Back to Business

Ah, now wasn't that nice? Welp, back to business!

I hope you all had a terrific Christmas; I certainly did. As I stood in the sanctuary at midnight Mass, not doing much of nothing, I had a chance to mull over the words of my pastor's homily. He spoke of the great hope of Christmas, of people whose hearts yearn to be made whole, and are done so at our Lord's birth. It was very nice.

Nice? Christ became man, and all you can say is nice? That's pretty weak, Peter.You're right. If Christmas is nothing more than a "nice" occasion, a time to remember God but then pack Him away in a box labeled "Do not open until Christmas," then we've missed the point. This is only the beginning, folks! He reigns, He dwells among us, He brought forth the remission of sins through the shedding of His blood! Surely we won't try to contain His presence to one hyped-up day near the end of December?

Or do we?

Having asked myself this question, I sheepishly raise my hand to acknowledge that I do try to keep Christmas to one day and move on. The truth is, however, that the true Christmas season begins on December 25, and moves onward into the new year. I'm sure most of our Christmas trees will be dwindling by time 2009 is here.

We are currently in the midst of the Octave of Christmas, the eight days in which we honor Jesus's nativity by celebrating it, over and over again. Every one of these eight days is as solemn as the first, as the first time the nativity scene at your parish was blessed. Why? So that we keep Christ fresh in our minds as we press on into this new liturgical season, not to mention returning to our busy lives. Let's not forget to carry the Holy Infant with us wherever we go!

“Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

God's blessings, and merry Christmas!

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

As much as I would love to make another post today, I'm restraining myself (I've actually been skiing with my youth group in Colorado since the 27th, so these have been prepared ahead of time). Instead, I'm going to let Judy Garland do all the talking...singing, rather.

Let's not forget that Christmas is still upon us!

Family Matters

Today marks the celebration of the Holy Family; you might have heard some of your older relatives reciting their names: "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

This family truly is the model for all families. The Blessed Mother is there for her Son, nurturing Him in the womb and now, after His birth, will be there to support and love Him as He grows. The father, St. Joseph, also is the model father. While he was not without original sin (like Mary and Jesus), he strives for perfection, listening to the Lord's messengers on how to provide for his family.

If you don't mind, I'd like to particularly focus on St. Joseph today as the provider for our Savior and His Blessed Mother. Joseph is a prime example of what a father should be: patient, loving, skillful, selfless. "Poor Joseph," I hear people say; he never truly had the chance to have children which "sprang from his loins." He had to immediately assume the role of foster-father and guardian. His wife was a perpetual virgin yet bore the Savior of the world? That's a lot of responsibility!

As Joseph took Mary and Jesus into Egypt to flee from King Herod's slaughter of the Holy Innocents, he must have--once again--understood his vocation. He was to be an earthly father to His Savior, teaching him what he knew best, carpentry and how to be a faithful Jew. A fire must have burned in his heart as he took them into hiding in an unknown land; he, a lowly man, was called to ensure the lives of the God made flesh and the one from whose womb He sprung!

We, born with original sin and full of faults and failings, should look to Joseph as a model servant of the Lord. He provided what he could and with his best effort. That's all Jesus asks of us, to give our best efforts for His Kingdom. While we often fall short of perfection, Jesus still invites us with open arms, as he did to Joseph. I don't think Mary and Jesus scoffed at the meager conditions at their home in Nazareth; Joseph gave them everything, and then slowly vanished into the background, disappearing from the pages of the Bible. With great love for our Jesus and Mary, we look to Joseph to see how we may be honored to serve them as well.

By the way, today is also the feast of the Holy Innocents (when it doesn't fall on Sunday). Please continue to pray for the unborn and neglected children; they are true followers of the Holy Infant! You can read more about the feast on a post I made for election day, here.

A blessed feast to all families, and those who seek to live a life of service like St. Joseph!

Cephas, Remain Steadfast

Today marks the day of Paul's departure for Honduras. He will be greatly missed as a partner in this blogging endeavor while he is away.

Paul knows very little about the impact that his words have had on me these past few months, not to mention the numerous readers of these pages who have taken a snippet of his words and reflected upon their meaning in one's own life. He has been quick to compliment me on my writing style, wit, and depth, but I cannot capture the immensity of the "heart" that goes into his posts. This isn't just a flattery session, either. I mean it.

And so, as the Apostle to the Gentiles leaves Jerusalem once more, I can't help but reevaluate the purpose of this blog. What am I writing about? To whom am I writing? Lord, where are you taking me?

Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch (Lk 5:4).

Upon reading Christ's words to Simon I remember that this blog truly is a mission. He has asked us to lower our words into the waters in order to catch men and women in His name. I thank God that through these posts I have come closer to Him, along with a few others who have told us how wonderful our posts have been. I blush, but then remember that it's not just us. We are instruments, workers in the field!

Paul and I could not have kept up this blog for long if not for the continued inspiration and guidance by the Holy Spirit. We have both looked back upon our previous posts and wondered, "Who wrote that?!" It is a privilege to have the time and minuscule talent necessary to write these posts; I just hope we--you and I--can plow through while Paul's away.

In these next few months it will be imperative for me not to lose focus in my writing. Peter, as you know, was often prideful and quick-tempered (not the best combination). As one who not only uses his name but shares similar blessings and failures, it will be difficult not to have Paul by my side, challenging my message, purifying it from my worldly inclinations. And while I have seen very little of my dear friend since his entrance into the novitiate, I shall also miss our conversations and discussions over this blog, which is really just a reflection of our journey towards Jesus. O, Lord, how your blog has given me numerous blessings!

So, dear reader, let us journey together from the manger to the Cross, our hearts racing at the thought of giving everything up to be one of His own. It will not be easy, but through our prayers for one another we shall fulfill Paul's words:

Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time we shall reap our harvest, if we do not give up (Galatians 6:9).

The Protomartyr

I groggily stumbled into our chapel this morning 2 minutes before Mass with thoughts of last night's Christmas talent show and carols still fresh in my semi-coherent mind. The Creche was set up, the Christmas candles were lit, and the sanctuary cloths were red. I was as happy as I could be that early in the morning. It was still Christmas!

Then the celebrant started off Mass telling us how honored he was to be celebrating the Mass on his childhood parish's feast day. I silently wondered to myself, what is he talking about? It is true that today is still Christmas, so I still have reason to be full of that Christmas excitement and happiness. But it turns out those red sanctuary cloths weren't for Christmas. They were for a martyr. (Apparently the Christmas sanctuary colors are white). Today is the feast of St. Stephen, the first martyr of the Church.

Feel free to keep eating your candy canes, sipping your eggnog, wearing your new set of Christmas slippers, and listening to "An American Idol Christmas," but I would like to focus today's blog on St. Stephen.

Today's first reading is taken from the acts of the apostles. It partly reads:
[St. Stephen said,] “Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” But they cried out in a loud voice, covered their ears, and rushed upon him together. They threw him out of the city, and began to stone him. The witnesses laid down their cloaks at the feet of a young man named Saul. As they were stoning Stephen, he called out “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” (Acts 7:57-59)

I think it's a great idea of the Church's to put the feast of St. Stephen the day after Christmas. Stephen, like any famous martyr of the Church, is a model of how to be a Christian--how to welcome Christ into our lives. As a member of the very early Church in Jerusalem, Stephen probably had the opportunity to see Jesus first hand and to work side by side with the apostles. Unlike the pharisees in the reading, when he heard the word of God--the Good News that the kingdom of God is at hand--Stephen did not turn a deaf ear. He heard the News, internalized it, and physically lived it out in word and in action. Stephen trusted God, body, mind, and soul. Stephen trusted Him, even as the same familiar leaders whom he grew up admiring and listening to were chucking boulders at him. His whole life was open so much that his last recorded words were "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." This was all because he opened His soul to the gifts of the Holy Spirit (unlike Saul who had not yet had a conversion form the Holy Spirit to become St. Paul and who was on the persecuting end).

I assume that in a less graphic way today, we have been blessed with the same opportunity presented to St. Stephen, to form our lives more deeply in the reality of Christ's call. What do I mean? I mean that Christmas, as I mentioned earlier, is not just one day of the year. It is an entire season. Throughout the season of Christmas at Mass we recall the stories of Jesus' incarnation as well as His early life. As we learn of Jesus' descent and integration into our humanity, we too are called to grow in our own humanity. The following weeks are for us to bring Christ's desires and our desires closer together.

Mass on Christmas isn't just as nice family tradition. It is the start of our continual conversion. If we leave all the emotions, prayers, and desires of Christmas just on December 25th, they quickly die. We must recall those spiritual Christmas movements, and continually try to integrate them into our lives, always asking the Holy Spirit to help us do it. I think as Christians it is good for us to try our best to make real the movements of love, peace, and joy that we experience in our hearts.

I pray that through the prayers of St. Stephen, we may have the grace to live out and make tactile the love and blessings we experience at Christmas.

ps. FYI, St. Stephen was one of the first deacon of the Church. Today he is a patron for all deacons. I would like to extend a happy feast day to all the important deacons in my life! Deacons, you know who you are. Blessings upon your service and thank you for all you do. Also, Peter wanted me to also let everyone know that today is (one of) his feast days. Happy Feast day, Peter! While I am happy to wish him a happy feast day, I would also like to add that tomorrow is my feast day--St. John the Evangelist. (I can't give Peter all the spot light. It's bad for his eyes.)

Merry Christmas!...again

I, like most people, become helplessly nostalgic on Christmas Eve. Every year on Christmas Eve, memories of past December 24th's come and go: The three straight years I was sick with the flu. Getting thrown in the snow bank by my brothers. Lighting a votive candle in the side chapel every year. Bite size ham sandwiches and Lil' Smokey's at my Grandma's house. The basement walls covered in wood paneling and the bar in the corner decked out in Christmas lights. Christmas carols, presents, and cookies by the fire place. Good times.

