#catechists

[postcard-from-the-past]

School of Christian catechists in Saigon, modern-day Ho Chi Minh City, southern Vietnam

French vintage postcard

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT CLELIA BARBIERI The Foundress of the Congregation of the 'Suore Minime dell'Addolorata' Feast Day: July 13

Clelia was born in the town of Le Budrie, in the Diocese of Bologna, on February 13, 1847, of very religious parents, Giuseppe Barbieri and Giacinta Nanetti. Her fellow villagers and neighbours eked out a meager living by the work of their hands, but, because of the lack of resources, were often ill. When Clelia was eight her father died of cholera.

The young girl learned from her mother not only how to sew and weave wool, but, more importantly, how to love God and live a religious life. She often asked her mother: 'Tell me about God,' or 'What can I do to become holy?'

She regularly went to church, and spent time at prayer.

She earnestly applied herself to the study of the catechism. By nature she was gentle and sweet, and remarkably innocent. When she wove hemp for marketing, she used to say to her mother who was urging her on to greater speed: 'Mother, we're being paid for this work, so we have to do it as well as we can.'

She developed her soul and mind by spiritual readings, especially the work of Saint Alphonsus Liguori entitled Pratica di amare Gesù Cristo, and the Filotea of Giuseppe Riva. She availed herself of the competent spiritual guidance of Don Gaetano Guidi, pastor of the town of Le Budrie, and with his help made great strides forward in love of God and Christian perfection.

Urged on by this man of God and her own natural inclinations, she wanted to dedicate herself entirely to the service and well-being of her fellow human beings. With this in mind she and other young people of the town began to work zealously at helping the poor and instructing the young in Christian doctrine.

After Vespers on Sundays she and her three companions met regularly and they would speak together about God. Gradually they decided upon sharing a common life.

'We're so poor,' Clelia used to say, 'that we won't be accepted into any institute. So we'll join together in a common life, dedicating ourselves entirely to God and neighbour.'

As a result, on May 1, 1864, the four young girls, trusting in God alone, moved into a small house, locally known as 'The Master's House.' There they established a quiet place withdrawn from the world, called 'The Retreat of Le Budrie', which is rightly considered the cradle of the Congregation of the Minims of the Sorrowful Virgin.

At first the primary concern of the members was to care for girls deserted or neglected by their parents, and train them in good living and domestic work. A little later, during a retreat, Clelia wrote a rule of common life, which stressed prayer, sacrifice, work and love.

The group of sisters chose as their patrons the Sorrowful Virgin Mary, whose devotion the Friar Servants of Mary had fostered in the Diocese of Bologna, and Saint Francis of Paola, the most humble of the servants of God whose help they sought in the necessities of life. Gaetano Guidi, the pastor, appointed Clelia superior of the group, for God had enriched her with heavenly gifts.

This is shown by the only handwritten letter of hers which we have, a letter entitled 'Jesus, my beloved Spouse'.

Meanwhile, while Clelia progressed rapidly through the stages of sanctity, the first stages of tuberculosis appeared in her fragile body. For seven months she was confined to bed.

Her prophesized words were: 'I'm leaving, but I'll never abandon you. You will grow in number, and you will expand over plains and mountains to work in the vineyard of the Lord. The day will come when here at 'Budrie' many will arrive with carriages and horses.'

Finally, on July 13, 1870, after saying: "Be of good cheer! I'm going to Paradise, but I'll always be with you, and never desert you!"

She went to the Lord. She was 23 when she reunited with Christ in heaven.

On the first anniversary of her death, as if in fulfilment of her promise, while her companions were gathered in prayer in what had been her bedroom, a voice-which all present thought to be that of Clelia-was heard responding to the prayers of the sisters.

From this modest beginning, the Congregation of the Minims of the Sorrowful Virgin grew.

