All Hallow's Eve

That's Halloween for you secular-humanists...

Happy Halloween everyone! I've always loved this secular/religious holiday for a variety of reasons. First, like every kid, I participated with glee in the madness of running door-to-door, expecting free candy because I threw on a hockey jersey, grabbed my hockey stick, and had my mom give me a black eye (No, Child Protection Agency, not in that sense; she used makeup). Filled to the brim with chili and corn-bread, I would catch up with my friends and have a great time making a fool of myself. I'm sure somewhere my dentist was sitting at home, smiling.

I'm thrilled that, for the most part, kids are able to dress up and have fun, without worrying about the "terrors" of the night. I always loved seeing the parents leave their suburban dwellings with their smaller ones and make mini-pilgrimages to other families's houses. I loved the sense of community, etc. I'm certainly showing my nostalgic side this morning!

But what really does it for me is putting the holiday in context. Sure, we dress up and spook each other and what not, but when we wake up the next day from our sugar comas and head to Mass--for All Saints Day--how fulfilled we feel after having given thanks to God for our bounty, and ask our tremendous saints to intercede for us throughout the year! We always went to Mass when I was a kid, but I never thought to connect Halloween to All Saints. I knew why we got the day off, but never truly put it into context. And that's what's most important: the context with which we celebrate Halloween.

I called Paul last night (if only the saints whose name we borrow had our technology!) to ask him what the sons of Iggy have planned for this evening. Excitedly, he told me about the novitiate's haunted house they put on for the neighborhood kids, where they have fun spooking and giving out candy. "It's the biggest deal in the neighborhood," said the apostle to the gentiles. I didn't ask him what he was dressing as, but knowing him I'm sure he has something hilarious in store for the community.

Since entering the seminary I've had a variety of costumes, most which were created last minute. I have come to the seminary's All Saint's party as a Smashing Pumpkin (yes, I wore a pumpkin on my head the whole night), as G.K. Chesterton, as St. Homobonus, the patron saint of tailors and businessmen, and as the 5:00 AM version of myself, which is quite frightening. This year I'm coming as security detail for one of the house priests, which will require me to be as obnoxious as possible. I'm up for the challenge.

I know tomorrow, though, that as I reflect on how good the Lord has been to us in sending such wonderful examples as his saints, that they are the true purpose for our rejoicing. While I don't want to steal Paul's thunder for his post tomorrow, I do want to encourage everyone to keep our saints in mind when you're celebrating tonight. God bless you and have a safe and wonderful All Hallow's Eve!

May They Rest in Peace

I got a tough email from the province offices yesterday. This past week, two Jesuits were murdered in Moscow for reasons still unknown to us. Here was the statement:

On Saturday 25 October, Father Victor Betancourt, an Ecuadorian Jesuit working in the St. Thomas Philosophical, Theological and Historical Institute in Moscow, was killed in his home. Two days later, after returning from a trip abroad, Father Otto Messmer, Superior of the Russian Region, was also killed in the same place. On Tuesday 28 October, alarmed by the fact that he hadn’t heard from the two men, a fellow Jesuit who lives in another community went to visit them at home. On finding the dead bodies, he immediately contacted the police.

The police investigations have yet to come to any firm conclusions about cause of these violent deaths.

Father Otto Messmer, son of a profoundly Catholic family of German origin and a Russian citizen, was born on 14 July 1961 in Karaganda, Kazakhstan. He entered into the Society of Jesus on 1 September 1982 in Vilnius and was ordained a priest on 29 May 1988 in Riga. He took his final vows in Novosibirsk on 7 October 2001 and was appointed Superior of the Independent Region of Russia of the Society of Jesus on 13 October 2002. Two of his brothers are Jesuits: Monsignor Nikolaus, Bishop of the Kyrgyzstani city of Bishkek, and Hieronymus, from the German Province.

Father Victor Betancourt was born on 7 July 1966 in Guayaquil, Ecuador. He entered into the Society of Jesus on 14 September 1984 in Quito and was ordained a priest in the same city on 31 July 1997. He undertook his Jesuit training in Argentina, Ecuador, Germany and Italy. In 2004, he defended his doctoral thesis in Theology in the city of Rome. Since 2001, he had been responsible for those considering a vocation as Jesuits and at the time of his death he was a theology professor in the St. Thomas Philosophical, Theological and Historical Institute in Moscow.

I didn't know these men, and I don't know why they were murdered. But because we share an identity--members of the Company of Jesus--they will be remembered, missed, and prayed for by Jesuits around the world. I have begun to realize that there are never more than "three degrees of separation" among Jesuits. Though we are spread out among the far reaches of the world, I don't know of a closer group of guys. Please, remember Victor and Otto in your prayers, that they may rest in the Peace of Christ.

D.A.R.E. to Discern

I can remember it well: the final assignment for our sixth grade D.A.R.E. class was to write an essay which answered some questions about peer pressure and substance abuse. The final question asked us what we wanted to do with our lives, and how we could achieve our goals by staying drug-free. Well, it's obvious what my response was...

An architect?!?!?

Yeah. I was really into Legos, and loved streets, highways, and infrastructures, etc. I loved the idea of being a priest, too, especially after our associate pastor gave a homily on vocations. He was so cool! And I thought, as a priest, I could roller blade through the halls, too! But the call seemed much more serious to me than roller blading, even at 11, which is why I said I wanted to be an architect instead. It was safer, as Paul wrote yesterday.

My mom reminded me of this story when I decided to enter the seminary. She said, "Do you remember what you said to me when you wrote that D.A.R.E. essay? Mom, I really want to be a priest, but I just put architect instead." And so my mom knew from the beginning about my secret desire, the beginning of my discernment.

It's hard to believe that I've been discerning a call to the priesthood for 11 years. It seems not too long ago that the roller blading priest told me outside the sacristy, "Keep praying!" Simple message, yes. Easy? It makes architecture look like a cinch!

We have to DARE to discern! Whatever the calling (vocation, NOT profession), we have to get on our knees and pray, as Pete Townshend put it. And frankly, it doesn't matter how long you've been discerning--if you're called, you're called. The real work involves the prayer, the total submission to the will of God.

Archbishop Dolan says that he first realized a call to the priesthood when he told his "nana" that he wanted to be like the man at the altar. Not bad! But, he says in his vocation story that he hesitates to say that because it deters young men and women from discerning their own call, even if they're comfortably succeeding in the corporate world. But again, we have to be DARING if we're ever going to truly know what God has in store for us.

I leave you with a fantastic article from ESPN about a New England Revolution soccer player, Chase Hilgenbrinck, who left the team to enter the seminary. Now that's DARING.

Keep praying!

"Her Whole Livelihood"

I know from experience that there are so many reasons not to follow your vocation. I can recall discerning whether or not to join the Jesuits. I thought to myself the following:

I am too young.
I am not smart enough.

I want to get married and have kids.

10 years is way too long to get ordained.

I want to do other things.

I don't want to live away from my family.

Following a vocation isn't very safe.

I could get a good job elsewhere than the Church.

Someone else could do a better job.

As I was discerning, sometimes it seemed like the reasons to look elsewhere from the Jesuits exceeded the reasons to apply. The tough thing about it when I was honest with myself was that most of those reasons had some validity to them. So what was I thinking to join!?!?? At first glance, it seems as though I followed some bad discernment.

