either. In my early years in the Church, I was given a few sets of beads by enthusiastic cradle Catholics and by my Baptist mother, who admired their beauty in antique stores. But it always felt like a tradition I stood outside of, as though by merit of my conversion I was somehow disqualified from this seemingly complicated set of prayers that my peers had memorized long ago.

But eventually Mary worked her charm on me, and I began longing for a way to incorporate my love for her into my prayer life. I wondered about the rosary: Could this ancient, repetitive practice really hold value for my spiritual life as a modern woman? In some ways it felt doubtful. Yet if the Catholic Church had taught me anything, it was not to discount something because of its age; often the oldest traditions stand the test of time for good reason.

Universal Appeal

The origins of the rosary are muddled to say the least, but we do know pieces of its evolution. Sometime around the year 1221, the Virgin Mary appeared to St. Dominic and urged him to pray the rosary to combat a popular heresy called Albigensianism, which taught that physical matter, including the human body, was evil. Following that apparition, St. Dominic and the Dominican Order played a major role in promoting the rosary all over the world.

That Mary would give her followers a physical tool to help assure them and others of the holiness of the material world feels apropos in the Catholic faith, where Jesus embodied both heaven and earth and where we treasure the sacraments as visible signs of God at work in a world of matter and senses. But interestingly, Catholicism is not the only religion to use prayer beads: Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Sikhism, and others have their own variations as well. It seems there is something in the human spirit that gravitates to the repetition and tactile nature of this particular prayer aid.

This was a comforting thing for me to discover as my interest in the rosary grew. Despite the fact that I had not memorized all the scripted prayers and felt helpless to keep the different mysteries straight, the universality of prayer beads helped me believe that my desire to cultivate this practice was not in vain. If millions of people throughout the generations and spanning many religious cultures had found value in it or something similar, surely there was spiritual treasure waiting for me with the rosary.

Eventually, and completely by surprise, I came across a book written by a non-Christian couple who had cultivated an unlikely spiritual connection with Mary through praying the rosary. OK, I finally told myself, if people who are not even Catholic can pray the rosary in a more or less traditionally Catholic way, then surely I can do it, too, no matter how intimidating it seems. I decided to give it a try.

Discovering What Works

Suspecting this could be a devotion that would take a long time to settle into, I committed to praying the rosary every day for one year—and good thing, too, for the learning curve was indeed lengthy. In the beginning I printed out the less familiar prayers so as not to forget them, then later decided to omit the optional ones to keep it simple. Some days I listened to audio recitations to help jog my failing memory. I tried out variations of the wording until I found the form that suited me best.

For a task that sounds so simple—”pray the rosary”—finding my footing took many weeks. But I was surprised to discover that I had a great deal of patience with the process. It somehow felt right to be fumbling my way into this ancient practice, figuring out how to make it feel genuine and authentic to me as a 21st-century millennial woman. After all, anything worth doing is worth doing wholeheartedly. Had I slipped into the rhythm more easily, it likely would not have impacted me so deeply.

It didn’t feel very deep in the beginning. For quite some time, it was a pretty black-and-white way to pray, a near daily experience that was not unwelcome but not particularly transformative either.

Most nights I would tuck my preschoolers into their bunk beds, settle into the rocking chair in the corner of their room, reach behind me to pull the wooden rosary from the shoulder of the chair, and commence my recitations without experiencing much on the inside. Yet even though there were no lightning bolts from heaven, there was something about the practice that centered me.

As I recited the prayers above the dull murmur of my boys’ whispers and wiggles, I felt the stress of the day slowly leave my mind and body. And I wasn’t the only one calmed by the practice: The repetition stilled my children as well, and like clockwork they would both be asleep by the final Hail Mary.

A Feminine Practice

It’s not surprising that praying the rosary fit so seamlessly into my life as a mother. Although plenty of men have benefited from a commitment to the practice, it has been women who have clung most loyally to the little beads throughout the generations. The image of the Catholic grandmother fingering her rosary while working in the kitchen may be clich é, but it is one for a reason.

Praying with the rosary is a spiritual discipline that fits what has historically been the female lifestyle, one that revolves around caring for children and the elderly, surrounded by community, or busied with work in the house or kitchen. While women today have many diverse options for how our daily lives look, the women of previous generations spent much of their time in caregiving and homemaking capacities—a way of life that doesn’t easily lend itself to hours of silence and contemplation.