Eventually my mind gets to the question, what is Christmas really all about? What does it really mean to me? What's the point? Last night I sat in the local diocese's huge Cathedral awaiting Midnight Mass to start, surrounded by thousands of people. I wondered to myself the same thing for everyone else. What's it all about for them? What is it about Christmas that attracts so many people to a Church in the middle of the night? It has to be more than the music, more than the poinsettias, more than going to be seen in your best outfit. I think we all came to simply pray. To thank God, praise Him, and ask Him for help.

My Christmas prayer throughout Mass, as usual, turned into a conversation. As I said, I get a bit nostalgic, so watch out! :)

God, why did you do it? Why did you send Jesus?
Why didn't you just let us do our own thing?
Why didn't you just stay up in the clouds and let us pretend you didn't exist?
I guess you just couldn't help it. You loved us.
I guess it is hard to keep love boxed in. You had to share it.

You had to share it, okay, but why in the way you did?
Why did you have to make things complicated?
Why did you have to be born to a virgin? It seems so crazy.
Why did you have to be born on the road? It seems so inconvenient.
Why did you have to born in the time of the Romans? It seems so passive.
Why did you have to be poor? It seems so weak and ineffective.
Why did your family have to neglected? it seems so insignificant.
God, you talked of love. Where exactly was it?
Jesus, why did you come the way you did?

Maybe, Paul, things are holier than they appear.
Becoming just "some guy" wasn't enough for me.
I wanted a fuller experience of what it is to be like us. I wanted to know you.
I wanted to experience your neglect, your cold shoulders, your greed, your darkness.
Just seeing the world's folly wasn't enough for me.
I wanted not only to see it but to take it from your lives.

Jesus, maybe you really are the light in the darkness like all the Church songs say you are.
I think you really are the love that sets us free.
So are you, Jesus? I guess you will tell me someday. I will trust you until then.

Maybe your story is all the same today.
I have seen countless women and men on the streets that, despite everyone's neglect, know what your love is.
It was beautiful. Weren't you there?
I have smelled incense rising up like prayers at dozens of funerals. I have seen families and friends say goodbye to their loved one with nothing but gratitude and love.
It was beautiful. Weren't you there?
I have heard the stores of countless teens, parents, and elderly who have had a conversion. They have wandered around trying to find the "meaning of life" and were surprised to stop their search when the found their answer in Our Father.
It was beautiful. Weren't you there?
I have tasted a simple piece of bread and a sip of wine. I have been a lost cause, confused, misguided, and mistaken yet tasted the peace that we cannot understand.
It was beautiful. Weren't you there?

I guess, God, that you are here,
and I guess the best way I can understand it as the greatest mystery of my life,
tangible, yet mystery none the less.
What does this day mean to me? Why do I care about your birth?
I guess because with you here in our everyday life, this world is in love.
That's good, God, because I like love. Amen.

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

B16's Christmas Words of Wisdom

Merry Christmas to all!

Last night, while flipping through TV channels waiting until midnight Mass started, I came across the Papal midnight Mass at St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. I caught the beginning of Pope Benedict's homily. It was awesome. I posted two excerpts from it below. He does a much better job at getting to the heart of the mystery of Christmas than I ever could. (What do I expect though? He's the Pope! I guess decades of theological studies help a person out explaining these things). I hope you enjoy it, but if you are in a rush to eat some Christmas ham or go to the annual family gathering, skip to the end. I think his very final line says it all. Enjoy.

….God dwells on high, yet he stoops down to us. God is infinitely great, and far, far above us. This is our first experience of him. The distance seems infinite. The Creator of the universe, the one who guides all things, is very far from us: or so he seems at the beginning. But then comes the surprising realization: The One who has no equal, who “is seated on high”, looks down upon us. He stoops down. He sees us, he sees me. God’s looking down is much more than simply seeing from above. God’s looking is active. The fact that he sees me, that he looks at me, transforms me and the world around me.

The Psalm tells us this in the following verse: “He raises the poor from the dust…” In looking down, he raises me up, he takes me gently by the hand and helps me – me! – to rise from depths towards the heights. “God stoops down”. This is a prophetic word. That night in Bethlehem, it took on a completely new meaning.

God’s stooping down became real in a way previously inconceivable. He stoops down – he himself comes down as a child to the lowly stable, the symbol of all humanity’s neediness and forsakenness. God truly comes down. He becomes a child and puts himself in the state of complete dependence typical of a newborn child.

The Creator who holds all things in his hands, on whom we all depend, makes himself small and in need of human love. God is in the stable. In the Old Testament the Temple was considered almost as God’s footstool; the sacred ark was the place in which he was mysteriously present in the midst of men and women.

Above the temple, hidden, stood the cloud of God’s glory. Now it stands above the stable. God is in the cloud of the poverty of a homeless child: an impenetrable cloud, and yet – a cloud of glory! How, indeed, could his love for humanity, his solicitude for us, have appeared greater and more pure?

The cloud of hiddenness, the cloud of the poverty of a child totally in need of love, is at the same time the cloud of glory. For nothing can be more sublime, nothing greater than the love which thus stoops down, descends, becomes dependent. The glory of the true God becomes visible when the eyes of our hearts are opened before the stable of Bethlehem….

…God’s glory is in the highest heavens, but his high state is now found in the stable – what was lowly has now become sublime. God’s glory is on the earth, it is the glory of humility and love. And even more: the glory of God is peace. Wherever he is, there is peace. He is present wherever human beings do not attempt, apart from him, and even violently, to turn earth into heaven. He is with those of watchful hearts; with the humble and those who meet him at the level of his own “height”, the height of humility and love. To these people he gives his peace, so that through them, peace can enter this world.

The medieval theologian William of Saint Thierry once said that God – from the time of Adam – saw that his grandeur provoked resistance in man, that we felt limited in our own being and threatened in our freedom. Therefore God chose a new way. He became a child. He made himself dependent and weak, in need of our love. Now – this God who has become a child says to us – you can no longer fear me, you can only love me.

Merry Christmas!

Peace on Earth!
God is with us!

The other day while in our 1999 Geo prism, a brother novice and I got into a deep philosophical conversation about, of all things, Christmas jingles--a true blessing to humanity. Why is it that "Rockin' around the Christmas Tree," "Rudolph the Red nosed Reindeer," and "Feliz Navidad" get stuck in a person's head (mine) for days? What makes them so catchy? Is it the simple tune, the happy past memories connected with the songs, or just their constant presence on the radio? Whatever it is, it works...too well.

The past few Advents before entering the novitiate, I made the conscious decision to limit my intake of anything Christmas, jingles included. I would focus on Advent. It was my hope that by focusing on Advent, I could better understand Christmas. It was one of those, "you don't know how good it is until it's gone" kind of things. Naturally, this attempt failed miserably. It was all but impossible to keep Christmas at bay until December 25 (or the evening of December 24 for you wise liturgical sages). However, being at the unusually quiet and prayerful novitiate the past two Advent seasons, I finally feel like I gave the under rated season it's due. Among many other things, I managed to hold back on Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, and the Vince Guaraldi Trio.

So what do I have to prove for it? Did it work? Is Christmas that much sweeter this year than in the past? I hope the following paragraphs can give you some benefit.

"Jesus, Jesus, help me find my proper place." This Advent season, rather than singing all those familiar Christmas songs, I sang this to myself instead. It is a little prayer, reminding me of Jesus' presence in my life and asking God for the grace of a good discernment. Nice. Simple. Quaint. To the point. Effective. What more could I ask for?

What we ask for and what God grants us are far from equal. He exceeds any expectations we can place on Him. All we have to do is look to this very day--Christmas Day--to see how true God's word, love, and fidelity really are.

I am amazed that God freed us from darkness, fear, evil, doubt, sin, bitterness, revenge, despair, and coldness. I am even more amazed that He did it through person, Jesus. He started it all as a helplessly dependent little baby boy, the son of two poor migrants. He started it all in a dark, cold, dingy, forgotten shack in some forgotten town. He started it all without any pomp or circumstance, the only people willing to see him a couple of low-end shepherds pulling a night shift and three wandering men with a different language and culture. God wills us to be nothing less than consumed in His selfless love for us. St. Paul famously wrote in his letter to the Romans:

What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? As it is written: "For your sake we are being slain all the day; we are looked upon as sheep to be slaughtered." No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8)

Paul's words all started on the first Christmas morning in a busted-out forgotten stable at a time no less hectic, nonsensical, and violent. That in mind, I go back to my mantra, "Jesus, Jesus, help me find my proper place." As a person of God, a Christian, what is my proper place? I need look no further than today's Gospel. Our place is with Jesus, even that busted-out forgotten shack in Bethlehem, that plain filled from side to side with people, that dusty road leading toward Jerusalem, or that hill outside the walls known as Calvary. Our place is with Jesus, who conquered over death. Jesus is love, hope, peace, joy, justice, strength, and fulfillment. God came to be with us, let's in return choose to be with Him. Our opportunities are endless: the Mass, our families, our poor, our forgotten, our elderly, our young, our enemies, our Saints, and many more.

...now, to that Christmas music, finally!

'Twas the Night before Christmas

And all through the land
The people were watching
Their "Dish on Demand."
On their couches they sat
Eyes fixed on T.V.
Their presents lay nestled
Aglow near the tree.

Mom turned to pop
She said with a plea:
"Something's amiss.
But what could it be?"
The gifts, the cooking
It's all said and done
But I've lost all my joy
Its void weighs a ton!

A man driving off
Tears fill his eyes
"Can no one free me
From this life of lies?"
The homeless, they gather
In cardboard box
No presents, no hope
And holes fill their socks.

On Facebook, on iPhone
The teens go and chatter
But moms see their faces:
"Is something the matter?"
The blogger he frets
About his next post
But has he forgotten
Who matters the most?

