Father Stu: The Language of Love

“To boast in the Cross is an almost fierce gesture

when we confront all that would defeat us.”

~ Fr. Benedict Groeschel, CFR

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Bl. John of Cetina & Bl. Peter de Dueñas

The dramatic saga of John of Cetina and Peter de Dueñas can be summarized in a single line: “Franciscans of Spain,” writes hagiographer Basil Watkins, “they were sent to the Muslim kingdom of Granada in order to try and evangelize the inhabitants and were predictably killed.”

As you’d expect, there’s more to this story.

Born in 1340, John had a privileged childhood, but he gravitated to obscurity and penitence. In time he made his way to the Franciscans of Aragon, where he made his profession and was ordained. Although a popular preacher, John longed for solitude, and he retired to a cave in Valencia to take up an eremitical life.

Word of heroic Franciscan martyrdoms in the Holy Land reached Father John, and he committed himself to missionary work among the Moors, despite his solitary inclinations and the risks. John received permission to visit the Muslims of southern Spain in 1396, and he prepared for his journey.

At the time, Franciscan missionaries always traveled in pairs, and Father John chose Brother Peter to be his companion. Peter was around 19 years old and just starting out in his religious vocation. Nonetheless, he was eager to join Father John, and he rebuffed objections to his participation in such a dangerous undertaking.

It wasn’t long after the two arrived in Granada before they were arrested and hauled before the Sultan. Offered the choice between conversion to Islam and death, the two readily accepted the latter. The Sultan promptly complied, beheading them both by his own hand.

Pope Clement XII beatified the pair in 1731. The promulgation of their exploits likely spurred the missionary aspirations of another Spanish Franciscan, young Junípero Serra, who would eventually become the Apostle of California.

The memorial of John of Cetina and Peter de Dueñas is observed on May 19, the day of their martyrdom in 1397.
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A shorter version of this reflection originally appeared in Franciscan Magazine, Franciscan University of Steubenville.

Custody of the Holy Land

Alongside the history of salvation there exists a geography of salvation.

~ Pope Paul VI

My first encounter with St. Francis of Assisi was at Seattle Pacific University, a Free Methodist institution.

I was taking a Church history class, and the cavernous reality of Roman Catholicism was just beginning to dawn on my evangelical consciousness. At one point, the professor gave us an assignment to read a biography of any prominent historical Christian. I headed to Weter Library, followed the Dewey numbering system over to the appropriate shelves, and there spied a small, worn volume with faded gold lettering.

“St. Francis of Assisi,” I muttered as I plucked it from the shelf. “I think he’s the bird guy.”

I checked it out.

Now, understand that I’d been a born-again Christian since grade school, and I was well familiar with the great figures of the Old and New Testament. Also, I was acquainted with many notable Protestant heroes – the missionaries who’d given their lives to bring the Gospel to forgotten lands, the martyrs of Nazi prison camps and Communist gulags, the fearless evangelists of our own country’s frontier territories and inner cities.

But this! I was unnerved as I read – nothing could’ve prepared me for it. Francis leapt from those pages fully alive, an icon of Christ, an affront to my tidy ideals and pious stratagems. What had been posed as a simple course requirement became a face smack: here was lived Christianity – an embodiment, not just an imitation. Could it be replicated? Who would dare?

Years later, after winding my way to Roman Catholicism, I had my answer: everyone must dare, even me. The Franciscan vision of nurturing mini-incarnations of Jesus in every place and everybody is the vision of the Church, bent on making saints of us all. “Every person must walk unhesitatingly according to his own personal gifts and duties in the path of living faith,” Lumen Gentium teaches, “which arouses hope and works through charity” (39). Francis’s life points the way for living the Gospel sine glosa – without excuse. No ginger tiptoeing around the minefields of sanctification; nothing short of total transformation will do.

Is it any wonder, then, that the followers of St. Francis are so closely identified with the Holy Land? We worship the God incarnate at Bethlehem, the one who wandered throughout Galilee and worked in the shop at Nazareth, a man-God who died atop Golgotha and was buried in a cave outside Jerusalem – these things all really happened, and so they happened somewhere. “One cannot desire to identify with Jesus,” writes Franciscan Father Pierbattista Pizzaballa, “and neglect the place where He lived.”

This is of particular importance to Pizzaballa, the major superior of the Friars Minor in the Middle East and the Custodian (Custos) of the Holy Land. He and his community oversee some 49 sacred sites associated with the life of Our Lord, not to mention numerous parishes and a wide variety of charitable works. 

The Franciscan relationship to the Holy Land is unique and stretches back to the earliest days of the order. The Saint of Assisi established his little community in 1209, and by 1217, a General Chapter was already divvying up the entire world into Franciscan provinces, including the territories of the Middle East – the “pearl” of the order’s realms of influence.