In my research I learned there may be reason to believe that discrepancies in prayer approaches can be traced back to the hunting and gathering lifestyle of the ancients. What we typically think of as contemplation—sitting still in silence—may have originated from our male ancestors crouching in quiet solitude for hours while out hunting.

Prayer beads, on the other hand, may have emerged from women gathering berries in community with other women and children. While men found themselves alone with hours of silence for meditative prayer, women sought a spiritual practice that could be integrated within the hustle and bustle of their noisier days. Thus, rosaries are a seamless way for a group to pray together in unity or for a woman to pray while stirring a pot of soup with one hand. In my own experience, praying beside my smallest children as they fall asleep is the most natural time in the rhythm of my day.

Opening to the Spirit

As the weeks of my rosary experiment turned into months, I slowly began to notice changes in my experience. I began thinking about how any form of prayer can be made into a superstition if we use it as a bartering tool against God. However, if we accept that prayer might not necessarily change circumstances but can always change us, then a world of spiritual growth opens.

After half a year of praying a daily rosary, my unconscious state became more free as I spoke the words aloud. I noticed my mind wandering to events of the day or conversations that I’d had, and suddenly I would see them in a slightly new way or arrive at novel insights I’d previously missed. As my mind and spirit gradually relaxed into the repetition, I experienced small but not inconsequential phenomena.

One such surprise was the occasional Freudian slip. For example, one particular night when my boys had a hard time winding down, I continued my prayers in the rocking chair while feeling frustrated and annoyed.

Firmly resolving to make it through the entire rosary despite their rambunctious chatter, I was surprised that what accidentally came out of my mouth was “Blessed is the fruit of my womb” rather than the prescribed words to Mary, “Blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Caught off guard at my own slip, I immediately felt recentered in love for my kids, no matter how disruptive, awake, and unruly they were. Speaking an unexpected blessing over them brought me back to a sense of affection and gratitude.

Moments like those did not happen every time, of course, but I did experience noteworthy thoughts or so-called “lightbulb” moments fairly regularly. The practice of making my unconscious self available to the Holy Spirit made its mark, and I found myself wanting to experience it more and more.

An Invitation

As Christians, many of our religious practices revolve around conscious and intentional actions; we make specific choices like attending Mass, partaking of the sacraments, reading Scripture, and praying through a list of intentions. But we don’t always avail ourselves of the practices that allow the Holy Spirit to invade our consciousness and bring us to greater awareness of our own inner life.

There are many such practices within the Catholic tradition: Ignatian prayer, centering prayer, and eucharistic adoration. But praying the rosary might be the most underestimated of them all. For on the surface it may look like mindless repetition—even superstition. But for those who are open to it, the rosary is an invitation for the Spirit to introduce new awareness of God’s presence—and a chance for us to respond to that presence in ways that might permanently change us.

The Joyful Mysteries and Their Fruits
traditionally prayed on Mondays and Saturdays

Annunciation: Humility
Visitation: Love of Neighbor
Nativity of Jesus: Poverty of Spirit
The Presentation: Obedience
Finding Jesus in the Temple: Piety

The Sorrowful Mysteries and Their Fruits
traditionally prayed on Tuesdays and Fridays

Agony in the Garden: Conformity to the Will of God
Scourging at the Pillar: Mortification
Crowning of Thorns: Moral Courage
Carrying the Cross: Patience
Crucifixion: Salvation

The Glorious Mysteries and Their Fruits
traditionally prayed on Sundays and Wednesdays

Jesus’ Resurrection: Faith
The Ascension: Hope
Descent of the Holy Spirit: Wisdom
Assumption of Mary: Devotion to Mary
Coronation of the Blessed Virgin Mary: Eternal Happiness

The Luminous Mysteries and Their Fruits
traditionally prayed on Thursdays

Baptism of Jesus: Openness to the Spirit
Wedding at Cana: Mary’s Intercession
Jesus Proclaims the Kingdom: Repentance and Trust in God
Transfiguration: Desire for Holiness
Institution of the Eucharist: Adoration

Parenting doesn’t stop just because your child grows up. But our roles will change, evolve, and deepen with God’s help.