These people they search
They search far and wide
Is there not one
Whom they can confide?
Off iPod, off Blackberry
Our hearts should a glisten
There's just one command:
Be quiet. Listen!

Faster than light
Than any old sleigh
Christ comforts us
He will not delay!
And so all began
With a low stable birth
This God was made man
Who came down to earth!

For upon this night
Generations ago
He humbled Himself
And God didst bestow
A plan, through which we
From our sins were set free
He died for our sake
He was pierced to a tree!

The forsaken, the distraught
Those who live without meaning
Come meet Christ at Mass
Where we are convening!
For there He will fill
The void of your life
He'll enter your soul
To battle all strife!

All should rejoice
At this time of year
Priest, nun, and lay:
Should be filled with cheer
For while thoughts may loom
On this great recession
The Infant awaits
In His great Procession!

And so we prepare
Just one moment more
For will we be ready
For what He has in store?
On this Christmas eve
We're blessed by the Lord
A Merry Christmas to you
From the Rock and the Sword!

All My Bags are Packed

Our regular readers may have noticed that, as Peter mentioned, I skipped a post. My bad. I must be honest with you. I have never been one for turning things in early, or on time for that matter. I liked to believe that the quality of my work would make up for the tardiness of it. Reviewing some of my papers and grades, I guess it was more of a wish than a belief.

But let's get to the point. As I said, I missed a post. You know as well as I do that life gets incredibly busy around Christmas: praying, shopping, baking, visiting. Life at the novitiate is no different. On top of all the Christmas excitement, most of us novices are getting all our belongings together in preparation for what's known as our "long experiment." We leave December 26th. This is one of the final parts of the novitiate when a novice lives and works at an apostolic Jesuit community for five months. While we have many reasons for doing this experiment, the primary reason is to see first hand if the apostolic Jesuit lifestyle is for us. It is one of the many tools we have to see if God is calling us to taking vows in the Society of Jesus.

After a period of discernment throughout the fall, my superiors missioned me to spend my long experiment in a town in northern Honduras. In typical Jesuit fashion, my role down there is still a bit vague. I am used to hearing from my director, "I'm sure you'll figure out more about what you'll be doing when you get down there." Though the specifics are still up in the air, I can tell you that I will be spending most of my time at a Jesuit parish helping out in a clinic, working on my Spanish, and visiting nearby chapels on pastoral visits. I am very excited by it all, not to mention the warm, sunny, tropical climate.

I share this news with you for a few reasons.

1.) practically speaking, I will not be able to post on the blog with any regular frequency. Honduras is a very poor country, the second poorest in the western hemisphere behind Haiti. The needs are great and computers aren't on every corner like they are here in the states. I am sure I will be spending most of my time working on the language or helping out someone with something, getting a taste of the life of a pastor.

2.) This news makes me raise the question to myself: what personally attracts me to our faith? The quick answer: the sense we have as Catholics of Mission. Though I may not have known it at the time, the idea of "mission" is ultimately what attracted me to the Jesuits. I really wanted (and still do today) to be a missionary in the truest sense of the word. I have tended to expand the idea of "missionary" beyond that of being a Christian proclaiming the gospel in foreign lands. To be a missionary is rather simple, unspectacular. To be a missionary is simply to be sent on mission: to proclaim the Good News of the Gospel in my actions and words. The destination can be as close as your home, school, or workplace and as far as Mexico, Honduras, or China.

To be a missionary is to be in a certain spiritual solidarity with the first apostles, sent to spread the Gospel. Some stayed in Jerusalem, some to Rome, and some to the known ends of the Earth. Some spread the Gospel by building a small community in secret, some by preaching aloud in the streets, some by writing hundreds of letters, and some by their martyrdom. There is no one method, place, or distance that makes you a missionary. It all has to do with one's attitude. We all have a mission. When we follow it we are being missionaries, sometimes doing so more explicitly than others, just like in the zealous early Church.

Above is just a quick simple reflection. I am sure after a few months of being an explicit "missionary" I will have a few more and hopefully deeper reflections to share with you. Hopefully electricity and a computer will be handy so that I can share them with you.

3.) Peter and I had a little pow-wow over the phone last week. We decided that in my absence we would "outsource," to our fellow companion, Timothy. I write you this just to give you a little heads up. We will write more about Timothy later this week. Stay tuned.

If you have made it down this far, way to go! Thanks for staying on. Christmas is fast upon us. On this the first day of winter, I can feel hope, joy, love, and all those other good Christmas graces knocking at the door. This is an exciting time for the Church and the world. Christ is so very close to us!

Priestly Identity

My dad lost his job when I was in eighth grade. He had a lot of free time when he wasn't redoing his resume or going to interviews; this enabled him to hit the links a few times with one of his favorite golfers, our parish priest.

One day our associate pastor called him up and invited him to play 18 at one of the area courses, one of the nicer ones. My dad agreed to pick him up at the parish the next morning. After getting Father, the two of them drove out to the country club and got their things ready; my dad took their clubs out of the car while Father went and checked in.

As they walked up to the first tee, our priest pulled my father aside and said, "Oh, by the way, today you're a priest." Dumbfounded, my father didn't have any time to respond before the greens keeper spotted them. After reading their names on the sheet, he looked at them with eyes sparking and said, "Good morning, Fathers! What a beautiful day the Good Lord has given us!" My dad said he gave Father a look would have scared the devil himself.

Why does the priesthood have such a profound impact on people? Why was my father so scared to be called "Father" while on the course? It's because of the immensity of the calling!

Lector: Now wait just a second, Pete. Don't take us on a Monday-morning ego trip. Besides, we've already heard a golf story about this priest and the impostor cleric.

Blogger: Calm down. You know quite well that the priesthood is an immense calling, not because of the man being called, but because of what he's being called to, and by Whom. That's why my dad reacted the way he did, because he knows and respects such a high calling. I don't know if this is the same outing as the earlier post, but it has a different approach and I have momentary writer's bloc. It's Paul's turn, anyway. Oh, and don't call my dad an impostor.

As I was saying, there is a reverence which should accompany the priestly vocation because of the magnitude of the call. This doesn't diminish any other vocation, but certainly shows how it should be held in great esteem. Just as the bride and groom give themselves entirely to one another, so to does the priest give of himself entirely to the Church. That's why you see old ladies kissing the hands--fresh from anointing--of newly ordained priests. It's beautiful to see, really.

On the same hand, however, it is important not to make our priests into demi-Gods. A priest should be the shepherd of his flock, keeping them in sight and even rescuing them from the thickets of sin. Their presence at the altar or the font does not make them without fault but requires their sheep to be respectful and trusting of his role as their pastor. Thank God, though, for people who aren't afraid to point out to their priest the times when he's sliced a drive into the woods, or when he scored a double-bogey on a hole.

Lector: Double bogey?
Blogger: It's a golf term, meaning you shot two shots over par.
Lector: Par?
Blogger: It's the set number of shots that it should take you to finish a particular hole.
Lector: Hole?
Blogger: Stop it.

What is also important to remember is the balance between the simple and the ostentatious lifestyle that a priests lives. One life certainly edifies more than another. Unfortunately I've seen clergy who are more concerned with the French doors and French cuffs than their parishioners, and it saddens me. There's nothing wrong with remodeling the rectory (I've seen a few that need it badly), but anything that could potentially hamper a priest's ministry should be noted as such. I am in no way saying that Fr. Diocesan cannot travel, fish, or golf, as long as he remembers his servitude to Christ. As we've seen, golf can be a great pastoral tool.

The simple life seems to be the best course of action, even for diocesan priests who don't take vows of poverty. You can have nice things, but, in my opinion, you shouldn't need a U-Haul to take it from assignment to assignment. A priest I know was recently reassigned from a place he was pastor at for over ten years; he said he gave over half of his stuff away. Now that's detachment and a living of the simple life! As a religious told Archbishop Dolan on an overnight stay on his way home, "Aren't we all just passing through?"

I'm grateful for all the priestly identity experiences I've had thus far in my seminary training. People are always so gracious whenever I visit parishes or return home to the best parish ever. They wish me good luck and tell me that I'll make a good priest, but they're also not shy about warning me: "Now don't you go and get all trumped-up like Fr. So-and-so." I get it at home, too; while I receive great praise for my talents and efforts in the seminary, I still get scolded when I leave my shoes lying around the house. Also, my dad always tells me that he'll still affectionately call me "butt head" even after I'm ordained. Thank God for these reality checks; they'll help me to remember the greatest priestly reality of all: the Cross.

Lector: Your father calls you butt head?
Blogger: Yes.

The Office

As much as I love watching Michael Scott, Dwight K. Schrute, Jim, Pam, and the rest of "The Office" cast with all their antics, this post isn't about that office. Instead I'd like to give some attention to the Divine Office, commonly known as the Liturgy of the Hours. In the past five years, we've become close friends.

This won't be a pious reflection on the Psalms, by the way; if you're looking for something of that nature, Fr. Pius Parsch gives a beautiful reflection here. Did you like the play on words there?

Like a nagging mother-in-law, the Office is "with me" wherever I go. Day in, day out, I fumble with its ribbons and page through its psalms, participating in one of the great prayers of Holy Mother Church. As a seminarian, I'm not bound by any vow which requires me to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, but I'm certainly expected to pray the Hours daily in preparation for my priesthood. When I am trying to find which "proper" or "common" is used for a certain feast, it's nice to know that all my fumbling will "bear much fruit" later in life.

Sometimes, I admit, praying the Office is somewhat of a chore. Between papers, tests, pastoral ministry, and glasses of ale with friends, my maroon leather-bound breviary sits, waiting to be opened and prayed. While it's great to think that I am joining thousands of priests, religious, and laity all across the world in prayer for the Church, that's not usually the thought that crosses my head when I realize--after my head hits the pillow--that I've yet to say Night Prayer. Fists clenched and whimpering, I somehow muster up the willpower to turn on the light and reach for my breviary.