When I really prayed with it, I realized that my qualifications and struggles meant very little in the big picture. Those hesitations were (and continue to be) manifestations of my selfishness. I have been given so much in this life, and it is so very easy for me to want to hoard it for myself. But as a Christian, I am called to give away all of my gifts to God's people. I am called to be poor. Priests and religious believe that it is far greater to give away their gifts to the Church--all 1.2 billion of us-- than to collect for themselves.

I was born totally dependent on the love of God shown through everyone around me. The only thing that has changed is that I have grown, and now can give back a little bit of the great things I have received. I find my vocation each day by slowly figuring out how God wants me to "give back." St. Francis of Assisi put it well when he said, "It is in giving of ourselves that we receive." The more we give of ourselves, despite or limitations or inadequacies, the more we grow in the love of Jesus. The more our lives are rich with joy, love, hope, and peace.

Let me end with this passage from Luke:

"When he looked up he saw some wealthy people putting their offerings into the treasury
and he noticed a poor widow putting in two small coins.
He said, 'I tell you truly, this poor widow put in more than all the rest;
for those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood.'" (Luke 21:2-4)

Who are you? Are you building up your ego? Are you clinging on to whatever you can for some security in your life? Giving what is easy to give up?
Or are you the poor widow, trusting in the power of generosity? Giving all you can to God through your own poverty, however it shows itself?

Longing for the Parish

After one of the masses at the parish I'm assigned to, I asked the pastor if I could speak with him for a few minutes. He agreed and we sat down at the dining room table in the rectory for some coffee (I think that was cup # 4 for the day). Anywho, I wanted to give him an update on my experiences in his parish, and how I had grown in the past eight weeks or so that I've been there.

In short, I told him I am in love with the parish, with everything about it.

And I am! The people are all smiles, always courteous and engaging in conversation. The choirs sing beautifully, the associate pastors are wonderful examples of happy, holy priests, the permanent deacons give insightful homilies, the cry room is filled with infants and toddlers (the pews, too); everything is wonderful.

The pastor, who was recently named a monsignor, just smiled and agreed with me; in his four years there he has been blessed to experience the love these people have for Christ, their desire to love him more. You can see it in their faces when they receive Holy Communion--their eyes widen with anticipation in receiving our Lord. Not everyone, of course; some dutifully say, "Amen," and trounce away, but even in them I see a hope for a change, a longing for something more.

I thought about all of this while the pastor and our transitional deacon flipped through various forms of blessings for the memorial garden to be dedicated that afternoon. I was envious of them with their faculties to confer certain sacraments, to be that alter Christus, when in reality all I am is a glorified altar server (In the first few weeks the fifth graders showed me the ropes).

Why am I so impatient? Why can't I wait to be ordained?

I've realized over the years that I am the soldier, two weeks into basic training, who feels ready for battle, the medical student who feels confident about his ability to perform a quadruple bypass. I'm a seminarian who wants, more than anything, to be a holy priest, and so I long for the parish! I'm not worried about the vestiture, but about the couple who had a miscarriage, the teen who overdosed on drugs, the woman with breast cancer.

I want to be there for them, to be Christ to them. But, as I reflect on the magnitude of the past sentences, I realize that not only am I unworthy, but I'm so unprepared. In fact, while I long to be in the parish, I'm frightened about the responsibility! They want me to be whom? To do what? Surely not I, Lord (Mt 26:22)? Oh, St. Peter. A little help?

Peter had an itch to get out into the parish as well. He was there when Christ taught them how to pray (Luke 11:1), but was asleep when Christ asked Him to make an hour of prayer (Mt 26:40). He earnestly asked, "Master, to whom shall we go?" (John 6:68), but then denied the Lord three times (Mt 26:75).

Peter needed his time in the seminary, to root his zeal and faith in prayer. Great things were expected of Peter, yes, but these could only be fulfilled when Peter gave all to Christ: "Lord, you know that I love you." Only then will Christ say in return: "Feed my sheep" (John 21:16). Paul was right in his last post: we need to learn how to pray!

Everyday I realize how similar I am to this man of great faith. We just want to fish! But, I know that like Peter, I need to spend my time with Christ in the seminary, so when that time for the parish comes I will be better prepared to serve His flock.

Prayer? Okay, but how do I do it?

No picture!!?!! No worries. There is a movie at the end.

I was pretty excited to see that out blog has had over 700 visits. Wow! That is great to see. Thank you all for spending some time with us. To be honest, Peter and I got excited when we saw that we had 40 visitors! Whether this is your first time on the site, you have been with us this whole month, or some where in between, you probably have noticed that prayer is a big theme for us.

It dawned on me that while we talk a lot about the importance of prayer in our discernment, it might help you to know a bit of how we pray. Let me give you the nickel tour for now. I hope there will be more to come in the future.

Imagine trying to drive your junky '94 Ford Aspire through the chaos that is New York City, having never visited there before now. You have no idea where you are going and, between busy streets, back-seat drivers, flashing lights, and hot dog vendors, you can't understand North from South or up from down. Luckily, God is sitting next to you in shot gun. He's got the map and knows where to go. But being the good passenger that He is, God doesn't shout out like the other back-seat drivers. He only helps if the driver--you, the discerner-- where to go if the driver wants Him to help. That communication, is prayer. Among many things, prayer is speaking up, sharing the situation with God, trusting He knows what is going on and what is best for us.

So what is prayer for me, a Jesuit novice? My number one answer, behind Mass, would be The Examen. It's a method of prayer, to be done once or twice a day, created by our founder, St. Ignatius of Loyola. More than a recited prayer, the Examen is more like a formula. It's purpose, simply enough is to come enter more deeply into God's love. In the Examen I look back on the day, with Jesus, to see a.) how He has been intimately working in my day and b.) how I have responded to Him.

Here are 5 basic steps to help you along the process. After a while, this prayer becomes very rich and personal. Below the 5 steps is a great little video put out by the California Province Jesuits on the Examen.

1. Calm down. Enter into God's presence. Site with Christ.
2. Thank Him for life and ask for His Grace to look at the day.
3. Look back to all the times you saw God working. What good things happened? Where were you a Christian? When did you see God's love working?
4. Look back to all the times you ignored God, others, or yourself. What hard things did you see throughout the day? How have I sinned?
5. Ask Jesus for pardon for your sins and His grace to continue the day. End in an Our Father.

Verso l'Alto

The mountain climber takes his life into his own hands. If unprepared or unskilled, injuries might occur, possibly even death. While on the mountain, the climbers must have their ropes taut, their carabiners locked; if they're climbing with others they have to be aware of their safety as well. Even if you're climbing without a harness and ropes, climbers must take extreme precaution in where they will reach to, where they will keep their footing. It's dangerous, but quite rewarding!

That's why Pier Giorgio Frassati loved the mountains. As a vivacious and daring Italian youth, he loved the sense of adventure, the brilliance and beauty of peaks, and always yearned for his next encounter with them. As he once wrote to a friend: "These Alpine climbs have a strange magic in them so that no matter how many times they are repeated and however alike they are, they are never boring, in the same way as the experience of spring is never boring, but fills our spirit with gladness and delight" (A Man of the Beatitudes, 132). The mountains proved to be much more than isolated adventures; his ascents characterized his entire life.