Is there anyone more idealistic than the parents of a newborn? We looked at that baby in endless fascination, overcome with awe and with fear: awe at the mystery of life and this creation that we held in our hands and fear of the responsibility for raising this child to adulthood. At some point in this mixture of emotion we promised to that child and to ourselves that we would be perfect—or near perfect—parents, for this newborn babe deserved nothing less.

We were determined to pass on to this child all the values that are most important to us, including our Catholic faith. Then, we believed in all innocence and ignorance, when our child reached adulthood, our parenting responsibilities would be completed. We would reap our just rewards and, with humble gratitude, receive the honor and adulation of family and friends.

But then, as one parent described it, “Life banged us up against mystery.” We learned very soon of our own imperfections and limitations and of the definite personality of our child. Now, instead of the realization of our dreams, we are confronted with crisis.

Despite our efforts and our waiting times of faith, despite years of words and example and prayers, we are in a situation that we never envisioned. The details vary: We have a son who has married into another Christian denomination. Our daughter is pregnant and not married. Our son is living a materialistic, no-time-for-religion lifestyle. Our daughter has become a Jew (or Buddhist or Muslim or…). Our son has “come out” and is in a gay relationship. Our daughter is getting another divorce. Our son is into drugs and has severed all ties with our family. The list of possibilities seems endless.

We are heartbroken. We feel both guilty and betrayed. Our pain is deep. We struggle with knowing how to respond. How do we sustain a relationship with our child? Or should we?

Letting Go

When we parents are confronted with an adult child who decides to go in a different direction, we are often glibly told, “Let go!”

But let go of what? The relationship? Dreams? Guilt? Love? Embarrassment? The desire to be friends with our child? Anger? Feelings of failure? Disappointment? Our values? Communication? The pain? Our integrity? The memories? Our hopes? Resentment? Everything?

Having survived our child’s adolescence, we know how little control we have over our adult offspring. While we may harbor a remnant of desire for control, most of us are quite ready to enter into an adult relationship with this person in whom we’ve invested so much. We cannot erase the joy-filled memories. Dreams do persist. The longing for a close relationship remains. Hope and love continue beyond all reason. As Saint Paul reminds us, “Love never fails” (1 Corinthians 13:8). That is true of God’s love for us and our love for our child.

So What about ‘Letting Go’?

Desire to control may linger out of habit, for we’ve had responsibility for this child for many years. Letting go of control is not difficult when our adult child is mature, well-established in a profession, married to someone of whom we approve, faithfully practices the Catholic faith, lives an approved lifestyle and still has time to honor us appropriately.

Letting go of control when the situation is, according to our expectations, not acceptable is another matter. We wonder, is this our last opportunity to influence our child? If we don’t control our child’s behavior, will we lose both the child and the relationship? Are we responding out of guilt or resentment or parental pride? Is it possible that we need to maintain control because, deep down, we really don’t believe in God?

Unfortunately, just feeling that we must be in the director’s place may contribute to the problem! Intellectually, we know that parenting is the vocation of weaning a child to independence—physical, psychological, spiritual. However, there also comes a time when we need to wean ourselves, not only from our desire to control, but also from feelings of responsibility, from guilt and embarrassment, from resentment and anger.

We did the best we could with what we had at the time. We love our child and we have always wanted to be good parents—we were and still are!

So we are not to let go of parenting, which has merely shifted into another phase, one as important as all the preceding phases.

Our parenting continues through the example of our actions: To our child, we remain the prime example of love, of faith in God and the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

In addition, we set the tone for how others respond to situations, for siblings and friends and the extended family often take their cue from us.

‘I Surrender!’

As we have taught Christianity, so we are now to be Christianity toward our own child. As we have taught acceptance and respect for all people, so we are now to accept and respect our child and that child’s decisions and lifestyle. As we have taught God’s all-embracing love and mercy, so we are now to embody that love and mercy toward our own child. Blessed Pope John XXIII said, “Remember that Christ’s eighth sacrament is you.”

We are to let go of control, of resentment and anger and pain and, yes, even of dreams and goals that are ours but not our child’s. None of us is to be held rigid by the bonds of either memory or wishful daydreaming, no matter how loving those bonds or praiseworthy those dreams.

Some people perceive letting go as passive and weak behavior, an admission of defeat. They’ve never tried it! Often we do not let go until we have exhausted all other actions and in absolute desperation cry out, “I surrender! I don’t know what else to do. I give my child back to you, God!”