I love praying the Office, believe it or not. While burdensome and occasionally boring, the Liturgy of the Hours challenges me in my prayer life. Better than that, the Psalms give me comfort when I'm upset, a place to vent my frustrations when angry, and a voice to describe my utmost joy in the great gifts from God. But what if I don't feel "like the slain lying in their graves" (Ps 88) on a Friday night? What if I feel like praising God, "For I know that the Lord is great" (Ps 135)? Well?

The Liturgy of the Hours isn't some type of mood ring; different psalms are arranged for different parts of the day. We pray more somber psalms at night to remind us of our mortality. They're coupled with a reading and the Canticle of Simeon, in which he says after seeing the Holy Infant, "Lord, let your servant go in peace.... My own eyes have seen the Salvation which You have prepared..." Absolutely beautiful, especially when sung.

In addition, we do not pray the Hours only for ourselves. Every time one participates in the Liturgy of the Hours, it is truly a liturgy, in which all the Church is present. Therefore, whenever I pick up my breviary, my praying of the sorrowful Psalms serves as prayers for the homeless man on the corner of Addison and Clark, or the corporate executive who just lost his job. They are not just my prayers, but our prayers. That's what I try to remember when I have to wake up and finish praying my breviary.

All the Hours are beautiful because of their ability to extract the participant from reality, while at the same time plunging into it all the more. The Psalms are real; they were written by people who lived and breathed just as we do, who felt the hurt and pain of this world. Furthermore, they're inspired by the Holy Spirit, who shapes those words so that they ring true in our hearts. What a great gift!

It's so wonderful how the Spirit moves from page to page as I pray the Psalms. He helps me to remember those who have asked for my prayers, or even those who may be in need of prayers at that point and time. My breviary is stuffed with prayer cards and pictures, kind of like a locker decorated with pictures and quotes to remember as you reach in for your books. Most of the time these phrases contain messages which tell me to "hang in there" or even from Jesus, "I love you." It's nice to remember that when I open my breviary, and to remember those who need to hear it more than I do.

I smile, now, when I pray psalms with "rock" or "sword" in them, such as "The Lord is my rock and my salvation" (Ps 144), or "Gird your sword upon your thigh" (Ps 45); they remind me to pray for you, our readers, as well. May you also find solace in the Hours, or even through meditation with the Psalms. For, as Fr. Parsch says:

The psalter is a sacred heritage, the treasury of the Church's finest prayers, and it is lying open for us if we but take it and make it our own.

A Novice (Reporter)

During our time in high school, Peter and I wrote on the staff of our school newspaper. It came out to all the homerooms every Friday morning. Thursday nights spent publishing the paper had a certain ritual about them: a dozen teenage boys crammed in a tiny office, busted-out couches, cold delivery pizza, Bob Dylan, Pepsi, a worn out copy machine, and a continual supply of pages to be edited. The newspaper advisers (who by day were also the English teachers) beat into our adolescent minds that we should avoid, like mortal sin, cliches, run-on sentences, and the passive voice. Of course, my articles always seemed to be dripping in the most red ink.

Throughout my first year on staff, I recall working hard throughout the week attempting to discover "my voice," testing out new sentence structures, and learning how to effectively build a paragraph. Most of the time I didn't know what I was doing (I still often do not know. Can't you tell?). It was challenging for me, but I enjoyed my time being in the office, but I began to wondered to myself if I was cut out for journalism. I just didn't seem to be getting any better. Well over 16 months of writing past before I ever heard, "Hey, Paul, nice job on that article." Once I heard that, my whole outlook changed. Even though I still wasn't the man with all the front-page stories, at least I felt like I was effectively contributing something. I grew in confidence working at on the paper staff and by the end of my senior year, it was tough for me to leave. The office and even more so the staff had become a home for me. We were in it together.

Today we hear in the Gospel that elderly Zachariah and his wife Elizabeth had spent their entire married life trying to have children with no success. because of their age, it seemed even to them that the opportune years to have a child had come and gone. For any couple to not have children in their day was an obvious sign to their contemporaries that God did not look favorably on them. Yet, despite their misfortune, Zachariah and Elizabeth remained faithful to one another and to the God who others could assume had abandoned them. They still hoped that God would be pleased with their lives and bless them with a child knowing full well that the outlook seemed grim if not impossible.

While offering incense to God in the temple, Zachariah received a message from the angle Gabriel. A miracle was proclaimed. Despite the inconceivability of it all, He and Elizabeth would be with child. He would be named John the Baptist--the forerunner to Jesus Christ.

"He will be great in the sight of the Lord.
He will drink neither wine nor strong drink.
He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from his mother’s womb,
and he will turn many of the children of Israel
to the Lord their God." (Luke 1)

I love this passage. There is so much doubt on the side of humanity and so much faith on the side of God. In the most important aspects of our existence, it seems to me that God's hand in the world is much more effective than our own. Sometimes because of negative external factors, limited mental ability, or confusing directions we can choose to limit our God-given potential and grace (found primarily in Baptism). We can convince ourselves that we are too broken, busy, old, or young to live out God's plan for us.

However, that idea simply doesn't stand up. Look at Zachariah, Elizabeth, their son John, the prophet Jeremiah, Moses, St. Peter, St. Ignatius, St. Bernadette Soubirous, or any famous religious figure. All of them had a legitimate reasons to doubt and not follow through in God's call, but they still chose to trust God. If we took a survey in Heaven today, I don't think that any of them would have ever wanted to take back their commitment, their "yes" to God's will for them.

The truth is that more often than not during our lives, God's voice seems pretty quiet. For periods of time we may not even be able to see one sign of God's love or concern. We are naturally bound to wonder what we got ourselves into and why it's important to stay. These are natural feelings. But rather than see them as hindrances or burdens, I hope we can begin to look at them, very patiently, as ways to deepen our trust and commitment to God. It can be a way to say "yes" to God not just in the good times, but also in the challenging times.

After this time his wife Elizabeth conceived,
and she went into seclusion for five months, saying,
“So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit
to take away my disgrace before others.”(Luke 1)

A Resting Place

As a child rests in his mother's arms, even so my soul. -Psalm 131

Christmas break from the seminary has proven to be just as busy as when class is in session. Bouncing from parish to get-together to bed (rinse, wash, repeat) has taken its toll on this usually indefatigable seminarian; I am now sporting this season's latest cold. With the assistance of Day/Nyquil and a few lengthy naps, I am finally on the mend.

But how about my soul? How will I mend its wounds?

There's a place I love to go for Mass when school is not in session. It's the Benedictine abbey that lies halfway between my house and the seminary, and its 5:45 P.M. Mass is my absolute favorite. The abbey has a quality uniquely its own, especially this time of year. There's a feel to the chapel which quiets my soul.

It's a resting place.

After battling my little sedan through rush-hour traffic, I signal and pull onto the main drive. As the road bends you pass the abbey and its sounding church bells; I love Doppler Effect as I pass on my way to the upper parking lot. It's at this point when I turn my car radio off in anticipation for the peace that awaits me.

When you walk into the chapel your eyes are immediately drawn to the altar. Something is amiss from the rest of my day. Oh yes, it's the silence. The chapel is in the round (I couldn't care less), so I find a place in one of the pews that surrounds the altar. It's here where I take the time to prepare myself for the great mystery of the Eucharist. As I breathe in, it feels like it's the first breath I've taken all day. Inhale. Hold it...

Exhale...

To my left is a choir loft where a group of Benedictines and parishioners sit, waiting for Mass to begin. Paul and I joined the monks for vespers and dinner one evening; we sang ancient hymns and had the best roast beef and mashed potatoes of all time. I've always wondered what it would be like to live as a Benedictine, with all that time to contemplate. I'm sure they do just as much inhaling and exhaling as I do before Mass begins.

As Mass begins the monks chant the entrance antiphon. I'm always so pleased when most of the congregation chants the "Glory be," showing how much they love the songs which give such glorious praise for such a tremendous gift, the Mass. In the chapel, people from every walk of life gather together for a forty-minute respite, to say thanks and to receive Christ's Body and Blood. Nurses, high school students, mothers with children, businessmen, and prospective vocations park their cars, turn off their Blackberries and open up their hearts. And when it is time for the Offertory, you can tell by the reverent silence that these people are truly offering their hearts to Jesus, to help them bear their crosses in life. I join them, and peace floods into my soul. That is where I find hope, in the darkness, looking towards the Light, laid down on the altar of sacrifice.

The beauty about this resting place is that it is common, in every state and town. What makes it a resting place is the Person who gives us rest, who welcomes us into His arms. In that way, our resting places are like Walgreen's; every neighborhood has 'em. They're your parishes, chapels, oratories; they're our home, as Paul says. I hope that by finding a resting place of your own you will allow Christ into your heart, so that He can show you what He has in store. With Him there will be peace.

Our Home is the Mass

The other day the Bishop came to say Mass for the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe at the Hispanic parish where I volunteer. Being the resident seminarian, as I walked through the door I was told to put on an alb and light up the incense. Apparently I was assigned to be the thurifer (the incense guy). It was the first time I had an opportunity to serve for a bishop as a Jesuit novice. I loved the opportunity.

The place was packed, loud, and warm. My English-thinking mind began to wander during the hour and a half Spanish Mass. This life as a seminarian is so chaotic. We usually fly by the seat of our pants when we are in public. As a Jesuit not only am I constantly changing my social context, I am regularly changing my geographic context too. Three weeks here, two months there, a couple of days on the other side of the planet. We're always on mission.