Clelia was beatified by Pope Paul VI on October 27, 1968. Her body is venerated in the chapel of the Congregation's motherhouse at Le Budrie. She is canonized a saint by St. John Paul II on April 9, 1989.

[carmelitequotes]

Quote of the day, 27 January: St. Henry de Ossó

Expanding women's vocations to embrace new apostolates, such as organizational roles, brings renewed value to women's commitment within the Church. Saint Henry de Ossó championed this approach. Visit our blog to learn more!

The expansion of the women’s apostolate to new ministries that go beyond the tradition of youth education and health care gives a new value to women’s commitment within the Church. Women’s congregations emerged by preaching the Word, catechesis, and leading spiritual exercises. Some women even founded men’s congregations, thus implying the spiritual magisterium over priests. The promotion of…

[books-typo-and-so-on]

By Maurice Timothy Reidy

June 25, 2024

full text below, due to paywall. Bolded emphases added.

When Pope Francis gave a firm “no” to women deacons in an interview with Norah O’Donnell of “60 Minutes” in May, but noted quickly that “women have always had…the function of deaconesses,” my mind traveled back to November of last year, when I made a visit to the Dominican Republic and saw the work of one of these women firsthand. I also thought of my colleague Colleen Dulle, who recently visited Argentina with the Pontifical Mission Societies and encountered catechists, many of them women, who bring the Gospel to the shanty towns in Buenos Aires and the mountain towns beyond

I offer these reflections as a way to understand the context of the pope’s remarks, and to think about the ministry he is calling all of us to consider.

El Cercado is a mountain town in the Dominican Republic not far from the Haitian border. I traveled there with my godfather, the Rev. John I. Cervini, a priest of the Diocese of Rockville Centre on Long Island, who spent 17 years there as pastor to the community. Rockville Centre is one of several U.S. dioceses with mission parishes in “the D.R.”

The Church of San Pedro Apóstol is located across from the town square in El Cercado, but we stayed a short drive away at a retreat center built by “Padre Juan” and his pastoral team, with support from benefactors in Long Island. It’s a beautiful setting, with views of the mountains and a prayer garden with the Stations of the Cross. In the mornings we drank coffee in the cantina; at night we drank Presidentes on the roof deck.

One of the images that remains with me from my stay is the gazebo at the entrance to the retreat house and the paintings inside, hanging in a circle from the gazebo’s roof. Each depicted a tongue of fire and represented one of 14 districts in the surrounding area that oversaw 85 “basic ecclesial communities.” Community leaders would gather at the gazebo for days of pastoral planning and spiritual reflection and then return home to carry out their mission.

The history of these base ecclesial communities goes back to the meeting of Latin American bishops in Medellín, Colombia, in 1968. They were also supported by the theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez, who brought together pastoral workers from around Latin America to train them in evangelization and community organizing.

One of those leaders is Joana Peterson, a lay minister from the United States who has spent over 40 years in the Dominican Republic. She is a critical part of the pastoral team at San Pedro Apóstol, visiting seniors, working with the local Fe y Alegría schools and training local residents in sustainable farming techniques. She is an ever-present, respected presence in the community, and the bishop is known to seek her counsel.

Strong lay leadership is also a feature of church life in Argentina. One of the takeaways from Colleen’s trip, which she shared on a recent episode of America’s “Inside the Vatican” podcast, is the key role played by catechists in spreading the faith where priests are scarce. This is no doubt why Pope Francis decided to elevate catechists to an official ministry of the church in 2021. He knows how essential they are to the church in his home country.

We are spoiled in the United States. We have grown used to having priests available to say Mass on weekdays and multiple Masses on Sundays. That is changing, of course, and we are beginning to understand how the church has survived in other countries without a steady supply of priestly vocations. Especially in Latin America, laypeople have played a critical role, leading communities and carrying out the corporal and spiritual works of mercy.

Women have always been part of that picture. I think that is what Pope Francis means when he says that “we have always had” deaconesses. In other words, “we have always had” non-ordained women committed to lives of service, women like Joana and like the catechists Colleen met in Argentina.