If Pier Giorgio was an American, he would be from Texas. Everything he did was big. He was the leader of Catholic youth organizations; he cared for the poor and the sick in his town of Pollone; he spent many nights in front of the Blessed Sacrament, and always prayed the Rosary; he gave away his bus fare and ran home to be on time for supper; he even gave his sister a crucifix for her wedding, to show that Christ's sacrifice was the greatest gift of all. In spite of the affluence he received from his father's career as a senator and editor of a newspaper, Pier Giorgio had a different understanding of greatness. Through all his work for the Lord his mother thought he "was wasting his time."

Doing God's will led him to write a phrase on a picture of himself climbing: "Verso l'alto," or "To the top." In all things it was his desire to reach the highest peak, the greatest he could be--all for Christ Jesus. He accomplished this feat when he contracted Polio and died in July of 1925 from working with the poor and the sick, and ascended the mountain of earthly life to be with the Lord in heaven. As he scaled the mountains of life, his joy in Christ served as his harness to endure the hardest of times, culminating in his death.

As he replied once to his sister:

You ask me if I am happy. How can I not be? As long as faith gives me strength I am happy. Any Catholic can't help but be happy. Sadness should be banned from Catholic souls. Pain is not sadness, which is a disease worse than any other. This disease is nearly always caused by atheism, but the end we are created for shows us the way, which may be full of thorns but is not sad. It is happy even through pain. And in these days I rejoice and am cheerful...

Pope John Paul II said the following at Pier Giorgio's beatification on May, 20, 2000:

He repeats that it is really worth giving up everything to serve the Lord. He testifies that holiness is possible for everyone, and that only the revolution of charity can enkindle the hope of a better future in the hearts of people.

May Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati serve as a reminder to answer the Lord's call, and in His name help us to reach verso l'alto.

UPDATE: Did you realize that Pier (Peter) is climbing a rock? Awesome! And... I'm a dork.

Be Holy

My provincial shared a simple story with me last fall that has stuck with me ever since. During a parish-wide meeting on a church's restructuring of its staff, Fr. provincial asked the crowd, "What is it exactly you want us Jesuits to do for you?"

An elderly African American woman raised her hand and slowly stood up. "Father, your priests already do a lot. But I'll tell you what. We don't need anything from you but this: Be Holy." With that, the elderly woman sat quietly back down in her chair.

Priests are seen as, St. Paul writes to the Corinthians, " all things to all." Pastors are seen by many as teachers, businessmen, professors, actors, community organizers, researchers, retreat directors, counselors, architects, and handymen. But before the priest was called to be any of those things, he was (and is) called to be a model of holiness. A parish is full of talented people, and if need be, it could always find a new handyman, organizer, or teacher. The primary responsibility to show a community the gifts that come from living a holy life falls to the pastor.

So the question is, how do we become holy? Though there are many ways to answer that, for some reason the small passage about Jesus' childhood comes to mind.

He went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them...And Jesus advanced (in) wisdom and age and favor before God and man (Luke 2:51-52).

Jesus is our ultimate example of holiness. He grew into that holiness those 25 or so years he spent living, working, praying, and growing in the tiny village of Nazareth. So very often when we are young we want to go out and save the world. It seems to me that rather than trying to find new ways to save the world, we should work to be holy. That is a much harder struggle, but in the end, I think it is much more worthwhile. All the inspiring figures in the world that have actually changed the world for the better did so by first striving for holiness (whether or not they specifically called it that). Working for holiness is tough to accept when the world seems to be crying for results, action, change--all as soon as possible. Holiness requires patience, prudence, openness, generosity, bravery, and humility, and these things don't come overnight.

Long story short, be patient in discernment. Remember that Jesus spent the majority of his life in the quiet town of Nazareth before his three years of public ministry. During that time he grew into holiness. Psalm 51 captures that growth well:

A pure heart create for me, O God,

put a steadfast spirit within me.

Do not cast me away from your presence,

nor deprive me of your Holy Spirit

--Psalm 51

Zacchaeus and the Red Sox

I had hoped to write this entry for game six of the World Series between the Philadelphia Phillies and the Boston Red Sox, but I'll wipe away my tears and tell this epic tale...

It was October 21, 1975; my father was a senior in high school. Growing up in suburban Boston, he had been a Red Sox fan from birth, along with Bean Town's other great sporting teams. In the midst of teen angst, baseball is one of the few havens for a young man, and when your team's in the Series, nothing else matters. Nothing. The plan was simple: tell his unsuspecting parents that he was staying the night at a friend's, which was true, and omit the part about breaking into Fenway Park to see the Sox play the Cincinnati Reds in one of the greatest moments in baseball history. Cue up the "Chariots of Fire" theme, Paul.

In reality, my father never snuck into Fenway Park. Instead he and his friends climbed the notable "Jimmy Fund" billboard which rested atop the awning in Right Field. Rebellious and anxious to see Game Six, these young hooligans scaled hundreds of feet up the backside of the stadium to view its glory. Some of Boston's finest spotted them and ordered them to come down at once, but even the law fell on deaf ears. I believe their response was, "Come up and get us!"

No wonder I got away with everything as a kid.

Anyway, Game Six rolled on in all its splendor. Boston pulled ahead with a three-run lead in the first, but gave up the lead in the fifth in a rally involving Ken Griffey Sr. The Reds scored two more in the seventh and one more in the eighth, to which Bernie Carbo responded with a three-run shot for Boston. Tied at six.

And so we go to the 12th inning. Pat Darcy pitches to Carlton Fisk, who cranked the ball into Left; Fisk waves frantically at the ball to stay fair, flailing his arms along with the other 35,000 Bostonians. The ball hits the foul pole. Home run. All of New England goes nuts, including the guys dancing on the Jimmy Fund billboard.

So what's the connection with Jesus Christ, His Church, and eternal salvation? Zacchaeus.

The "Big Show" was coming into Boston. My father, Zacchaeus, was rich in vitality and spirit, and wanted so desperately to see the game--and would do anything for the chance. Thus he climbed the tree made of metal and full of rust, to catch a glimpse of what everyone else was talking about.

Yes, the metaphor is faulty. No, I am not insinuating that we should commit petty crimes in the name of the Lord. Here's where I redeem myself: If only we were as enthralled with the coming of Christ as we are with the things of the world! I watched the UEFA soccer match between Manchester United and Celtic on Tuesday. While it was a good game, all I could think of is how wonderful it would be if our cathedrals were packed with "devout fans."

My father certainly is Zacchaeus because he shows me how much Christ means in his daily life. My mother and father alike have taught me that whatever God calls us to do with our lives, we must respond to Him with all our hearts, rushing down quickly to receive Him with joy (Luke 19:6). Don't get me wrong, I was one of many Sox fans who went "ape" when Jason Varitek hit that two-run homer on the 18th to force a game seven for the ALCS; I only wish we would be as thrilled to see our Lord before us in the monstrance, or to meet him in the confessional.

I think we can all take note of the fervor Zacchaeus had, in spite of his sinfulness. What he saw that night was Christ "flailing his arms" to show us the Way of Life, His path. And we, much more than fans, shall not doubt His saving power, "For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost" (Luke 19:10).

Glow-in-the-Dark Rosaries

The other day I was making my way through a Latino marketplace. Like most, this one was packed full of mom and pop tienditas selling spicy food, quincieñera dresses, Spanish movies, and statues of Our Lady of Guadalupe and St. Jude. Amidst the chaotic mixture of bright colors, thumping regatone beats, and pork tamales, a bunch of glow-in-the-dark rosaries hung tangled together on the middle rack on one of those spinning souvenir racks. Next to the rosaries hung necklaces and patriotic bracelets from Mexico, El Salvador, the USA, and Honduras.

