A Call to Sacramental Ministry

As I’ve mentioned before, my discernment process has always been separated into two questions: 1) Do I feel called to be a Franciscan (or more appropriate now, what does it mean to be a Franciscan?) and 2) Do I feel called to sacramental ministry as a priest? Though they’re not mutually exclusive questions, discerning each question apart from one another helped me to focus on the significance of each question, and to accept the answer to each whenever I was ready to hear it.

Back at the end of March, I was apparently ready to hear an answer: I feel called to sacramental ministry, and wish to pursue ordination to the priesthood.

It’s hard to say what changed in me from one day to the next, from being unsure to being sure of a call.  For a very long time, I think I implicitly accepted that I would be ordained, always imagining myself in twenty years as having that aspect of my identity, but I never actually accepted the decision to be ordained in the first place.  In my mind, there was enough drawing me in that direction that I always saw it as an inevitability, but never an aspect of my life in the here and now.

That being said, there were clearly two triggers that turned my implicit decision into an explicit one.  The first was our habit fitting.  Trying on habits for the first time and looking at myself in the mirror had more of an effect on me than I thought it would.  I knew that it was little more than “dress up” for practical purposes, but there was still a gravity to it that is hard to explain.  Seeing myself in the habit and getting a sense of what it felt like to wear one marked a strong distinction in me between being a postulant, one who is inquiring and trying out the life, and a friar who has fully accepted the life.  It sounds weird, and is in a sense artificial given how similar our day-to-day lives are to professed friars, but that experience made everything seem much more real than it had been.  The “future” seemed much closer than before.

The following day, I was reading a book about the mass, the eucharist, and the role of the priest. In it, I came to this line:

In this oratio, the priest speaks with the I of the Lord– “This is my body,” “This is my blood.” He knows that he is not now speaking from his own resources but in virtue of the Sacrament that he has received, he has become the voice of someone else who is now speaking and acting.

I can’t say that this was a new revelation to me (I actually mentioned a similar sentiment back in August).  The idea of taking on the role of Jesus had always been both an inspiration and a deterrent for me in my discernment.  Nevertheless, these words struck a chord with me, helping me to develop a slightly more nuanced understanding of the role.  Whereas before I thought of “taking on the role of Jesus” in the sense that I had to live up to his magnitude and holiness, I now realized that it had much more to do with my willingness to let Jesus live through me and animate me in such a way to do his will.  I realized that I need not overwhelming merit or tangible holiness so as to be “holier than thou,” I need humility, openness, and a sense of servitude for all.  When I read this passage, I realized that, not only could I be called to sacramental ministry, I was called to it, and that I wanted very deeply to allow Jesus to work through me in that capacity.

 5 Comments

 Posted on July 18, 2012 by

 Discernment, News

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I Think It’s Time We Took A Break

Walking away for a little while helps us know we were in the right place all along.

With part one of the postulant year coming to a close, it’s time for another Vocation Vacation. Like our break at Christmas, we’ve been encouraged to break ourselves from the routine of the religious life so as to discern its effect on us (and us on it) over the past nine months. It’s a helpful reminder that we still haven’t formally committed to anything about the Order, and so are not bound by any vows in this process. Essentially, stepping away may be the best way to take a step closer. (This is not to say that we’re free from the Ten Commandments while we’re gone, but you know what I mean.)

The challenge of this break will no doubt be its length. Five weeks is quite a long time. With no money, less contacts than before, and a limited amount of responsibility, there is plenty of room to get bored. As our director told us in our last meeting, however, this is actually part of the design: with so much time and probably very little to do, it’s inevitable that we’ll begin reflecting on the year and hopefully realize how much religious life has come to mean to us.

As for me, I have little evidence to believe my director to be wrong. I will be spending one week traveling around visiting friends from college, during which I’ll be attending a Dave Matthews concert, but other than that I have four weeks without plans. I’m looking forward  to spending a lot of time with my family, possibly getting to the beach for a few days, and just relaxing without any stress or responsibility. As it will be the last time home before I’m a simply professed friar (occurs in 15 months at the end of novitiate), there are also a number of practical things I have to take care of, such as putting my finances in my parents name, getting rid of a few superfluous possessions, and taking visits to the doctor and dentist while I’m still covered under my parents insurance plan.

All in all, I’m looking forward to the time to catch up, reflect, recharge, and dream for a life to come as a friar. If I find the time, there are a few topics on which I’ve been meaning to post, so look for a few sporadic posts over the coming weeks. Otherwise, pray that I have safe travels and check back in June for the next step in the life of a friar in training!

 4 Comments

 Posted on May 12, 2012 by

 Discernment, News

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A Life to Share

Celibacy can be a bit of a deal breaker. Ask any young Catholic man or woman, active in their faith, why they are not considering some form of consecrated life, and I can almost guarantee that celibacy is one of the reasons. “I really want to get married,” you might hear. From my own experience, this was the largest hurtle to jump.

