I must admit that when I arrived in a bus full of my brother seminarians on a Sunday afternoon in June, I wasn’t sure what to expect during my eight week stay in Antigua. Most of what I knew about the city was limited to what can be found in a guide book or a quick search on Google. As seminarian for a Diocese in Texas, USA, we had been sent to Antigua in order to learn Spanish. However, during this time, not only have I learned a great deal of Spanish, but I have learned other valuable lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. These lessons all began with a simple phrase…
As the bus traveled in reverse down the long narrow alley towards the house I would be living in, I became increasingly nervous. My mind was flooded with questions, with fears, and with worries. What would my house look like? Would my room be comfortable? How would the family treat me? Would I be treated as just another ‘extranjero’ or would I receive a warm welcome? Was I going to be safe in Antigua? Would the driver of the bus be able to drive down the alley without getting into an accident?
From the street, the house looked like many of the other houses in Antigua. The outside of the house was painted a bright color and had high walls that prevented anyone from seeing inside. Some of the houses even had razor wire or glass on top of the walls in order to keep intruders out of the house. The high walls, solid metal front doors, and closed doors send a clear message: uninvited guests are not welcome and every precaution is taken to keep whatever is securely locked inside hidden from view. Entrance will only be granted by the invitation of the owner. I could not help but ask myself, “Are they trying to hide what is on the inside, or are they trying to protect themselves from the dangers that exist outside the walls?” Perhaps it is both.
As I walked toward the front door, I was greeted by a welcoming smile from the owner of the house and a simple invitation, “Hola. Pase. Adelante.” With this simple phrase I was being welcomed into a family’s home. As I entered the house I was pleasantly surprised by how beautiful it was on the inside. The house was beautifully decorated, had a lot more space than I thought based on my view from the street, and was very clean. The walls of the living room were covered with pictures of the family’s son and daughter from when they were only children. The family dog quickly let me know that she was not accustomed to my presence and was still not ready to welcome another stranger.
After organizing my things in my room, I walked out onto the terrace on the roof. The beauty of Volcan de Agua towering over this city took my breath away. From my elevated viewpoint I could also see what was hidden behind the walls of the neighbor’s house. I was able to see beautiful gardens, flowers, and open courtyards. There was so much beauty hidden behind those big exterior walls. I could also hear the bells ringing at La Merced inviting the faithful to join the community for the celebration of the Eucharist. I quickly realized that there was more to Antigua than what could be seen from the street level.
Over the course of the next few days I began to explore Antigua by walking up and down the streets. I passed rows and rows of houses with doors that remained closed to those on the outside. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse through an open door and discover a beautiful garden or some other sign that indicated there was much more to be seen behind those high walls. In the parts of town frequented by tourists I was greeted by many people who offered to shine my shoes, sell me various arts and crafts, or direct me to the nearest travel agency. I could hear the ‘ayudantes’ on the buses calling out “¡Guate…Guate!” and other destinations to their potential customers. As I walked down Arch Street, I was greeted by many people standing in the doorways of the businesses calling out the simple invitation, “Pase. Adelante.” I noticed that on the exterior walls of every restaurant there is a menu posted on the wall. There are no attempts at deception. From street level, a tourist can see exactly what is being offered on the inside behind the high walls. There are no surprises. Nothing is kept hidden. The very life of the business depends on the customer being drawn in from the street. The customer becomes the life giving blood of the business and the business in turn feeds the customer. Neither one cannot exist without the other.
It wasn’t until I had climbed the stairs to the top of Cerro de la Cruz that I felt like I got a real glimpse of Antigua. From this view on a hill overlooking the city, I could see places that are impossible to see from the street. I saw buildings, courtyards, and open spaces that I never knew existed. For the first time, I was starting to see the real beauty of Antigua. Standing in the shadow of the giant stone cross I could not help but think I was given a glimpse of what the city looks like from Heaven. However, something was missing. There had to be more. The true beauty of the city had yet to be revealed.
Over the next few weeks I would eventually discover the true beauty of Antigua and every other city for that matter. Like Antigua, the true beauty in every city is found behind high walls and locked metal doors. However, I am not talking about the houses and buildings I encountered. No, instead I am talking about the high walls and locked metal doors that many of us construct around our hearts. Each of us has the beautiful courtyard or garden deep within our hearts in which God chooses to dwell. The interior walls of our hearts, like the walls of our houses, are decorated with memories from our childhood. Some of them are pleasant and others we might like to forget, but they are there and they tell the story of who we are to whomever we invite inside. Sometimes we are content to keep what is contained in our hearts securely locked away from the outside world for fear of being hurt, or worse, rejected. Instead we remain content living within the sanctuary we have created for ourselves. We stay where we feel safe.
However, the real problem is that, like the business, we were created with a need to establish relationships with one another. The community that we build by inviting others into our hearts is what gives us life. God has created each one of us not for ourselves but for the other. Like the business and the customer, we cannot be ourselves without our neighbor. It is for this reason that God gives us the commandment to love our neighbors as He has loved us. In order for us to experience the love that is the Most Holy Trinity in our own hearts, we must be willing to open wide the doors and invite others inside.
I am not suggesting that we stop being cautious altogether and simply take down all of the walls and doors that have been constructed in our lives. I merely have come to realize that the beauty of a neighborhood, a town, a nation, or even the world is only to be found in the love that is capable of existing between one another. This love can be found deep in our hearts and is sometimes hidden behind many walls. However, it is a love that no thief, government, civil war, or other tragedy can take away from us. It is a love that no material possession, worldly pleasure, or political candidate can promise to give you. It is a love that does not discriminate against the unemployed, the elderly, the indigenous, the poor, the rich, etc. This love is a beauty that will shine brilliantly in the eyes of those who are allowed to glimpse it. It is a beauty that cannot be captured in a photograph or printed in a brochure. It is a beauty that is available by invitation only. Each of us has already been invited by God to partake in the beauty that is found in the Sacred Heart of Jesus. It is the same beauty that lies in each of our hearts. It is a beauty that is intended to be given away freely, without cost, and without attachments. Only in this love do we fulfill our vocation, our calling, to be children of God. Only in this way can we truly find the treasure we are all searching for. Our only task is to extend the invitation to those around us and allow them to see us for who we really are.
As for me, I am only an extranjero who is passing through Antigua. But while I have been here I have learned more than the language. I have learned that when the next person comes knocking at the door of my heart, my response will be, “Pase. ¡Adelante!”
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
El Sembrador – “The seed sower”
Last night two of my friends went with me to see the movie Inception as a cinema here in Antigua, Guatemala. All of us have seen the movie before, but when your options of things to do on a Saturday night is limited, going to watch a free movie doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. For those of you who have not seen the movie yet, stop reading this, rent/buy the movie, and read this later. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait…
Ok, if you kept reading without watching the movie then I don’t feel bad for the spoiler that is about to come in the next few sentences. The general premise of the movie is that a group of people who possess the technology to extract ideas from people’s subconscious while they are dreaming attempt to implant an idea into someone’s head. As the story unravels we find out that not only is it possible to plant an idea but the leader of the group (DiCaprio’s character) has actually done it. DiCaprio’s character planted an idea in his wife’s mind that became so powerful that it took over her life. Eventually it caused her to be unable to distinguish what is real and what isn’t. The simple suggestion by her husband in a dream-like state was enough to change her entire life and eventually would lead her to her death. Don’t blame me for the spoiler, I warned you!
I bring this up not to give you a commentary or a review of one of Hollywood’s greatest movies. While I was watching this movie last night it added fuel to a fire that had been burning in my mind all week. As I have been praying with the gospel reading for this week (Sower and the seed), I have been fixed on the thought of how much power our words can have in another person’s life.
Most of the times I have previously focused on this passage of Scripture (Mt 13:1-23), I have focused on Christ as the sower, the Word of God as the seed, and us as the soil. Honestly, this is probably the best exegesis of the passage (since in this case Jesus is the exegete) and I don’t intend to change it. I have always focused on what type of soil can be found in my heart. Will the Word of God, when sown in my direction, find itself falling on rock ground, dry arid soil, or the rich fertile soil that is necessary for it to take root and bear fruit. This meditation has served me well in the past and I am sure will serve me well in the future.
However, this week I have been looking at the parable from the other side. As baptized Christians we too are called to join in Christ’s mission and be sowers of His Word in the life of others. Many times we are aware of our mission and make intentional efforts to evangelize either through word or deed. Occasionally we are guilty of sowing the seed of God’s Word only in those areas where we think it will take root and bear fruit. We decided that there is no point in wasting seed or effort on rocky and infertile ground. Other times we stumble across the fruit of God’s seed being planted in fertile soil and wonder how it got there. Who was the sower in this situation? Was it me? What did I say?
There have been several times in my life when I knew that my words would deeply impact the person who would hear them. Anyone who has been a police officer for any period of time knows what it is like to tell a set of parents that their child will not be coming home. At the time of this event in my life, I knew very well what pain and sorrow would follow the words that I had to share. I had received a similar call just a few months before. To keep up with the analogy of the gospel, I knew what kind of seed I was sowing. What I did not know was what kind of fruit it would bear. I had no way of knowing that this event would forever have an impact of my life of faith and my relationship with God. While I expected weeds to grow in this situation, I was surprised by some of the most beautiful flowers that God could create.
I am also well aware of the effects that other people’s words have had in my life. Some of them were cast in my direction with the intention of causing me pain or injury. Others were said in a careless manner but took root nonetheless and had a great impact in my life. Like the weeds among the wheat, some of them have simply remained for fear of uprooting the wheat along with the weeds.
What’s my point? This week I have been reminded that my words, whether I directly intend them too or not can have a powerful effect on the lives of others. I have had several conversations with people only to have them come back several days later and thank me for having said what I said. Some of the conversations were nothing more than a smile and a simple “hello” or “howdy.” Other times the conversations lasted for hours and covered a wide variety of topics. To be honest, most of the time I don’t even recall what was said. Other times I have shared stories about my life with others and then later sat and wondered why I revealed that much about myself to another person. It was only later that I would discover that the person found something in what I had to say that was useful to them.
At the same time I have realized that my words have (at times) had a negative effect on those around me as well. My complaining about one situation or another can cause those around me to also become negative about a given situation. My careless use of speech can cause another person a great deal of pain or hurt. My lack of humility at times or my moments of intolerance have the potential to affect someone’s faith life. I guess what I am trying to say it that there is a greater amount of responsibility that each of us bears in terms of choosing our words carefully. It is a responsibility that each of us has as baptized Christians. We are both the sower and the soil.
So, this week, instead of focusing on what type of soil is in my heart and whether or not God’s word will take root there, I am focusing on becoming more aware of the potential effects (both positive and negative) my words can have on the lives of those around me. I am going to try and make sure that I am not planting seeds that will grow into weeds and choke the life out of the wheat that should be growing there instead.
Pax tecum,
Tom
Ok, if you kept reading without watching the movie then I don’t feel bad for the spoiler that is about to come in the next few sentences. The general premise of the movie is that a group of people who possess the technology to extract ideas from people’s subconscious while they are dreaming attempt to implant an idea into someone’s head. As the story unravels we find out that not only is it possible to plant an idea but the leader of the group (DiCaprio’s character) has actually done it. DiCaprio’s character planted an idea in his wife’s mind that became so powerful that it took over her life. Eventually it caused her to be unable to distinguish what is real and what isn’t. The simple suggestion by her husband in a dream-like state was enough to change her entire life and eventually would lead her to her death. Don’t blame me for the spoiler, I warned you!
I bring this up not to give you a commentary or a review of one of Hollywood’s greatest movies. While I was watching this movie last night it added fuel to a fire that had been burning in my mind all week. As I have been praying with the gospel reading for this week (Sower and the seed), I have been fixed on the thought of how much power our words can have in another person’s life.
Most of the times I have previously focused on this passage of Scripture (Mt 13:1-23), I have focused on Christ as the sower, the Word of God as the seed, and us as the soil. Honestly, this is probably the best exegesis of the passage (since in this case Jesus is the exegete) and I don’t intend to change it. I have always focused on what type of soil can be found in my heart. Will the Word of God, when sown in my direction, find itself falling on rock ground, dry arid soil, or the rich fertile soil that is necessary for it to take root and bear fruit. This meditation has served me well in the past and I am sure will serve me well in the future.
However, this week I have been looking at the parable from the other side. As baptized Christians we too are called to join in Christ’s mission and be sowers of His Word in the life of others. Many times we are aware of our mission and make intentional efforts to evangelize either through word or deed. Occasionally we are guilty of sowing the seed of God’s Word only in those areas where we think it will take root and bear fruit. We decided that there is no point in wasting seed or effort on rocky and infertile ground. Other times we stumble across the fruit of God’s seed being planted in fertile soil and wonder how it got there. Who was the sower in this situation? Was it me? What did I say?
There have been several times in my life when I knew that my words would deeply impact the person who would hear them. Anyone who has been a police officer for any period of time knows what it is like to tell a set of parents that their child will not be coming home. At the time of this event in my life, I knew very well what pain and sorrow would follow the words that I had to share. I had received a similar call just a few months before. To keep up with the analogy of the gospel, I knew what kind of seed I was sowing. What I did not know was what kind of fruit it would bear. I had no way of knowing that this event would forever have an impact of my life of faith and my relationship with God. While I expected weeds to grow in this situation, I was surprised by some of the most beautiful flowers that God could create.
I am also well aware of the effects that other people’s words have had in my life. Some of them were cast in my direction with the intention of causing me pain or injury. Others were said in a careless manner but took root nonetheless and had a great impact in my life. Like the weeds among the wheat, some of them have simply remained for fear of uprooting the wheat along with the weeds.
What’s my point? This week I have been reminded that my words, whether I directly intend them too or not can have a powerful effect on the lives of others. I have had several conversations with people only to have them come back several days later and thank me for having said what I said. Some of the conversations were nothing more than a smile and a simple “hello” or “howdy.” Other times the conversations lasted for hours and covered a wide variety of topics. To be honest, most of the time I don’t even recall what was said. Other times I have shared stories about my life with others and then later sat and wondered why I revealed that much about myself to another person. It was only later that I would discover that the person found something in what I had to say that was useful to them.
At the same time I have realized that my words have (at times) had a negative effect on those around me as well. My complaining about one situation or another can cause those around me to also become negative about a given situation. My careless use of speech can cause another person a great deal of pain or hurt. My lack of humility at times or my moments of intolerance have the potential to affect someone’s faith life. I guess what I am trying to say it that there is a greater amount of responsibility that each of us bears in terms of choosing our words carefully. It is a responsibility that each of us has as baptized Christians. We are both the sower and the soil.
So, this week, instead of focusing on what type of soil is in my heart and whether or not God’s word will take root there, I am focusing on becoming more aware of the potential effects (both positive and negative) my words can have on the lives of those around me. I am going to try and make sure that I am not planting seeds that will grow into weeds and choke the life out of the wheat that should be growing there instead.
Pax tecum,
Tom
Sunday, July 3, 2011
“Poco a Poco”
“Little by Little.” This little phrase quickly became my motto for my time here in Antigua, Guatemala. As I have mentioned before, I have been assigned to a Spanish immersion program in Antigua for eight weeks this summer. In addition to taking six hours of class each day, I spend part of my time walking around the city, taking trips to other parts of the country, and speaking with my family and other locals in an attempt to learn a little bit about the culture of the ‘Guatemaltecos’. I must admit that it has been a slow process for me, both in learning Spanish and in learning to appreciate the many different cultures that are present here. I have come to realize that my lack of patience extends well beyond my attempts to bridge the cultural gaps and to learn a foreign language. I realize, as I have said in other posts, that God is using this time to teach me not only Spanish, but another language that only the heart can speak and understand.
It did not take me long in Antigua to realize that my expectations for learning the entire Spanish language in eight weeks were completely unreasonable. For some reason I had it in my head that for this summer to be a true success, I had to return to the States being fluent in Spanish. Each day as I would sit in class, I would become extremely frustrated with what I perceived to be my own lack of progress. I get frustrated when learning the subtle differences between the Pluscuamperfecto and the Present Perfect tense. I get frustrated by my inability to fully express what I want to say when I am having a spiritual conversation with my teacher. I have found it extremely frustrating to have something that you really want to say but don’t have the means or the capacity to say it. It is like having a gift that you desperately want to give but for one reason or other are unable to let go of it. My teacher can see the frustration written all over my face. After about 5.5 hours she can see me slowly shutting down. My progress comes to a near halt as my frustration sets in and dominates my demeanor.