Maybe I just have an eagle's eye for things that glow in the dark. Maybe I have an odd fascination for cheap plastic trinkets. I stared at that souvenir rack, in the middle of the busy market, wondering why that all caught my eye. What about it seemed so right?

Then the spiritual light bulb went on. **ding** Subtly amidst symbols of patriotism and business hung the symbol of our God's loyal presence through it all. Where I least expected to find God, amidst all the chaos and clutter, He showed up through a cheap glow-in-the-dark Rosary. What a rock-solid God! God first incarnated Himself when Mary conceived Jesus into the world, and He has never left us since. Among many things, He keeps coming to us in our prayers, especially when we pray with Mary, our ever-faithful spiritual Mother. Even though God's love and grace is extraordinary, He chooses to reveal it humbly, quietly, and constantly, always amidst the chaos, uncertainty, and confusion of life--yes, even in a glow in the dark Rosary in the middle of a busy market.

As Rosary Talk saunters off stage left, Vocation Talk enters stage--

In a certain way, priests and religious act like those glow-in-the-dark rosaries (although we are usually dressed in black, not a funky green color). Priests and religious are a symbol of God's constant, loving, presence in this busy and distracted world. We do so by trying our best to live virtuous lives, serving whoever needs a lending hand, and staying close to the grace-filled Sacraments of the Church. The best priests, religious, and faithful lay women and men live and work within the complicated systems of the world while and, at the same time, point to something infinitely greater--the praise, reverence, and love of God. My advice? Keep praying. Get to know Jesus and His loving Mother more and more. Read about them, talk with them, listen to them, and stick up for them. Be a light to the nations.

Tu Es Petrus

You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church.
-Matthew 16:18

I wish Matthew could have described the look on Peter's face when Christ spoke those fateful words. This man, filled with both virtues and vices was called from his life as a fisherman to spread the Word of Christ, to be the first pope! What an daunting task! But aren't we all called to the same thing, to give ourselves to Christ and the work of His Church?

I think about this frequently in my life as a seminarian. In spite of all my weaknesses and failings, God has called me to discern a call to the diocesan priesthood and to hopefully serve as another Christ, an alter Christus, for all people. In short, I am Peter, 24/7. Upon the rock of faith that Christ has given us, we are called to spread His Word! I forget this as we all do from time-to-time.

This takes on a whole new dimension as a seminarian, however. I've noticed in my four or so years in seminary that "As the seminarian, so the priest" isn't just something they tell you to make you behave. And therefore we need to integrate the priesthood into our lives now!

I have some examples:

I am "the priest." If I'm with a group of people and they ask what I'm doing with my life, "grad school" isn't the honest answer. Whether I'm getting my haircut or playing "Guitar Hero," I have to be willing to cheerfully and openly answer questions about my vocation, even if I don't feel like it. It is part of my identity, and I am proud (the good pride) of it. At the same time, when I've sinned and seek forgiveness through the Sacrament of Reconciliation, my vocation will be brought up undoubtedly, even when I go behind the screen! I can't shake it, this call, so I know that the virtues of the priesthood should be ingrained into the depths of who I am.

The priesthood is forever! And quite frankly, those of us who are discerning a call need to remember to what it is we're committing. Let me borrow some words from Archbishop Dolan:

The priesthood is a call, not a career; a redefinition of self, not just a new ministry; a way of life, not a job; a state of being, not just a function; a permanent, lifelong commitment, not a temporary style of service; an identity, not just a role.
-Priests for the Third Millennium, 228.

Bing! So, when Christ asked Peter to lower his nets down for a catch (Luke 5:1-11), He wasn't just changing his title on his business cards to "Fisher of Men." Instead he was entering into a radical transformation of self, one which Christ bestowed upon him. This same "change" takes place at every ordination. What a remarkable calling!

But it doesn't make it easy! As in all vocations, there are times when the strains and pressures of life, the difficulties presented to us, will make us want to quit. Peter, in the same chapter of Matthew as his promotion to "Rock," denies that anything bad will happen to Jesus. And Jesus's response? "Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle to me... (Matthew 16:23)." Ouch. That's not something I want Christ to say to me, though He has in the past. Peter faltered, but through Christ's forgiveness and mercy he was able to become a very holy priest. We will, too, if we only throw down our nets and follow Him!

I still wonder what expression Peter wore on his face when Christ spoke those words, but I also wonder what expression I will bear when I look up at the mosaic of my patron after my ordination to the priesthood. With great wonder and awe do I continue to answer the Lord's call, but only through His love and mercy will I truly embrace His holy priesthood.

World Mission Sunday

Today the Church celebrates World Missions Sunday. As Christians we are all sent by God on a mission, that is to say we all have a specific vocation. For most of us it may mean going to the frontiers as a messenger of the Gospels in the fields of education, business, society, and culture. This is the vital backbone to fulfilling Christ's call toward His church. People of Peter's ilk are irreplaceable for the life, joy, and strength of our Church.

Yet for some Catholics fulfilling their mission might mean packing up what little they have and going to a foreign land to spread the Good News. As a Jesuit novice I am particularly excited by this day since our order has had the gift/responsibility of running thousands of missions throughout the world for the past 500 years. But no matter how far away we are from Rome, the charism of the Church and the will of the Holy Father are always at the core of who we are as men missioned by Christ.

To end, I want to share with you a fantastic quote on Mission and Vocation by Pope Benedict XVI at St. Joseph's Seminary this past April:

"Friends, again I ask you, what about today? What are you seeking? What is God whispering to you? The hope which never disappoints is Jesus Christ. The saints show us the selfless love of his way. As disciples of Christ, their extraordinary journeys unfolded within the community of hope, which is the Church. It is from within the Church that you too will find the courage and support to walk the way of the Lord. Nourished by personal prayer, promoted in silence, shaped by the Church's liturgy you will discover the particular vocation God has for you. Embrace it with joy. You are Christ's disciples today. Shine his light upon this great city and beyond. Show the world the reason for the hope that resonates within you. Tell others about the truth that sets you free."

Cool Hand Luke

Who's cooler?
I'm going to have to go with the one whose feast day is today.

Sorry, Paul Newman.

St. Luke the Evangelist is a great saint who was called from his profession as a physician in Antioch to follow St. Paul in his ministry to the Gentiles, along with composing "The Acts of the Apostles" and one of the Gospels (with Divine assistance, of course). While he may not have been able to eat 50 eggs like our other Luke, the Evangelist certainly had a "cool hand," writing down his experiences and the life of our Lord Jesus Christ.

We know that St. Luke was present for much of Paul's ministry and is mentioned as the "beloved physician" in his writings (Colossians 4:14). But Luke wasn't just some bystander blogger; he was with Paul, evangelizing the nations through the word of Christ. We even read in Paul's second letter to Timothy that "Luke is the only one with me" (2 Tim 4:11).

I cannot imagine living the life St. Luke led. Born a pagan and ending up compiling two of the greatest books of all time? Even that description falls short of capturing the Luke's experience. To feel the Holy Spirit guiding your words, helping you to remember certain nuances which would appeal to the gentiles. He had to know that while the book would one day bear his name, he was merely an instrument, "to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel" (Ephesians 6:19). What a calling!