But despite what many may think, including even those going through the discernment process, I don’t believe that the problem is abstinence from sex (at least not entirely). Believe it or not, there are still many young people in this world who have not discarded chastity for the loose sexuality embraced by popular culture. (It’s not what you hear on t.v. or see in the movies, but it’s still out there, trust me!) And yet, of those who have held on to or readopted this unpopular virtue, there is an even smaller minority of people wishing to do so in the form of consecrated life. Why is this?

The reason has everything to do with intimacy, or rather, the perceived lack of intimacy in religious life. When I look back to the time when I used “I really wanted to get married” as an excuse, I believe what I was really saying was, “I really want someone to share my life with.” For much of my life, I saw marriage as the only way to do this. When I looked at the priests and religious I knew (which was only a few), all I saw were people growing in age, living alone, and frankly, looking either miserable or lonely. From this narrow experience I concluded that it must take the type of holy person that is willing to sacrifice any chance of intimacy for the sake of a worthwhile ministry, and I knew that I was not that holy person.

The first step in my transformative move toward religious life was a painful, yet inevitable one: I matured. As I grew older and developed emotionally, I began to form relationships that were much more meaningful than being “just friends” while being wholly different from my romantic partners. I had begun to realize that intimacy was much more than just romance. For an adult, this is painstakingly obvious. But for me, the realization that I could be fulfilled and sustained emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, and even physically (in a different way of course) from something other than an exclusive, romantic relationship, meant that I didn’t need to get married to have all of my needs met. It was not until this realization did the prospect of entering religious life even deserve my attention.

At some point, however, it did, and I was forced on an excruciating journey of heart and soul that tore me into pieces for many months.  Can I do that sort of work? What about my girlfriend? Do I want children? Which community? Have I lived enough to know? Little by little I grew more comfortable with idea, developed a fondess for St. Francis and became to accept almost every aspect of Franciscan life. I could do that.

There remained one final question: were these specific guys, the members of the Franciscan Friars of the Holy Name Province, guys that I wanted to share my life with? It’s one thing to understand and to like the idea of fraternity in the way St. Francis instituted it, but another thing entirely to live it with actual people. I was convinced that religious life could fulfill me in the way I sought. But would it?

The long and short of it is a resounding yes. As I’ve come to know many of the men in this province over the past five years, I have felt a distinct growth in many of them from mere acquaintances, to familiar friends, to something potentially much more. While I’m growing to understand each member as a brother owed my unconditional love and respect, I have nonetheless grown close to a few in a very spectacular way. I find myself catching glimpses of an intimacy with my brothers that is to come, fulfilling and sustaining me for whatever lies in the road ahead.

It may be true that I will never be fulfilled in such a physical way that a wife could provide: I am never going to have sex. Frankly, I’ll survive without it. But when I begin to look at celibacy through the lens I’ve described above, the abstinence from sex no longer appears to me as a restriction to be followed or a sacrifice to be endured; rather, it is the freedom, and the call to love more broadly than would ever be possible while vowed to just one person. I know that I feel called to this life, and that it is a life to share.

 21 Comments

 Posted on April 14, 2012 by

 Discernment, Fraternity

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What If I Fall In Love?

The question isn't a matter of what to do "if" I fall in love, but rather "when" I do.

“So, what if you take solemn vows in a few years, and after that, you meet a girl that knocks you off your feet and you fall totally in love? What do you do then? Are you allowed to leave?”

In the six months that I’ve been a postulant, and the two years I discerned religious life prior to entering, I heard this question too many times. Honestly, it’s a truly despicable question. I find it to be very indicative of the culture from which it comes: one that is afraid of commitment and is obviously skeptical of celibate chastity, whether it’s implicitly or explicitly realized.

For starters, it implicitly treats the choice to enter religious life as a “Plan B”. If there is a possibility that someone would leave religious life for marriage (which there has to be in the mind of the questioner otherwise it would have never been asked), it means that God is not ultimately the first choice; religious life was an option chosen in the absence of one’s “soul mate,” but if and when that person is found there is a new best option. In a surprisingly high number of cases, people who ask this question assume that the only reason people enter religious life is because they are either assexual or were incapable of forming and maintaining an intimate relationship with another.

The truth is, a large number of healthy men and women in religious orders have had experience in love, (and yes, even sex), before entering and taking vows. In my own life before I decided to enter, I had experienced 2 two-year long relationships with women that I loved enough to marry and was fully aware of the prospect of finding another. My choice to be a part of religious life was not without other options, nor will it be without new options in the future. (Many will tell you it’s not a matter of what to do “if” you fall in love, but rather “when.”) Like all healthy religious, however, I discerned that my life would be more greatly fulfilled in celibate chastity than in marriage, and so it was my “Plan A” to seek God in this way.

I imagine that God is insulted by this question for the same reason: is it not possible that someone could see a life fully devoted to God as the best option, an option greater than even the man/woman of one’s dreams? Not only do I know that this is entirely possible, I feel very strongly that God has called me and others to this life, and that it is just as much his choice as it is ours. When I’m asked about leaving after solemn profession for the sake of “love,” I get the sense that the asker either refuses to believe or is unable to understand that one can want a relationship with God in the form of a celibate chastity more than an exclusive relationship with another person.