However, the true problem lies not in the fact that I am not making progress in learning Spanish. The truth is I have made a great deal of progress in the last four weeks. The real problem lies in my perspective. The problem is the set of discolored lenses through which I view my own progress. At times the lenses are nothing more than blinders that prevent me from seeing anything. At other times they are like the ‘drunk goggles’ that police officers and educators use to teach people what it is like to drive while intoxicated. With these glasses everything seems blurry and shapes are difficult to see. At other times my blindness to my own progress seems to be similar to ‘night blindness’ that is caused by improper (or vitamin deficient) nutrition. Regardless of the cause, the inability to see my own progress becomes a rapidly spreading virus that affects the rest of my life. Sometimes the only way I can see my progress is when someone else points it out to me. In the case of learning Spanish, my teacher has repeatedly tried to point this out but, for one reason or the other, I couldn’t accept what she was saying.
Recently, I posted a few pictures of me after being in Guatemala for a few weeks. In addition to the many compliments I received about my beard (Thank you), several people told me that it looked like I have lost weight. Each time I deflected the comment and said that I don’t think I have lost weight. I told them that I feel like I have gained weight. Despite the fact that my pants are getting a little bigger (literally not figuratively) and I am on the last hole on my belt, I wasn’t ready to accept the truth of my progress in losing weight. Perhaps it was because I could not take credit for the success. After all, I have not been trying to lose weight whilst I am here. I have not been watching what I eat and I thought I had been eating too many carbs. Yesterday, I got on the scale at the local hospital (one that you pay about 12.5 cents to use) and realized that I have lost 10-11 pounds in the last month. I could not deny the progress with that degree of certainty. I can only hope that the scale is more accurate than the lottery numbers it gave me after telling me my weight. I had to ask myself, ‘Why is it that you only admit your progress when you have some degree of certainty or objective measurement that progress has been made?”
The truth is, for many things in our life, there is no objective measurement of our progress. I don’t write these reflections merely as a means of public confession or to get things off my chest. I write about myself in the hope that you find something in what I have said that allows you to draw your own conclusions about how God is working in your own life. Whether we are talking about losing weight, learning a foreign language, growing in our relationship with the Lord, reconciling with a family member or co-worker, desperately hoping that we have raised our children right and that they will make the right decisions, living in the later years of our life wondering if what we have done has made a difference and what is left for us to do, wondering if our time in a particular assignment or position has made a difference, preparing to leave the comforts of home to begin college or start a new career, struggling to grow in our spiritual lives and relationship with the Lord, or working to reconcile a marriage that seems beyond repair, we must be patient with our progress. We should take a step back and realize that at times it is difficult to see our progress from our own perspective.
For this reason we should take into account the trusted counsel of our dear friends, priests, counselors, faculty advisors, family, and most importantly, the Lord Jesus Christ. After all it is God who has designed our lives and has made plans for our lives, “plans for good and not for woe.” (Jeremiah 29:11). It is God who sees the final product and it is He who directs our hands. Our job is merely to do the task that is assigned to us each day (i.e. to love one another as He has loved us). It is God who is the master builder of all of Creation and will be there in the end to see His plans brought to fruition. With this in mind I am reminded of a poem by the late Archbishop Oscar Romero called the “Long View.” I hope you won’t mind me sharing it with you now even though this is already a long post:
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own. – Archbishop Oscar Romero
With this prayer from Archbishop Romero in mind as well as the examples provided above I offer my own prayer for myself and perhaps for some of you as well (if you think it applies to you):
Almighty God and Father, thank you for allowing me to play a small part in building up your kingdom. Help me to focus on the task at hand each and every day. Help me to follow your plans and design for my life and avoid relying on my own intelligence (Prov 3:5-6) or passions in directing my life. Guide my hands, my words, my actions, and my desires to complete the work you want me to do each day. Grant me the grace to abandon my own desires of seeing the final product before its proper time. Allow me to love each day knowing that this is the most important task you have given me. Help me to trust in the fact that progress is being made towards living a life in full communion with you especially in those times when I can’t see it. Help me to continue this progress, even if it is “poco a poco.”
Pax tecum,
Tom
It did not take me long in Antigua to realize that my expectations for learning the entire Spanish language in eight weeks were completely unreasonable. For some reason I had it in my head that for this summer to be a true success, I had to return to the States being fluent in Spanish. Each day as I would sit in class, I would become extremely frustrated with what I perceived to be my own lack of progress. I get frustrated when learning the subtle differences between the Pluscuamperfecto and the Present Perfect tense. I get frustrated by my inability to fully express what I want to say when I am having a spiritual conversation with my teacher. I have found it extremely frustrating to have something that you really want to say but don’t have the means or the capacity to say it. It is like having a gift that you desperately want to give but for one reason or other are unable to let go of it. My teacher can see the frustration written all over my face. After about 5.5 hours she can see me slowly shutting down. My progress comes to a near halt as my frustration sets in and dominates my demeanor.
However, the true problem lies not in the fact that I am not making progress in learning Spanish. The truth is I have made a great deal of progress in the last four weeks. The real problem lies in my perspective. The problem is the set of discolored lenses through which I view my own progress. At times the lenses are nothing more than blinders that prevent me from seeing anything. At other times they are like the ‘drunk goggles’ that police officers and educators use to teach people what it is like to drive while intoxicated. With these glasses everything seems blurry and shapes are difficult to see. At other times my blindness to my own progress seems to be similar to ‘night blindness’ that is caused by improper (or vitamin deficient) nutrition. Regardless of the cause, the inability to see my own progress becomes a rapidly spreading virus that affects the rest of my life. Sometimes the only way I can see my progress is when someone else points it out to me. In the case of learning Spanish, my teacher has repeatedly tried to point this out but, for one reason or the other, I couldn’t accept what she was saying.
Recently, I posted a few pictures of me after being in Guatemala for a few weeks. In addition to the many compliments I received about my beard (Thank you), several people told me that it looked like I have lost weight. Each time I deflected the comment and said that I don’t think I have lost weight. I told them that I feel like I have gained weight. Despite the fact that my pants are getting a little bigger (literally not figuratively) and I am on the last hole on my belt, I wasn’t ready to accept the truth of my progress in losing weight. Perhaps it was because I could not take credit for the success. After all, I have not been trying to lose weight whilst I am here. I have not been watching what I eat and I thought I had been eating too many carbs. Yesterday, I got on the scale at the local hospital (one that you pay about 12.5 cents to use) and realized that I have lost 10-11 pounds in the last month. I could not deny the progress with that degree of certainty. I can only hope that the scale is more accurate than the lottery numbers it gave me after telling me my weight. I had to ask myself, ‘Why is it that you only admit your progress when you have some degree of certainty or objective measurement that progress has been made?”
The truth is, for many things in our life, there is no objective measurement of our progress. I don’t write these reflections merely as a means of public confession or to get things off my chest. I write about myself in the hope that you find something in what I have said that allows you to draw your own conclusions about how God is working in your own life. Whether we are talking about losing weight, learning a foreign language, growing in our relationship with the Lord, reconciling with a family member or co-worker, desperately hoping that we have raised our children right and that they will make the right decisions, living in the later years of our life wondering if what we have done has made a difference and what is left for us to do, wondering if our time in a particular assignment or position has made a difference, preparing to leave the comforts of home to begin college or start a new career, struggling to grow in our spiritual lives and relationship with the Lord, or working to reconcile a marriage that seems beyond repair, we must be patient with our progress. We should take a step back and realize that at times it is difficult to see our progress from our own perspective.
For this reason we should take into account the trusted counsel of our dear friends, priests, counselors, faculty advisors, family, and most importantly, the Lord Jesus Christ. After all it is God who has designed our lives and has made plans for our lives, “plans for good and not for woe.” (Jeremiah 29:11). It is God who sees the final product and it is He who directs our hands. Our job is merely to do the task that is assigned to us each day (i.e. to love one another as He has loved us). It is God who is the master builder of all of Creation and will be there in the end to see His plans brought to fruition. With this in mind I am reminded of a poem by the late Archbishop Oscar Romero called the “Long View.” I hope you won’t mind me sharing it with you now even though this is already a long post:
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own. – Archbishop Oscar Romero
With this prayer from Archbishop Romero in mind as well as the examples provided above I offer my own prayer for myself and perhaps for some of you as well (if you think it applies to you):
Almighty God and Father, thank you for allowing me to play a small part in building up your kingdom. Help me to focus on the task at hand each and every day. Help me to follow your plans and design for my life and avoid relying on my own intelligence (Prov 3:5-6) or passions in directing my life. Guide my hands, my words, my actions, and my desires to complete the work you want me to do each day. Grant me the grace to abandon my own desires of seeing the final product before its proper time. Allow me to love each day knowing that this is the most important task you have given me. Help me to trust in the fact that progress is being made towards living a life in full communion with you especially in those times when I can’t see it. Help me to continue this progress, even if it is “poco a poco.”
Pax tecum,
Tom
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
“Entremos a la presencia del Señor dándole gracias.”
“Let us enter into the presence of the Lord giving him thanks.” This phrase is taken from the Invitatory for Monday Week I in the Liturgy of the Hours. As I prayed this simple line this morning, I realized that it summed up for me most of what I have felt God has been trying to tell me for the past few weeks. In this post (just shy of a public confession) I hope to share with you how I have come to understand what this line means for me and my life. In doing so, my prayer is that you will benefit in some way as well.
I must confess that I often fail to be grateful for the many gifts that God has given me in my life. Chances are if you are reading this, you are one of those gifts in my life. I tend to think that I am not alone when I say that I tend to focus on the things that have been taken away from me or the things that I lack rather than appreciate all that I have been given. I have become very good at determining what is missing from a given situation and how I would change things to make them better. I often bemoan the loss of a prized possession such as my car, my house, my proximity to friends and family, my career, or perhaps simply the opportunity to have more quiet time. No matter how big or how small the item, I have at times measured my life not by what has been given, but by what has been taken away.
Recently, it seems like there have been a lot of big changes in my life including changes in my relationships with friends, family, pastors, other seminarians, etc. Many of these changes I did / do not appreciate. Admittedly, I am still working with a few of them in order to see them as gifts. In the past few weeks I have caught myself assembling a list of complaints of things that I would like to change in my life one way or the other. I have realized that instead of the items of the list growing smaller in number, the list tends to increase exponentially as the days pass by. This leads to an overall sense of dissatisfaction or a feeling of ‘missing the mark.’ I chose my words here carefully because the Greek word used most often for ‘sin’ in the Bible is harmartia (αρμαρτια) which loosely translated means ‘to miss the mark.’ The sin then is my lack of gratefulness to God for the gifts he has freely given me and my dwelling instead on what has been seemingly been unjustly taken away.
These past few weeks in Guatemala have helped me appreciate many things in my life that I have taken for granted. Don’t worry this will not be an outpouring of Catholic guilt where I renounce all forms of capitalism and a competitive free market because of the material poverty I have seen here; nor will it be a discourse on Catholic social teaching and a more just distribution of wealth in the world (although that one may be coming later). A few examples to help give you the idea of what I am talking about are: waking up in the morning without running water and being unable to take a shower, sleeping in a place with loud trucks outside my window at 4am and a rooster who likes to crow about his long lost love for hours on end beginning promptly at 3:30am, not being able to drink the water from the tap, having to walk in the rain everyday (I know I shouldn’t even bring this one up right now with a Texas audience but there is such a thing as too much rain!), not being able to run out and grab a Whataburger and a Shiner Bock beer, etc. These are just a few of the little things that I miss. However, I still haven’t gotten to my point have I?
This past weekend nine other seminarians and I went on what should have been a spiritual retreat at a Benedictine Monastery and minor seminary in Quetzaltenango (the Mayan name for the city is Xela). Many of us were looking forward to periods of silent prayer free of the noise that we seemed to be unable to escape from in Antigua. I can honestly say that arriving at the seminary was a breathtaking experience. This wasn’t as much due to the beautiful landscape as it was to the fact that we were over 7,500 ft above sea level and I was having trouble adjusting. When we arrived at the seminary after a 4.5 hour bus ride on a less than comfortable school bus with complimentary motion sickness, we were less than pleased to find out that nine of us would be sharing a single room with one bathroom. We were even more surprised as we joined the other seminarians for dinner only to discover how well we have actually been eating in Antigua. I admit that initially I was less than grateful for the food that was put on the plate before me. There were several other experiences including cold showers, a jam packed schedule of activities, and rush hour traffic in the city that left at least some of us wondering why we came in the first place. My list of complaints was growing.
When I woke up Sunday morning and took another cold shower and choked down a horrible cup of coffee, I sat down to pray my rosary. As I continued to pray I realized that I could not hear anything other than the birds chirping outside. It was quiet. Many of the other guys were still asleep and I was able to spend some quiet time in prayer. Whether it was the Holy Spirit or my own guilt ridden conscience (definitely the first but perhaps both), I realized how ungrateful I have been for the many gifts in my life. After three weeks of trying to explain the English expression “you can’t see the forest for the trees” to my Spanish teacher, I realized that despite the number of times I had uttered this phrase I did not realize that I should be saying it to myself. I have been so focused on the things in my life that have been taken away or that I still lack (both material and non-material things) that I have been blind to the many gifts that God has given me. I am so hyper-aware of the perceived faults in others, or the manner in which I am sometimes annoyed by them, that I fail to see them as the gift that they are. At times I focus more on the ways in which my life in the seminary could be better than I do appreciating what my time in the seminary has done for my life. I find myself overlooking the many generous people (I am talking about you here! Please listen!) who make it possible for me to discern the Lord’s call. During this short time of praying the rosary and meditation my mind was flooded with all that I have to be grateful for.
For the rest of the day I tried to play a little game. Every time I saw something that I perceived to be negative or anytime I was tempted to complain, I tried to find one or two things for which I was thankful. Admittedly, I was pretty terrible at this game in the beginning. As time went by throughout the day, I found myself being increasingly grateful even for the small crosses that were placed in my path. I intentionally tried to thank God for each moment of the day. In the particularly tough moments, I asked for the grace to see the gift in the situation. I could feel the change slowly taking place. Later that night, as the neighbor’s dog and the rooster entered into a heated discussion for two hours (presumably about whether dogs or roosters are louder) from 4-6am, I found myself giving thanks that at least I had a roof over my head and a warm bed. When I woke up to running water that wasn’t going to give me frostbite, I gave thanks. When I received emails from two very dear friends that put a smile on my face, I gave thanks. When I was able to make a housemate feel appreciated on his birthday even though he is a far distance from home, I gave thanks. When a friend invited me to go across town to the Cathedral to spend time in adoration before going to Mass, I gave thanks. As I sit here writing this reflection, knowing that you are reading it, I am giving thanks for the part you have played in my life and my journey to the priesthood (Ojala!). As a result, I find that I am beginning to feel a great sense of joy in my heart. Perhaps today was just a good day. Perhaps there was no big conversion and I won’t continue to be grateful for the rest of my life. Perhaps I will return to my old ways and complain more than I give thanks. Perhaps these thoughts were a result of a high-altitude induced state of oxygen deprivation. Whatever the case, I can tell you that I am at least increasing my efforts to being a man of the ‘Eucharist’ in the true sense of the word (thanksgiving). I am trying to be more like the one leper who returned to give thanks after he was cured rather than one of the nine who simply walked away. As a result, the scales are slowly falling from my eyes and I like what I see. With the clearer vision my aim is improving and is allowing me to hit the mark more than I miss it.
Oh yeah, by the way, the forest is actually pretty beautiful once you take your eyes off the one tree and look around a little. I am sorry that I don’t have a picture of it to show you, but then again, it is probably better that we all take a look for ourselves.
Please pray for me as I am praying for all of you. “Entremos a la presencia del Señor dándole gracias.”
Pax tecum,
Tom
I must confess that I often fail to be grateful for the many gifts that God has given me in my life. Chances are if you are reading this, you are one of those gifts in my life. I tend to think that I am not alone when I say that I tend to focus on the things that have been taken away from me or the things that I lack rather than appreciate all that I have been given. I have become very good at determining what is missing from a given situation and how I would change things to make them better. I often bemoan the loss of a prized possession such as my car, my house, my proximity to friends and family, my career, or perhaps simply the opportunity to have more quiet time. No matter how big or how small the item, I have at times measured my life not by what has been given, but by what has been taken away.
Recently, it seems like there have been a lot of big changes in my life including changes in my relationships with friends, family, pastors, other seminarians, etc. Many of these changes I did / do not appreciate. Admittedly, I am still working with a few of them in order to see them as gifts. In the past few weeks I have caught myself assembling a list of complaints of things that I would like to change in my life one way or the other. I have realized that instead of the items of the list growing smaller in number, the list tends to increase exponentially as the days pass by. This leads to an overall sense of dissatisfaction or a feeling of ‘missing the mark.’ I chose my words here carefully because the Greek word used most often for ‘sin’ in the Bible is harmartia (αρμαρτια) which loosely translated means ‘to miss the mark.’ The sin then is my lack of gratefulness to God for the gifts he has freely given me and my dwelling instead on what has been seemingly been unjustly taken away.
