Last column, I mentioned three saints newly added to our liturgical calendar as optional memorials. These three all happen to be “doctors of the Church.”

This designation may be confusing to us. We commonly use the term “doctor” to refer to a physician. We have to keep in mind that the original meaning of “doctor” is “teacher.” Merriam-Webster’s first definition of “doctor” is “a religious scholar who is eminent in theological learning and personal holiness and usually an expounder and defender of established doctrine.”

From ancient times, Ss. Ambrose, Jerome, Augustine, and Gregory the Great were esteemed as the Great Latin Fathers, while Ss. Athanasius, Gregory of Nazianzus, Basil the Great, and John Chrysostom were hailed as the Great Greek Fathers. The Catholic Church lists 36 doctors of the Church. The method for declaring someone a doctor has varied over the centuries. The customary criteria for qualifying as a doctor are: eminent learning, a high degree of sanctity, and proclamation by the Church. Currently, the procedure for proclaiming a doctor is by a decree issued by the Vatican’s Congregation for the Causes of Saints.

It is impossible, within the confines of this column, to discuss all 36 doctors. It is possible at least to sample some of their very powerful writings.

The works of St. Augustine (354-430) are widely available. His autobiography, the Confessions, chronicles his conversion and his amazement: “Late have I loved you, beauty so old and so new: late have I loved you. … You called and cried out loud and shattered my deafness. You were radiant and resplendent, you put to flight my blindness. You were fragrant, and I drew in my breath and now pant after you. I tasted you, and I feel but hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am set on fire to attain the peace which is yours.”

St. Teresa of Avila (1515-1582), for whom the Decatur high school is named, can be very blunt about our lack of response to God’s gifts: “My Lord, you know that we are less submissive to the will of your Father. … You see, the gift our Lord intends for us may be by far the best, but if it is not what we wanted we are quite capable of flinging it back in his face. That is the kind of people we are; ready cash is the only wealth we understand.”

St. Bonaventure (1221-1274) writes about surrender to God: “Seek the answer in God’s grace, not in doctrine; in the longing of the will, not in the understanding; in the sighs of prayer, not in research; seek the bridegroom not the teacher; God and not man; darkness not daylight; and look not to the light but rather to the raging fire that carries the soul to God with intense fervor and glowing love. The fire is God, and the furnace is in Jerusalem, fired by Christ in the ardor of his loving passion.”

Doctors of the Church could be understood to be “physicians of the soul.” In their writings, they probe deeply into the mysteries of each person’s bond with the God who has created each of us, knows us intimately, and has even died for us. As we ponder the ultimate mystery of our passing from this life, we know that the Word Made Flesh has already been there and has personally won fullness of life for us.

This column first appeared in the issue of July 3, 2011. So, the column is 10 years old. Over the years, I have heard from many people who have let me know how much they enjoy it. So, I will do my best to keep going.

I believe that, in the past, I have touched on my study of the liturgical calendar; it is, for me, a hobby of sorts.

Many of us, over the years (indeed, over the past 52 years!) have noticed something in our Missals and other liturgical resources which has puzzled us. When we come to the solemnity of Pentecost, we find a “vigil” with the possibility of four Old Testament readings, but only one psalm.

Just a few years back, complete information was issued about an “extended” Vigil of Pentecost. You can see all the Scripture citations by going to kevinlaughery.com/lc2022.html and scrolling down to June 5.

In the previous issue, there were a number of suggestions about observing the Easter season, which always runs seven weeks, and this year concludes on Sunday, May 23. I’d like to add another suggestion.

If you have never read the Acts of the Apostles all the way through, the Easter season is the perfect time to do so. We always read excerpts from Acts on the Sundays of Easter. In addition, every year at weekday Mass we read a semi-continuous narrative from Acts.

For many years I aspired to direct, and to play the role of the “Stage Manager” in Thornton Wilder’s 1938 play Our Town. I had my chance in 1998, when I was pastor of St. Patrick in Girard and St. Mary in Farmersville. I was able to assemble a cast which included students of St. Isidore’s School in Farmersville, adult parishioners, and also my father, who was once on the stage as a student at Decatur High School.

As I have noted in at least one previous column, the calendar itself gives us opportunities to reflect on the strivings of humanity. We find simultaneously that “the march of time” leaves us missing some of those opportunities.

The first International Day of Human Fraternity occurred this month, on the fourth day of February. Declared by the United Nations, this Day has been inspired by such efforts as those of Pope Francis and Ahmad Al-Tayyeb, Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, Cairo, when they issued their document on human fraternity on Feb. 4, 2019, during Francis’ visit to the United Arab Emirates.

Pope Francis presided at the Christmas Mass during the Night in St. Peter’s Basilica the evening of Thursday, Dec. 24, 2020. In recent years, this Mass has been celebrated at 9:30 p.m. Because of pandemic restrictions, the Mass was rescheduled to 7:30 p.m. Rome is seven hours ahead of us, so I was able to watch the Mass as it began at 12:30 p.m., well before my 4 p.m. vigil Mass.

I turned to the Vatican’s English translation of the pope’s homily, and discovered that, toward the end, he quoted an American poet.

And so, we find ourselves in the brief season of Advent, at the point of entering the even briefer season of Christmas. When we examine our liturgical calendar, we find that this time of year is a sort of unkempt “seam” for the entire year, where the irregularities of each year are dealt with, not necessarily in an elegant fashion. Holy Family gets moved from Sunday to Friday in some years; the Baptism of the Lord moves from Sunday to Monday in others.

It took me several hours to read the new encyclical letter of Pope Francis, Fratelli Tutti, after it was published on Oct. 4. In case you’re wondering about the word “encyclical,” it refers to a letter which is circulated to many people. In case you’re wondering about the title of the letter, it is Italian for “brothers all.”

It happens every 12 years.

Our three-year cycle of Sunday readings and our four-year election cycle line up so that, on a Sunday just a few weeks before a presidential election — that is, this weekend — we have before us the Gospel of Caesar’s Coin (Matthew 22: 15-21).