Finding My Voice Again

There are few moments as adults when we truly wish we were kids again. I don't mean the usual times like when we hate work or just reminisce about what Christmas morning used to feel like. Rather, I mean when we wish we could experience something as children because it is just plain easier. I am now two weeks into my recovery from having my tonsils removed. It is not something that I would recommend for the faint of heart. Keep in mind that I am a bit of a baby as my wife will surely attest to. But when I began this process with my doctors about inquiring into a way to end my endless throat infections I was optimistic about it being simple. My surgeon did warn me that it would not be a walk in the park and several older parishioners regaled me with tales of their experiences in the 1940's and 1950's with kitchen tables, ether, and cold steel. Needless to say that I was glad I lived in the 21st century.

I have always believed that no matter what the experience, a person can gain some valuable insight on their life and their faith. In this experience I learned to appreciate the relationships I have with my parents and my wife. I recognized the compassion and gentleness they had for me as I tried to regain my strength, dealt with enormous amounts of pain, and was frustrated.

But this experience has also made me think about those who have no one to care for them. I had my tonsils out. I didn't have open heart surgery or a bone marrow transplant. My biggest annoyance was not being able to french fries for a couple of weeks. I can't begin to fathom the loneliness or frustration felt by parents or children, patients and doctors over diseases and ailments that have no cure, that cause so much suffering and attempt to compromise our dignity. I think about how fortunate I am. I think about the two good hands and feet I have and the brain that works (most of the time). I think about the opportunity I have to help people. That's when I think about becoming a priest.

So now I am in the stage where I wait for my voice to return to what it was before the surgery. It won't be near what I am used to or what I need for my work for at least another two or three weeks. In that time, I'll take that opportunity to listen more and to talk less. I'll take that time to think about what I want to teach others in my preaching and to listen to some good preachers. I'll learn what it means to serve from those who have so graciously served me.

A Holy Week Experiment.

This passed Holy Week I spoke with my rector and mentor about conducting an experiment. I wanted the opportunity to shadow him and get the experience a priest undergoes in serving his congregation during the last and most important week of Lent. It would mean working with him from morning to night and spending more time away from home for work than I had in a long time. I talked about it with Roxanne and she agreed that for both of us I needed this experience.

Father Andrew laid it out for me plainly. I was to help him with the 10am and 7pm services. In the meantime I would accompany him or be in charge of the various hospital visits. That means I would have the opportunity to give communion, pray with, or in some cases pray over the sick. It was clear that this was going to be a challenge but one I was eager to embrace and live up to.

My overall experience was positive. I learned a few things about myself and about my desire to be a priest. I learned that as a persons I need to be less afraid of what I want and make a greater effort to expresss what I want. Those who love me won't leave me just because I to fulfill a need of my own or attend to a work obligation. i also learned that my desire to be a priest is stronger than ever. I love helping peoplef and bringing them the love of Christ when they feel alone or scared. I love it not because it is an ego boost but because I feel like I am gving to others what God has so generously given to me.

The next few months are going to see new challenges as I begin my Clinical Pastoral Education. I know that I don't know enough about helping the sick and dying. I need to learn more so I can be more.

I also learned that one of the greatest challenges to achieving my professional and spiritual goals will be staying true to my family obligations. I love my wife and children so much and I only want them to be happy and know that they are loved. Making sure that I am true to them is one of my biggest priorities.

My First Holy Week

Well it isn't my first Holy Week. I've been observing Holy Week almost all of my life. But this Holy Week is different than any other. This is the first Holy Week since I began discerning the priesthood, since I began my training my rector. I have decided to shadow him for the entire week, attending every service, and every home and hospital visitation. This will mean some long days and tired nights. But hopefully it will give myself and my family some valuable into what my future life as a priest might be like.

I know that it won't be easy for me or my family but I think it helps me to understand the enormity of the job I am hoping to undertake and the strain it will present on my wife and children. But I also think that it will be an opportunity for my family and to grow with one another after Holy Week in the break that follows.

So I've been given the opportunity to preach and to do the stations of the cross. I am definitely nervous, most definitely apprehensive, but nonetheless excited about the opportunity to serve. Lately I had grown worried about my preparation about paying attention to the details. But now more than anything I want to pay attention to the worship I am offering to God and the thanks I have for just being his. That is the most important thing.

Growing up, I loved Holy Week. Now I find myself loving it more.

People are People Too

One of the most interesting aspects in our society is the intense categorization found within how we understand and deal with people. This is of course necessary. Human curiosity and the need to understand the world around us inevitably causes us to classify people places and things. It helps us to see the difference between the Bengal tiger and the Butterfly.

But this categorization can also get our of control and blind our eyes to the simplest of realities before us. In God's Church there are many different people with many different personalities and gifts. But they all have one thing in common. They are all people. They are all beautifully made in God's image. He did not make a mistake in creating them. And just as he loving made them, he sustains their life. His love also does not wax and wane with the "quality" of their life.

I was blessed to begin volunteering at a nursing home yesterday. My first task was to begin a bible study and then go upstairs to the level where they keep the Alhzeimer's patients. I had no idea what to expect before I arrived. I didn't know how lucid these people would be or how able they would be to be able to participate. In that moment, I made a key error. I didn't think of them as people. I thought of them as old people. I thought of them as elderly people. I stopped thinking of them as children of God.