These past few weeks in Guatemala have helped me appreciate many things in my life that I have taken for granted. Don’t worry this will not be an outpouring of Catholic guilt where I renounce all forms of capitalism and a competitive free market because of the material poverty I have seen here; nor will it be a discourse on Catholic social teaching and a more just distribution of wealth in the world (although that one may be coming later). A few examples to help give you the idea of what I am talking about are: waking up in the morning without running water and being unable to take a shower, sleeping in a place with loud trucks outside my window at 4am and a rooster who likes to crow about his long lost love for hours on end beginning promptly at 3:30am, not being able to drink the water from the tap, having to walk in the rain everyday (I know I shouldn’t even bring this one up right now with a Texas audience but there is such a thing as too much rain!), not being able to run out and grab a Whataburger and a Shiner Bock beer, etc. These are just a few of the little things that I miss. However, I still haven’t gotten to my point have I?
This past weekend nine other seminarians and I went on what should have been a spiritual retreat at a Benedictine Monastery and minor seminary in Quetzaltenango (the Mayan name for the city is Xela). Many of us were looking forward to periods of silent prayer free of the noise that we seemed to be unable to escape from in Antigua. I can honestly say that arriving at the seminary was a breathtaking experience. This wasn’t as much due to the beautiful landscape as it was to the fact that we were over 7,500 ft above sea level and I was having trouble adjusting. When we arrived at the seminary after a 4.5 hour bus ride on a less than comfortable school bus with complimentary motion sickness, we were less than pleased to find out that nine of us would be sharing a single room with one bathroom. We were even more surprised as we joined the other seminarians for dinner only to discover how well we have actually been eating in Antigua. I admit that initially I was less than grateful for the food that was put on the plate before me. There were several other experiences including cold showers, a jam packed schedule of activities, and rush hour traffic in the city that left at least some of us wondering why we came in the first place. My list of complaints was growing.
When I woke up Sunday morning and took another cold shower and choked down a horrible cup of coffee, I sat down to pray my rosary. As I continued to pray I realized that I could not hear anything other than the birds chirping outside. It was quiet. Many of the other guys were still asleep and I was able to spend some quiet time in prayer. Whether it was the Holy Spirit or my own guilt ridden conscience (definitely the first but perhaps both), I realized how ungrateful I have been for the many gifts in my life. After three weeks of trying to explain the English expression “you can’t see the forest for the trees” to my Spanish teacher, I realized that despite the number of times I had uttered this phrase I did not realize that I should be saying it to myself. I have been so focused on the things in my life that have been taken away or that I still lack (both material and non-material things) that I have been blind to the many gifts that God has given me. I am so hyper-aware of the perceived faults in others, or the manner in which I am sometimes annoyed by them, that I fail to see them as the gift that they are. At times I focus more on the ways in which my life in the seminary could be better than I do appreciating what my time in the seminary has done for my life. I find myself overlooking the many generous people (I am talking about you here! Please listen!) who make it possible for me to discern the Lord’s call. During this short time of praying the rosary and meditation my mind was flooded with all that I have to be grateful for.
For the rest of the day I tried to play a little game. Every time I saw something that I perceived to be negative or anytime I was tempted to complain, I tried to find one or two things for which I was thankful. Admittedly, I was pretty terrible at this game in the beginning. As time went by throughout the day, I found myself being increasingly grateful even for the small crosses that were placed in my path. I intentionally tried to thank God for each moment of the day. In the particularly tough moments, I asked for the grace to see the gift in the situation. I could feel the change slowly taking place. Later that night, as the neighbor’s dog and the rooster entered into a heated discussion for two hours (presumably about whether dogs or roosters are louder) from 4-6am, I found myself giving thanks that at least I had a roof over my head and a warm bed. When I woke up to running water that wasn’t going to give me frostbite, I gave thanks. When I received emails from two very dear friends that put a smile on my face, I gave thanks. When I was able to make a housemate feel appreciated on his birthday even though he is a far distance from home, I gave thanks. When a friend invited me to go across town to the Cathedral to spend time in adoration before going to Mass, I gave thanks. As I sit here writing this reflection, knowing that you are reading it, I am giving thanks for the part you have played in my life and my journey to the priesthood (Ojala!). As a result, I find that I am beginning to feel a great sense of joy in my heart. Perhaps today was just a good day. Perhaps there was no big conversion and I won’t continue to be grateful for the rest of my life. Perhaps I will return to my old ways and complain more than I give thanks. Perhaps these thoughts were a result of a high-altitude induced state of oxygen deprivation. Whatever the case, I can tell you that I am at least increasing my efforts to being a man of the ‘Eucharist’ in the true sense of the word (thanksgiving). I am trying to be more like the one leper who returned to give thanks after he was cured rather than one of the nine who simply walked away. As a result, the scales are slowly falling from my eyes and I like what I see. With the clearer vision my aim is improving and is allowing me to hit the mark more than I miss it.
Oh yeah, by the way, the forest is actually pretty beautiful once you take your eyes off the one tree and look around a little. I am sorry that I don’t have a picture of it to show you, but then again, it is probably better that we all take a look for ourselves.
Please pray for me as I am praying for all of you. “Entremos a la presencia del Señor dándole gracias.”
Pax tecum,
Tom
Monday, June 20, 2011
Un Extranjero en Una Tierra Extranjera (“A foreign man in a foreign land)
For the last two weeks I have been studying Spanish in Antigua, Guatemala. This eight week immersion program is a part of my priestly formation. The program is intended not only to teach us the Spanish language but also to allow us to learn the cultures of various countries so that we may one day better serve the people of Central Texas. I can tell you that I have had many educational experiences in the first two weeks both inside and outside of the classroom. I have been quite surprised by some of these experiences and I hope to periodically share them with you throughout the summer.
Let me begin my first reflection by saying that I am not a ‘world traveler’. Apart from two prior mission trips to Guatemala, a cruise to Mexico, and a trip to World Youth Day in Australia, I have not traveled that much outside of the United States. As a result, my exposure to the different cultures the world has to offer has been minimal. I can remember that when I arrived in Guatemala for the first time three years ago I was in such culture shock that I was not able to talk much for the first 24 hours. When it came time to leave for Guatemala two weeks ago, I felt well prepared and was sure that I would not be overcome by the change in the cultural setting. So far, the adjustment has not been that difficult. The ease of the transition probably has something to do with the fact that Antigua is packed with foreigners from all parts of the world. However, despite the ease of the transition this time, there have been some surprises.
I am currently living in a house that is operated by a lady by the name of Soñia who has two children (a son 25 yoa and a daughter 21 yoa). The house has five bedrooms that are rented out to students and travelers. Since I have been here for two weeks I have had housemates from Austin, TX (can’t escape the t-sips here either), Holland, Canada, Japan, the Philippines, and Atlanta, GA. Suffice to say there have been some interesting conversations around the dinner table. When I first arrived at the house I had some difficulty communicating with the host family and the other students. My Spanish clearly was not good enough to allow me to do more than communicate a few basic sentences and ask the essential questions (¿Dónde está el baño? for example). However, as time has gone on we have learned to communicate with one another. I think that we have all gone to great lengths to help one another communicate. At one point the conversation went from Japanese to French to English to Spanish and back again. However, based on the fact that we were all patient and working together we were all able to feel a little more at home and were able to share our lives and laughs with one another. Eventually, we began to feel like one family instead of many individuals.
The first few days of walking around the city were slightly intimidating. Antigua is a bustling town of 30,000 people but is packed with tourists and is full of activity on every street corner. Crossing the street at times can be much like playing a game of Frogger (old Atari videogame where you had to dodge cars as a frog crossed the street). Although the streets are laid out in a grid system, many of the buildings look alike and the streets are not well marked. Therefore, if you forget that the giant volcano is to the South of the city, you could easily get turned around. However, most of the people I encountered were very helpful. Many of the locals at least attempt to speak English in order to communicate with the hundreds of foreigners that flood the city each week. The signs on all the stores are in both English in Spanish. There are tourist police officers all around town in order to ensure our safety. Tourism is obviously a big industry in this town and so I was not too surprised that many of the locals would cater to their guests and try to provide them with a little taste of home. One does not have to walk far before they find a restaurant that literally provides a taste of home. In short, the town welcomes its visitors and does what it can to help them adapt to life in Antigua for the time that they are here. I don’t mean to imply that there aren’t those who are less than welcoming. In fact, some of our teachers have told us that they have been threatened for helping the foreigners since they do not receive much help when they come to our country. However, people of this opinion seem to be the minority.
Despite catering to the many different cultures that flock to Antigua for its language schools and colonial heritage, the city has not lost its own cultural identity as one of the oldest towns in Guatemala. The buildings are beautifully painted and many of the churches that have been destroyed several times over by earthquakes have been restored. Throughout all of these restorations the city has managed to maintain its colonial feel and its Spanish and Mayan heritage. There is no watering down of the culture here by the people’s attempts to welcome their guests. In short, Antigua has found a way to welcome many of its ‘extranjeros’ (foreigners) in a way that not only caters to their needs but also maintains the rich heritage of the Guatemala people.
Why am I bringing all of this up? Well, to be honest, I have been thinking a lot about how seriously I take the gospel’s mandate to welcome the stranger and attempt to build unity with peoples of every race and tongue. I have also been reading a lot about how immigrants are being treated back home. Just recently I read an article about a Texas Senator who spoke harshly to a man who was speaking in his native language (Spanish) before a Senate committee. The Senator felt that since the man lived in Texas for more than twenty years he should speak in English. The Senator felt that it was an insult to the people of Texas for this man to speak in the language in which he was most comfortable. In another story, one that is more tragic, the news coverage of the death of a police officer in Texas seemed to be more concerned with the offender’s illegal status than with the loss of a hero. This is not going to be a political commentary on the immigration. That is not my place nor do I wish to enter into the debate. I simply bring up these stories as examples of what I have perceived to be a noticeable prejudice against immigrants and other cultures ‘taking over’ our great state of Texas. I have heard it said many times (and have said it myself), ‘if you are going to live here, speak English). I have often thought that if someone chooses to live in Texas then they should adapt their ways to ours.
These may not be your views but I will admit that at one time they were mine. I will admit that I did not see the need to write signs in stores and street signs in multiple languages. I did not see the need to have government documents written in multiple languages. I did not see the need to have special restaurants, areas of town, or special clothing shops that catered to people of other cultures. After all, ‘those people’ chose to come to ‘my’ country, right?
All I want to say is that after experiencing being a foreigner in a foreign land myself, I have a greater appreciation for the efforts that are made to welcome me and make me feel a bit more at home. No matter how long I am here, I don’t think you would ever see me wearing the traditional Mayan dress or speaking a Mayan language. If I chose to move here permanently I would do my best to learn the language and live according to local custom, However, I would never want to be forced to give up my American culture (whatever that is). I would still like the opportunity to pray in my native language and to celebrate the customs of my home country. I would do my best to adapt myself to my new surroundings while holding on to my cultural identity. I would not simply become a Guatemalteco and do as they do.
But I also realize that the idea of welcoming the stranger applies beyond the realm of immigration and international travel. What about the strange student who walks the halls of our school? What about the difficult or somewhat eccentric co-worker that is often avoided or over-looked? What about the people who live next door to us? What about that family member who we haven’t talked to in years because of some previous injury or insult? What about that new seminarian or faculty member at the seminary? What about the person sitting next to us in Church or the family that is new to our parish? What about the priest(s) or minister(s) who is (are) new to our Church? What about people of other faiths that we encounter in our daily lives? How far am I willing to go out of my way to welcome these people? Am I able to welcome them in a way that allows them to maintain some of their own identity without forcing them to conform to my ways in order to be accepted? How seriously do I take Jesus’ words ‘that they may all be one?’ How hard do I work to build community and welcome the stranger around me? Admittedly, I have not done a great job of it. After the experiences of this summer, I can tell you that I will renew my efforts. Will you join me?
Pax tecum,
Tom
PS. The experience of this summer is presented merely as a springboard to further reflection regarding how well I welcome a stranger in my own ‘land’. I am not attempting to make any political statements regarding immigration reform. ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and render unto God what is God’s.’ I am simply reflecting on how I am living the teachings of the gospel in my own life and focusing on ways in which I can improve my efforts. Please don’t misread this post and think that I am attacking any political system or group of people. If I am pointing the finger at anyone, I only mean to point it at myself.
Let me begin my first reflection by saying that I am not a ‘world traveler’. Apart from two prior mission trips to Guatemala, a cruise to Mexico, and a trip to World Youth Day in Australia, I have not traveled that much outside of the United States. As a result, my exposure to the different cultures the world has to offer has been minimal. I can remember that when I arrived in Guatemala for the first time three years ago I was in such culture shock that I was not able to talk much for the first 24 hours. When it came time to leave for Guatemala two weeks ago, I felt well prepared and was sure that I would not be overcome by the change in the cultural setting. So far, the adjustment has not been that difficult. The ease of the transition probably has something to do with the fact that Antigua is packed with foreigners from all parts of the world. However, despite the ease of the transition this time, there have been some surprises.
I am currently living in a house that is operated by a lady by the name of Soñia who has two children (a son 25 yoa and a daughter 21 yoa). The house has five bedrooms that are rented out to students and travelers. Since I have been here for two weeks I have had housemates from Austin, TX (can’t escape the t-sips here either), Holland, Canada, Japan, the Philippines, and Atlanta, GA. Suffice to say there have been some interesting conversations around the dinner table. When I first arrived at the house I had some difficulty communicating with the host family and the other students. My Spanish clearly was not good enough to allow me to do more than communicate a few basic sentences and ask the essential questions (¿Dónde está el baño? for example). However, as time has gone on we have learned to communicate with one another. I think that we have all gone to great lengths to help one another communicate. At one point the conversation went from Japanese to French to English to Spanish and back again. However, based on the fact that we were all patient and working together we were all able to feel a little more at home and were able to share our lives and laughs with one another. Eventually, we began to feel like one family instead of many individuals.
The first few days of walking around the city were slightly intimidating. Antigua is a bustling town of 30,000 people but is packed with tourists and is full of activity on every street corner. Crossing the street at times can be much like playing a game of Frogger (old Atari videogame where you had to dodge cars as a frog crossed the street). Although the streets are laid out in a grid system, many of the buildings look alike and the streets are not well marked. Therefore, if you forget that the giant volcano is to the South of the city, you could easily get turned around. However, most of the people I encountered were very helpful. Many of the locals at least attempt to speak English in order to communicate with the hundreds of foreigners that flood the city each week. The signs on all the stores are in both English in Spanish. There are tourist police officers all around town in order to ensure our safety. Tourism is obviously a big industry in this town and so I was not too surprised that many of the locals would cater to their guests and try to provide them with a little taste of home. One does not have to walk far before they find a restaurant that literally provides a taste of home. In short, the town welcomes its visitors and does what it can to help them adapt to life in Antigua for the time that they are here. I don’t mean to imply that there aren’t those who are less than welcoming. In fact, some of our teachers have told us that they have been threatened for helping the foreigners since they do not receive much help when they come to our country. However, people of this opinion seem to be the minority.
Despite catering to the many different cultures that flock to Antigua for its language schools and colonial heritage, the city has not lost its own cultural identity as one of the oldest towns in Guatemala. The buildings are beautifully painted and many of the churches that have been destroyed several times over by earthquakes have been restored. Throughout all of these restorations the city has managed to maintain its colonial feel and its Spanish and Mayan heritage. There is no watering down of the culture here by the people’s attempts to welcome their guests. In short, Antigua has found a way to welcome many of its ‘extranjeros’ (foreigners) in a way that not only caters to their needs but also maintains the rich heritage of the Guatemala people.
Why am I bringing all of this up? Well, to be honest, I have been thinking a lot about how seriously I take the gospel’s mandate to welcome the stranger and attempt to build unity with peoples of every race and tongue. I have also been reading a lot about how immigrants are being treated back home. Just recently I read an article about a Texas Senator who spoke harshly to a man who was speaking in his native language (Spanish) before a Senate committee. The Senator felt that since the man lived in Texas for more than twenty years he should speak in English. The Senator felt that it was an insult to the people of Texas for this man to speak in the language in which he was most comfortable. In another story, one that is more tragic, the news coverage of the death of a police officer in Texas seemed to be more concerned with the offender’s illegal status than with the loss of a hero. This is not going to be a political commentary on the immigration. That is not my place nor do I wish to enter into the debate. I simply bring up these stories as examples of what I have perceived to be a noticeable prejudice against immigrants and other cultures ‘taking over’ our great state of Texas. I have heard it said many times (and have said it myself), ‘if you are going to live here, speak English). I have often thought that if someone chooses to live in Texas then they should adapt their ways to ours.
These may not be your views but I will admit that at one time they were mine. I will admit that I did not see the need to write signs in stores and street signs in multiple languages. I did not see the need to have government documents written in multiple languages. I did not see the need to have special restaurants, areas of town, or special clothing shops that catered to people of other cultures. After all, ‘those people’ chose to come to ‘my’ country, right?