We are not mouthing the words—it is a wrenching heart cry emanating from our core being. In that exact instant, even though the situation has not changed, we have!

In letting go, we are eloquently enumerating our beliefs: We are recognizing that God is active in all our lives. We are affirming our child as a unique creature of God who is directed by the Holy Spirit. We are making an act of absolute faith and trust in God. We are moving from the parent/child relationship to an adult/adult relationship. We are opening ourselves to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and to continued learning and growing. We are admitting that, while we don’t understand God’s ways, we do believe in the miraculous working power of the Divine.

Paradoxically, letting go of control, of feelings of guilt and responsibility and regret, can be the most positive action available. We are affirming that we are no longer responsible for our child’s actions.

Letting go of our dreams and parental goals makes room for our child’s dreams and life goals. Letting go creates space for relationships to change and mature. Letting go allows us to cast off negative thought patterns, becoming open to new and creative ways of relating, imaginative ways of loving.

Our Fears

A spiritual director I know says, “When a parent comes to me, concerned about an apparently wayward adult child, my first question is, ‘What do you, the parent, fear?’”

A good starting point in any quandary is to ask ourselves, “What do I fear? What is my deepest concern?”

Ingrained in the minds of some parents of fallen-away Catholics is a despair of salvation for their own children. Memories and rumors and handed-down sayings continue to haunt us, like ghosts delighting to appear when we are most fragile and vulnerable. Thankfully, the Church has officially corrected such distorted theology—theology that painted an insultingly unloving picture of God. As the Second Vatican Council assured us, God wills the salvation of everyone!

God is not the avenging judge, the meticulous record-keeper, the harsh disciplinarian. God judges and disciplines with mercy and loving kindness. God does not and will not abandon us or our children. God is love—inclusive, radical love. When we wander astray, God never forbids our return. When our child wanders astray, God never forbids that child’s return but instead promises an open welcome.

Of course we are all God’s children, each of us loved more than we can possibly comprehend. Of course God is bigger than any one church or group or religion. Of course someone can be saved even if that person does not know Christ or his Church.

And of course we continue to pray, praying prayers that reflect this theology of love. We pray that our daughter has the courage to be open to the wisdom of the Holy Spirit. We pray that our son is sensitive to God’s call, whatever that call may be. We pray that we ourselves are liberated from the fears that rule our narrowness of thought, for faith is broader than religion.

Our fears may also be of matters quite practical. We may fear that our empty nest will be called upon to house grown children and energetic grandchildren. We may fear for the physical safety of our gay son. We may fear that this latest crisis will cause deep divisions within the family. We may fear for the financial security of the family.

These matters do indeed need to be addressed. We turn to the Serenity Prayer to help us determine what is under our control and what is not—and then tend to those matters we can, relying on available resources and assistance. We do not hesitate to call on others for help, for that is community. The rest of our fears we place in God’s hands.

Fulfilling God’s Dreams

Another common fear is the loss of a dream. All people have hopes and dreams of the future, but parents have them in abundance. Raising a child is an act of faith into the forever-future. This faith comes accompanied with wonderful, joy-filled, laudable dreams of what is to come! Our dreams provide goals and consolation, sustaining us through both difficult times and the dailyness of parenting.

We have dreams that affirm us as good, dedicated parents: our child following in the family business, our child’s children united with us in the practice of our Catholic faith, our child a close and loving friend, our child ordained or in the religious life, our family as our solace in old age.

Unfortunately, dreams can also become roadblocks in the unfolding of our child’s personality and talents, especially when the very giftedness of our child does not conform to our dream. The macho dad has a violin-playing, ballet-loving son. The artsy-craftsy homemaker’s daughter is a radical feminist. We look at some families and cringe at God’s sense of humor.

Dreams may help sustain us during the tough times. When our dreams conflict with reality, however, they can blind us to the Spirit’s gifts within our child. As a father who is a biblical scholar is fond of saying, “God forbids graven images of the Divine. We parents should do likewise—our children are not to be images of us.” Children are not to become clones of parents; neither are they to be the fulfillment of our personal dreams or goals. Children are to be the fulfillment of God’s dreams for them. We cannot hold our children in bondage to our wishful daydreams, no matter how loving we consider those dream-bonds.

But relinquishing our dreams can be extremely painful. To dream of being united with our child and that child’s family in a close relationship is a most worthy dream. Many parents do enjoy such relationships, but not all.