Oh--here it is! Here's the vocations plug! We, too, are called to spread the Gospel of Christ! Whether we were born pagans or were struck with a blinding light and fell off our horse, Christ calls us to bear the message of Good News and to spread it throughout our lives. Believe it or not, we are also inspired by the Holy Spirit, who guides our "cool hands" to work in the vineyard. Whether this means to take up the plow, the pen, or the possibility of a vocation to the priesthood or religious life is for us to figure out--but only through His help.

To think that God loves us so much that He called men like Luke to compose the writings of His Son. He could have easily just handed it to us, but His great love allows us the freedom to respond to His invitation of faith. St. Luke responded; will you?

While on the road with Paul, perhaps Luke might have enjoyed this song. Take it away, Paul:

More than Philanthropy

Whether attending a Mass in Vietnamese, teaching Somali women English, or explaining transubstantiation to high school freshmen boys, the question "What's the point?"often finds its way into my consciousness.

More often than not, priests, seminarians, and religious find themselves in situations they would never have chosen for themselves. Yet often it is the men and women of the church--those who give their whole lives to those they serve--who are the most in love with life. They seem to live life to the fullest. No matter what the conditions of the situation in which they find themselves, they somehow have smiles on their faces and passion in their hearts.

So what's the trick?

I think it has something to do with their outlook, their understanding of the big picture. For them, Jesus is at the center of it all. Fr Pedro Arrupe, a great priest and former leader of the Jesuits said it much better than I ever could: "A companion of Jesus is a person of service to the Church and his neighbor; for him his neighbor is a brother. Philanthropy is not sufficient; it must be brotherly love."

The great joy about a life in the Church come from the fact that it is not first and foremost a job. We are more than doing good deeds just for the sake of doing them. For us, our life in the Church is a gift. As dedicated members of the Church, our actions are hopefully rooted in thanksgiving and love and expressed through prayer, the Sacraments, selfless service, and community. It's our hope that every "philanthropic act" becomes an experience of God's love in our world. To answer my primary question, I guess that's the point.

No matter how odd our good deed outside of our comfort zones may primarily seem, that "good deed" becomes the method of experiencing God's love to the fullest. After all, as 1 John says, "For this is to love: not that we have loved God, but that He has first loved us and sent his son as expiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, so we must love one another" (1 John 4:10-11).

Mommy Knows Best

As he opened the window, gusts of biting December air rushed into his room at the retreat center. It had been days since he had seen Miranda, and he couldn't stand it any longer. He had been planning it all day: gas station pay phone, half a mile down the road. After curfew. They'd never know.

Lowering himself onto the snowy ground, his mischievousness turned into a type of valor; he felt like a knight embarking on a great sojourn to claim his bride. He broke into a run, smiling at the times they had shared in the past year or so. But, as he rounded the corner of the building near the main road, all his joy was swept away into the howling wind.

No, it wasn't his retreat master; it was a statue. The Blessed Virgin. Standing high on a pedestal at the end of the windy drive up to the retreat house, the Mother of Jesus was as pure as ever in the freshly fallen snow, with the moon serving as a spotlight to display her splendor. All this infuriated the young man, who had been grappling with a calling to the priesthood in the midst of all the happiness he found with his girlfriend. As he trudged past, glaring, he yelled at Mary: "TELL YOUR SON TO LEAVE ME ALONE!"

One woman was truly disappointed that December night, but it wasn't the Blessed Mother. While his girl sat waiting by the phone, the young man stood in front of the image of the Mother of God, reflecting and praying about his life and his calling. He couldn't avoid it any longer. It was staring him right in the face...

Mommy knows best.

She certainly does! She knew of the calling that her Son had in mind for that young man, now a priest of the Society of Jesus. As the young man prayed through Christ's mother, he became aware of the calling, the mission he had to begin. Ad Jesum per Mariam isn't just some cute Latin phrase; it means that through her intercession we can become closer to her Son and follow Him. Her intercession gives us strength and consolation, courage and love--all virtues Mary possessed as she saw her son endure the harshest of deaths, all for us.

I laugh when my earthly mother reminds me that "she knows best," because she usually does. The same applies to our Blessed Mother, who will lead us to her Son in all things, even the toughest times of discernment. Pray through her, and "Do whatever he tells you." (John 2:5)

St. Rene Goupil

You probably have never heard of this man, or should I say, this martyred saint. One of the eight North American Martyrs, Rene's story is very well hidden. It's one of those stories reserved for the antique pages of a dusty old history book in an overlooked library. I just so happened to cross it the other night and was amazed how his life unfolded. If you are looking for a model in faith, perseverance, and courage check this guy's story out...

Rene was born in France in 1607. Inspired by the great deeds of the Jesuits in France, decided to join the Society of Jesus as soon as he could. Rene spent his first two years as a Jesuit greatly enjoying his time at the novitiate. To his regret, during his time there he became very sick. Unable to properly take care of Rene, the Jesuits asked him to leave the novitiate to recuperate.

Eventually Rene did get better and, ironically, became a physician. Even after being asked to leave and studying to become a physician, he still desired to be a Jesuit. This man loved God and did everything he could to serve Him. On hearing word some French Jesuits were heading to the newly-established mission called "Quebec" (Current day Quebec and Ontario), Rene asked to follow along as a "Donne," or "gift." Donne's were laymen who spent between one and three years living with and helping the Jesuits. Their role was common and vital in starting up missions through the New France Territories.

After two years serving as a surgeon in Quebec, Rene found himself being the surgeon for (Saint and fellow martyr) Isaac Jogues' expedition along the St. Lawrence river, through dangerous Iroquois country, to the Huron missions farther West. After an surprise attack from the Iroquois, Rene, Isaac Jogues, and many Hurons were taken captive to the Iroquois's villages.

For reasons too long to explain here, the Iroquois saw the French Jesuits as evil sorcerers. As such, for weeks they underwent torture, starvation, and slavery. Severely beaten, captive, and starved, Rene who was not yet a Jesuit, asked Isaac Jogues for permission and was allowed to profess the religious vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. A few days later there was talk of Rene and Jogues' release until, while being held captive in one of the Iroquis' cabin, Rene taught a little boy in the village the sign of the cross. An elder catching sight of this "sorcery" ordered Rene to be killed. Later that day Rene was attacked and killed by two men, right in front of Jogues who was released and able to document the story. Rene's last words shared his greatest love and desire: "Jesus."

Amidst constant challenges, detours, and uncertainties, Rene constantly found God's grace and constantly gave it back to Him. He didn't deter from seeking out God's face in his life when something bigger in life threw him a challenge. Our vocations are not always what we want them to be. More than that, they are God's. Rene's life teaches me that it is much more joyful to creatively find God's will amidst my challenges rather than complaining about them. Rene worked to do what he could for his Faith, primarily giving it all to God.

Sacramental Moments, Part Two

I pushed left and right along the edge of the forest and along the fence that bound it, until I found a place where the pine-trees stopped, leaving a gap, and where on the right, beyond the gap, was a tree whose leaves had failed.... I looked through this framing hollow and praised God.
-Hilaire Belloc, The Path to Rome, 113

After an exam today, a classmate and I grabbed some lunch at a shop nearby the seminary. We walked around the neighborhood for a while afterward, which is where we spotted this tree. Some might ignore its brilliant colors, its wonderful representation of the changes that occur this time of year saying, "It's just a tree." But to some it can be much more.