All I want to say is that after experiencing being a foreigner in a foreign land myself, I have a greater appreciation for the efforts that are made to welcome me and make me feel a bit more at home. No matter how long I am here, I don’t think you would ever see me wearing the traditional Mayan dress or speaking a Mayan language. If I chose to move here permanently I would do my best to learn the language and live according to local custom, However, I would never want to be forced to give up my American culture (whatever that is). I would still like the opportunity to pray in my native language and to celebrate the customs of my home country. I would do my best to adapt myself to my new surroundings while holding on to my cultural identity. I would not simply become a Guatemalteco and do as they do.
But I also realize that the idea of welcoming the stranger applies beyond the realm of immigration and international travel. What about the strange student who walks the halls of our school? What about the difficult or somewhat eccentric co-worker that is often avoided or over-looked? What about the people who live next door to us? What about that family member who we haven’t talked to in years because of some previous injury or insult? What about that new seminarian or faculty member at the seminary? What about the person sitting next to us in Church or the family that is new to our parish? What about the priest(s) or minister(s) who is (are) new to our Church? What about people of other faiths that we encounter in our daily lives? How far am I willing to go out of my way to welcome these people? Am I able to welcome them in a way that allows them to maintain some of their own identity without forcing them to conform to my ways in order to be accepted? How seriously do I take Jesus’ words ‘that they may all be one?’ How hard do I work to build community and welcome the stranger around me? Admittedly, I have not done a great job of it. After the experiences of this summer, I can tell you that I will renew my efforts. Will you join me?
Pax tecum,
Tom
PS. The experience of this summer is presented merely as a springboard to further reflection regarding how well I welcome a stranger in my own ‘land’. I am not attempting to make any political statements regarding immigration reform. ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and render unto God what is God’s.’ I am simply reflecting on how I am living the teachings of the gospel in my own life and focusing on ways in which I can improve my efforts. Please don’t misread this post and think that I am attacking any political system or group of people. If I am pointing the finger at anyone, I only mean to point it at myself.
Friday, March 11, 2011
In the Arms of My Father...
Greetings All,
All my bags are packed...I'm ready to go...I'm leavin' on a jet plane. That's right folks I am busting out of seminary for a week (they left the gate open...jk). Five of my brother seminarians and I are headed to Guatemala with the medical mission team from St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church. Please pray for us while we are gone as we will be praying for all of you. We will return on Saturday, March 19th. My annual review at the seminary is three days after my return. Please pray for that as well. Until then, I wanted to share with you this reflection I wrote during a day of prayer last month. I debated whether or not to share it. You can't say you don't know me very well after you have read this. I don't hold much back. I hope it helps you in your own journey to the Father.
Pax tecum,
Tom
“In the Arms of My Father”
By Tom Reitmeyer
A few days ago, at about eight o’clock in the morning, I called my best friend as he was leaving work (he works the night shift). Since we live almost one hundred miles apart it is difficult for us to spend as much time with one another as we used to. We attempt to overcome the distance with these short telephone conversations. While our varied schedules keep the calls from being as often, or as long, as I may like for them to be, I certainly treasure the few minutes a week we do get to talk to one another.
A few minutes into this most recent conversation, I could tell by the sound of a garage door being opened that my friend had arrived home. Several seconds later, I heard him chuckle and say to me, “Hah! My son (seven months old) is just sitting on the floor and looking up at me with a huge grin on his face.” My friend didn’t need to say anything more to tell me what he was feeling. I know him well enough that, by the sound of his voice, I had a pretty good idea of how that smile from his son made him feel. A moment later, I heard the voice of his daughter (three years old) yell with great joy, “Daddy! You’re home!” While not being able to see what was going on, from past experience I had a pretty good idea that she ran across the room and leaped into his arms. For those children, one of the best parts of their morning is seeing their father come home and hold them in his arms. The younger one is only able to reach his arms up toward his father and ask to be picked up, while the older one is able to sprint across the room and leap into her father’s arms. I knew that our time on the phone needed to end. I told him I loved him and said that I didn’t want to keep him from his family. The children wanted/needed their father and I knew that he needed them as well.
One of my great joys in life, and a real blessing from God, has been to watch my friend become both a loving husband to his wife and a loving father to his children. I get a great amount of joy from just sitting in the same room and watching him play with his kids. I love the way that he wrestles with them. I love the way they make each other laugh. It’s one of the greatest sounds in this world. I love the way that he consoles them when they are sad or not feeling well. I love watching how much it pains him to discipline them when he needs to. I always thought that parents just threw out that cliché line, “this will hurt me more than it hurts you,” but now as an adult, I see that there is a certain amount of truth in that statement. As I watch my friend with his children, I get an ever increasing sense of what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely.
I don’t need to look very far to find the person who taught my friend to love this way. After only a few times of seeing my friend with his own father, I began to understand. What is truly awesome for me to see is that the love and admiration is not only from son to father, but also father to son. There has been a few times where I have seen them say goodbye to one another after a visit. I am always impressed that there is no hesitation from either one to give the other a hug and say, “I love you.” Despite the distance that is created as one or the other travels back to his home, I know that my friend keeps his father with him always. After years of being a child who was once held by his father to his chest, my friend not only holds his own children close to him, but continues to hold his father as well. What a lesson for me!
As a seminarian who is studying to be a Catholic Priest, I am often called to spend time praying and reflecting on what it means to be a ‘Father’ to God’s children. Part of my formation (in life not just in seminary) is to learn what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely. Although I have a wonderful example in watching my friend and his family, I must also look to my own relationships to discern the ways in which I have been taught a father’s love. To be honest, that is at times a painful journey and one which I do not always want to undertake. However, over the past few years, God the Father has taken my hand and led me along this path and I want to share some of those thoughts with you in the hopes that you may consider your own relationship with not only your own human father, but also your Father in Heaven.
This year will mark nineteen years since the death of my father in 1992. It is odd to think that I have spent more of my life without my father physically present than I have spent with him. I have spent a great portion of my life lamenting the fact that my father died when I was young. I felt cheated out of many of the experiences that my friends got to have with their father. Sure, there were father-figures (brothers, coaches, priests, teachers, etc) in my life that stepped in and tried to fill the void, but the shoe never quite fit. As a result, I had a difficult time understanding how my Heavenly Father, who according to Scripture would never abandon me, had left me without a father in this world not only to love me as his son, but also to show me how to love as a father. I felt abandoned. I was angry, even more so after the death of my oldest brother in 2006. You see, my oldest brother was not only one of the many “father-figures” and friends in my life, but, as a Catholic Priest, he was also my spiritual father. Where was the love of my Father? Why was He abandoning me? How am I to become a father if there is no one there to teach me?
These were many of the questions that I have struggled with for the past five years or so. I have prayed with them many times and rarely have I come up with any answers. After years of wondering why God wasn’t answering me, I eventually realized that the only way for me to hear His response was to be silent, free myself of all the distractions, worries, and fears in order to listen. I had to provide a time of silence so that, as Blessed Cardinal Newman would say, cor ad cor loquitor (heart speaks to heart). It was in this time of silence during a retreat in Omaha, NE, that I received my answer.
It was during the third day of an eight day silent retreat that I was asked to pray with a passage from the Book of Hosea (Hos 11:1-4):
When Israel was a child I loved him,
out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
The farther they went from me,
Sacrificing to the Baals
And burning incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
Who took them in my arms;
I drew them with human cords,
With bands of love;
I fostered them like one
Who raises an infant to his cheeks;
Yet, though I stooped to feed my child,
They did not know that I was their healer.
It was this last verse that really stopped me in my tracks and for that reason I have put it in boldface print. When, Father, were the times that you drew me in with bands of love? When, Father, were the times that you held me to your cheeks like an infant? When, Father, were the times that my father here on earth did those things? In what way was I loved by him and by you?
I began to reflect back on my life and was surprised as memories that I had previously forgotten or was unable to recall began to flood my mind. I began to consider the times in my life when I remembered being held in my father’s arms. I remembered a time when we lived in Virginia when I was about three years old. I was hiding in the bushes with my brother as my father arrived home in a taxi cab. I remembered running and leaping into his arms to greet him as he came home. I remembered being held by my father upside down by my ankles (as was the tradition) when I received my Bobcat badge in Cub Scouts. I remembered some of the times when I wanted my father to hold me but he couldn’t, especially after his illness and subsequent death. But most especially, I remembered a time when my father and I sat on a dam in the middle of a river at a place called Five Mile Dam. I was probably five or six-years-old at the time and I was sitting on my father’s lap as he held me in his arms. In that moment of prayer in Omaha in the year 2010, I could see the smile on my father’s face as he proudly held his son. I could feel the coolness of the water and could smell it as well. I could feel the joy of being a child in his father’s arms. It was a reminder to me that not only did my biological father love me but I was also a beloved son of God the Father who desperately wants me to allow Him to hold me in His arms.
The next day of the retreat I was invited to consider the six years my father suffered from a massive stroke that he had approximately two or three years after this experience in the river. I could feel his sadness, anger, disappointment, frustration, and sense of abandonment. A great sense of compassion welled up inside of me and tears streamed down my face as Jesus allowed me to experience what my father felt. It was a compassion that replaced previous feelings of anger and resentment. I had never considered my father’s experience of his illness. My father passed away when I was thirteen and as you can imagine left me with a significant wound in my heart. God was in the process of healing this. Jesus then placed me back in the scene in the river. This time I was the five-year-old boy who knew everything that his father would experience in the remaining eight years of his life. Instead of my father holding me, I placed my head on his shoulder, embraced him, and attempted to console him. I felt a great sense of love and compassion for my father. I was also grateful as I realized that God felt the same way towards me as His son. God knows all of the joys and sorrows that I will experience and He seeks to be with me in the middle of all of them.
Lest I be fooled by this moment and think that it was wishful thinking on my part, I remembered that a photographer for a local newspaper (Onion Creek Free Press) had captured the moment on film and published the picture the next week. I had a copy of the photo for many years but have since lost track of it. What a gift it would be to have it back! The photo was only a silhouette of the two of us. It was a photo of a proud father who was holding his son. It was a photo of a son who made his father smile with a smile of his own. It was a photo of the type of love described in the Book of Hosea. It could have been anyone, but it wasn’t. It was me in my father’s arms. What a gift from my Father to recall that moment and to have it made present to me again! There is much more to that prayer experience, but I think that I have shared enough for now to make my point.
So what is the point that I am trying to share with you? I have learned from both my friend and my own father what it means for a father to love his children. I have also learned that the love a father has for his children is unconditional and everlasting. I have learned that a child is one of the greatest sources of joy for his/her parents. However, it is not enough for me merely to learn how to love as a father loves his children. No, that simply won’t be enough to make me a good priest, a good Christian, or a good man. I must also learn to allow myself to be loved as the beloved son of my Father in Heaven. Like Jesus Christ, the only Son of God the Father, I must learn that in the hour of my greatest need, the moment when I think the cross is too much to bear, the hour when I feel abandoned, I must do like he did during his agony in the garden: fall to my knees in prayer, raise my hands to the sky, and cry out “Abba (daddy)!” Like Israel, I must come to realize that I am a child who is loved by his Father. In every moment of my life, whether I have been aware of it or not, I have been held like an infant to my Father’s cheeks. As my Father has continued to call me to Him from my place in Egypt (a place of slavery), I have, at times, increased the distance between us. And while there have been many difficult moments in my life (death of family members, tragic situations in police-work, feelings of rejection or loneliness, etc) where I have felt abandoned, where I have felt like a crying infant waiting to be picked up and consoled by his Father, my Father in Heaven, like my earthly father, has always taken me in His arms and held me to his cheek with bands of love. The bands were in the form of: the love of a friend who teaches me to be a father, the love of the many people in my life who never allow me to feel abandoned despite the increasing distance, the love of those who have waited patiently for me to come back from Egypt, the love of those who I will one day serve as their spiritual father, and most especially the moments of prayer where I am once again able to be held in my Father’s arms. For me, prayer is sometimes as simple as placing myself in the arms of my Father and remaining there in order to receive His love.
My prayer is that in reading this reflection, you will reflect on your own experience of both your earthly father and your Heavenly Father. Know that despite whatever distance there may be between you and your Heavenly Father or whatever event(s) in your life (divorce, cancer, loss of a spouse, loss of a child, loss of any kind, depression, etc) may cause you to feel abandoned by Him, He is always there to hold you in His arms. Like my friend, and many other people in your life, you must be able to realize that there are times where we are called to love as the Father loves us, but there are also times where we need to allow ourselves to be the children who desperately want to be in His arms. All you have to do is make that time where you can quietly sit with Him, smile up at Him, put out your arms as a request to be picked up, and allow Him to hold you. If you will permit the anthropomorphic language, put a smile on His face, give Him great joy, and let Him hear you say with excitement, “Daddy! I’m home!”
All my bags are packed...I'm ready to go...I'm leavin' on a jet plane. That's right folks I am busting out of seminary for a week (they left the gate open...jk). Five of my brother seminarians and I are headed to Guatemala with the medical mission team from St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church. Please pray for us while we are gone as we will be praying for all of you. We will return on Saturday, March 19th. My annual review at the seminary is three days after my return. Please pray for that as well. Until then, I wanted to share with you this reflection I wrote during a day of prayer last month. I debated whether or not to share it. You can't say you don't know me very well after you have read this. I don't hold much back. I hope it helps you in your own journey to the Father.
Pax tecum,
Tom
“In the Arms of My Father”
By Tom Reitmeyer
A few days ago, at about eight o’clock in the morning, I called my best friend as he was leaving work (he works the night shift). Since we live almost one hundred miles apart it is difficult for us to spend as much time with one another as we used to. We attempt to overcome the distance with these short telephone conversations. While our varied schedules keep the calls from being as often, or as long, as I may like for them to be, I certainly treasure the few minutes a week we do get to talk to one another.
A few minutes into this most recent conversation, I could tell by the sound of a garage door being opened that my friend had arrived home. Several seconds later, I heard him chuckle and say to me, “Hah! My son (seven months old) is just sitting on the floor and looking up at me with a huge grin on his face.” My friend didn’t need to say anything more to tell me what he was feeling. I know him well enough that, by the sound of his voice, I had a pretty good idea of how that smile from his son made him feel. A moment later, I heard the voice of his daughter (three years old) yell with great joy, “Daddy! You’re home!” While not being able to see what was going on, from past experience I had a pretty good idea that she ran across the room and leaped into his arms. For those children, one of the best parts of their morning is seeing their father come home and hold them in his arms. The younger one is only able to reach his arms up toward his father and ask to be picked up, while the older one is able to sprint across the room and leap into her father’s arms. I knew that our time on the phone needed to end. I told him I loved him and said that I didn’t want to keep him from his family. The children wanted/needed their father and I knew that he needed them as well.
One of my great joys in life, and a real blessing from God, has been to watch my friend become both a loving husband to his wife and a loving father to his children. I get a great amount of joy from just sitting in the same room and watching him play with his kids. I love the way that he wrestles with them. I love the way they make each other laugh. It’s one of the greatest sounds in this world. I love the way that he consoles them when they are sad or not feeling well. I love watching how much it pains him to discipline them when he needs to. I always thought that parents just threw out that cliché line, “this will hurt me more than it hurts you,” but now as an adult, I see that there is a certain amount of truth in that statement. As I watch my friend with his children, I get an ever increasing sense of what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely.
I don’t need to look very far to find the person who taught my friend to love this way. After only a few times of seeing my friend with his own father, I began to understand. What is truly awesome for me to see is that the love and admiration is not only from son to father, but also father to son. There has been a few times where I have seen them say goodbye to one another after a visit. I am always impressed that there is no hesitation from either one to give the other a hug and say, “I love you.” Despite the distance that is created as one or the other travels back to his home, I know that my friend keeps his father with him always. After years of being a child who was once held by his father to his chest, my friend not only holds his own children close to him, but continues to hold his father as well. What a lesson for me!
As a seminarian who is studying to be a Catholic Priest, I am often called to spend time praying and reflecting on what it means to be a ‘Father’ to God’s children. Part of my formation (in life not just in seminary) is to learn what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely. Although I have a wonderful example in watching my friend and his family, I must also look to my own relationships to discern the ways in which I have been taught a father’s love. To be honest, that is at times a painful journey and one which I do not always want to undertake. However, over the past few years, God the Father has taken my hand and led me along this path and I want to share some of those thoughts with you in the hopes that you may consider your own relationship with not only your own human father, but also your Father in Heaven.
This year will mark nineteen years since the death of my father in 1992. It is odd to think that I have spent more of my life without my father physically present than I have spent with him. I have spent a great portion of my life lamenting the fact that my father died when I was young. I felt cheated out of many of the experiences that my friends got to have with their father. Sure, there were father-figures (brothers, coaches, priests, teachers, etc) in my life that stepped in and tried to fill the void, but the shoe never quite fit. As a result, I had a difficult time understanding how my Heavenly Father, who according to Scripture would never abandon me, had left me without a father in this world not only to love me as his son, but also to show me how to love as a father. I felt abandoned. I was angry, even more so after the death of my oldest brother in 2006. You see, my oldest brother was not only one of the many “father-figures” and friends in my life, but, as a Catholic Priest, he was also my spiritual father. Where was the love of my Father? Why was He abandoning me? How am I to become a father if there is no one there to teach me?