The ‘Perfect’ Parent

How do we define success in parenting?

Our worth as a person is not dependent upon our child’s accomplishments; our identity as a person is not dependent upon our “success” as a parent. We are of value not because of our achievements or those of our child; we are of value because we are God’s creatures, created in the image and likeness of God, totally loved by God. All else is secondary!

Parenting is the unveiling of the wonderful mystery of God’s creation that has been entrusted to us; success becomes a matter known only to God. God notes our efforts that seem fruitless, our frustrations of not knowing what to do, our faithfulness in loving. God sees our own childhood scars, the pressures of culture, our fatigue as we age, the times we have sought support and were disappointed by family and friends and even Church.

God sees all this and continues to hold us in love. To God, we—and our child—are never failures!

Brother Massimo, born in Rome in 1963, professed his final vows in 1989 and was ordained a priest later that year. Before being elected as minister of his province, he had animated the friar community at San Francesco a Ripa in Trastevere (Rome) and led its parishioners and others in ministering to immigrants, those with addictions, and other marginalized people. For three years Brother Massimo had helped friars in six northern Italian OFM provinces to become St. Anthony Province in 2016.

Brother Massimo became the 121st successor of St. Francis to lead the Order of Friars Minor. He follows Brother Michael Perry (Sacred Heart Province, United States), who served as minister general since 2013. In his homily at the general chapter’s final Mass, Brother Massimo said that we thank the Lord on our faith journey because “he puts so many people in our path, especially those who are most despised and lonely, the small and the poor, those impoverished by life, the discarded. In their school, he makes us once again attentive to the Gospel and its power already at work in us.”

Brother Isauro Covili Linfati from Chile was elected vicar general on July 14, followed the next day by the election of general councilors from Bissau, Brazil, Colombia, Guinea, Italy, Malaysia, Malta, Poland, and Switzerland.

Brother Tom Nairn, minister of Sacred Heart Province in the United States and president of the English-Speaking Conference (ESC), says: “Although I had never met Massimo prior to the general chapter, my interactions with him during the chapter have given me a favorable impression of him. I look forward to working with him and the others who have been elected to our general government as we continue to put the priorities of the order into practice.”

The ESC currently includes seven US provinces, one each in Canada, Ireland, Lithuania, and Malta, plus one custody each in Great Britain and the United States.

Brother Mark Soehner, minister of St. John the Baptist Province and ESC vice president, describes the new minister general as “warm, confident, and clear about his mandate from the general chapter to continue to revitalize the order.” He especially supported the creation in 2023 of a new US province from six of the seven existing ones.

Video source: Rome Reports

Every general chapter has the right to indicate priorities for all the friars until the next general chapter. The 2021 chapter’s final document identifies what the Holy Spirit is inviting the friars to offer the Church and society at large.

They should clearly show the order’s “two lungs” (fraternity and being lesser brothers to all) while offering more assistance to their refugee sisters and brothers. The friars should use the encyclicals “Laudato Si’” and “Fratelli Tutti” as guides for animating their renewal in the next six years.

They should cooperate fully with Church and civil authorities to safeguard minors and vulnerable adults. The friars should be “missionary disciples,” open to being evangelized by the people to whom they are sent. They must always recognize that the “cry of the earth” and the “cry of the poor” are closely connected.

Article 10 of the document points to the order’s founder as a source of direction: “The people of God demand more from us by virtue of our public commitment to be lesser brothers after the example of St. Francis.” The document expresses that Franciscans must be ready to make changes within their friaries and provinces, including internal governance changes to fulfill their mission more effectively.

Franciscans need to renew their approach to initial and ongoing (lifelong) formation and to embrace the future energetically rather than simply keep reviewing the past. In article 41, the document states, “In an age distinguished by increasing sectarianism, violence, and division, the friars need to provide a prophetic witness of universal fraternity to a world in need of such a model.”

Touching Hearts through Mercy

In his Zoom message to chapter members on July 17, Pope Francis referenced St. Francis’ embrace of a man suffering from leprosy and added: “This encounter with the least and the suffering, in the name of mercy, is the very root of your spirituality. God touched Francis’ heart through the mercy offered to a brother, and he continues to touch our hearts through the encounter with others, especially with the most needy.”

Pope Francis encouraged the friars to live out the general chapter’s theme: “Arise, and Christ will give you light” (Eph 5:14).