By elevating the role of the catechist in church life, Pope Francis tried to recognize the essential contribution of lay ministers. He was also reminding us that ministry in the church is not the responsibility of the ordained alone. We are all called to serve, and sometimes, I think, Pope Francis is suggesting that discussions about ordination can distract from that.

Of course, ordination is a question that will continue to be discussed, even if Pope Francis has made his thoughts on women deacons known. But if the only debate sparked by our vocations crisis is about ordination, of women or married men, I think that’s a missed opportunity. We all have to find ways to serve the church. The sooner we discern how to do that, the healthier our church will be.

Speaking of leadership, our editor, Sam Sawyer, S.J., is currently away on tertianship, the final stage of Jesuit formation. He will return to this space in the October issue.

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Robert Bellarmine

Doctor of the Church

1542 - 1621 Feast day: September 17 Patronage: canonists, canon lawyers, catechists, catechumens, Archdiocese of Cincinnati

Saint Robert Bellarmine was an Italian Jesuit and a Cardinal of the Catholic Church. He was one of the most important figures in the Counter-Reformation. He was canonized in 1930 and named a Doctor of the Church. Bellarmine is also widely remembered for his role in the Galileo affair.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)

[moomoorare]

Cancer fucking sucks

[wings-of-my-soul]

I wouldn't mind teaching catechesis again, but I'd want to actually study theology, pedagogy, suchforth and well I would rather die than to once more be a student ���

[postcard-from-the-past]

Catechists from the Kai Islands, Indonesia

Dutch vintage postcard

[newsleverage]

Fire Razes Catholic Catechist's House in Umuahia

[carmelitequotes]

Venerable Kunegunda, pray for us!

Pope Francis recognizes the heroic virtues of Kunegunda Siwiec, OCDS. Read her story! #Kunegunda

On February 24, 2025, Pope Francis authorized the Dicastery for the Causes of Saints to promulgate the decree recognizing the heroic virtues of the Kunegunda Siwiec, a member of the Secular Order of Discalced Carmelites (OCDS) and a laywoman (Poland, 1876-1955). Kunegunda, known by her nickname “Kundusia”, experienced a profound conversion at age 20 during a mission preached by a Redemptorist…

[shamballalin]

Rev. Linda (Lin) Hourihan, HHCP ~ Empathy ~ Compassion ~ Love Can Save The World

Who am I and why might people want to hear what I have to say? I am an international, ordained, interfaith Universal Life Church Minister, metaphysician, author ~ blogger ~ internationally board-certified holistic health counselor, New Paradigm Multidimensional Transformation™ (NPMDT™) Teacher of the School of Esoteric Science™, certified Reiki Master Teacher and Qigong Teacher. I no longer…

[thebirdandhersong]

This is the prayer corner setup at the moment. As you can see. Mess

[cbeargyu]

altar boy sins [2]

summary: the pastor’s son fingers you in the back room of the church, promising god’s forgiveness while ruining your last shred of purity.

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

genre: smut, religious corruption, dark romance.

warnings: explicit sexual content, anal virginity, church setting, religious guilt, oral (m receiving), squirting, degradation, sacreligious language, coercion under trust, creampie, overstimulation, power imbalance, aftercare (light), public risk, no vaginal penetration.

part i. - part iii.