These were many of the questions that I have struggled with for the past five years or so. I have prayed with them many times and rarely have I come up with any answers. After years of wondering why God wasn’t answering me, I eventually realized that the only way for me to hear His response was to be silent, free myself of all the distractions, worries, and fears in order to listen. I had to provide a time of silence so that, as Blessed Cardinal Newman would say, cor ad cor loquitor (heart speaks to heart). It was in this time of silence during a retreat in Omaha, NE, that I received my answer.
It was during the third day of an eight day silent retreat that I was asked to pray with a passage from the Book of Hosea (Hos 11:1-4):
When Israel was a child I loved him,
out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
The farther they went from me,
Sacrificing to the Baals
And burning incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
Who took them in my arms;
I drew them with human cords,
With bands of love;
I fostered them like one
Who raises an infant to his cheeks;
Yet, though I stooped to feed my child,
They did not know that I was their healer.
It was this last verse that really stopped me in my tracks and for that reason I have put it in boldface print. When, Father, were the times that you drew me in with bands of love? When, Father, were the times that you held me to your cheeks like an infant? When, Father, were the times that my father here on earth did those things? In what way was I loved by him and by you?
I began to reflect back on my life and was surprised as memories that I had previously forgotten or was unable to recall began to flood my mind. I began to consider the times in my life when I remembered being held in my father’s arms. I remembered a time when we lived in Virginia when I was about three years old. I was hiding in the bushes with my brother as my father arrived home in a taxi cab. I remembered running and leaping into his arms to greet him as he came home. I remembered being held by my father upside down by my ankles (as was the tradition) when I received my Bobcat badge in Cub Scouts. I remembered some of the times when I wanted my father to hold me but he couldn’t, especially after his illness and subsequent death. But most especially, I remembered a time when my father and I sat on a dam in the middle of a river at a place called Five Mile Dam. I was probably five or six-years-old at the time and I was sitting on my father’s lap as he held me in his arms. In that moment of prayer in Omaha in the year 2010, I could see the smile on my father’s face as he proudly held his son. I could feel the coolness of the water and could smell it as well. I could feel the joy of being a child in his father’s arms. It was a reminder to me that not only did my biological father love me but I was also a beloved son of God the Father who desperately wants me to allow Him to hold me in His arms.
The next day of the retreat I was invited to consider the six years my father suffered from a massive stroke that he had approximately two or three years after this experience in the river. I could feel his sadness, anger, disappointment, frustration, and sense of abandonment. A great sense of compassion welled up inside of me and tears streamed down my face as Jesus allowed me to experience what my father felt. It was a compassion that replaced previous feelings of anger and resentment. I had never considered my father’s experience of his illness. My father passed away when I was thirteen and as you can imagine left me with a significant wound in my heart. God was in the process of healing this. Jesus then placed me back in the scene in the river. This time I was the five-year-old boy who knew everything that his father would experience in the remaining eight years of his life. Instead of my father holding me, I placed my head on his shoulder, embraced him, and attempted to console him. I felt a great sense of love and compassion for my father. I was also grateful as I realized that God felt the same way towards me as His son. God knows all of the joys and sorrows that I will experience and He seeks to be with me in the middle of all of them.
Lest I be fooled by this moment and think that it was wishful thinking on my part, I remembered that a photographer for a local newspaper (Onion Creek Free Press) had captured the moment on film and published the picture the next week. I had a copy of the photo for many years but have since lost track of it. What a gift it would be to have it back! The photo was only a silhouette of the two of us. It was a photo of a proud father who was holding his son. It was a photo of a son who made his father smile with a smile of his own. It was a photo of the type of love described in the Book of Hosea. It could have been anyone, but it wasn’t. It was me in my father’s arms. What a gift from my Father to recall that moment and to have it made present to me again! There is much more to that prayer experience, but I think that I have shared enough for now to make my point.
So what is the point that I am trying to share with you? I have learned from both my friend and my own father what it means for a father to love his children. I have also learned that the love a father has for his children is unconditional and everlasting. I have learned that a child is one of the greatest sources of joy for his/her parents. However, it is not enough for me merely to learn how to love as a father loves his children. No, that simply won’t be enough to make me a good priest, a good Christian, or a good man. I must also learn to allow myself to be loved as the beloved son of my Father in Heaven. Like Jesus Christ, the only Son of God the Father, I must learn that in the hour of my greatest need, the moment when I think the cross is too much to bear, the hour when I feel abandoned, I must do like he did during his agony in the garden: fall to my knees in prayer, raise my hands to the sky, and cry out “Abba (daddy)!” Like Israel, I must come to realize that I am a child who is loved by his Father. In every moment of my life, whether I have been aware of it or not, I have been held like an infant to my Father’s cheeks. As my Father has continued to call me to Him from my place in Egypt (a place of slavery), I have, at times, increased the distance between us. And while there have been many difficult moments in my life (death of family members, tragic situations in police-work, feelings of rejection or loneliness, etc) where I have felt abandoned, where I have felt like a crying infant waiting to be picked up and consoled by his Father, my Father in Heaven, like my earthly father, has always taken me in His arms and held me to his cheek with bands of love. The bands were in the form of: the love of a friend who teaches me to be a father, the love of the many people in my life who never allow me to feel abandoned despite the increasing distance, the love of those who have waited patiently for me to come back from Egypt, the love of those who I will one day serve as their spiritual father, and most especially the moments of prayer where I am once again able to be held in my Father’s arms. For me, prayer is sometimes as simple as placing myself in the arms of my Father and remaining there in order to receive His love.
My prayer is that in reading this reflection, you will reflect on your own experience of both your earthly father and your Heavenly Father. Know that despite whatever distance there may be between you and your Heavenly Father or whatever event(s) in your life (divorce, cancer, loss of a spouse, loss of a child, loss of any kind, depression, etc) may cause you to feel abandoned by Him, He is always there to hold you in His arms. Like my friend, and many other people in your life, you must be able to realize that there are times where we are called to love as the Father loves us, but there are also times where we need to allow ourselves to be the children who desperately want to be in His arms. All you have to do is make that time where you can quietly sit with Him, smile up at Him, put out your arms as a request to be picked up, and allow Him to hold you. If you will permit the anthropomorphic language, put a smile on His face, give Him great joy, and let Him hear you say with excitement, “Daddy! I’m home!”
Monday, March 7, 2011
Should we pay or should we not pay?
The following is a brief reflection that I will give at the end of one of my classes today. It is based on the gospel reading for Tuesday, March 8th, 2011. Mk 12:13-17
Pax tecum,
Tom
Should we pay or should we not pay?
This year, for the first time in sixteen years, I will not file a tax return. After two and a half years of being a seminarian, I no longer have any reportable income that requires me to pay Federal Income Tax. And yet, there is the distinct feeling that this year I will pay a higher tax than I have previously.
As seminarians we are asked to devote ourselves to a demanding academic schedule combined with various meetings, appointments, ministries, and other events. We are asked to submit ourselves to the authority of the faculty and ask permission for things that we would not previously have given a second thought. We are asked to embrace a life of gospel simplicity, celibacy, and obedience. We are asked to endure Friday afternoon group formation practices and to learn to speak with a cork in our mouth (don’t worry, it’s coming). Yes, as seminarians, there are ‘taxes’ to be paid.
And often times the payment of these taxes seems to stand in direct opposition to what it is we would rather do or even what we think we should be doing. I would rather immerse myself in a life of contemplative prayer. I would rather be back in the parish engaged in active ministry. I would rather feed the homeless, clothe the naked, visit the sick and imprisoned. I would rather try to figure out a way to allow myself to relax and recreate in a healthy way. Yes, there are many good things that I would rather do than pay my taxes.
So should I pay or should I not pay? This is the very question posed to Jesus by the Pharisees and Herodians who were sent to trap him in a no-win situation. In their minds no matter what answer Jesus gave them, he would lead himself into great peril. Either he would lose the support of the people or he would be reported to Caesar for acts of sedition.
This is the same false dichotomy that is presented by the Pharisees of my own heart and I dare say I am not alone in this. We are led to believe that paying the taxes of seminary formation and being faithful to a life of prayer and service are somehow mutually exclusive. We become imbalanced as we seek to fulfill the demands of one and neglect the other. At times, we find ourselves asking for extensions in order to avoid a timely payment of the taxes; or we become so concerned with completing every single task on time and to the best of our ability, that we completely ignore our times of prayer and communion with God.
But Jesus shows us another way. He does not simply choose one option over the other but instead institutes the long standing Catholic Tradition of the ‘both/and.’ Jesus tells us that it is possible to repay Caesar what belongs to him and also to God what belongs to him. Having heard this, I am, like the Pharisees utterly amazed at his answer. Not only for his elusive escape from the trap that had been laid before him but also at the notion that such a ‘both/and’ response is actually possible.
For as I stand here today I recognize that, while I may have the capacity, I do not yet have the ability to discern the proper balance between the demands of seminary formation and a complete rendering of myself to God. Frankly, I am challenged by the very idea that such a balance exists.
Thankfully, I do not have to find such a balance on my own. For just as God has given us certified public accountants to help us avoid the dreaded audit of the Internal Revenue Service, he has given us formation advisors, professors, spiritual directors, and I think most importantly, he has given us one another, so that together we may help each other prepare ourselves for the final rendering of accounts. And remember, as with any other accounting, in order for the numbers to match up in the end, it is often necessary to forgive a debt or two.
Pax tecum,
Tom
Should we pay or should we not pay?
This year, for the first time in sixteen years, I will not file a tax return. After two and a half years of being a seminarian, I no longer have any reportable income that requires me to pay Federal Income Tax. And yet, there is the distinct feeling that this year I will pay a higher tax than I have previously.
As seminarians we are asked to devote ourselves to a demanding academic schedule combined with various meetings, appointments, ministries, and other events. We are asked to submit ourselves to the authority of the faculty and ask permission for things that we would not previously have given a second thought. We are asked to embrace a life of gospel simplicity, celibacy, and obedience. We are asked to endure Friday afternoon group formation practices and to learn to speak with a cork in our mouth (don’t worry, it’s coming). Yes, as seminarians, there are ‘taxes’ to be paid.
And often times the payment of these taxes seems to stand in direct opposition to what it is we would rather do or even what we think we should be doing. I would rather immerse myself in a life of contemplative prayer. I would rather be back in the parish engaged in active ministry. I would rather feed the homeless, clothe the naked, visit the sick and imprisoned. I would rather try to figure out a way to allow myself to relax and recreate in a healthy way. Yes, there are many good things that I would rather do than pay my taxes.
So should I pay or should I not pay? This is the very question posed to Jesus by the Pharisees and Herodians who were sent to trap him in a no-win situation. In their minds no matter what answer Jesus gave them, he would lead himself into great peril. Either he would lose the support of the people or he would be reported to Caesar for acts of sedition.
This is the same false dichotomy that is presented by the Pharisees of my own heart and I dare say I am not alone in this. We are led to believe that paying the taxes of seminary formation and being faithful to a life of prayer and service are somehow mutually exclusive. We become imbalanced as we seek to fulfill the demands of one and neglect the other. At times, we find ourselves asking for extensions in order to avoid a timely payment of the taxes; or we become so concerned with completing every single task on time and to the best of our ability, that we completely ignore our times of prayer and communion with God.
But Jesus shows us another way. He does not simply choose one option over the other but instead institutes the long standing Catholic Tradition of the ‘both/and.’ Jesus tells us that it is possible to repay Caesar what belongs to him and also to God what belongs to him. Having heard this, I am, like the Pharisees utterly amazed at his answer. Not only for his elusive escape from the trap that had been laid before him but also at the notion that such a ‘both/and’ response is actually possible.
For as I stand here today I recognize that, while I may have the capacity, I do not yet have the ability to discern the proper balance between the demands of seminary formation and a complete rendering of myself to God. Frankly, I am challenged by the very idea that such a balance exists.
Thankfully, I do not have to find such a balance on my own. For just as God has given us certified public accountants to help us avoid the dreaded audit of the Internal Revenue Service, he has given us formation advisors, professors, spiritual directors, and I think most importantly, he has given us one another, so that together we may help each other prepare ourselves for the final rendering of accounts. And remember, as with any other accounting, in order for the numbers to match up in the end, it is often necessary to forgive a debt or two.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Becoming Perfect...
I find myself once again apologizing and trying to explain why it has been so long since my last post. I have learned that there are times in seminary when it is best for me to keep quiet. It may be a time when a lot is going on spiritually and I need to take time to sort it all out. It may be a time when little is going on spiritually and therefore do not have much to share. Other times, it is simply a matter of finding the time to craft these reflections. I have a lot to say as of late and there is much I would like to share with you. I had a particular order in which I wanted to share several of my reflections, but I think the lectionary and the readings for this weekend have somewhat forced my hand. So, for now, I hope you will enjoy this reflection I wrote on what it means to be 'perfect.' I wrote the reflection as a result of prayer during my silent retreat in January. I was asked to give the reflection to the Second Year Theology class here at the seminary. They seemed to receive it well and I hope that you will find something useful in it as well. Here we go...
"Becoming Perfect" by Tom Reitmeyer
Throughout my formation in seminary, and to be honest, for most of my life, I have struggled with perfectionism. Like most people I have my ideas of what it means to be perfect. I have not only struggled with living up to my own standards of what it means to be perfect but also realize that, at times, I have grown quite used to pointing out the imperfections of others as well. I seem to have this sense of what it means to be perfect deeply ingrained in my mind and have come to realize it as being a real obstacle to my further growth. I have spent a lot of time recently thinking and praying about what it means to be perfect and who it is that God is calling me to be, not only in the future, but right now, today. This reflection, then, is a summation of those prayer experiences and an attempt to share with you an insight that has given me a new sense of freedom and peace.
Over the break I gave a lot of thought to my first semester here at St. Mary’s. I did a sort of examination of consciousness for the entire semester. Through prayer and conversations with some trusted friends, both lay and clergy, I became aware of areas for growth that I had not previously recognized or understood. I remember one day in particular when the readings at Mass seemed to be speaking directly to me. The reading from was from 1 John 4: “We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. In this is love brought to perfection among us, that we have confidence on the day of judgment because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love…” (1 John 4:16-19).
After hearing these words I realized that they were both comforting and troubling to me. They were comforting in the sense that I knew that the fears I had regarding my formation, my life, my love of self, my vocation, etc. were not from God. There is no fear in love. At the same time I was troubled by the fact that the Scriptures used the word perfect or some other variation of the word no less than three times in three short verses. If the goal is truly to be perfect in love, how do I get there? After all, being very aware of my many shortcomings, my challenges, and my fears, perfect seems so far away….almost too far.
This is where I was spiritually as I entered into our silent retreat. I asked the Lord for the particular grace to show me how I was to become perfect in love. I asked him to increase my faith so as not to be controlled by my fears. I asked him to set me free.
On the Monday of our retreat, the second week of Ordinary time, the church prayed one of my favorite readings from Scripture (Heb 5:1-9). In these nine verses we are told of the priesthood of Jesus Christ, the high priest who was chosen by God to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. One verse in particular stood out to me. Verse 8 reads, “Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8) There was that word ‘perfect’ again. What does it mean to say ‘when Jesus was made perfect…’? Doesn’t that imply that there was a time when Jesus was not yet perfect? It sounds almost heretical even to pose the question. And yet, the grammatical structure of the sentence implies a time when he was not perfect. I have always assumed that the word perfect as we use it today means ‘without blemish’ or ‘without sin, fault, error, or lacking of any kind.’ By this definition Jesus was undeniably perfect. What was it the scripture was trying to tell me?
I went back to my room and immediately sat down with the dictionary. I looked up the word perfect and saw that it was defined as “being without fault or defect; exact or precise.” That did not seem to be much help. I knew that the English word comes from the Latin ‘perfectus’ or the participle ‘perficio’ from the verb ‘perficere’, meaning roughly ‘having been made through to completion.’ While this began to make more sense than the English definition I still could not see what was not yet complete in Jesus.
I then took a look at my copy of the New Testament in Greek. I turned to Matthew 5:48 where it says, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ I was surprised to see that the word used in Greek for the word perfect was ‘teleioi’ (τελειοι) which is an adjectival form of the noun ‘telos’(τελος). I knew from my philosophy studies that ‘telos’ refers to our final end or our ultimate destiny. It refers to that for which we were created. So, in this verse, Jesus himself was telling the disciples to be the persons whom God created them to be. My definition of perfect was quickly starting to change.
