“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

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.

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!”

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.