MDNI 🔞

the days after that event in the church passed in a strange blur—quiet, heavy, stained with something you didn’t have the words to name. guilt, maybe. shame. or maybe something darker, something you weren’t supposed to feel in your chest every time you thought of him: need.

you’d avoided mark at first. not in an obvious way—just in the way a girl who’s scared of her own body might avoid the boy who took her apart with it. you thought he might pull away too, grow distant after what he did to you. maybe he’d pretend nothing happened, or worse, pretend he didn’t mean it when he whispered he’d marry you.

but he didn’t.

if anything, he became more present. more constant. more yours.

he started showing up around your house with excuses—books he thought you'd like, notes from scripture he said might help you reflect, leftover pastries from the church bake sale he said had your name on them. when he smiled at your mother, she glowed with approval. when he spoke to your father, it was always with respect and devotion. he never slipped. never let on. never gave them a reason to question how filthy his hands had been all over their daughter.

and then he told his father—the pastor—that you had a gift. that you were kind, patient, gentle with the younger kids in bible class. that maybe you should help out, become a catechist in training.

you almost choked when your parents brought it up over dinner. “he said that?” you’d asked, eyes wide, fork frozen mid-air.

“yes,” your mother beamed. “such a good boy. not like others his age. he thinks of the church, of the children, of god.”

you agreed, of course. because how could you not? because your parents looked at you like it was a blessing. because mark had smiled at you across the pew the next sunday and mouthed, i’m proud of you, like none of it was wicked.

and so you went.

every saturday morning, you showed up before mass and helped corral a dozen children into tiny wooden chairs, helped them fold their hands in prayer, helped them understand what it meant to be good and pure in god’s eyes. and sometimes, in the quiet space before their parents arrived, mark would stop by. he’d lean on the doorframe, watching you, eyes slow and dark and unreadable.

“you look cute when you’re being holy,” he’d whisper once, pulling you into the broom closet after class and kissing you so hard you forgot your name.

those kisses had become more frequent. hidden, greedy. fingers sneaking beneath your cardigan. his hand cupping your thigh as you gasped against his lips, terrified someone might open the door. you never let it go too far again—but the air always turned hot when he was near. the world always went still when he touched you.

today had been quiet.

your class had gone well—crafts and scripture, singing soft hymns while the stained glass bled sunlight over the children’s heads. when the last parent arrived to take them home, you’d tidied up, gathered your things, and returned to the small gravel path leading back to your family home. the streets of town were mostly empty, everyone tucked into their usual saturday chores. you waved to mrs. garcía sweeping her porch. crossed paths with the baker’s daughter carrying a tray of loaves. everything felt… calm.

you’d just tied your apron around your waist and started chopping vegetables beside your mother when the phone rang.

the one mounted on the kitchen wall. the only one in the house.

your mother dried her hands quickly and picked it up. “hello?”

her voice lit up at the name. “oh! mark, sweetheart. how are you?”

you froze. your fingers paused over the carrots.

“yes… oh, how careless of her.” her tone shifted, just slightly, that disappointed edge all mothers have. “i told her—always forgetting things.”

you already knew what he’d said.

“she left her bible at the church,” she mouthed at you, covering the receiver.

you looked down. heat crawled up your neck.

“you’re such a good boy,” your mother continued, now smiling again. “always looking out for her. she’s lucky to have your friendship, you know.”

friendship.

you swallowed hard.

you could hear the faint hum of mark’s voice through the line, though not the words. whatever he said made your mother laugh softly.

“yes, yes—i’ll send her right over. thank you, mark.”

when she hung up, she turned to you with a sigh. “honestly, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached. go on, before the church locks up.”

you nodded, wiping your hands and untying the apron. your heart beat a little faster than before. something in your gut twisted.

because you hadn’t forgotten your bible. you never did.

and mark knew that.

you step into the empty church, the air cool and scented with old incense. the wooden pews stand silent under shafts of late-afternoon light. at the far end, mark leans against the pulpit pillar, bible in hand, eyes dark as he watches you approach.

“you came,” he says, voice low. “i knew you would.”

you pause, hand trembling as you reach for the bible on the lectern. his long fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you against him so your back presses to his chest. you gasp, the hard line of his body anchoring you in place.