Always into something new, or at least different, the question pops into my head, Where's home? My answer is always the same. The Mass. Peter, other seminarians, and I may spend the majority of our time behind the books, on a phone, or at meetings, but our homes are around the altar at the Mass. As Catholic theologians love to say, the Eucharist is the "Source and Summit." They are absolutely right. It is where we come to meet Jesus, where he comes to meet us. At Mass we offer all we have as a communion of believers up to God, both our sins and blessings. At the same time, all of us (whether we see it or not) grow in grace through the power of the Holy Spirit. The climax being our sharing in Jesus' body and blood. Without this "source and summit" I think our Church would be bland, weak, dead.

I cannot help but be thankful for Peter and his brother diocesan seminarians who focus their lives on performing the Sacraments. While us Jesuits and other religious are out reaching the edges of the vineyard, they are staying back, tending to what has been planted, creating a strong and loving home for the people of faith. They cultivate substance to our missionary endeavors. Taking part in the Sacraments, more than anything else for me, turn a random place into a home.

Any vocation I think gets its strength from the Sacraments, especially in the body and blood of Jesus found at the Eucharist. With each meal shared together in a house of faith, Jesus feeds us, fills us, consumes us more and more. His love becomes our love. His mission becomes our mission.

Living the Dream

August, 2007 was a great month for me. I was about to start my senior year of college, I went on a pilgrimage with my diocesan brothers, and I took a road trip with two of my closest friends, one of whom was Paul. It was an amazing time!

The road trip was the most meaningful of all. We loaded up Paul’s car with our duffel bags and took to the road to visit Paul’s former college one last time before he entered the novitiate. We took our shirts off, turned the tunes all the way up, and soaked in the rays from the summer sun. Book material, don’t you think? As Paul always says, we were "living the dream."

After being stuck behind a Wal-Mart truck for two hours of a six hour drive, we finally reached our destination. Most of Paul’s friends were R.A.s for the upcoming school year, and had come back a week early for their orientation. We had much of the campus to ourselves and had a great time playing washers in the quad, eating and consuming various beverages, and praising God for the gifts of His bounty.

We really did praise God for that bounty when we attended the community Mass that Saturday evening. There were a lot more people on campus than I realized; the college church was more than half full. As we knelt down to pray before Mass, I realized that this was no Ordinary Time. This was Paul’s time, a time of good byes, full of sorrow and yet, of great joy. His "dream" had taken on a new meaning, and far greater depth. In less than a week’s time he would leave his old life behind and enter the rule of Ignatius, befitted among greats: Xavier, Gonzaga, Berchmans, Campion, Borgia, Bellarmine, Claver, Koskta, and so many more. These men humbled themselves in the name of a tiny lad born in a manger, who would sacrifice everything on a cross. Yes, at that Mass, there was no Ordinary Time at all.

St. Paul, in his “Letter to the Hebrews,” speaks so eloquently on the priesthood; it was only fitting, then, that we would hear the following words read at the second reading:

For the sake of the joy that lay before him, he endured the cross, despising its shame, and has taken his seat at the right of the throne of God. Consider how he endured such opposition from sinners, in order that you may not grow weary and lose heart.

I don't remember those words being read that evening; I had to look them up. What I do remember, though, is sitting next to my friend, praying for his vocation, and wondering what he must have felt. I also remember watching with great awe at the outpouring of love that the community gave him after Mass; as a large group of us prayed over him, I saw how the people had called him their own. He was theirs, even if he would not be joining them for the fall semester. He would have their prayers, though, to take with him on his journey towards the "right hand of the throne of God." He had given of himself long before his entrance into the Society, and would continue to give of himself in the name of Jesus. This was his dream.

What a dream! Priests and religious are called to give entirely of themselves no matter where they're assigned, to live lives of complete abandon for Christ. But for religious, there is no "home," no inn--only a stable. It’s remarkable to think that so many men and women feel this dream of Christ beckoning them so strongly that they force themselves to retract from the world and all its allure, only to embrace a cross. How remarkable.

We woke up the next morning to head back to our hometown. I watched as Paul said good bye to his friends, his support over the past two years, and realized that I, too, would soon have to say my good-byes. As we have discussed since then, this truly was Paul’s good bye to the world, to the life he had known for the past two years. Sure, he would see these friends again somewhere down the road of life, but it would be different; he indeed was taking the “Road Less Traveled” as Frost put it. The road, contrary to society, is filled with suffering, self-giving, with little thanks or praise. Paul took his first steps down that road as he left his old life behind. The road's name is detachment.

In the parking lot, my friend and I let Paul walk ahead—alone—towards the car. I don’t have any words to quote, or any profound sayings that he told us later. Perhaps there were none, just a feeling of sorrow mixed with the knowledge that everything was right, or would be made right. Regardless, the picture above speaks for itself. Detachment and abandonment for Christ.

From late-night conversations when he's been in town, from letters and phone calls, and from blog posts (like Friday’s), I can safely say that Paul seems to be doing quite well in his search for his authentic call, his true vocation, by taking the time to pray along the way (he's on retreat right now, so keep him in your prayers). This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t find it difficult, if not tortuous, at times, but he is certainly “living the dream” as he once said.

How are you being called to detachment, to "live the dream?" As the birth of Christ approaches, how will you prepare room for him in your heart? It's one thing to read it on a blog; it's far more challenging to live out, everyday. Join Paul and I as we stumble along the road to Bethlehem.

Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful...

Have you ever seen the 1950's classic, "White Christmas," starring Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye? If you haven't here's the long story short, two WWII veterans turned variety show stars make their way up to an unseasonably warm Vermont for the Christmas season, staying at the B&B of their old commanding army general. In classic 1950's musical fashion, these two guys team up with a couple of beautiful sisters, singing and dancing the whole way through. A thick dose of pure white snow tops everything off as the four happily go sleigh riding off into the glistening winter forest. You can't help but walk away feeling all warm and fuzzy.

If only life were that nice. The other day we got hit with about six inches of snow. The snow may have looked nice on the rooftops, trees, and barren fields, but on my way to the Church, it was a different story: six city blocks of black, brown, icy sludge. If you live in a place that gets snow, you know what I am talking about. (All of you in Florida, keep taking it easy). Even though the view may be nice at a distance, going outside for the shortest of walks can be a messy, dangerous, cold chore.

We must be honest with ourselves. Our true vocations will be full of messiness, heartbreak, waiting, and uncertainty. From time to time we may be like Bing Crosby in White Christmas, but more often than not (say from late November to April) we will find ourselves trudging through the world's hardships and inequalities.

Before His passion and death, Jesus said to His apostles, "Remember the word I spoke to you, 'No slave is greater than his master.' If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you. If they kept my word, they will also keep yours" (Jn 15:20). Our vocations were never meant to be happy-go-lucky, though that may be what most people see. Our vocations are much deeper and more meaningful than that. Jesus calls us to be servants of the Gospel, and that will entail putting the spiritual and physical welfare of others first. Rather than taking a cozy sleigh ride through easy street, as devoted Christians we will take a walk through the slushy, dangerous streets of sins, inviting others to follow us to a better place of peace, joy, and love, a place far greater than we could ever imagine (even Vermont).

Yeah, it will be messy, and we will fall. But we must not forget that God's beauty is just a prayer away. Knowing that we would be a light of hope to the dark and confused world, Jesus gave us reason for hope. "Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you (falsely) because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven." (Mt 5:11-12)

Rejoice!

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
Who mourns in lowly exile here
Until the Son of God appear...

Today marks the Third Sunday of Advent: Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete, in Latin, means "to rejoice." Why are we rejoicing? Because He's almost here! At our parishes this Sunday we will see the rose candle aglow amidst the purple, to show us that Christ is coming soon, in 11 days, in fact. So, if you've been asleep all Advent, it's time to kick it into gear!

I finished my first semester of graduate school yesterday; that's why I'm joyful. I've had a pretty decent Advent so far, but I could be better about preparing for my Lord's coming.

We should really take a look at why we should be joyful. First, the Incarnation, the Divine Word made flesh, is one of the greatest gifts the world has seen. Jesus's Incarnation is the event of the ages, the one the nation of Israel has awaited, the fulfillment of the prophecy. We are the descendants of the people of Israel, and we too have been waiting so long for a savior, to rescue us from the mire, our sinfulness. His coming is celebrated on the 25th, so we must prepare ourselves to receive His mercy!

The Israelites are a people who have experienced much strife over the course of history. God rescued them from bondage in the great Exodus, but they, in turn, traveled through the desert and fought perilous battles, only to have their kingdom split a few hundred years later, and to fall victim to the Babylonians a few hundred years after that (587 B.C.) While in exile from the Promised Land, the people cried out to Emmanuel (God with us), "Ransom captive Israel!"

While God did rescue the people from their exile (537), Israel continued to face persecution. At the time of the Nativity, Israel was still awaiting a savior, to rescue them from the Romans who occupied the land that was theirs by divine right. Herod knew a savior was said to be born, and felt threatened that this new king would steal his power. Stay tuned to Dec. 28 for more on that story.

As we know well, a Savior did come: Jesus, the Nazorean. Of humble origins, He ransomed Israel with His life upon a cross, to free them from the bondage of sin. Christ, the Anointed One, is not restricted to one point in history; He is timeless, and thus paid the ransom for our sins, too. What does He ask of us in return? Well, think about that when you see the rose candle lit in church.

If you're like me, and you haven't really taken a moment to sit still and reflect on the greatness of Jesus's coming, then take a second and minimize this page. We're filled with so much anxiety, so much business, that sometimes we don't have time to be truly joyful. But, if we allow Christ into our hearts, how joyful we shall be when He comes again.

Paul and I don't pretend to have all the answers; most of the time this blog challenges us to practice what we preach. Let us pray for one another, then, that we may prepare a way for the Christ, Emmanuel, who has paid the ransom for our sins, and will come to Earth once more.