Starting most notably with a visit by Francis himself, a Franciscan presence in and around the Holy Land has been maintained with very little interruption for nearly 800 years. In fact, the order has long represented the primary continuity of Catholic influence in that volatile region, a state of affairs formally constituted by Pope Clement VI in 1342 and reiterated by Pope St. John Paul II 650 years later.

By order of the Holy See, the “friars of the cord” have a solemn responsibility to provide hospitality to pilgrims and to “animate” the land’s sacred geography. In short, as Father Pizzaballa puts it, they’re called to “to turn the stones into ‘living stones.’” Moreover, the sons of Francis join with all other Christians there in attempting to follow Pope Francis’s call, despite current hostile conditions, “to promote dialogue, to build bridges in the spirit of the Beatitudes (cf. Mt 5:3:12), and to proclaim the Gospel of peace.”
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A shorter version of this essay originally appeared in Franciscan Way, Franciscan University of Steubenville. 

In addition to contributing to the annual Good Friday Holy Land collection taken up throughout the universal Church, the faithful can further support the Holy Land Franciscans through prayer, voluntary service, and financial pledges. For more information, follow this link. 

Blessed John Forest (1471-1538)

King Henry VIII's presumptuous rebellion against the pope brought out the worst – and the best – in the Catholic Church in England. Some Catholics turned traitor to the Church of their birth, while in others, the flame of faith shone more brightly. John Forest, who lived his whole life on fire for God, stood as a beacon of truth in that dark time.

A teenager when he entered the Greenwich Franciscans, Forest went to Oxford for advanced theological studies and earned honors as a doctor of theology. With his intelligence matched by natural leadership and rooted in a profoundly Franciscan vision of humble service to Christ, John was an easy pick for the post of provincial.

Despite his peace-loving Franciscan temperament, John's fiery side flared up when it came to defending the Church. As provincial, he once cursed 19 fellow friars for resisting a visit from papal legate Cardinal Thomas Wolsey – a reprimand based less on religious hospitality than on respect for the pope in his representatives, no matter how disagreeable their persons.

The good friar's reputation for wisdom and sanctity eventually spread beyond his religious community, and the queen herself, Catherine of Aragon, asked Father Forest to become her confessor and spiritual advisor. Catherine greatly benefited from the Franciscan's plainspoken direction, and she later referred to herself as Father Forest's "obedient daughter."

The king, too, took a great interest in religion. Henry VIII vigorously opposed the Protestant revolt spreading everywhere on the continent and even acquired the title "Defender of the Faith" in recognition of his efforts. Nevertheless, when Henry made up his mind to divorce Catherine to marry Anne Boleyn, he disregarded papal objections and declared his own rebellion against Rome in 1533.

Immediately, Henry set about consolidating power and obliterating dissent. Father Forest's entire order, publicly unified in their rejection of the king's aberrant assertions, was suppressed in 1534, and the learned priest thrown in jail. An accomplished theologian, virtuous priest, and royal confessor, Forest was just the type of popular figure Henry sought to win over – or, short of that, eliminate.

Prison did nothing to weaken Forest's opposition to Henry's new church. The priest actually yearned for martyrdom. Commenting on his advancing years, Forest wrote, "At such a period of life as this, a man easily perceives that people can do without him; consequently I am most earnest in my prayer that I may be dissolved to be with Christ."

Four years into his confinement, Forest still managed to stir up fresh sparks of controversy. The theologian composed a polemic that boldly refuted the king's claims and upheld the pope's universal authority. When the work became known, Henry ordered John Forest to be burned at the stake.

Trumped up charges and mock trials followed, along with pressures to recant in exchange for freedom. Forest remained steadfast. "Gentlemen," he told his accusers, "with this body of mine deal as you wish!"

The government took Forest at his word and consigned him to the executioners on May 22, 1538. Blessed John made it clear in his final statement that no manner of torture or threat or sophistry or calumny could turn him from his "old sect of this Bishop of Rome."

The king's men chained the priest to a stake. On top of the usual logs and kindling they added a large wooden statue of St. Derfel Gadarn. St. Derfel was an obscure sixth-century Welsh soldier turned monk who had acquired an impassioned following over the centuries. The statue, an object of no little Catholic devotion, had been sent to London for disposal.

An old Welsh saying predicted that this statue would one day "set a forest ablaze." The prophecy proved true enough as the famed carving of the Welsh warrior-monk fueled the pyre of John Forest, the friar who had become a warrior.

In 1886, Pope Leo XIII approved the veneration of Blessed John Forest along with 54 other English martyrs.
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A version of this essay was originally published in Franciscan Way, Franciscan University of Steubenville.