“mark, let go,” you whisper, cheeks burning. “i just… i need my bible.” he laughs softly, breath warm against your ear. “you and that bible. but really, it’s me you need.”

he brushes a finger under your chin, tilting your face to his. “i can’t stop thinking about that night,” he murmurs. “about the way you squirted all over me. the way you begged me—fuck, you begged me like a little sinner craving my cock.”

you press your lips together, shame coiling in your belly. “stop���please,” you murmur, voice shaking.

he smiles, amused. “stop? baby, i know you love it when i say these things. god won’t punish you for being hot.” he slides one arm around your waist and with the other tugs the hem of your dress up over your hips. the fabric gathers at your waist and rides up your thighs, exposing the curve of your ass.

“i don’t want… not yet,” you whisper, knees weak.

“that’s fine,” he replies, easing you back to sit on his lap on the wooden pew. you feel the tent of his jeans pressing through his pants, hard and thick, but he doesn’t push. instead, he presses both hands to your hips, guiding you against him.

“mark,” you whisper, cheeks flushing, “please... not like last time. i’m saving myself for marriage.” your voice is barely audible, laced with vulnerability. “please don’t put your fingers inside me.”

he pauses, a slow smile curving his lips, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something tender. “we can wait,” he murmurs, fingers tracing a light line along your waist. “i promised i’d cherish you, and i will. we’ll wait until the altar, princess.”

slowly, he runs his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down just enough to slip his fingertips beneath. you bite your lip as his cool touch meets your heated skin. he slides a finger to the very edge of your cleft, tracing gentle circles across your clit.

“you feel so wet,” he growls, one hand bracing on the pew behind you as he teases you. “so desperate. look at you—dripping for me.”

you close your eyes, breath hitching. the world narrows to the flicker of candlelight and the press of his body. “mark,” you whisper, voice tremulous.

he chuckles, crooked and low. “i promised i’d take care of you,” he says, thumb brushing your clit in slow, firm strokes. “and i will.”

his touch becomes more insistent, each circle of his thumb sending jolts of pleasure through you. your hips begin to rock against his hand without thought, riding his thumb as it presses faster, harder. you can’t hold back the moans now—soft at first, then louder, more desperate.

“ah—mark—i…” you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, your back arching.

“you’re doing so well, baby,” he whispers, voice thick with pride. “so good for me. so precious.”

you close your eyes and lean back against him, drawing strength from the warmth of his body, the slow, worshipful rhythm of his touch. “mark... please,” you breathe with voice fragile.

his finger presses gently to your lips, silencing you. “shh,” he soothes, “you’re safe. it’s just you and me here. god won’t punish you for this. he’ll see how much i adore you.”

his fingers glide with slow devotion, tracing soft, worshipful circles just around your clit, never pressing too hard, never pushing past your limits. the slow burn of pleasure coils in your belly, building steadily like a flame fanned by a gentle breeze.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck. “every gasp, every shiver... it’s all for me. you’re mine, and you please me so perfectly.”

he leans forward, lips at your neck. “come for me, baby,” he whispers. “come all over me.”

with a shuddering cry, your body tenses and releases in waves. a hot pulse of pleasure ripples through you, and you come hard on his thumb, heart pounding as your juices spill down the front of his leg.

he holds you through the aftershock, his hand steady on your hip. when your breathing slows, he tilts your chin up. “see? nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmurs, eyes soft but hungry. “god might judge, but i don’t. you’re mine.”

he holds you close through the aftershocks, pressing tender kisses to your temple. “i worship you,” he whispers, voice thick with awe and need. “my perfect girl. i could praise you forever.”

you rest your forehead against his, body still trembling. in the silence of the empty church, you feel both convicted and strangely free—bound to him by something far stronger than any promise or prayer.

and in the quiet light of the empty church, wrapped in his arms and drenched in the heat of your first release, you believe him completely.

after you leave the church, mark walks quietly beside you down the narrow village streets, the evening breeze cool against your flushed skin. the sky fades into a soft purple as lamps begin to glow, casting warm pools of light on cobblestones. your heart still races from the tender moments shared, and every step feels heavy with unspoken tension.