Our Lady of Guadalupe

Almost 500 years ago, Mary appeared in an inconspicuous spot to a humble, unsuspecting, 50-something year old Aztec man, Cuauhtlatoatzin, while on his way to be with his sick and dying uncle. Cuauhtlatoatzin, better known as St. Juan Diego, like most Aztecs at that time, had seen better days in his life. His country had recently been taken over by the Spanish conquistadors, his neighbors were dying off in huge numbers from smallpox and measles, and the only social structure that any Aztec had ever known was rapidly changing.

Our Lady appeared to Juan Diego, a recent convert to Catholicism, asking him that a church be built at the site of her apparition, in a place called Tepeyac (outside modern day Mexico City). Juan Diego pleaded Our Lady's case to the local Franciscan bishop with no avail. Passing by the spot again, Our Lady appeared a second time to Juan and made of him the same request. This time however, she had him pick Castilian roses to be a sign for the bishop--miraculous in itself since the roses were not native to Tepeyac and it was the dead of winter.

When Juan Diego arrived at the bishop's residence, he let the blossoms fall from his tilma (a type of overcoat similar to a pancho). Miraculously, the now famous image of Our Lady appeared on Juan's tilma. The bishop, his assistant, and even more so, Juan Diego were amazed. The image on the tilma was of an indigenous woman, pregnant, with all the markings of an Aztec princess, in the same position as the woman in the book of Revelations, chapter 12.

What did this mean at the time for the Aztecs and the Church? Why did Mary bother to appear outside of a podunk town somewhere in "New Spain?"

I think her apparition meant then what it means today: hope and companionship. Think about it. The image of Mary--the MOTHER OF GOD--is of a pregnant indigenous woman. So often today in the US, many single pregnant women feel trapped and diregarded. I am sure it was the same back then in the 16th century. These mothers have no idea how they will make ends meet during the next nine months much less the rest of their child's life. Mary's apparition as a pregnant indigenous woman says to us, God's love can never be over estimated. Never. When we think we finally know how total God's love is, something new and ever more amazing will pop up in our lives. God's love is mystery. No matter how challenging the situation we may find ourselves (possibly discerning a vocation), we can hope and trust in God's love through it. Whether or not we can see "the light at the end of the tunnel," it is there. We may have to wait four weeks, nine months, eleven years, or a lifetime, but eventually, our hope will be turned into reality and we will taste a bit of the salvation that can only come from God's love. With trust in this knowledge we can go anywhere and do anything to spread the hope-filled message of the Gospel.

Similar to the message of hope that comes from Our Lady of Guadalupe is the message of companionship. Mary appeared in 1531, which as mentioned earlier was a time of great upheaval, struggle, and confusion. God does not abandon his people because things are messy. If anything, we can often hear God best amidst the messiness of life, provided that we are actively listening. God's compassion is here now, and in the most diverse of ways. Not only did Mary appear in Mexico, she appeared as a Mexican at a time when every other painting of Our Lady was of a fair-skinned, rosy-cheeked European woman. Mystery cannot be boxed into one time, culture, or race. Advent is the season of "Emmanuel--God with us." God is certainly with us, and He is with us in the most intimate of ways. We can know His love in the intimate love of our mothers--in heaven and on earth. We can know His companionship in the jokes and (wise) advice of our closest friends. We can know His fidelity in our Church's commitment to the faith, the poor, education, evangelization, and so much more.

I love Our Lady of Guadalupe. It is my favorite Marian devotion. I love it because it is so alive for me. Her apparition happened almost 500 years ago, but the spirit and the effects of it are still very much alive today in America. The prayers and example of Our Lady of Guadalupe keep me going on in this vocation. So often I will hit a wall, have doubts, get off track, but I can trust that Mary's prayers are always leading me closer and closer to the face and mission of her son, Jesus.

With you, Mary, may we be obedient to the commandment of love, and give ourselves wholeheartedly to seeking the glory of Christ and serving the needs of out brothers and sisters. Our Lady of Guadalupe, pray for the Church in the Americas and walk with us in the new millennium of faith.

"Leave Him Alone!"

I've always been extremely grateful for having two wonderful parents. To boot, they are so supportive of my priestly vocation, which is a good thing; sometimes I wonder if I could do it without their backing. Actually, I know I couldn't.

It's that undying support that reminds me of a story my dad told me a year into the seminary. He said that he was worried while I was thinking about the seminary in high school--what should his role be? He knew he should be supportive, but how supportive? He asked our associate pastor this one day on the golf course. And what was the response?

Leave him alone!

"Let him be a regular guy! Let him be with his friends, go to dances, even date, for goodness sakes! But be there, always present, ready to lend your ear while he works out his discernment with God." I'm sure this is where our priest returned to his putting.

Thank God for those great words of advice! My parents didn't hound me at all about my call; it was mine, and I had to receive and respond to it on my own with God. I'm so happy they left me to struggle with it, because I did end up going to them to ask for advice, or to talk things out. They didn't tell me to enter or to wait until after college; they saw me searching and said, "We're behind you 100%."

This example has helped me so much as I talk to guys thinking about entering the seminary. The temptation is to shove an application in somebody's face as soon as they walk in the doors for a retreat. Part of our (seminarians) inclination to be so proactive in vocations is the desire for other young men to experience the wonderful gift of the seminary in preparation to the priesthood; what a wonderful blessing and grace! In no way do I mean that we shouldn't ask people if they've thought of a vocation, but we need to remember the Lord's call, the gentle invitation to be His servant.

Just as with Samuel, each individual must say, "Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening."

Like my parents, we need to be present, but never pressuring. For, while we may feel that someone we know is called to a life of service to the Church, they may not know it yet! We all need time to live an authentic Christian life in the real world before we can fully enter into a religious vocation. Once we begin to live such a life, God's call will be far more apparent! A great example of this comes from one of my friends; he said he told his parish priest that he was called to the priesthood after many years of searching. What was the priest's reply? "I know!"

Leave him alone in hopes that God will work in his heart.

God may indeed be calling someone to the priesthood, but our patient and reassuring presence will do far greater good than a hyper-forcefulness. Christ calmly said, "Come follow me," not, "COME ON LET'S GO YOU GUYS DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE MISSING!!!"

Please pray for those considering a call to the religious or priestly life, that they may answer God's call if it is truly theirs.

-A special thanks to "Dirty" for letting me use a shot of him on our friend's couch. I thought it captured the whole "leaving him alone" thing.

Bradford Pear

When my family moved into our subdivision 14 years ago, we had a Bradford Pear planted in our front yard; I guess it came with the house, one of those "by-a-house, get-a-tree" deals. The tree was planted right in the middle of the lawn, even though I specifically told them my dad wanted it closer to the house. So much for listening to an eight-year-old. So we had our little pug tree to christen our new house, lawn, and the summer of 1994. It looked stupid, and smelled awful.

As the years passed, our tree recognized its potential and sprouted into a lovely thirty-foot beauty, a trademark of the neighborhood. Okay, maybe not; almost everyone else had one, too. It sure did look nice, though; as you pulled into our driveway you could see the white flowers shining in the sun. It was great to see our tree stand tall, no longer bullied by squirrels or menacing lawn mowers. It was magnificent, even, a symbol of God's great bounty.

That is, until the storms came.

We had some great storms when I was a kid. I used to stand by the window and watch our tree shake violently amidst the lightning, or seek refuge under it while collecting hail--at the behest of my mother. I also used to terrorize my sister by tracing a line on the television from the place of the worst weather straight to our suburb, even if it had already passed us (sorry, Sis). Some of the worst thunderstorms did hit our neighborhood occasionally, snapping power lines and the feeblest of trees. Yes, our Bradford Pear fell victim to the wrath of one of those storms, thus falling from our good graces and once more becoming a "stupid tree."

Why would a neighborhood developer plant one of the weakest trees, commonly prone to destruction in severe weather? I don't care if they decorate the New England countryside; if you get a Nor'easter in there they'll all fall over and die! That's not very encouraging to the kid who just wanted a nice tree-climbing tree in his front yard, like Paul had (his died in a storm, too). The death of our Bradford Pear makes me question their strength in general; a tree is supposed to grow and take root, remaining firm against the elements, not snapping in half as soon as it's challenged. I need a tree that serves as a symbol of faith, that I can look to when I need to be bolstered in tough times. For, as St. Paul says, "if the root is holy, so are the branches."

A Lebanon cedar is a fine example of faith; at least the Psalmist thought so. Strong and resilient, these trees symbolize the unwavering faith against the tides of society, the storms of popularity. If someone claimed to be as strong as a Bradford Pear, they'd just splinter apart as soon as someone challenged them on their beliefs. But a Lebanon cedar... Now we're talking.

Smack dab in the middle of the Lebanese flag lies one of these magnificent trees, symbolizing the great might of the nation. I've never been to Lebanon, but I have seen their flag flown outside of a Maronite Church, thus serving as a symbol of the greatness of that rite of the Catholic Church. That great symbol speaks to the faith that we must possess!

We all have a bit of Bradford Pear and a bit of Lebanon cedar; which one will win out? There are many types of people who might want to give up: the high schooler whose parents aren't supportive of his vocation, the woman who's uncertain about her acceptance into the religious order to which she feels called, those battling for chastity, my friend who is longing for some answers about life and career, those in mental torment or physical suffering, and our persecuted brothers and sisters in Christ all over the world. Take your strength from the Lord. Let His love take root in your heart!

In our response to the Lord through prayer and good works, our faith will take root, and make it much harder for the turmoil and storms of life to uproot us from living the Gospel. Our pursuit of our calling, too, will remain steadfast. Become a Lebanon cedar, strong in faith in the name of Christ Jesus!

The 21

I have a confession to make. I love taking the bus to work.

I have gotten used to the sour look on my acquaintance's faces when I tell that that I take the bus. They all have inevitably asked "Why bother taking the bus?" Most people assume it's either my last or only option. Why would anyone spend the extra time, money, and coordination for a less efficient and comfortable way to get to work? My response: "I don't know why I take it. I guess I just like it." It just doesn't make sense to most people. While I would like to defend my decision for public transportation, I must admit, more often than not, my 40 minutes on the 21 is rather mundane.