In the scriptures we read that "wherever two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in your midst". Jesus wasn't specifying young people, or intelligent people. He wasn't setting a standard for a particular level of theological expertise.

The bible study itself was not as fruitful as I had hoped in that we didn't to discuss the scripture very much. But I didn't miss the point. We gathered together to praise God and to enjoy listening to his word. That was what he had wanted that day and we accomplished that.

As we go forward in ministry we must remember that there are too many labels for people. Our Christian brothers and sisters are not entries on an excel spreadsheet. They are human beings with souls loved by God in a way we cannot begin to understand. If we remember that, then we will be his people.

Congressional Hearing #1

In the Diocese of Southwest Florida where I reside and where I am pursuing ordination to the priesthood, the process whereby one gains consideration for ordained ministry has changed significantly in the last few years. And while I welcome the changes that normalize and standardize the process I have to admit that it doesn't make it any less stressful or intimidating. As part of the new process, the nomination that comes from the parish must be decided after three meeting where four parish members, an individual the person seeking ordination has never met, and the head of the commission on ministry. These are all good and Godly people who only want the best for me and for the diocese.

But sitting there across from all of them being asked questions about my history, my call to vocation and how I will handle the pressures of being a priest is a little nerve-wracking. It isn't that I am uncomfortable sharing my faith. It isn't that I don't know the answers. Rather, it's that contrary to the belief of so many people, I don't like being the center of attention. I like listening to others, not necessarily talking myself. What made me most nervous was the head of the commission on ministry nodding his head as I spoke. Was he agreeing with what I was saying? Or was he saying to himself "Yep. This guy is crazy!"

I'm not trying to overanalyze everything. It's more centered on feelings of inadequacy. My Christian story is special to me. I have no idea if it would be all that special or interesting to anyone else. I know there is no mold for a priest, but it would be nice to know how some of these people feel about my call to vocation.

I am overanalyzing everything. My Christian story is special. It's special because it's special to God. It's not the drama or action of a story that makes it powerful in God's eyes. Instead, it's the love that God has for us in offering that salvation and forgiveness in the first place that makes our journey to Him special. These people want to hear about how I fell in love with God, how I surrendered my heart to his love. If I tell them that, then I cannot say wrong.

Two more meetings to go. I'll make sure to wear extra deodorant.

My First Farewell

Today I was blessed to be able to assist my pastor in conducting a memorial service for an older parishioner who had died. I had never helped perform a memorial service and had only been to a handful of funerals. I had no idea what to expect. What I received was a blessed experience that helped me see what it means for people to appreciate and celebrate the life a person they loved who has gone to be with Christ.

Though there were several people present it didn't matter the number. What mattered was the sentiment they shared in their remarks about how that person, through their Christian example, was able to help them grow as Christians in their love of God and service to Christ. My pastor commented that this was the best comment of her life that we could make.

It made me immediately think of my life and the life of those close to me. I thought of my mother, without whom my vocation to the priesthood would never have occurred to me. I thought of my father and how he has hardened his heart over the years to God's love. It made me think of my own life, the long path I have ahead of me. It made me think of what I wanted people to think of me. I used to worry about being remembered as wealthy or famous or even "a good person". But really, I just want Christ to remember me when my time comes. If people do remember me, then I want it to be as someone of faith who truly loved everyone he met. As you can see, I have lots of work to do!

When Ministry Becomes Real

Last Wednesday I was given my first opportunity to accompany my pastor on his sick calls. I have to admit that I was more than nervous. It was a mixture of excitement and anxiety in that I wondered how I would react to meeting people who were in physical and spiritual need. I knew that this would help me to either strengthen my resolve about my vocation to the priesthood or illuminate my heart in a different direction.

Our mission that day was to visit two people who were in assisted living facilities, or nursing homes. My pastor told me to pay close attention to the two very different facilities where these people were living and the type of spiritual care they were looking for. Since I had never been to one I thought of the worse experiences I had heard from other relatives and cringed.

The first place we visited had a lovely woman in high spirits. Her husband was visiting and we were there to bring her communion as well as check in on her and keep her company for a short while. She was pleasant to be around and I wondered how she was really feeling and what her ailment was. She smiled at me and encouraged me on what I was doing. Later, someone at the church told me that she was happy to have met me and that I could stop by anytime.

The next visit was to a man I had met once or twice before at the church. He was funny, high-spirited, and more than anything, interesting. But from the first moment we parked the car in front of the nursing home I knew that this facility would not be as glamorous as the last. The first place had had a light about it. It had cheerful walking around and the residents were engaged in various activities. This place was sadder, with residents in wheelchairs stationed outside their rooms or in hallways grouped together like a herd.

When we walked into the room I saw our friend laying on his back half asleep. He told us a joke but struggled through saying the words. As he received communion he wept a little. You could tell that he was scared and a little lonely with almost no one to visit him. I spoke to the man sharing his room and found him to be someone who desperately needed mental stimulation and interaction with people. But that wasn't happening much either.

Overall, I found the experience to be a sorely needed dose of reality in a world where ministry and service are abstract ideas. If my goal as a priest was to serve these people, then these and even worse situations were the ones I would have to embrace. In my heart I found myself embracing them. I found myself moved over what these people were feeling and what they were suffering. I wanted not just to be there for them but also to let them know that their faith was something real that they could depend on in this time.

I have much to learn. I want to open my heart and learn.