I don't know why the tree struck me the way it did, but something about it made me go back and take a picture of it. The color came out of nowhere; none of the other trees on that block have changed yet. It was so unexpected, like most of the sacramental moments we receive.

Sometimes we dismiss them as neat little things, but if we are aware of their Creator, who made such things for our benefit, then we'll be apt to thank Him and give Him the praise that is due. I'm sure each of us gets these sacramental moments periodically throughout the day; if only we weren't so deft as to miss them! They may come in a kind word, an unexpected run-in with a friend, or even a tree. Whatever it is, the more we recognize them, the more we'll recognize God's presence in our lives. Yeah, I think it's as simple as that.

I don't want to diminish God into a little kid with a sparkler on the Fourth of July, but I do believe that He gives us these moments so that we may learn to love Him all the more. For instance, in the midst of writing this entry I had to stop and go down to chapel for Eucharistic Adoration--now there's a Sacramental Moment! Jesus Christ, truly present in the Blessed Sacrament, a full gift of self, given to me unconditionally. Surely both are from God, but one is far more permanent, inspiring, and remarkable.

Belloc captures what I'm trying to get at:

I say that this kind of description is useless, and that it is better to address prayers to such things than to attempt to interpret them for others. -114

Amen to that! Culture wants us to search for God, when in reality He's right before us in the tabernacle. But He certainly does choose to reveal Himself in many ways, all which point back to love of Him. In short, my sacramental moments made it a very eventful day.

Part One

Our Home

So I had one of those “God Moments” this weekend.

It always amazes me that, so far removed from my friends and family, God still is showing me His love and inspiring me to serve Him. Here’s a little anecdote from the weekend…

Every Friday afternoon the novices take a walk down the street to the local parish for Mass. It’s a relatively small parish with few financial resources, but full of life. Every October they turn the church’s basement into a homeless shelter for struggling families in the community. The spiritual home of so many dedicated parishioners becomes the physical home of six struggling families. Everybody in the parish helps out as they can. To join in, last week a brother novice and I staffed a couple of nights there and got to know the families.

This past Friday I got up from the kneelers and filed in line to receive the Eucharist. I received Christ with an “Amen” and looked up to the cross. A simple prayer came from my heart. Thank you, Jesus. Bring me close to you. As I headed back toward my seat I looked up and toward the side door of the church. Through the window, only a few feet away, I saw the same families from the other night coming inside the church lobby—moms, dads, teenagers, babies, brothers, and sisters. They were tired, but laughing. Hungry, but relieved to be “home” for the day. I waved to one of the little girls I had gotten to know two nights ago.

My prayer was already answered. My first thought was, God, that was quick. Receiving the Eucharist and seeing those families, more than ever, I felt close to Christ. He was in my body and my home. I welcomed Him with an Amen and a wave. While so much of the world can be cold, selfish, and tiring, the church was a place of warmth, generosity, and joy for all who entered it that afternoon. God lives in His people. He humbly came to us 2,000 years ago run-down stable. Today He still humbly comes to us first under the appearance of Bread and Wine and then in the humble faces of anyone who we are willing to call our brothers and sisters. That’s proof enough to me that God is alive in the world and we the Church are living with Him. He is our home.

Since God is alive in this world through Jesus, he’s always calling us. We just have to keep an open ear and eye to Him. He is constantly inviting us 1.) to know that He loves us and 2.) to spread that good news to everyone we can—even sometimes in blog form. I can’t believe how blessed I am to get to spend my life as His disciple! Thank you, Jesus. Bring me close to you. Amen.

Pewside, 3 A.M.

As a high schooler attending the seminary's vocation camp, I was always thrilled by the activities. The high school men serve as junior counselors (JCs) for the three, two-day camps, which meant that we had the privilege of calling the seminary our home for a total of eight days (including the two that were just for us!).

I had attended these camps from the summer before high school and many years following, and entering the seminary had become a very likely possibility. But as I would soon discover, discernment isn't as neat and orderly as one wants it to be.

One night in the sweltering heat of June, my confrères and I were running around like loons (as all JCs do) after the campers had been put to bed. After the seminarians retired for the evening, we basically had free reign of the seminary grounds, save but one or two night owls. During this time we would play indoor soccer in the auditorium, raid the refrigerators, and spray campers with Febreeze. We were such hoodlums that William Golding could have easily written a book about us. But even we got tired after the Mountain Dew wore off. As guys headed upstairs to the dormitory, I took a detour and headed for the chapel.

Sweaty and exhausted, I plopped myself in the third pew from the front. After saying some half-hearted prayer and making the Sign of the Cross, I felt that I should probably spend a little more time in prayer, maybe even about my vocation. I had been thinking about entering the seminary, as I mentioned, but in the midst of water games, activities, ushering grade schoolers around to sessions, and pieing the vocations director in the face, I had been a bit distracted. This was the final session, and I knew I would have to leave my oasis in a few days. But did I really want it to become my reality?

A smile comes across my face whenever I think of that fateful night in the seminary chapel. It's the same chapel where I get down on my knees everyday and thank the Lord for the gift of my priestly vocation. I still have my moments of insincere prayer, just doing it to fulfill an obligation, but occasionally I'm prompted to spend a little extra time with Him, away from all the busyness and struggles of seminary life. This is what I tell young men who come on the camp every summer, who spend their nights running around while I catch a few hours of sleep. I tell them this story in hopes that they make the connection--that they too might head to chapel in the dead of night, to grapple with God over the possibility of their own calling. It sure worked for me!

Every now and then I return to the spot where I truly affirmed my calling to enter the seminary and to discern my call to the priesthood. With the lights dimmed, I recall who I was at seventeen, my fears about the seminary and my longing for some answers. While there's greater clarity at twenty-two, it doesn't mean that God has solved all my searches, my longings for Him. Perhaps He just wants me to return, again and again, for pewside visits. I think I shall.

The Best-Supporting Actor

So a guy I know was talking at the novitiate about Jesus and our relationship to Him. Big surprise! I was zoning in and out during his speech until he said something that really caught my ear.

"Think of the Academy Awards. One of the most coveted awards of the night is for the best Actor and Actress. It cannot be that way for us. The best we can ever strive for as Christians is to be the Best-Supporting Actor. The story is really about Jesus."

Who are you striving to be? How do you live your life? Who do you spend your time with? It's hard to see what is really important in life when we spend all our time and energy making ourselves look great. Our families, friends, talents, and vocations get tossed out the window when we make our lives all about ourselves.

I think everything gets discombobulated because the ultimate purpose of our lives is not, contrary to common belief, simply to please ourselves with whatever seems good at the moment. Our lives are much more meaningful. The greatest among us--Saints--are those women and men who pointed to something greater, who accepted the title of Best-Supporting Actor. We live to please God and to live in His love. Lasting joy and happiness comes from service, community, and prayer. Even though all three of those things are not without their hardships and struggles, the joy and peace that comes from them is unmatched by anything.

Where do our lives point? Do they point to ourselves--our accomplishments, triumphs, and gains? Are we striving to be the Best Actors?

Or do our lives point to something greater? Do they point to God, His love, His presence, and His peace? Are we striving to be who we were created to be, God's Best-Supporting Actors--Saints?

Leaving

Today marks the day of my friend's departure from the seminary. Having known him for eight years (four of those in seminary together), I'm taking his withdrawal from the program a little harder than some of the men who seem to come and go, discern and discern out, as if someone installed a revolving door at our entrance. But not my friend; his discernment has been authentic, his search for God's will hasn't been some ere he's put on for several years. That's what makes it so hard to see him leave.