Yet right when the beautiful homes passing by become typical, the sunrises become ordinary, and all the stops become routine, something happens--a spark--that makes me smirkishly say to myself, this is why I take the bus.

The other day I sat down toward the front of the bus. Commuters filled the bus more than usual that morning. Two rows behind me, two older guys were having a conversation. This was odd since at that hour most people sleep or stair out the window with that zombie-like "I need my coffee" look on their faces (Peter knows what I am talking about). Naturally, I secretly eased into listening (mea culpa).

"Naw, man, I've been here since '87 and I've been with her since '91. Yep, me and her have been together for 17 years, man."

"Dang, that's tough. 17 years with the same girl!? I couldn't do that. That's crazy tough."

"That ain't the tough stuff. I've done the tough stuff. I used to chase it all: drugs, booze, gamblin', hookers. That's the tough stuff. Nope, I've been clean for 17 years now with this girl. We've been married for 15. I've got a wife, two kids, a steady job..."

The other guy didn't believe what this guy was saying. He couldn't believe that the other guy could have the will power to give up all that "fun" stuff and still have it so good. In doubt, he asked the question, "So what you chasin' now?"

"What'm I chasin' now? Man, I ain't chasin' nothin' but God."

The other man clearly had his doubts. "Uh, huh."

"I'm serious, man. All I want to chase now is God; do His will. I ain't perfect, but I try, day by day. My God, does He have patience with me, and you too, brother."

My friends, that is why I take the bus. Yeah, the bus is slow, bumpy, uncomfortable, and smells funny (at all times of the year). Yet when my eyes and ears are open to God, I cannot but help find Him bleeding into my life, even through the common, everyday conversations of bundled up people on cheap, cold plastic seats. Thinking back on it, it's little ordinary experiences like those which add color to my vocation. We heard this past Sunday in the first readng from Isaiah,

A voice cries out:
In the desert prepare the way of the LORD!
Make straight in the wasteland a highway for our God!...
Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together;
for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.
(Isaiah 40)

The advent season is now in full swing. How about you? This is the perfect time of year to oepn our eyes and ears to find God calling us to Him in our plain old routine--a voice crying out in the desert. We can be comforted to know that God comes into our lives every single day, from the most powerful way, the Eucharist, to the most ordinary way, the route 21 commuters. Where is God laboring in your life? Are you welcoming Him and all of the selfless love that comes with Him? Now is the time to grow, to let light enter in its variety of ways.

Immaculate Mary

Today marks the great solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, the celebration of Mary being conceived without original sin. The daughter of Joachim and Ann was preserved from the effects of the fall of Adam and Eve so that she could, through her submission to the will of the Lord, give birth to the New Adam, the Savior of the world.

We certainly have much to celebrate today!

It was a great shock to discover four years ago, as a freshman in college, that the Immaculate Conception was a Marian feast; it is her immaculate conception which we celebrate--not Christ's. "But, why do we read the readings of the Annunciation then?" was my reply. After I realized that this was a common mistake and that I was still a fine candidate for ordination, I came to marvel at how magnificent this feast truly is.

It's one thing that our Lord chose to humble Himself and take the form of a man, but it's also amazing that He chose a lowly maiden from Nazareth to become Theotokos, the God-bearer. God, then, prepared Mary by preserving her from the sin of humanity.

For some of us, it may be hard to grasp the profundity of an act such as the Immaculate Conception. Luckily, we have the great saints of the Church to rely upon for a deeper understanding of the great mystery we celebrate. For instance, here is what St. Anselm says about the Blessed Mother to provide meaning for the Immaculate Conception:

Through Mary God made himself a Son, not different but the same, by nature Son of God and Son of Mary. The whole universe was created by God, and God was born of Mary. The God who made all things gave himself form through Mary, and thus he made his own creation. He who could create all things from nothing would not remake his ruined creation without Mary.

From Anselm's words we understand how remarkable Mary's "yes" at the Annunciation was, and it's implications for the salvation of the world. So, too, does it help us understand why we celebrate the solemn feast of her conception free from Original Sin. In order to more fully give thanks to God for the gift of the Immaculate Conception--our patroness, we in the United States are obligated to attend Mass, to participate in the Sacrifice of Mary's Son, who came from her spotless womb. The invitation, however, should be extended to all of Christendom; might we pick up our Rosary beads and ask the Immaculate Mother to intercede for us, her children?

The "sweet smell of incense" has made its way from the chapel to my hallway, and is making this seminarian quite drowsy. Excuse me while I partake in another celebration of this beautiful solemnity, a nap!

Oh Mary Conceived without Sin, pray for us and have recourse to thee!

Jolly Old St. Nicholas

A blessed St. Nick's Day to everyone! I hope you awoke this morning with a stocking full (or shoe) of goodies, placed there by someone who follows after the line of this wonderful saint. Have you ever wondered how the traditions of this day came about? Well, you've come to the right place!

St. Nicholas of Myra lived in fourth century Asia Minor and served as bishop to the city of Myra as well. Not much is known about his life besides the fact that many miracles are ascribed to his intercession and that his relics were stolen by merchants in 1087 and were sent to Bari, Italy. Don't worry, I'm getting to the origin of the goodies...

St. Nick was also known to be a generous benefactor of children, giving food to the hungry and needy. One legend claims that Nicholas helped a man provide a suitable dowry for his three daughters, thus saving them from possible lives of prostitution. In the middle of the night, the legend states that he dropped three sacks of gold--one for each daughter--down the chimney. The generous gift landed in the stockings which hung by the fireplace.

Nicholas is symbolized by three gold balls, to remember the deeds of generosity. And thus we have the tradition of St. Nicholas' treats! Now, don't go rooting around Butler's Lives of the Saints for the authenticity of these tales; the point of the custom is to recall the great deeds of one of the workers in God's vineyard.

St. Nicholas Day is a big deal in my family. Everyone gets a small gift; it's pretty much a mini combination of Halloween and Christmas. As kids, my friends and I would usually receive a small Lego car and some candy; we always made fun of the kid who got fruit. We might have missed the whole point of the celebration as we shoved Kit Kats and Butterfingers into our mouths. Whoops.

I can't say that I'm always mindful of the example of St. Nicholas today, either. I'm certainly grateful for the gas or iTunes card I receive on St. Nick's Day, but am I grateful enough to give of some of my own bounty? In this season of giving, I find myself darting away from the sound of The Salvation Army bell, or other charitable organizations. And when I do feel the compassion to give a gift card to a beggar on the street, it's difficult not to become bitter and cynical when he asks me if I have any paper so he can roll a joint. Oh, St. Nicholas, might you intercede for us?

Lest we forget the need for generosity throughout our lives, St. Nicholas demonstrates how the love of Christ compels us to give of ourselves in every possible way. In order to effectively spread the Gospel message, we must exude that great joy--or "jolliness"-- which he possessed. On this sixth day of December and throughout the year, may St. Nicholas serve as an example of a servant of Jesus.

Xavier's Zeal

December 3 was the feast of St. Francis Xavier, the great missionary of the Church and one of the original members of the Society of Jesus. Xavier was well known for his intense zeal and strong will. After working a few years as a Jesuit in Rome, Francis' best friend, St. Ignatius of Loyola, commissioned him to the East to spread the Gospel. Francis' trip took him to India, Japan, and finally to an island off the coast of China where he died. Below is a famous (at least in the world of Jesuits) excerpt from a letter Francis wrote to Ignatius while in India. It is full of Xavier's vigorous spirit. Though it was written over 400 years ago, and some of the Church's approaches to evangelization have changed a bit, the spirit of the letter (especially the final paragraph) is still inspiring today. enjoy...

We have visited the villages of the new converts who accepted the Christian religion a few years ago. The country is so utterly barren and poor. The native Christians have no priests. They know only that they are Christians. There is nobody to say Mass for them; nobody to teach them the Creed, the Our Father, the Hail Mary and the Commandments of God’s Law.

I have not stopped since the day I arrived. I conscientiously made the rounds of the villages. I bathed in the sacred waters all the children who had not yet been baptized. This means that I have purified a very large number of children so young that, as the saying goes, they could not tell their right hand from their left. The older children would not let me say my Office or eat or sleep until I taught them one prayer or another. Then I began to understand: “The kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

I could not refuse so devout a request without failing in devotion myself. I taught them, first the confession of faith in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; then the Apostles’ Creed, the Our Father, and Hail Mary. I noticed among them persons of great intelligence. If only someone could educate them in the Christian way of life, I have no doubt that they would make excellent Christians.

Many, many people hereabouts are not becoming Christians for one reason only: there is nobody to make them Christians.

I wish that university students would work as hard at converting these people as they do at their books, and so settle their account with God for their learning and the talents entrusted to them. This thought would certainly stir most of them to meditate on spiritual realities, to listen actively to what God is saying to them. They would forget their own desires, their human affairs, and give themselves over entirely to God’s will and His choice. They would cry out with all their heart: “Lord, I am here! What do you want me to do?” Send me anywhere you like - even to India!

- from letters to St Ignatius Loyola from St Francis Xavier

Strangers on a Train

I can't believe it's been seven years since my trip to Philmont, the high-adventure scout ranch in Cimarron, New Mexico. My Boy Scout Troop and I got our packs together and headed to Philmont by train; we rested our legs, for we knew that we'd be roughing it on our impending 80-mile hike.

As much as I want to delve into the many stories that came from those amazing two weeks, I must not stray from the story at hand. Besides, Paul has been to Philmont twice, so he can write about it sometime, perhaps about how they escaped from a major brush fire? For now, though, I'd like to talk about the train.