I then turned to a Greek dictionary to find a definition for telos. It was defined as ‘an end attained, consummation, or closing act.’ At this point I felt like I was pulling on a golden thread that had been woven through the Scriptures and was leading me to my prize. Focusing on the word ‘consummation’ I turned to John’s Gospel where it offers the last words of Jesus on the cross. In Latin, the words used are, “Consummatum est,” which is translated into English as ‘It is finished.” With great anticipation, as I felt I was on to some new discovery, I turned to the Greek where it says, “Ϊησουσ ειπεν, τετελεσται” or “Jesus said, it has been finished.” The word used for perfect is the perfect passive indicative of the Greek verb ‘τελεω’ meaning ‘to finish or complete.’
Jesus, having received his identity from His relationship to the Father through His baptism, brought his mission to completion. Having become perfect in love, he offered himself as a gift and a sacrifice for the sins of others. He had become fully perfect in being the one sent by God to reconcile all of us to him. “And when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8)
What does all this mean for me? It means that I no longer have to live my life measuring myself to some unobtainable external objective standard of what it means to be perfect. It means that I can be free of the idea that, being a perfect seminarian means perfect attendance, never being late, straight A’s, following every rule to a ‘T’. It means that I do not have to be perfect by someone else’s standards of what it means to be a man, a son, a friend, a Catholic, etc. It means that because I am a beloved Son of the Father who has been baptized into this faith, I must become perfectly me. I must become the man who God calls me to be. The man He knew before He formed me in the womb. This is not a crutch or a means to not deal with my faults or imperfections. That work still needs to be done. On the contrary, it is a challenge to become perfect in love. It is a realization that my identity is not one that I choose for myself; but is instead one that needs to be actively received from God. And from this identity comes the mission to love God and neighbor as He Himself has loved me. My mission is to become perfect in love; and there is no fear in love.
Finally, I will end with this quote from a great spiritual writer: "Perfect joy is the fruit of Christianity when it is lived as Christ taught: joy in the midst of our pain, joy that flowers precisely from pain, from the sacrifice of self, of our own views, of our own will, our ego, to leave space for God, for his plans, for his light-filled and wise design for the world and for each one of us."
Pax tecum,
Tom
"Becoming Perfect" by Tom Reitmeyer
Throughout my formation in seminary, and to be honest, for most of my life, I have struggled with perfectionism. Like most people I have my ideas of what it means to be perfect. I have not only struggled with living up to my own standards of what it means to be perfect but also realize that, at times, I have grown quite used to pointing out the imperfections of others as well. I seem to have this sense of what it means to be perfect deeply ingrained in my mind and have come to realize it as being a real obstacle to my further growth. I have spent a lot of time recently thinking and praying about what it means to be perfect and who it is that God is calling me to be, not only in the future, but right now, today. This reflection, then, is a summation of those prayer experiences and an attempt to share with you an insight that has given me a new sense of freedom and peace.
Over the break I gave a lot of thought to my first semester here at St. Mary’s. I did a sort of examination of consciousness for the entire semester. Through prayer and conversations with some trusted friends, both lay and clergy, I became aware of areas for growth that I had not previously recognized or understood. I remember one day in particular when the readings at Mass seemed to be speaking directly to me. The reading from was from 1 John 4: “We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. In this is love brought to perfection among us, that we have confidence on the day of judgment because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love…” (1 John 4:16-19).
After hearing these words I realized that they were both comforting and troubling to me. They were comforting in the sense that I knew that the fears I had regarding my formation, my life, my love of self, my vocation, etc. were not from God. There is no fear in love. At the same time I was troubled by the fact that the Scriptures used the word perfect or some other variation of the word no less than three times in three short verses. If the goal is truly to be perfect in love, how do I get there? After all, being very aware of my many shortcomings, my challenges, and my fears, perfect seems so far away….almost too far.
This is where I was spiritually as I entered into our silent retreat. I asked the Lord for the particular grace to show me how I was to become perfect in love. I asked him to increase my faith so as not to be controlled by my fears. I asked him to set me free.
On the Monday of our retreat, the second week of Ordinary time, the church prayed one of my favorite readings from Scripture (Heb 5:1-9). In these nine verses we are told of the priesthood of Jesus Christ, the high priest who was chosen by God to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. One verse in particular stood out to me. Verse 8 reads, “Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8) There was that word ‘perfect’ again. What does it mean to say ‘when Jesus was made perfect…’? Doesn’t that imply that there was a time when Jesus was not yet perfect? It sounds almost heretical even to pose the question. And yet, the grammatical structure of the sentence implies a time when he was not perfect. I have always assumed that the word perfect as we use it today means ‘without blemish’ or ‘without sin, fault, error, or lacking of any kind.’ By this definition Jesus was undeniably perfect. What was it the scripture was trying to tell me?
I went back to my room and immediately sat down with the dictionary. I looked up the word perfect and saw that it was defined as “being without fault or defect; exact or precise.” That did not seem to be much help. I knew that the English word comes from the Latin ‘perfectus’ or the participle ‘perficio’ from the verb ‘perficere’, meaning roughly ‘having been made through to completion.’ While this began to make more sense than the English definition I still could not see what was not yet complete in Jesus.
I then took a look at my copy of the New Testament in Greek. I turned to Matthew 5:48 where it says, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ I was surprised to see that the word used in Greek for the word perfect was ‘teleioi’ (τελειοι) which is an adjectival form of the noun ‘telos’(τελος). I knew from my philosophy studies that ‘telos’ refers to our final end or our ultimate destiny. It refers to that for which we were created. So, in this verse, Jesus himself was telling the disciples to be the persons whom God created them to be. My definition of perfect was quickly starting to change.
I then turned to a Greek dictionary to find a definition for telos. It was defined as ‘an end attained, consummation, or closing act.’ At this point I felt like I was pulling on a golden thread that had been woven through the Scriptures and was leading me to my prize. Focusing on the word ‘consummation’ I turned to John’s Gospel where it offers the last words of Jesus on the cross. In Latin, the words used are, “Consummatum est,” which is translated into English as ‘It is finished.” With great anticipation, as I felt I was on to some new discovery, I turned to the Greek where it says, “Ϊησουσ ειπεν, τετελεσται” or “Jesus said, it has been finished.” The word used for perfect is the perfect passive indicative of the Greek verb ‘τελεω’ meaning ‘to finish or complete.’
Jesus, having received his identity from His relationship to the Father through His baptism, brought his mission to completion. Having become perfect in love, he offered himself as a gift and a sacrifice for the sins of others. He had become fully perfect in being the one sent by God to reconcile all of us to him. “And when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8)
What does all this mean for me? It means that I no longer have to live my life measuring myself to some unobtainable external objective standard of what it means to be perfect. It means that I can be free of the idea that, being a perfect seminarian means perfect attendance, never being late, straight A’s, following every rule to a ‘T’. It means that I do not have to be perfect by someone else’s standards of what it means to be a man, a son, a friend, a Catholic, etc. It means that because I am a beloved Son of the Father who has been baptized into this faith, I must become perfectly me. I must become the man who God calls me to be. The man He knew before He formed me in the womb. This is not a crutch or a means to not deal with my faults or imperfections. That work still needs to be done. On the contrary, it is a challenge to become perfect in love. It is a realization that my identity is not one that I choose for myself; but is instead one that needs to be actively received from God. And from this identity comes the mission to love God and neighbor as He Himself has loved me. My mission is to become perfect in love; and there is no fear in love.
Finally, I will end with this quote from a great spiritual writer: "Perfect joy is the fruit of Christianity when it is lived as Christ taught: joy in the midst of our pain, joy that flowers precisely from pain, from the sacrifice of self, of our own views, of our own will, our ego, to leave space for God, for his plans, for his light-filled and wise design for the world and for each one of us."
Pax tecum,
Tom
Saturday, September 25, 2010
I'm leavin on a jet plane...
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost (1874-1963)
I doubt that any of us are strangers to this classical poem. We have heard it many times growing up. It has become a classic because virtually every reader can relate to the experience of being at a crossroads in life. The poem meant something for me in middle school when I first read it. It took on more meaning in high school as I struggled to decide what university I would attend. Again, the poem meant something different as I wrestled with the idea of either going to medical school or fulfilling my dream and becoming a police officer. I admit the poem wasn’t exactly on my mind as I struggled with the decisions: to leave the criminal investigation division to go back to patrol, to leave the police department, to begin working for the Church, to leave my comfortable life for seminary, to accept or reject certain offers on my house that remained on the market for fifteen months.
No, I can’t say that I always referred to classical poetry when I made a decision. As I grew older I began to learn methods of discernment and how to bring my major decisions before God in prayer. I learned to wrestle with my decisions until I reached a sense of peace that my course of action was in line with God’s will. As much as I have grown in my discernment abilities, there have been, and still are times, when I simply pick a path and get to walking. As I walk down the strange and unfamiliar path I sometimes second-guess myself. I begin to worry. I realize that this path is overgrown (lack of travelers) and at times the path is full of thorns and thickets that scratch and cut as you walk through them. Sometimes the path less traveled is not to be glorified as the path of an independent thinker who is willing to be counter-cultural and has a great sense of adventure as Frost describes in his poem.
More often than not, when I find myself on an unfamiliar path these days, I am reminded of something that I learned in my philosophy studies. In his work De Caelo (On Heaven) (I,5), Aristotle states, “The least initial deviation from the truth is multiplied later a thousandfold.” Less you panic because I am quoting a pagan philosopher, I offer you St. Thomas Aquinas’ version in De Ente et Essentia (On Being and Essence), as he states “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.” While these two quotes have all sorts of implications for our need to properly form our moral consciences and seek out Truth in all that we do, I will try to restrict their implications to the discussion at hand. With both of these quotes in mind, how does Frost even begin to take a single step down one of the two paths? What if he is wrong? What then? What if he does not realize the small mistake he made in the beginning that leads him to a great error in the end? What if the decision he is making ruins the rest of his life? What if the decision he makes in not God’s will?
Can you hear the fear in these questions? Can you hear the lack of trust in the providence of God? Let me very reverently say that I not only hear them, but I have felt them. Less you be quick to judge me, I think I can safely say that we all have. It doesn’t make us unfaithful Christians. It makes us human. So, how then do we ever make some of those life changing decisions, big and small, with some sort of confidence? I offer you the following analogy that was partially given to me by my spiritual director this past summer. I have added to it and have made it my own but I simply trimmed back the branches. The planted seed came from him:
Have you ever been sitting on a plane prior to leaving the gate and looked out the window? There are all sorts of people in jump suits that are working frantically at their various tasks in order to prepare the plane for its flight. Some are providing the fuel. Others are loading food and beverages. Still others are loading baggage onto the plane. Amidst all these people who complete their jobs with such ease that you know it has become routine for them, there is one man or woman who walks among them that sticks out like a sore thumb. The man (I am going to use the masculine gender from here on for ease of writing. I do not mean to exclude females from this position) is wearing a starched white shirt and a tie. He carefully walks around the plane somewhat oblivious to those around him. He checks out every piece of the plane to make sure that all is in proper working condition and the plane is ready to fly. He may pull on the wing, wiggle the flaps, or kick the tires. He goes through a checklist that is by no means routine. He makes sure that everything is where it is supposed to be or else the plane never leaves the ground. There is nothing that will cause this man to skip parts of his list and assume that all is okay. He is diligent in his efforts because he knows that “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.”
By now you have probably assumed that I am talking about the pilot of the plane. While that assumption will work, I am actually talking about the co-pilot. Usually, it is the co-pilot who does the walk around. The point of the analogy is that the co-pilot always makes sure that things are in order before the plane takes off. If he finds a problem, he calls someone else who is more qualified to fix it. If he doesn’t find a problem, he tells the pilot it is time for both of them to fly the plane together. Now, for the sake of the analogy put yourself in the role of the co-pilot. The decision to fly is any one of the minor or major decisions that you are faced with in your everyday life. Let’s fill in the rest of the roles to wrap this up.
We all know what the baggage is that has been loaded onto our plane for us to carry. Sometimes the bags that have been checked are our own and we have put them ourselves. Other times the bags belong to someone else and yet we are still asked to carry them. So far I have not yet mentioned the passengers although they play an important role. We all have passengers in our lives that fly with us. They may be friends, family, parishioners, or complete strangers. The point is, that as the co-pilot, we make our decisions the best we can based upon our assessment of the situation. Our assessment is informed, however, by our education, past experience, and prayer. We realize that we are under the guidance and teaching of the pilot (perhaps God, perhaps our priest), we fly the plane. Notice that I did not say anything about the emotional condition of the passengers. Sure there are some on the plane that are afraid to fly. There are some on the plane who become anxious at the slightest bit of turbulence. There are some who question your ability to spot a problem with the plane’s mechanics. There are some who will complain not matter how smooth the flight is. There are some who fail to pay attention to the many signs that tell them prior to getting on the plane where the flight is headed and yet they get on the plane thinking that they can insist upon it going to some other place. There are those who sit in first class and others that sit in coach. However the safe arrival of all of them is equally our concern. There are even some who may have intentions of bringing the plane down altogether. However, and most importantly, there are those who walk by the cockpit after the plane has landed, smile, and say, “Thanks for the nice flight. I look forward to flying with you again.”
One more thing, the co-pilot doesn’t fly alone. Not only does he fly with someone in the left-hand seat, but he consults his charts (Scripture), air-traffic controllers and ground handlers (Spiritual Directors and wise friends), weather reports (let’s hope he has a better weatherman than we do), but perhaps most importantly, the experience of the pilots and co-pilots who have gone before him on other flights. While sometimes we may choose the path less traveled, it is important to listen to those who have gone down the path before. They make us aware of cross winds, weather systems in our path, wind shear, etc. Some of those people may just be other pilots who are now your passengers. Listen to them. Take their guidance, but in the end, the decision is yours. You must choose to fly the plane. You must trust your walk-around of the situation and fly to the best of your abilities. There comes a time when you close the cockpit door so that you can concentrate on flying the plane. But remember, that door has to open again at some point and you will have to face your passengers. My point is, you can’t let their anxiety keep you from flying the plane or else no one ever moves. You have to choose: fly or don’t fly. As a wise man and a dear loved one used to say, “The choice is yours, choose well.”
As for me:
All my bags are packed. I’m ready to go.
I’m standin’ here outside your door…
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go….
Sing it with me!
Pax tecum,
Tom
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost (1874-1963)
I doubt that any of us are strangers to this classical poem. We have heard it many times growing up. It has become a classic because virtually every reader can relate to the experience of being at a crossroads in life. The poem meant something for me in middle school when I first read it. It took on more meaning in high school as I struggled to decide what university I would attend. Again, the poem meant something different as I wrestled with the idea of either going to medical school or fulfilling my dream and becoming a police officer. I admit the poem wasn’t exactly on my mind as I struggled with the decisions: to leave the criminal investigation division to go back to patrol, to leave the police department, to begin working for the Church, to leave my comfortable life for seminary, to accept or reject certain offers on my house that remained on the market for fifteen months.
No, I can’t say that I always referred to classical poetry when I made a decision. As I grew older I began to learn methods of discernment and how to bring my major decisions before God in prayer. I learned to wrestle with my decisions until I reached a sense of peace that my course of action was in line with God’s will. As much as I have grown in my discernment abilities, there have been, and still are times, when I simply pick a path and get to walking. As I walk down the strange and unfamiliar path I sometimes second-guess myself. I begin to worry. I realize that this path is overgrown (lack of travelers) and at times the path is full of thorns and thickets that scratch and cut as you walk through them. Sometimes the path less traveled is not to be glorified as the path of an independent thinker who is willing to be counter-cultural and has a great sense of adventure as Frost describes in his poem.
More often than not, when I find myself on an unfamiliar path these days, I am reminded of something that I learned in my philosophy studies. In his work De Caelo (On Heaven) (I,5), Aristotle states, “The least initial deviation from the truth is multiplied later a thousandfold.” Less you panic because I am quoting a pagan philosopher, I offer you St. Thomas Aquinas’ version in De Ente et Essentia (On Being and Essence), as he states “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.” While these two quotes have all sorts of implications for our need to properly form our moral consciences and seek out Truth in all that we do, I will try to restrict their implications to the discussion at hand. With both of these quotes in mind, how does Frost even begin to take a single step down one of the two paths? What if he is wrong? What then? What if he does not realize the small mistake he made in the beginning that leads him to a great error in the end? What if the decision he is making ruins the rest of his life? What if the decision he makes in not God’s will?