When I was in my freshman year of college seminary, one of the juniors suddenly left one weekend in February. We were crushed. Here was this guy--this seminarian--with a big smile, a big heart, who seemed to have it all together, a fine candidate for the the diocesan priesthood. He would be in chapel a good half hour before I was even awake, and took his studies seriously. Basically, we wanted to be like him in every way possible.

The night he announced his departure a classmate asked me, "If not him, then who?" I felt the same way, but soon realized (as we all did) that our individual callings are not contingent upon the ordination of someone we admire. When people in our area hear of a man leaving, some are besides themselves: "WHAT? But how could he leave?!" I never really have a great response.

Perhaps the response I should give is that the man didn't feel called to the priesthood. Plain and simple. And, while this is oftentimes hard for me to remember, it's not about us! It's about Him! Hopefully as seminarians we remember the words of St. John the Baptist: "He must increase, and I must decrease" (John 3:30), because if we're not, maybe we aren't called after all...

I've been thinking more about my vocation ever since my friend broke the news to me last week. As he sat in my recliner talking about his prayer, his meetings with his spiritual director, formators, vocation director, family, and friends, I saw the look of peace he had on his face. And it made me remember that I, too, need to be discerning--everyday. As religious or seminarians approach their date of vows or ordination, everyday is a renewal of their vocation. I feel a strong call to the diocesan priesthood; I know I will be laying prostrate in a cathedral four years from now. But I am still discerning, renewing my commitment to Christ as his future priest.

Jesus then said to the Twelve, "Do you also want to leave?" Simon Peter answered him, "Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."
-John 6:67-68

While I am sorry to see my friend leave the seminary, I thank him for helping me remember my discernment and perseverance in my vocation. I have no doubt he will continue the work of the Lord outside these hallowed halls.

Poverty, Chastity, Obedience

You want to vow your life to what?!

As a novice preparing to take the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, I get this question a lot. Depending on who you are, taking these vows sounds either brilliant or nuts. No matter who I talk with about it, they definitely think what I am doing is odd--definitely not the norm. They think I am embracing some archaic way of life, naively suppressing my human dignity, or just crazy. Many people have a bleak outlook on the vows. So why do thousands of novices from around the world take the plunge each year and pledge these vows?

We take these vows for one simple reason: because we want to live as Jesus lived. We want to have the faith, hope, and love that Christ had. Each vow brings us to a deeper understanding of how Jesus lived His life. If we know better how Jesus lived His life, we can better model our lives to His. Let me give some examples:

Poverty. Jesus was born in a barn. He grew up in a village. In his ministry he had no permanent home. He listened, taught, and healed those who had the least in society. Christ was poor so that those who listen to him might have hope. Being poor opens our souls to whatever gifts God has to given us--which are numerous and occur often.

Chastity. Jesus showed love to those who were persecuted in society as well as those who did the persecuting. Prostitutes, tax collectors, Roman occupiers, untouchable lepers. Jesus loved them all. Being chaste opens our hearts to love whomever is in front of us with the most sincere and open heart. With a chaste heart more of the world becomes enjoyable than we could ever have imagined.

Obedience. Jesus obeyed Mary and Joseph growing up. He obeyed the laws of Judaism. And most of all, He obeyed His Father's command which led Him ultimately to die on a cross for us. Despite the challenges, doubt, and fear He experienced, Jesus lived a life of joy. I heard a deacon at my parish once say "I am convinced that Jesus was the happiest man to ever walk this Earth." We are most joyous when we live, not for ourselves, but for God.

So why do I want to live a "vowed life"? Well, i simply want to be joyous, loving, and hopeful in a world that needs it more than ever.

Fog Warning

The violent waters continue to beat upon the fisherman in the North Atlantic. The waves toss him about, as to remind him of the ocean's brutal nature--how dare he try and survive!

As he struggles to heave a large catch onto his boat, he hears the deep sounding horn, warning him of the approaching fog, his impending doom (once the fog comes, he won't be able to see his ship). The fisherman looks over his shoulder towards the ship and sees the vast column of clouds which will soon engulf him. He then picks up his oars--they are as heavy as chains--and rows for survival.

When I saw this work by Winslow Homer in a class this past spring, I was swept up by the meaning and the title. As the image was explained to us I could not help but think about its application towards the spiritual life. We are all in our own boat of faith. Together we are called by God to become "fishers of men," to bring people to Christ, no matter our vocation. There is no pre-requisite or resume, only faith.

Faith is required of us if we are going to do the work of the Lord. It is strenuous to haul in large fish, to row against the tides of popular culture. We can certainly become discouraged, too, when we hear the sound of the fog warning, or when we look back and see the difficulty, the giant clouds of doubt which often occur. But, through faith in him we will make it back to the ship safely.

I look to my patron saint of blogging, St. Peter, when it comes to faith. When Jesus calls Peter to walk on water, he uses the faith given to him to take a few steps. However, once he recognizes the difficulty of the calling, the looming fog, he begins to sink. Rowing seems hopeless. He cannot go on.

Oh, you of little faith. Why did you doubt? (Mt 14:31).

Life is going to be rough, just in case you haven't discovered that already. But life in Christ, in following His will for you, will be even tougher. Wherever He leads you: to the seminary, to the novitiate, to marry, to be a holy Catholic, remember that He will be with you amidst the fog, until you safely reach the ship (heaven), with your boat full of good works.

The Vineyard

Finally, he sent his son to them, thinking, 'They will respect my son.' -Matthew 21:37

I heard someone groan today about another parable about the vineyard. I rather like them; everyone can relate to the labors of life, of the toil necessary to produce "good fruit."

We see very clearly how the owner sends his workers (the prophets) out to collect the produce, and how finally he sends his son (Jesus), whom they threw "out of the vineyard, and killed him (Mt 21:39)."

Such was the love that God has for us, that He sent His only Son to receive the gifts, the produce He has given us. How much more appreciative, my sister says, she is of her beautiful voice and acting ability when she takes time to give thanks at Mass. My friend's career as a nurse has an even greater fulfillment when she talks to her patients about faith and God's love. We are invited to give our produce to the Owner; but are we willing to make the sacrifices from our harvest?

Pardon me as I crack my knuckles and delve into the topic of vocations: To the father who wants his son to be a successful businessman, will you let your son be the broker of souls? To the mother who wants nothing more than to have precious grandchildren, won't your son be the father of thousands? And to the son, who might be called in spite of his weaknesses and insufficiency, are you willing to go out into the vineyard? Your Father is calling you to reap what He has sown, for He has given you many gifts and talents, some you may not realize.

And will it be easy? Ask Paul, who's only been in the novitiate for a year and two months. Alone, dirty, scared, a vagabond--but Christ to those he encountered. Yes, I'm sitting easy in the diocesan seminary, but when my knees hit the kneeler, when I'm greeting parishioners, visiting with the sick and the homeless, and teaching fifth graders, all I can think is "Who am I?" (Exodus 3:11). But the Lord is with us; He does not send us into the vineyard alone. If we are to become Christ, we must be willing to go into the field, no matter the cost.

Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen captures the need for men to give their "produce" over to Christ:

"Every true priest has the same heart-tearing pity as he flies over a great city such as Paris, New York, or London. Down below he sees with Christ's eyes millions of souls unfed by the Eucharist, unhealed by penance, living in homes built on sand because they know not the Rock. He sees in them what Our Lord saw when He looked at the multitudes-- danger of eternal loss! Here are countless acres ripe for harvesting, but how few the laborers to gather!"
--The Priest is Not His Own, 80.

And so we reflect on today's Gospel, mindful of the sacrifice of being sent, yet joyful in the reward which is to come.

For it is in giving that we receive...

Today is the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. You may know who I am talking about. You see him in any garden, bird bath, or home hardware store. He's the bald guy in brown robes holding a little bird in his palms. If all else fails in trying to find him, look toward the neighborhood green thumb's garden. He's tucked right between the lawn gnomes and the pink flamingos.

Looking at a concrete miniature statue in some random person's yard, it may be hard to imagine that St. Francis was real and one of the most influential saints of his time (if not ever). After a spiritual conversion, Francis spent the rest of his life imitating Jesus and building up His church on earth (both figuratively and literally).


Today, Francis is an important model of the courage and generosity it takes to do God's will.

Let me explain. Before his conversion, Francis' buddies would have referred to him as "my rich friend." You know the kind of person I am talking about. We all have them. Francis was the kind of person everyone liked to be around because he had a huge inheritance and he knew how to use it. His whole life was centered around making himself happy, whatever the cost.

A brief series of events--an inter-Italian war, a brief illness, and a vision from God--and Francis' life radically changed. No longer was he the center of his own universe--Christ was. Francis chose to leave everything behind and head into prayerful seclusion. He spent his time praying over who he wanted to be and, more importantly, how he could best serve God. Things were going well until people found out what he was up to. Because of Francis' desire to love God with all his heart, he was ridiculed by those who once admired him. His proud and rich father could not have been more embarrassed. After a series of arguments with his father, Francis ended up defending himself in the bishop's court. Francis, because he wanted nothing more than to live as Jesus lived, publicly renounced his past pride, greed, and honors. Intense by nature (others would say "crazy"), Francis stropped the clothes off his back which were purchased by his father, gave them back to him, and stood in court naked. The Bishop, concerned for Francis' decency, gave him some of the bishop's own clothing.

From then on Francis would be provided for by the generosity of the church. In return, he spent the rest of his life giving all he could give back to Jesus and his people. Because he modeled his life so closely to Jesus', Francis even received the stigmata--the five wounds of Christ. Francis' conversion and continued lifestyle of austere poverty demanded intense courage and generosity. He was poor in all regards of the word except for God's love. God's loving call had the ultimate say in Francis' life. It's what brought him joy, peace, life. The same holds true for us. Nothing can be more filling than seeing God's love in a very real and practical way. The poorer we are to this world, the richer God's presence in it becomes.

Let us pray through the intercession of St. Francis that we may have the courage and generosity to give ourselves fully to God's deep love in our lives.

Sacramental Moments

I cannot believe that we are already six weeks into the academic year. Where did the summer go? What shocks me more is remembering that I was in Australia this July for World Youth Day. Australia!? Who goes to Australia? Apparently I did. I saw some sights, the Pope; it was amazing.

But every now and then the awe-inspiring becomes the phenomenal, the sacramental moment. I knew there would be awe-inspiring moments throughout our pilgrimage to the Great Southland, but I could not predict the one unique moment which defined my summer and fortified my vocation.

When the Holy Father came to St. Mary's Cathedral (pictured above), it was a remarkable experience. Bishops, priests, and lay faithful filled the Church to capacity to witness the Successor of Peter, whose presence evokes the love of Christ present on earth. I truly loved the Mass and the dedication of the Cathedral's altar, but the moment occurred a week later.

A brother seminarian and I were sick of sightseeing after the official festivities for World Youth Day had ended. On a whim, we decided to pray a Holy Hour at St. Mary's and to look around since the crowds had subsided. As I knelt amidst people from across our world at the high altar in the cathedral, it dawned on me how I was called to be a priest to all these people, no matter their nationality.

Hearing the Italians devoutly singing and chanting in the nave of the church, and the rosary beads visible all around me, the events of the past week flashed before me and began to make sense--all the times I had been called "Father," the times when I felt embarrassed walking through the crowds, the people who couldn't help but smile as I passed in my roman collar--these people were seeking Christ in their lives, and I was to be their priest.

Domine, non sum dignus...

More than two months after that sacramental moment, I find myself pacing the seminary halls, occasionally struggling to live a life of priestly zeal. Thankfully the Holy Spirit gives us these sacramental moments to help us to persevere, to guide us through the choppy waters of temptation and doubt. St. Peter, through moments of his own, was inspired to say, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God" (Matthew 16:16).

May we continue to hear the Holy Spirit working through our lives, so that we may be rock-solid in our faith and our vocations.

Part Two

Spiritual Continuity...

This past April Pope Benedict made his first Papal visit the the US, visiting Washington D.C. and New York City. His trip happened to coincide with my 30-day pilgrimage that every Jesuit makes as a novice. When thinking of grand spiritual destinations for my pilgrimage, visiting the pope in NYC made the top of my list. When I heard that my best friend (Peter) would be there with all his brother seminarians, my desire only deepened.

Trying to make the trip happen, I contacted some of my Jesuit friends on the east coast about tickets. "Thanks for trying, but there is no way you will be able to get tickets to anything. Everything's going to be packed." It was time to switch to plan B.

With a papal pilgrimage out of the question, I set my eyes to the Southwest. I had been living and working in Tucson for 10 days when the pope arrived in New York City. At the same time Pope Benedict celebrated Mass in Yankee stadium, I was sitting in an empty Greyhound station in Tucson, Arizona, waiting for a bus to my next stop, El Paso, Texas.

A little conventional wisdom: If you are ever traveling by bus, know that every Greyhound station constantly blares CNN on all of their TV's. After about 15 bus trips in 30 days, CNN gets very boring. Thankfully, that Sunday, in typical CNN fashion, they had "full non-stop coverage" of the Papal Mass. With nothing to do but wait for my bus, I spent my morning watching the Mass with the one small bag I owned on my back and my ticket in hand, waiting to move to the next city in typical Pauline fashion.

Though thousands of miles away from New York, I was truly connected. Watching the Mass from a run-down bus station, I listen excitedly to Benedict's words of hope and peace for the country. I was caught up in prayer for Peter, his brother seminarians, the bishops, and the Pope. I could not help but be thankful that they were praying for me as they prayed for the universal church.

I know that local communities pose great needs to their priests, bishops, and seminarians. I am thankful that men and women answer the calls of their requests. I am also thankful that the Church strives to take the Gospel to the economic, social, cultural, and religious frontiers of the world. This is a big part of my vocation. Although we are often on the road and at the frontiers, we rely on the support and prayers of the people back home.

As I traveled onward, I relied on the prayers from that Mass back East to keep me going to the frontiers of faith (in my case, El Paso, Texas). In mutuality, I prayed for the bishops, priests, seminarians, and all the faithful, that they may continue to build up a strong and loving Church in their home communities. Though separated by vast distances, years, and cultural ideals, the Church will always be connected through the Holy Eucharist, our humble prayers, and the Christian works of mercy.

In the words of a wise Jesuit I know, as a Church we strive for "Spiritual continuity across radical cultural discontinuity." Whether constantly present to a consistent group of people or constantly meeting new ones, we as Catholics seek to live our lives today and forever building up the Kingdom of God.