I had a big smile on my face as that Amtrak train barreled through the Great Southwest; we had just finished our trip and were on our way home. All my friends had fallen asleep in the upstairs dining car, so I grabbed by pack and headed for the lower level; I was in such a peaceful place that I couldn't sleep. While listening to some music, I decided to page through the Bible I had brought along (for light reading).

As I flipped through the pages of the New Testament, a man came downstairs. I gave him the typical teen upward head-nod and went back to the Good Book. I finally took my headphones off when I realized he was trying to talk to me. "Whatchya reading there?" he asked.

"Oh, you know. I was just looking through the Bible."
"Cool. Any passages that stick out to you?"
"Um...."

He sat down next to me and pointed out a few passages that had made an impact on him when he was younger. It turns out that he was studying to be a Baptist minister; he was quite excited when I told him I was thinking about being a Catholic priest. "That's great! You've got the tools," he said while pointing to my Bible, "now all you have do is learn how to use 'em!" As he said these profound words, he flipped the pages to Phillippians and read a passage which sums up all my longings, my desire to be ever-more like Christ:

Though he was in the form of God, Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in the likeness of men. He was known to be of human estate, and thus he humbled himself, obediently accepting death, death on a cross. Because of this, God highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name above every other name. So that at Jesus' name every knee must bend, in the heavens, on the earth and under the earth. And every tongue proclaim to the glory of God the Father:

JESUS CHRIST IS LORD!

Years later, I can vividly recall the deep silence that hung over that dining car after he said goodnight. Fifteen's a rough spot in anyone's life, but especially for the nurturing of a religious vocation. God, through that humble man, gave me exactly what I needed as I prepared to return home to my teenaged life. I am so grateful to God for the gift of that stranger on the train who pointed me in the right direction. "God works in mysterious ways" is not just some hokey phrase; He truly wants us to know Him and to discern His call, and will do everything possible to bring us to Him. Will we respond?

I Am Mr. Potter

Before I begin, if you have not yet read yesterday's blog by Peter, do it. It's fantastic, and he's not lying. The man really is George Bailey (just not as tall).

Okay, now onto what I actually want to write about.

In today's Gospel from Luke (Lk 10:21-24) we hear:

"Jesus rejoiced in the Holy Spirit and said, 'I give you praise, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to the childlike.'"(Luke 10:21-24)

The passage's powerful message boils down to one thing: be like a child, open to God's graces whenever they come--which is all the time. (I must credit that little quote to my spiritual director).

It's so very easy for me to forget to be a child before God, to say "please" and "thank you," to ask him for anything and everything, to share my likes and hurts, and to look up to Him. It's hard for me to stay childlike because, after all, my ego likes to remind met that I am an "important man." With that kind of ego, I become Mr. Potter.

I can hear it right now... Paul, have I told you how important you are lately? People's lives would be falling apart if it weren't for you. You, my indispensable friend, rock. You have popular friends, a busy schedule, people who depend on you at My ministry, Jesuits who have invested a lot in you, and dang, you look good in black.

It is all too easy for me or any of us to fall into narcissism and pride. It's hard for us to escape it, and at times, even notice it. Each morning when I read through the paper, each section has a few full-page adds. What are they saying beside "You, like the people in this photo, can be an "important man" if you would only buy this watch or take your family to this resort.

I have come to take these advertisements for granted and don't give them too much thought. But when I do think about them I am always a bit surprised. Why would I ever want to buy a $1,200 watch just because some young guy on some antique boat in a photo in the NY Times is wearing one? I've never met this guy. I have no desire to have my photo in the NY Times. I will never have $1,200, and I don't even wear a watch!

Our egos--our desires to be "important men"--can be deceptive when we are seeking out our vocations. Whatever are vocations are, they all lead to the genuine understanding that we are created to be loved by God, to be His beloved sons and daughters. This is the understanding I should be striving for, not the idea that I am an "important man." Before you think I am getting all warm and fuzzy on you, just stay with me.

How do we become one of these "beloved sons and daughters of God?"Simple. We are born. Whether or not we know it, we are forever held in an infinite love by God.

Okay? Okay. So how do we know God's belovedness? How can we see it day by day?

We know God's love for us when we model our lives to the life of Christ. More than anyone, Jesus was childlike, open to God's infinite grace. If Jesus wasn't childlike, he never would have made it through the countless run ins with the cripples, pharisees, criminals, and needy. These relationships are draining for anyone. They demand their supporter's fullest attention. It was no different for Jesus. It is no different for us. When we are drained we must be filled up with something to live. We have a choice. We can fill ourselves up with the idea we are "important people," but we will certainly need to be filled up again. We also have the option to be childlike, poor before God, asking for His love and grace. With the love of Christ our hearts will be at rest and, though we may be humble, we will be filled with peace and identity. The more childlike and humble we are, the better we can freely follow our deepest calling.

I Am George Bailey

I have been itching to do this post ever since we got started way back in September. Every time I watch Frank Capra's 1946 classic, It's a Wonderful Life, I realize that I am George Bailey. Bailey (Jimmy Stewart), the protagonist of this epic film, actualizes every stumbling-block in my formation to the priesthood. He's an honorary Texan; he lives and dreams big! The above picture captures his vision as he talks of his future: "I know what I'm gonna do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next year, and the year after that." Gosh, that does sound like me! He is a bright, charming young man who's ready to show the world what he's made of--and nothing will stand in his way.

That is, until life rolls along and messes up his plans...

All set to go travel the world and to college "to see what they know," George is devastated by his father's sudden death. In addition to mourning the loss of his father, he also mourns the fact that he has to stay behind in Bedford Falls to run the family "Building and Loan"--the "shabby little office" of his father's that he scoffed at as unworthy of his dreams of doing "something big, something important." Meanwhile, his brother, Harry, goes off to school and makes a name for himself; before George knows it, his youth is nearly gone. In this midst of his brother's marriage, the war, and the runs on the bank, George and Mary are kept tied down in their hometown, unable to live out his plans. George never gets the chance to fulfill his dream: "I'm shakin' the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world." Did I mention his brother won the Congressional Medal of Honor for his heroism in the war?

My sympathies, George.

Born and raised in this little hamlet, I've never truly gotten the chance to see the world. Oh sure, I've been to Germany, Holland, and Australia, but those would hardly be the first countries on my list. I've been cooped up here in this seminary, unable to study what I want, to live the way I want to. I have to sit around in this castle praying while my friends fly jets in the Air Force, or do missionary work in far-away lands. Oh, and then there's my kid sister--who went away to college--who's already making a name for herself in musical theater. She's Broadway bound, and all I get to do is sing in the seminary choir? Please.

George feels down on himself when he sees what others have: the nice coupe compared to his clunker, or the lavish lifestyle they lead compared to his life: "Why did we have to live here in the first place and stay around this measly, crummy old town?...Everything's wrong." That's right, George. Let's blow this Popsicle stand, get a master's in journalism from Notre Dame, make a little dough, and do what we want to do! Or, we can listen to the sage advice from Clarance, our guardian angel:

"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

This is where George's and mine dreams conflict with our call, our vocation. We may want to see the world, to fulfill our own desires, but it just doesn't work that way. If we're selfless enough to see it, we'll discover that what God calls us to isn't so bad after all. In fact, it's quite remarkable, and even more fulfilling than what we could have come up with on our own, or on any empty promises from the world.

"You see, George, you've really had a wonderful life. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?"

This message goes out to my fellow George Baileys out there: Stop. Listen. Pray. Discern--especially this time of year! God has great things in store for you, but we need to quiet ourselves and our own desires to hear what His plan entails. When we do, we'll realize that we've had a wonderful life all along, and, through Him, we will become "The luckiest man in town."

A Roman, a Library, and a Bridge

The school attached to a parish which I attend regularly just got new carpet in its library. (Yes, the room has that new carpet smell). To install the carpet, all the books and shelves had to be hauled out of the room into the hall. Immediately after Mass yesterday I stood in line with about 40 other people waiting to put the stack of books in my arms back on the shelves. A Black business man stood next to a young white college girl. A local circuit judge next to an elderly, bent over man. A pastor, still wearing his chasuble and alb next to a wounded Vietnam war veteran. Worlds were colliding in front of me.

What in the world brought all of these random people together? Furthermore, what was it that brought me there with those people? It had to be something more than the opportunity to walk around with stacks of the Hardy Boys books. Never would I walk into a bar or cafe and see these people shooting darts together or sharing laughs over a cup of coffee.

I loved being there, being part of that simple little task.

We were brought together by nothing more than faith. Crazy things happen when you live a life of faith, when you courageously follow your vocation. In today's gospel we hear about the Roman centurion who asked Jesus to cure his servant dying at the soldier's home. Can you imagine it? A strong Roman soldier and diplomat going to humbly beg a miracle from Jesus, the questionable and revolutionary Jew from the tiny town of Nazareth? Jesus not only agreed to answer his prayer, but after talking more with the soldier, says, "in no one in Israel have I found such faith" (Mt 8:5-11).

When I am in a tough or unfamiliar situation, I often worry just about getting through it without loosing teeth or getting hurt. While I think that's a natural feeling to have, I think we are called to look a bit deeper as Christians. Each new or unfamiliar situation is an opportunity to grow in faith and better know our vocations.

Priests and religious, among doing many other things, spend their time hopping between diverse worlds. From our evangelical roots in the early Church, each Christian is called to build bridges connecting the world with the love and truth of Jesus. Priests and religious have the special task to design, direct, instruct, and repair those bridges so that Christ can be ever more present in our hearts and in the world.

This demands endless prayer. It is not easy to bring worlds together. Collisions can hurt. Prayer, over time, makes some sense of it all. Prayer brings our lives in the presence of God and all of his merciful love. Keeping with Peter's and mine last two posts, lets make this advent season a time of prayer so that we may better know Christ's love and gain the courage to best live our vocations.