Chapter 16: A G-Tube and Discharge
Chapter 17: What the Doctors Said
Chapter 18: To Tribunal, or Not to Tribunal
Chapter 20: Venerable Fulton J. Sheen
Chapter 21: Unanimous Approval
Appendix 1: Timeline of Fulton J. Sheen’s Life and Canonization Process
Appendix 2: The Canonization Process: An Overview
Introduction
Growing up on the South Side of Chicago, I had several constants in my life: Eisenhower was president. Pius was pope. Mom and Dad were in charge. And Fulton Sheen was on television. Like most Catholics of my generation, I felt almost as if Bishop Sheen were part of our family — after all, he was in our living room every week!
When I became the bishop of Peoria in 2002, I was soon approached by the leaders of the Archbishop Fulton John Sheen Foundation, asking me to become the sponsor of the cause for Sheen’s canonization. Less than six months after taking my seat in the cathedral of Peoria, I was privileged to convene the canonical tribunal that would investigate Sheen’s life and legacy. I personally set out to reread every Sheen book I could get my hands on, having first read them many years ago. I truly became steeped in everything “Sheen” — not just his incredible spiritual and academic legacy, but also his Midwest roots, which I was reminded of everywhere I went. You can’t throw a stone in central Illinois and not hit someone who is related to Fulton Sheen! Further, I live in his childhood neighborhood. The cathedral, attached to my residence, was where young Fulton made his First Holy Communion and was an altar boy. The building that was his high school is a block away and is part of our diocesan pastoral center. His parents and grandparents are buried in our cathedral cemetery. And, of course, the high altar before which Sheen was ordained a priest and offered his first Solemn Mass still adorns our beautiful Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Immaculate Conception.
While the historical and theological investigations into Sheen’s life and teaching progressed, we also encouraged Catholics around the world to ask God to work a miracle through Sheen’s intercession. Letters poured in from around the world, detailing moving accounts of “little” miracles — many prayers answered, including healings of body and soul. As vice-postulator, Father Andrew Apostoli, CFR, was responsible for following up on these reported miracles. He would captivate me at our regular meetings with some truly incredible accounts. Eventually, we had multiple reported miracles that warranted a full investigation by Church authorities. Each one seemed more incredible than the last. If there are levels of the miraculous, it was almost as if “Someone” was shouting from heaven, louder and louder!
Until …
The account contained in this book relates a miracle of near biblical proportions. It is also a story of a family’s faith, the power of prayer, and the fruit of trustful surrender to God. As there are no “accidents” with God, I believe that part of the providential nature of this moving account is that it happened in Fulton Sheen’s hometown, within view of the spires of his cathedral-parish. I was honored to be the bishop tasked by the Church to investigate Sheen’s life of heroic virtue. I am amazed to be the bishop who had the privilege to preside over the diocesan tribunal that investigated this verified miracle.
Only God performs miracles. Only the Church can declare a miracle. Only God makes saints, and in his own time. Fulton Sheen, help us!
The Most Reverend Daniel R. Jenky, CSC
Bishop of Peoria
President, Archbishop Fulton John Sheen Foundation
Chapter 1
First Impressions
Growing up in central Illinois, I had heard the name Bishop Sheen multiple times, usually from my grandparents. But the first time I saw him, I was sitting in my parents’ living room, home from college on summer break. As I flipped through the TV, I paused for a moment on the Catholic television network to look back at the man whose eyes pierced the screen and looked right at me.
“Who’s that?” I asked my mom as she walked through the room.
“That’s Bishop Sheen. He’s from around here. He was born in El Paso, I think,” she said.
His deep, dark eyes stared as his hand grabbed the edge of his long cape, dramatically flared it out, and pulled it to the front of his chest. His cheeks were hollow; his face was thin; he was passionate about something.
“He looks like a vampire,” I replied, curling my lip. My mom chuckled and kept walking. I shook my head and changed the channel. I wasn’t interested in what a spooky-looking priest had to say about God.
Little did I know that ten years later, after a beautiful, calm labor and delivery, I would kneel on my bedroom floor, holding the newborn baby we had named for Bishop Sheen. I would look at my husband who, with tears in his eyes, gazed at the still, quiet, blue baby in my arms. Little did I know that the man I had snubbed as a college student would be the same one who would walk with my family and me in the longest, hardest moments of my life.
Chapter 2
Love, Marriage, and a Baby in a Baby Carriage
I met Travis on my first day of work at the Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Student Center. I was a recent college graduate, and he was a super senior who did maintenance at St. Francis in exchange for room and board. He was strong, tan, and handsome. He was also still in love with his ex-girlfriend, so we spent our day cleaning, rearranging furniture, and talking about her.
Over the next two years, our friendship grew. Every day we saw each other, worked together, and chatted. Meanwhile, he got back together with his girlfriend, who became his fiancée, and I went on dates with various men, none of whom met Travis’s approval. But as my best friends left for convents, I relied on my friendship with Travis more and more. He was kind and gentle and not afraid of hard work. He treated me and every woman with respect, and he made me laugh. It wasn’t long before I realized that he was one of my best friends and one of the people I respected most in life.
As our friendship deepened, Travis felt a growing tug toward the priesthood. In the spring of my second year at St. Francis, he ended his engagement so he could more seriously discern life as a religious or diocesan priest. I was nothing but proud of him, and cheered him on.
For weeks, Travis daily went to the chapel and asked God, “What do you want me to do with my life?” While he was asking about routes to the priesthood, the day came when God clearly answered. But instead of a collar, God showed him me. I knew nothing of this answered prayer, but it wasn’t long after that I realized I was in love with Travis. Over the two years our friendship had grown in love, respect, and admiration, and once we individually realized what had happened, we came together