when you arrive at your family’s modest home, your parents greet you both at the door, their faces bright with excitement. your mother’s eyes shine as she welcomes mark inside. “we’re so glad you could join us tonight, mark,” she says warmly. your father nods approvingly, his smile wide and genuine.

the table is set carefully in the dining room, candles flickering softly, casting shadows on the walls. as the meal begins, your parents chatter eagerly about church events, the catechism class, and the promising future they imagine for both you and mark. you feel the weight of their expectations, the watchful eyes on you, but beneath the surface, your own secret conversation with mark unfolds.

across the table, mark’s eyes catch yours, a slow, knowing smile curling his lips. his gaze is both playful and possessive. your fingers brush lightly against the edge of his knee under the table—a subtle, electric touch. he responds instantly, shifting just enough to let his hand glide slowly along your thigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles beneath the fabric of your dress.

you bite your lip, holding back a breath as the heat pools low in your belly. your eyes meet again, a silent promise exchanged between you. the room buzzes with the polite noise of dinner, but in this quiet connection, the world narrows to the secret intimacy shared beneath the table.

and there, in the soft candlelight, with your parents none the wiser, the slow-burning fire between you and mark flickers gently, waiting for the moment to flare again.

[portraitsofsaints]

Nicholas Black Elk

Servant of God

December 1, 1863 - August 19, 1950

Nicholas Black Elk, an Oglala Lakota Indian and cousin to Crazy Horse was a medicine man and healer. He fought in the Battle of Little Bighorn and the Wounded Knee Massacre and toured with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. In 1904 Black Elk was baptized a Catholic, chose the Christian name Nicholas, and became a Catechist, promoting the Rosary, Sacred Heart Devotion, and reading the Bible. Nicholas was smart and passionate about his culture and faith, uniting them to save souls. The Diocese of Rapid City, SD opened his cause for canonization in 2017.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase. (website)

[heresylog]

(A question I have as an atheist raised by a former Catholic) If a Catholic sincerely believes they're worshipping God appropriately, but their beliefs or practice are heretical (if that term applies), either through miseducation or misunderstanding, are they judged by their good intentions or their wrong actions?

They’re judged based on their intentions (for the most part.) if they are a confirmed adult, it was their job to be properly informed. If they are a catechumen, then it is the job of their Catholic community (ie. godparents, catechists, priests, etc) to inform them when they are made aware of their misunderstanding.

[blushcoloreddreams]

October novenas

For whoever this could interest, here’s a list of this month’s novena’s and the reasons to pray them for yourself and for others.

St. John Paul II: For healing, for courage, for the youth. Starts October 13th

All Saints Day: For intercession of all saints. Starts on October 23

Our lady of Aparecida: from October 3rd to October 10. Patron Saint of Brazil, very used to ask for help in moments of affliction

Blessed Carlos Acutis: For a greater love of the Eucharist, for the youth, for computer programmers. Starts October 3rd

St. Jude: Lost causes. Starts on October 19

Holy souls in purgatory: souls in purgatory

St. Therese of Avila: For those who suffer from headaches. Starts October 6th

St. Luke: for those preparing for surgery or recovering from surgery Starts October 9th

St. Hedwig: for the relief from debt and for help with financial difficulties Starts October 7th

All Souls’ Day: the faithful departed/ souls in purgatory. Starts on October 24

St. Anthony Mary Claret: physical healing, spiritual healing. Starts October 15

St. Gerard Majela : for a healthy pregnancy and for childbirth/ delivery Starts October 7

St. Charles Borromeo: for bishops, seminarians and catechists. Starts on October 26

St. Margarida Maria Alacoque: October 7th

Saint Ignacio of Antioquia: For conversion and for those being persecuted for their faith.

Saint Peter of Alcantara: starts on October 10th To strengthen our faith

Saint Antonio Galvão: for engineers, architects and construction workers. Starts From October 16th.