Can you hear the fear in these questions? Can you hear the lack of trust in the providence of God? Let me very reverently say that I not only hear them, but I have felt them. Less you be quick to judge me, I think I can safely say that we all have. It doesn’t make us unfaithful Christians. It makes us human. So, how then do we ever make some of those life changing decisions, big and small, with some sort of confidence? I offer you the following analogy that was partially given to me by my spiritual director this past summer. I have added to it and have made it my own but I simply trimmed back the branches. The planted seed came from him:
Have you ever been sitting on a plane prior to leaving the gate and looked out the window? There are all sorts of people in jump suits that are working frantically at their various tasks in order to prepare the plane for its flight. Some are providing the fuel. Others are loading food and beverages. Still others are loading baggage onto the plane. Amidst all these people who complete their jobs with such ease that you know it has become routine for them, there is one man or woman who walks among them that sticks out like a sore thumb. The man (I am going to use the masculine gender from here on for ease of writing. I do not mean to exclude females from this position) is wearing a starched white shirt and a tie. He carefully walks around the plane somewhat oblivious to those around him. He checks out every piece of the plane to make sure that all is in proper working condition and the plane is ready to fly. He may pull on the wing, wiggle the flaps, or kick the tires. He goes through a checklist that is by no means routine. He makes sure that everything is where it is supposed to be or else the plane never leaves the ground. There is nothing that will cause this man to skip parts of his list and assume that all is okay. He is diligent in his efforts because he knows that “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.”
By now you have probably assumed that I am talking about the pilot of the plane. While that assumption will work, I am actually talking about the co-pilot. Usually, it is the co-pilot who does the walk around. The point of the analogy is that the co-pilot always makes sure that things are in order before the plane takes off. If he finds a problem, he calls someone else who is more qualified to fix it. If he doesn’t find a problem, he tells the pilot it is time for both of them to fly the plane together. Now, for the sake of the analogy put yourself in the role of the co-pilot. The decision to fly is any one of the minor or major decisions that you are faced with in your everyday life. Let’s fill in the rest of the roles to wrap this up.
We all know what the baggage is that has been loaded onto our plane for us to carry. Sometimes the bags that have been checked are our own and we have put them ourselves. Other times the bags belong to someone else and yet we are still asked to carry them. So far I have not yet mentioned the passengers although they play an important role. We all have passengers in our lives that fly with us. They may be friends, family, parishioners, or complete strangers. The point is, that as the co-pilot, we make our decisions the best we can based upon our assessment of the situation. Our assessment is informed, however, by our education, past experience, and prayer. We realize that we are under the guidance and teaching of the pilot (perhaps God, perhaps our priest), we fly the plane. Notice that I did not say anything about the emotional condition of the passengers. Sure there are some on the plane that are afraid to fly. There are some on the plane who become anxious at the slightest bit of turbulence. There are some who question your ability to spot a problem with the plane’s mechanics. There are some who will complain not matter how smooth the flight is. There are some who fail to pay attention to the many signs that tell them prior to getting on the plane where the flight is headed and yet they get on the plane thinking that they can insist upon it going to some other place. There are those who sit in first class and others that sit in coach. However the safe arrival of all of them is equally our concern. There are even some who may have intentions of bringing the plane down altogether. However, and most importantly, there are those who walk by the cockpit after the plane has landed, smile, and say, “Thanks for the nice flight. I look forward to flying with you again.”
One more thing, the co-pilot doesn’t fly alone. Not only does he fly with someone in the left-hand seat, but he consults his charts (Scripture), air-traffic controllers and ground handlers (Spiritual Directors and wise friends), weather reports (let’s hope he has a better weatherman than we do), but perhaps most importantly, the experience of the pilots and co-pilots who have gone before him on other flights. While sometimes we may choose the path less traveled, it is important to listen to those who have gone down the path before. They make us aware of cross winds, weather systems in our path, wind shear, etc. Some of those people may just be other pilots who are now your passengers. Listen to them. Take their guidance, but in the end, the decision is yours. You must choose to fly the plane. You must trust your walk-around of the situation and fly to the best of your abilities. There comes a time when you close the cockpit door so that you can concentrate on flying the plane. But remember, that door has to open again at some point and you will have to face your passengers. My point is, you can’t let their anxiety keep you from flying the plane or else no one ever moves. You have to choose: fly or don’t fly. As a wise man and a dear loved one used to say, “The choice is yours, choose well.”
As for me:
All my bags are packed. I’m ready to go.
I’m standin’ here outside your door…
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go….
Sing it with me!
Pax tecum,
Tom
Friday, September 10, 2010
My Kind of Friday
Oh my how life has changed! First of all I apologize for not posting last week. I am still getting settled into life at St. Mary’s. The hockey analogy still applies but progress is being made. I am slowly becoming more comfortable with the schedule and am developing a routine. However, one of the main goals of seminary formation is to help you become more flexible with your time. With that in mind there have been several last minute schedule changes and unanticipated interruptions. I am slowly learning to take these interruptions in stride. In addition to learning to be flexible, I am learning to find those quiet moments that are few and far between and take good advantage of them. Tonight is one of those times.
As I write this entry I am sitting at my desk in my room on a Friday evening. I began my day at 7am with Mass and Morning Prayer followed by breakfast. I then gathered with the guys on my floor for group formation class. This class is where we spend time with our priest-formation advisor discussing various aspects of priesthood. Primarily we talk about the human formation aspects in terms of time management, developing a healthy prayer life, proper recreation, and how to take care of ourselves in general. The second hour of the class was spent practicing proclaiming the Word of God and singing. Yep, I had to get up on stage in front of my classmates and sing a cappella. Let’s just say it is a humbling experience and I have much work to do in terms of training my voice. If you know of a good voice coach let me know. I really would rather not inflict my voice in its current state on the people of God. We all have enough to deal with already.
After formation we had a rector’s conference. This is where the Rector speaks to the entire community about various issues. He gives us updates about the seminary in general and then gives us a little “pep-talk.” Today, he spoke to us about spending time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament and developing a strong devotion to the Eucharist.
The afternoon was spent doing what we call “Work Order.” This is a time when all the seminarians break into different groups in order to clean and maintain the campus. For me this meant cleaning a set of toilets and showers on one floor and vacuuming a hallway. I did not mind doing the work because I appreciate a clean bathroom as much as the next guy. Thankfully, it was much better than my experience of emptying Port-a-Potties when I was fifteen!
After work order, I went to the gym in order to work out. Due to changes in the schedule I have not been able to exercise all that much this week. It felt great to work out. I treated myself to Subway for an early dinner. For those of you that don’t know I am probably a bigger Subway fan than their spokesman Jared. I could eat the same sandwich everyday and not get tired. I had a minor setback with the weight-loss this past weekend but am still at minus 35 pounds since January. Keep your prayers coming.
Following dinner, I returned to the seminary and spent an hour with Jesus in one of our small chapels. I really enjoyed my time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. It was a great way to bring my day and my week to a close. Spending that time in prayer reminded me of my post a few weeks ago on developing a palate of prayer. So, strictly as part of my spiritual formation, I returned to my room and poured myself a glass of wine. It is my first glass of the year and I am enjoying it quite a bit (don’t worry…one is all I will have). I am listening to Stan Getz (Jazz) and writing to you.
If you would have told me several years ago that this is how I would choose to spend a Friday night I probably would have laughed at you. And yet, I find myself to be relaxed, content, and I dare say happy. I am immensely grateful that God has brought me to this point in my life. While I am excited to see what else He has in store, for tonight, I am going to sit and enjoy what He has already given me. I invite you to do the same.
I am taking tomorrow off. That means no school work, no laundry, and anything else that I would typically consider “productive.” To some of you, that does not seem like much of a break through, but for some of you who know me, you know that it is a big step. I can only take these steps in formation with the grace I receive from your prayers. So, if I have not said it in a while, thank you (as I raise my glass in a toast). Please continue to pray for me and my brother seminarians. Rest assured, you remain in our prayers.
Pax Tecum,
Tom
As I write this entry I am sitting at my desk in my room on a Friday evening. I began my day at 7am with Mass and Morning Prayer followed by breakfast. I then gathered with the guys on my floor for group formation class. This class is where we spend time with our priest-formation advisor discussing various aspects of priesthood. Primarily we talk about the human formation aspects in terms of time management, developing a healthy prayer life, proper recreation, and how to take care of ourselves in general. The second hour of the class was spent practicing proclaiming the Word of God and singing. Yep, I had to get up on stage in front of my classmates and sing a cappella. Let’s just say it is a humbling experience and I have much work to do in terms of training my voice. If you know of a good voice coach let me know. I really would rather not inflict my voice in its current state on the people of God. We all have enough to deal with already.
After formation we had a rector’s conference. This is where the Rector speaks to the entire community about various issues. He gives us updates about the seminary in general and then gives us a little “pep-talk.” Today, he spoke to us about spending time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament and developing a strong devotion to the Eucharist.
The afternoon was spent doing what we call “Work Order.” This is a time when all the seminarians break into different groups in order to clean and maintain the campus. For me this meant cleaning a set of toilets and showers on one floor and vacuuming a hallway. I did not mind doing the work because I appreciate a clean bathroom as much as the next guy. Thankfully, it was much better than my experience of emptying Port-a-Potties when I was fifteen!
After work order, I went to the gym in order to work out. Due to changes in the schedule I have not been able to exercise all that much this week. It felt great to work out. I treated myself to Subway for an early dinner. For those of you that don’t know I am probably a bigger Subway fan than their spokesman Jared. I could eat the same sandwich everyday and not get tired. I had a minor setback with the weight-loss this past weekend but am still at minus 35 pounds since January. Keep your prayers coming.
Following dinner, I returned to the seminary and spent an hour with Jesus in one of our small chapels. I really enjoyed my time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. It was a great way to bring my day and my week to a close. Spending that time in prayer reminded me of my post a few weeks ago on developing a palate of prayer. So, strictly as part of my spiritual formation, I returned to my room and poured myself a glass of wine. It is my first glass of the year and I am enjoying it quite a bit (don’t worry…one is all I will have). I am listening to Stan Getz (Jazz) and writing to you.
If you would have told me several years ago that this is how I would choose to spend a Friday night I probably would have laughed at you. And yet, I find myself to be relaxed, content, and I dare say happy. I am immensely grateful that God has brought me to this point in my life. While I am excited to see what else He has in store, for tonight, I am going to sit and enjoy what He has already given me. I invite you to do the same.
I am taking tomorrow off. That means no school work, no laundry, and anything else that I would typically consider “productive.” To some of you, that does not seem like much of a break through, but for some of you who know me, you know that it is a big step. I can only take these steps in formation with the grace I receive from your prayers. So, if I have not said it in a while, thank you (as I raise my glass in a toast). Please continue to pray for me and my brother seminarians. Rest assured, you remain in our prayers.
Pax Tecum,
Tom
Monday, August 30, 2010
Learning to Skate on Ice...
I have received several calls, emails, inquiries, etc. this past week from various friends and family asking me how my first week here at St. Mary’s went. To be honest, I find myself having difficulty finding the words to express exactly what I am feeling throughout the first week. I can tell you that my schedule seems to be a lot busier than it was at Holy Trinity. That is due in part to the fact that I am taking more classes (seventeen hours instead of nine or twelve). I have also been more faithful to keeping a daily holy hour and getting regular exercise. While this tends to cut down on the amount of free time that I have, I find that they are essential to keeping a balance throughout the week. As usual, I will try to use an analogy to describe the situation.
Growing up in the South, I did not play a lot of hockey. It’s just not a sport that is too popular in our part of the country. The only real exposure I have had to hockey has been learning how to play the sport during PE classes in elementary school. We learned to play the game in a gym with a puck or a tennis ball. We learned the rules of the game and eventually got pretty good at it. We thought we knew how to play hockey. At least, we were comfortable with how we learned to play the game.
Then one day someone comes along and invites us to play ice hockey. We think we know how to play hockey so we say ‘yes’ without giving it much thought. After all, we have been playing hockey for some time and we are pretty sure that we know the rules. How big of an adjustment could it actually be to play on ice? For those of you aren’t laughing in anticipation of what is coming next, hurry up and catch up with the rest of us.
It should not be too hard to picture a group of guys who have never ice skated before stepping on the ice for the first time. This is why Freshmen in high school, rookie police officers, and first year Theologians are such an inexhaustible source of humor for those around them. Forget playing hockey, we are just trying to stay upright. There is no concept of working together as a team in order to play the game. Instead, we are all just trying to learn how to stay on our feet and are beginning to think about skating. There is hope though in the sense that we know over time we will become more comfortable on skates and will then be able to play the game in the same way as we did previously. Eventually we will be like the ‘Mighty Ducks’ in the 1992 film with Emilio Estevez. We will learn to fly together in the ‘Flying V’ and will be able to take on whatever competition comes our way. If it helps those of you who are a little bit…ehemm…wiser get the analogy I will point you to the movie Miracle on Ice which tells the story of the 1980 U.S. Olympic Hockey team.
I have figured out that the best way to avoid injury during this time of learning how to skate is to slow down and stand still from time to time. The time I spend in silent adoration or prayer with the person of Jesus Christ is essential to attaining that sense of peace. Ice skating is always easier when you have the hand of a more experienced skater to hold onto. It is during that time of prayer that God gives me His assurances that He is with me and will teach me the Way to skate. He will show me that the discomfort, the lack of surety, the stress, the anxiety, the frustration that I sometimes feel are nothing more than growing pains. Better yet, He will remind me that what I am feeling are the birth pangs of a new creation. Like Jerusalem and the life of the first century Jews after the time of Christ, I am experiencing the death of an old way of life as I rise with Christ as a new creation.
I don’t think that I am too far off in saying that there are others who feel this same way. Perhaps you have recently started a new job. Perhaps you are doing the same job but from a different perspective. Perhaps you are an experienced parent who is now learning how to raise a teenager or young adult. Perhaps you are someone who is working with a new co-worker, staff, or boss. Perhaps you are adjusting to life without one of your loved ones. Perhaps you are looking at some other major transition in your life. Whatever it is in your life that has you moving from a gym floor to ice, know that God is with you and that He will take you by the hand and teach you the Way to skate. However, it means that we must slow down, humble ourselves, take His hand, and let Him lead us.
Please continue to pray for me and my brother seminarians as we discern God’s will for our lives. Please know that I keep all of you in my prayers as well.
Pax tecum,
Tom
Growing up in the South, I did not play a lot of hockey. It’s just not a sport that is too popular in our part of the country. The only real exposure I have had to hockey has been learning how to play the sport during PE classes in elementary school. We learned to play the game in a gym with a puck or a tennis ball. We learned the rules of the game and eventually got pretty good at it. We thought we knew how to play hockey. At least, we were comfortable with how we learned to play the game.
Then one day someone comes along and invites us to play ice hockey. We think we know how to play hockey so we say ‘yes’ without giving it much thought. After all, we have been playing hockey for some time and we are pretty sure that we know the rules. How big of an adjustment could it actually be to play on ice? For those of you aren’t laughing in anticipation of what is coming next, hurry up and catch up with the rest of us.
It should not be too hard to picture a group of guys who have never ice skated before stepping on the ice for the first time. This is why Freshmen in high school, rookie police officers, and first year Theologians are such an inexhaustible source of humor for those around them. Forget playing hockey, we are just trying to stay upright. There is no concept of working together as a team in order to play the game. Instead, we are all just trying to learn how to stay on our feet and are beginning to think about skating. There is hope though in the sense that we know over time we will become more comfortable on skates and will then be able to play the game in the same way as we did previously. Eventually we will be like the ‘Mighty Ducks’ in the 1992 film with Emilio Estevez. We will learn to fly together in the ‘Flying V’ and will be able to take on whatever competition comes our way. If it helps those of you who are a little bit…ehemm…wiser get the analogy I will point you to the movie Miracle on Ice which tells the story of the 1980 U.S. Olympic Hockey team.
I have figured out that the best way to avoid injury during this time of learning how to skate is to slow down and stand still from time to time. The time I spend in silent adoration or prayer with the person of Jesus Christ is essential to attaining that sense of peace. Ice skating is always easier when you have the hand of a more experienced skater to hold onto. It is during that time of prayer that God gives me His assurances that He is with me and will teach me the Way to skate. He will show me that the discomfort, the lack of surety, the stress, the anxiety, the frustration that I sometimes feel are nothing more than growing pains. Better yet, He will remind me that what I am feeling are the birth pangs of a new creation. Like Jerusalem and the life of the first century Jews after the time of Christ, I am experiencing the death of an old way of life as I rise with Christ as a new creation.
I don’t think that I am too far off in saying that there are others who feel this same way. Perhaps you have recently started a new job. Perhaps you are doing the same job but from a different perspective. Perhaps you are an experienced parent who is now learning how to raise a teenager or young adult. Perhaps you are someone who is working with a new co-worker, staff, or boss. Perhaps you are adjusting to life without one of your loved ones. Perhaps you are looking at some other major transition in your life. Whatever it is in your life that has you moving from a gym floor to ice, know that God is with you and that He will take you by the hand and teach you the Way to skate. However, it means that we must slow down, humble ourselves, take His hand, and let Him lead us.
Please continue to pray for me and my brother seminarians as we discern God’s will for our lives. Please know that I keep all of you in my prayers as well.
Pax tecum,
Tom
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Settling into Seminary...again.
