The Movement

After 9/11, people told us we were foolish to take hundreds of young people out of the country.

We invited them anyway.

In 2001, I was directing Youth and Young Adult Ministry for the Diocese of Erie.

Pope John Paul II had invited young people from around the world to gather in Toronto for World Youth Day the following summer.

The objections were understandable.

International travel in the shadow of terrorism. Considerable expense. Uncomfortable accommodations. Complex logistics.

And the familiar assumption that young people simply weren't interested in serious faith.

But we believed something different.

When people encounter a mission worthy of their lives, they're capable of extraordinary commitment.

So we assembled a remarkable team, prayed, planned, and extended the invitation.

More than 500 people joined the pilgrimage.

Our bright yellow flags, marked with blue footprints, became an unexpected point of recognition. People wondered if we were from a place called "Footopia."

And then came an unexpected turn.

Stephanie and I discovered that our fourth child was due the very week of the pilgrimage.

After helping prepare the entire journey, I stayed home.

We entrusted a camera to one of our pilgrims, Max, who sent footage back so I could continue telling the story from Erie.

Days after the pilgrimage, our daughter Catherine was born.

And somewhere in that convergence, a lesson became wonderfully clear.

The mission was never supposed to depend on my presence.

It was meant to be carried by others.

In the years that followed, we watched participants embrace vocations to priesthood, religious life, marriage, and family.

What began as an invitation to an eight-day pilgrimage became part of a much longer unfolding story.

I've thought about that experience whenever I've encountered leaders struggling to build something that lasts.

We can create an extraordinary vision, develop compelling messaging, and assemble impressive resources.

But none of those things, by themselves, creates a movement.

A movement begins when people stop seeing themselves as spectators and recognize themselves as participants in something greater.

That requires conviction. Trust. Shared sacrifice. Community.

And a destination worth pursuing together.

It also requires something difficult for founders and leaders:

The willingness to let others carry what we began.

Because the true strength of a mission isn't measured merely by how many people admire it.

It's revealed in how many people make it their own.

We spend so much time asking whether people will respond to our invitations.

Perhaps we should first ask whether we're inviting them into something truly worthy of their response.

Are you building something people can admire from a distance—or something they can give themselves to?

There is a world of difference.