Sorry folks for the delay in posting. My goal for this semester is to post at least once a week (ideally on Saturdays). The goal of the blog when it was created was simply to share a few of my thoughts as I journey closer to the Lord. It has expanded somewhat over the years to also be a means of allowing others to walk with me as I discern God’s will for my life in seminary. I welcome the newcomers who are now walking with us. I appreciate the comments that have been left. I do read them and I make sure to follow up on prayer intentions that are left as well.
It has been eight days since I have moved into my room at St. Mary’s Seminary in Houston, TX. The nineteen new men (including myself) arrived last Saturday. I admit that some of us paused for a second when we saw the size of our rooms. The Lord is definitely inviting me to live a life of greater simplicity. As I settled into my room I have found that it is actually large enough for what I need and is slowly starting to feel like home.
We have spent the week getting to know one another, praying together, registering for classes, buying our books, and attending various meetings. Orientation at seminary is much like the first week on a college campus (minus the debauchery of course!). We had our first public Mass today and it was great to have a few visitors. I want you all to know that you are welcome to join us for Sunday Mass at 9:30 AM almost every week that we are here. If you leave me a comment or shoot me an email a week or two before you plan on coming I will be happy to arrange to meet you and give you a tour of the seminary after Mass. Perhaps you could invite along someone who you think God may be calling to the priesthood. We have plenty of rooms available! (Shameless plug)
Just to give you an idea of the current state of vocations in central Texas, we have approximately eighty-two total seminarians here at St. Mary’s. I believe eleven different dioceses and two or three religious orders are represented. The Diocese of Austin, for which I am studying, has forty-six seminarians total. Twenty-nine of those seminarians are studying here at St. Mary’s. The Theology I class, to which I belong, here at St. Mary’s has twenty-two students, twelve of which are from Austin. So, God willing, in five years, we may have an ordination class of twelve men. Keep praying for us! It is certainly the prayers of those who support us that allow us to hear the call in the first place and to respond with a generous heart.
I must admit that I am looking forward to classes beginning tomorrow. I know that I might be singing a different tune in a few weeks, but for now, I am ready to get back at it. I have finished all of my philosophy studies and will now be studying theology for the next 4-5 years. Currently I am registered for 19 credit hours this semester. The classes I am taking are: Mark and Method, Introduction to Greek I, Introduction to Theological Studies, Pentateuch, Public Rhetoric, Introduction to Liturgy, and Church History I. I will certainly need your prayers this semester.
On a more personal note I want to share a small success story with you. Please admit me a moment to be a little proud. I share it as a means of encouragement for others and also to say thank you to those who have supported me in my efforts. Since January I have been focusing on my physical health and working on losing weight. I have lost a total of thirty-four pounds. I had a great time taking my suit in to have it altered (smaller this time!). My goal is to lose about a pound a week until I lose another 50 pounds or so. It seems like a lot right now but I am taking it slow. It is amazing how much impact prayer can have on your ability to adhere to changes in diet and exercise. I recently received a gym membership as a gift and am looking forward to beginning my exercise routine this week. So, as you can see, life in the seminary and discerning priesthood really is an effort to become holy as well as “whol-e.” It involves a four pronged approach to wellness: body, mind, and spirit. Will you join me in this effort in your own lives?
Again, thank you for all of your prayers and support. I will try to post some pictures of the seminary campus soon. It is absolutely beautiful despite the miserable Houston weather. Until then, let us keep one another in prayer.
Pax Tecum,
Tom
It has been eight days since I have moved into my room at St. Mary’s Seminary in Houston, TX. The nineteen new men (including myself) arrived last Saturday. I admit that some of us paused for a second when we saw the size of our rooms. The Lord is definitely inviting me to live a life of greater simplicity. As I settled into my room I have found that it is actually large enough for what I need and is slowly starting to feel like home.
We have spent the week getting to know one another, praying together, registering for classes, buying our books, and attending various meetings. Orientation at seminary is much like the first week on a college campus (minus the debauchery of course!). We had our first public Mass today and it was great to have a few visitors. I want you all to know that you are welcome to join us for Sunday Mass at 9:30 AM almost every week that we are here. If you leave me a comment or shoot me an email a week or two before you plan on coming I will be happy to arrange to meet you and give you a tour of the seminary after Mass. Perhaps you could invite along someone who you think God may be calling to the priesthood. We have plenty of rooms available! (Shameless plug)
Just to give you an idea of the current state of vocations in central Texas, we have approximately eighty-two total seminarians here at St. Mary’s. I believe eleven different dioceses and two or three religious orders are represented. The Diocese of Austin, for which I am studying, has forty-six seminarians total. Twenty-nine of those seminarians are studying here at St. Mary’s. The Theology I class, to which I belong, here at St. Mary’s has twenty-two students, twelve of which are from Austin. So, God willing, in five years, we may have an ordination class of twelve men. Keep praying for us! It is certainly the prayers of those who support us that allow us to hear the call in the first place and to respond with a generous heart.
I must admit that I am looking forward to classes beginning tomorrow. I know that I might be singing a different tune in a few weeks, but for now, I am ready to get back at it. I have finished all of my philosophy studies and will now be studying theology for the next 4-5 years. Currently I am registered for 19 credit hours this semester. The classes I am taking are: Mark and Method, Introduction to Greek I, Introduction to Theological Studies, Pentateuch, Public Rhetoric, Introduction to Liturgy, and Church History I. I will certainly need your prayers this semester.
On a more personal note I want to share a small success story with you. Please admit me a moment to be a little proud. I share it as a means of encouragement for others and also to say thank you to those who have supported me in my efforts. Since January I have been focusing on my physical health and working on losing weight. I have lost a total of thirty-four pounds. I had a great time taking my suit in to have it altered (smaller this time!). My goal is to lose about a pound a week until I lose another 50 pounds or so. It seems like a lot right now but I am taking it slow. It is amazing how much impact prayer can have on your ability to adhere to changes in diet and exercise. I recently received a gym membership as a gift and am looking forward to beginning my exercise routine this week. So, as you can see, life in the seminary and discerning priesthood really is an effort to become holy as well as “whol-e.” It involves a four pronged approach to wellness: body, mind, and spirit. Will you join me in this effort in your own lives?
Again, thank you for all of your prayers and support. I will try to post some pictures of the seminary campus soon. It is absolutely beautiful despite the miserable Houston weather. Until then, let us keep one another in prayer.
Pax Tecum,
Tom
Sunday, August 8, 2010
"Developing a Palate for Prayer"
I had the privilege of spending the last ten weeks at the Institute for Priestly Formation on the campus of Creighton University in Omaha, NE. Over one hundred seventy-five seminarians from seventy different dioceses in the United States gathered together to focus on our spiritual formation as men discerning a priestly vocation. In addition to speaking to us about topics such as priestly identity, celibacy, human sexuality, discernment, etc., much of the program worked with developing our life of prayer.
I cannot adequately express to you how grace-filled the summer was for me and how much of a gift it was to me personally. Despite the many graces that were received, they did not all come easily. During the first week of the program, the faculty began to talk to us about our spiritual senses and “tasting” God in our prayer. I had no idea what they meant by “tasting” God and thought that use of language was completely ridiculous. Despite my silent objections to the use of the word I heard it over and over throughout the first few weeks. At first I was not entirely sure why I had such a strong objection to the word ‘taste.’ I think part of the objection was that I did not understand what they meant and felt a little too embarrassed to ask. It was easier for me to say something like, “that language is not for me,” or “that is not my style of prayer.” I was upset with myself because I wanted to remain open to the material being presented and did not want to close myself off to the graces that God was trying to give me through the presentations simply because I objected to the manner in which a word was being used. I was reminded of a saying that my high school economics teacher enjoyed sharing with us, “we mock what we don’t understand.” The truth was I didn’t understand but I wanted to. I desperately wanted my prayer life to improve. I desperately wanted to know what they meant by ‘tasting’ God. I wanted the intimate prayer life they seemed to have but was a little embarrassed to admit my ignorance. Who of us really wants to admit that we don’t know how to pray as we should? (See Rom 8:26). I took the matter to prayer and over several weeks an image developed in my heart that opened my eyes just a little bit to what is meant by ‘tasting’ God in prayer. I want to share that image with you now.
I made the trip to Omaha with a brother seminarian from the Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston. The first night of the trip we stopped and stayed at a hotel in Wichita, KS. My brother seminarian and I decided to share a bottle of wine with dinner. When the wine arrived I made good use of my Cruise Ship Wine Tasting Class skills to act as though I knew what I was doing in tasting the wine. I went through all the external acts. I examined the cork. I looked at the color of the wine. I swirled the wine around in the glass. I inhaled the bouquet and considered the smell for a moment before taking my first sip. I paused in silence for a few moments as I considered the taste of the wine before I indicated my approval. I am telling on myself but I am a bit of a poser when it comes to wine connoisseurship. All the motions and actions I performed boil down to whether I thought the taste of the wine was pleasurable or not.
After a few sips of wine my friend looked at the label on the bottle and said, “Hmmm. I had no idea that there was mint in this wine.” I took another taste of the wine and immediately I could detect the taste of mint. I have tasted mint before and have been taught to know what mint tastes like. Just by hearing my friend say the word ‘mint’ I could imagine the taste in my mind. Therefore when I went to take another drink of the wine I knew what to look for. Amongst the many ingredients that went into the wine, I could sift through them and identify the mint.
As I reflected on this experience, I realized that the same thing applies to ‘tasting’ God in prayer. You see, wine connoisseurship is not a skill that you can learn by simply reading a book. Your palate for wine can only be developed by someone placing the various ingredients in front of you, telling you what they are, and having you taste them repeatedly. Eventually you acquire the ability to detect these tastes amidst an assortment of ingredients. It takes an experienced connoisseur to pass the skill on to you. Over the course of my life I have had several priests, spiritual directors, and other people of prayer help me learn to sort through the various ‘tastes’ of prayer in order to discern what is of God and what is not. As I continue to grow in my relationship with God, I realize that I am slowly developing a refined palate for my prayer.
However, while it may be fun to blindfold a wine taster and ask him/her to tell you what ingredients are in the wine, there is simply no substitute for reading the list of ingredients printed on the label. The label of prayer is of course Sacred Scripture. It is through Scripture that God reveals Himself to us and makes us aware of His presence in our lives. He tells us what to look for. He tells us where to find Him. He tells us of His desire to love us and to be in communion with us. Through Mass, study of Sacred Scripture, prayer groups, spiritual direction, etc., we begin to define our palate of prayer so that our time with the Lord is a more pleasurable, consoling, and edifying experience.
There is one last part of the meditation that I want to share with you. I like a good dry red wine. I like it bold and full of spice. However, the same cannot be said of my prayer. I know that I am not alone in my experiences of frustration when I think that my prayer is ‘dry’ or I will sometimes say, “Nothing is happening.” I hope that most of us have experienced a consoling moment of prayer where we could not doubt the presence of God. We often wonder why prayer cannot be like that every time we pray. The warm and fuzzy ‘taste’ of prayer is often what we are seeking. Then I realized that there is no less fruit in a dry merlot than there is in a delicate Riesling, a Northern Italian red, or a fine glass of port. In the same way there is much fruit to be ‘tasted’ in those dry moments of prayer. God is no less present or at work in dry moments of prayer as He is in those times of great consolation. However, without a refined palate to sort out the different tastes, we may miss Him.
The key is to keep tasting the wine. Don’t forget the health benefits of a glass a day. Remain steadfast in prayer. Don’t forget to look at the label often. Find someone that you can talk to about your prayer life who can work with you in refining your palate for prayer. Take a retreat once a year and go to confession often as a means of cleansing your palate. If you haven’t already ‘tasted’ God in your prayer, be patient, because once you do, you will never taste something as glorious, wonderful, or beautiful as the fruit He wants to give you. And keep in mind; I am always willing to sit down with you over a glass of wine!
Pax Tecum,
Tom
I cannot adequately express to you how grace-filled the summer was for me and how much of a gift it was to me personally. Despite the many graces that were received, they did not all come easily. During the first week of the program, the faculty began to talk to us about our spiritual senses and “tasting” God in our prayer. I had no idea what they meant by “tasting” God and thought that use of language was completely ridiculous. Despite my silent objections to the use of the word I heard it over and over throughout the first few weeks. At first I was not entirely sure why I had such a strong objection to the word ‘taste.’ I think part of the objection was that I did not understand what they meant and felt a little too embarrassed to ask. It was easier for me to say something like, “that language is not for me,” or “that is not my style of prayer.” I was upset with myself because I wanted to remain open to the material being presented and did not want to close myself off to the graces that God was trying to give me through the presentations simply because I objected to the manner in which a word was being used. I was reminded of a saying that my high school economics teacher enjoyed sharing with us, “we mock what we don’t understand.” The truth was I didn’t understand but I wanted to. I desperately wanted my prayer life to improve. I desperately wanted to know what they meant by ‘tasting’ God. I wanted the intimate prayer life they seemed to have but was a little embarrassed to admit my ignorance. Who of us really wants to admit that we don’t know how to pray as we should? (See Rom 8:26). I took the matter to prayer and over several weeks an image developed in my heart that opened my eyes just a little bit to what is meant by ‘tasting’ God in prayer. I want to share that image with you now.
I made the trip to Omaha with a brother seminarian from the Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston. The first night of the trip we stopped and stayed at a hotel in Wichita, KS. My brother seminarian and I decided to share a bottle of wine with dinner. When the wine arrived I made good use of my Cruise Ship Wine Tasting Class skills to act as though I knew what I was doing in tasting the wine. I went through all the external acts. I examined the cork. I looked at the color of the wine. I swirled the wine around in the glass. I inhaled the bouquet and considered the smell for a moment before taking my first sip. I paused in silence for a few moments as I considered the taste of the wine before I indicated my approval. I am telling on myself but I am a bit of a poser when it comes to wine connoisseurship. All the motions and actions I performed boil down to whether I thought the taste of the wine was pleasurable or not.
After a few sips of wine my friend looked at the label on the bottle and said, “Hmmm. I had no idea that there was mint in this wine.” I took another taste of the wine and immediately I could detect the taste of mint. I have tasted mint before and have been taught to know what mint tastes like. Just by hearing my friend say the word ‘mint’ I could imagine the taste in my mind. Therefore when I went to take another drink of the wine I knew what to look for. Amongst the many ingredients that went into the wine, I could sift through them and identify the mint.
As I reflected on this experience, I realized that the same thing applies to ‘tasting’ God in prayer. You see, wine connoisseurship is not a skill that you can learn by simply reading a book. Your palate for wine can only be developed by someone placing the various ingredients in front of you, telling you what they are, and having you taste them repeatedly. Eventually you acquire the ability to detect these tastes amidst an assortment of ingredients. It takes an experienced connoisseur to pass the skill on to you. Over the course of my life I have had several priests, spiritual directors, and other people of prayer help me learn to sort through the various ‘tastes’ of prayer in order to discern what is of God and what is not. As I continue to grow in my relationship with God, I realize that I am slowly developing a refined palate for my prayer.
However, while it may be fun to blindfold a wine taster and ask him/her to tell you what ingredients are in the wine, there is simply no substitute for reading the list of ingredients printed on the label. The label of prayer is of course Sacred Scripture. It is through Scripture that God reveals Himself to us and makes us aware of His presence in our lives. He tells us what to look for. He tells us where to find Him. He tells us of His desire to love us and to be in communion with us. Through Mass, study of Sacred Scripture, prayer groups, spiritual direction, etc., we begin to define our palate of prayer so that our time with the Lord is a more pleasurable, consoling, and edifying experience.
There is one last part of the meditation that I want to share with you. I like a good dry red wine. I like it bold and full of spice. However, the same cannot be said of my prayer. I know that I am not alone in my experiences of frustration when I think that my prayer is ‘dry’ or I will sometimes say, “Nothing is happening.” I hope that most of us have experienced a consoling moment of prayer where we could not doubt the presence of God. We often wonder why prayer cannot be like that every time we pray. The warm and fuzzy ‘taste’ of prayer is often what we are seeking. Then I realized that there is no less fruit in a dry merlot than there is in a delicate Riesling, a Northern Italian red, or a fine glass of port. In the same way there is much fruit to be ‘tasted’ in those dry moments of prayer. God is no less present or at work in dry moments of prayer as He is in those times of great consolation. However, without a refined palate to sort out the different tastes, we may miss Him.
The key is to keep tasting the wine. Don’t forget the health benefits of a glass a day. Remain steadfast in prayer. Don’t forget to look at the label often. Find someone that you can talk to about your prayer life who can work with you in refining your palate for prayer. Take a retreat once a year and go to confession often as a means of cleansing your palate. If you haven’t already ‘tasted’ God in your prayer, be patient, because once you do, you will never taste something as glorious, wonderful, or beautiful as the fruit He wants to give you. And keep in mind; I am always willing to sit down with you over a glass of wine!
Pax Tecum,
Tom
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