The final, and most disappointing part of this question is that it completely disregards the gravity and sanctity of a covenant with God. Does solemn profession mean so little that one would be curious enough to ask whether or not a religious is willing to break it? I imagine that these same people wouldn’t ask an engaged man, “So what happens if after you’re married you meet a woman that knocks you off your feet and you fall totally in love? What do you do? Are you allowed to leave?” It’s an incredibly insulting question. Why doesn’t it sound as insulting when someone asks it about a commitment to religious life? Again, I think the person that asks this question implicitly values a commitment to God and an ascetic life less than a commitment to another person.

If you’ve asked this question before your life, I forgive you. I imagine that the implications of the question were not quite realized at the time, and had you known, you would have never asked it. For others, I hope that it is just as appalling to you as it is to me, and you will help to create a culture that views a solemn commitment to God as an extraordinarily fulfilling way of life.

At this point, I’m a long way to away from professing any sort of formal vows, and so am quite free to leave whenever I wish. At the same time, I have placed the prospect of marriage on hold for a while as to enter into an intimate, exclusive relationship with God, discerning a lifelong commitment by essentially “dating God” (a term Dan Horan, OFM has famously used.) If and when that day comes when I’m ready for solemn profession, and someone very unfortunately asks me what I would do if I fall in love, I’ll have the perfect answer for them: “I already have.”

 6 Comments

 Posted on January 28, 2012 by

 Discernment, Vows

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Having My Habit, and Wearing it Too!

At this point, wearing a habit is just a dream.

Some will say that the habit should be worn at all times, even within the confines of one’s own house. Focusing mostly on the effect that the habit has on the one wearing it, they argue that the habit’s primary function is to remind the professed religious of their inward commitment: just as one puts on the habit in the morning, so too are they putting on a way of life. No matter what one does or where one goes throughout the day, they will be reminded of their commitment. This is a very powerful sign to oneself. Ordinary secular clothes lack the separation from one’s old way of life to capture the gravity of a vowed life.

In public, the habit serves as an easily recognizable sign to the others of a religious person. One sister asked me once, “If a mailcarrier wears a uniform, why shouldn’t we?” In a similar way that a mailcarrier’s uniform separates ordinary people from mailcarriers, so too does the habit separate ordinary people from religious. This separation offers a protective barrier from the secular world by drawing clearly distinguished lines between appropriate and inappropriate behavior. The presence of the habit in ordinary situations offers a sense of comfort, purity, and Godliness to those around it that cannot be captured by simply wearing normal clothes. There is a “holiness” that cannot be ignored.

It is this very reason why many others have chosen not to wear it at all: the habit creates too much separation. Some religious claim that the habit inhibits their ability to engage in meaningful, mutual relationships with those they serve because it brings with it not just comfort, purity, and Godliness, but also power, authority, and for some, an expectation of false piety. When someone sees a religious in a habit, like it or not, consciously or subconsciously, one’s behavior will be effected; regardless of whether it is for better or worse, people act differently around “brother” X than they would if they had just met X on the street. Many religious find this very troubling, and believe that it is almost impossibile to lead with someone under these circumstances. In this way, some religious focus more on the effect the habit has on it’s beholder than effect it has on its wearer.

To accomodate the beholder, thus, some religious have chosen to blend in. Adopting simply clothing, they resemble the very people they serve. This, they say, is the true essence of the original habit; now that it is a sign of prominent status, it must be removed and replaced with something lowly and cheap. By dressing in a more comfortable way, any sort of stigma of being a professed religious is absent from their interactions. They are no longer above others leading down, but instead among others leading together. Those who have adopted this approach tell me that the greatest compliment they receive is, “Oh! I didn’t even know you were a brother/sister,” because it means that their status as a religious brother or sister had no effect on their ability to serve.

With that being said, there’s a pretty obvious million dollar question about to be asked: How do I feel about the habit? Do I see it as a part of the identity of a friar and wish to wear it as my default attire? Or, do I wish to live by the spirit of the habit, wearing poor clothes in solidarity with those I will serve?

Can’t I have my cake and eat it too? I want to have my habit and wear it too! What do I mean by this? I mean that the question itself is flawed because it should not be an either/or situation; the most complete way that I find to view the habit at this point in my formation needs to include sentiments from both perspectives.

For example, I think that the habit is a needed outward sign of inner “habit” that has changed, as well as a being wonderful expression to the secular world, but that sometimes sign value is less important than being in solidarity with the poor and even impractical (or detrimental) when doing extensive manual labor; I believe that it’s important for the uplifting of the laity to blend in and lead as equals rather than create visual separations, while at the same time realizing that the world needs to see good examples of religious in the world, and that no one will ever walk up to us and ask us to pray for them if they can’t find us.

In short, I like the habit, but I don’t plan on wearing it every minute of every day. Will I wear it more than I don’t? Probably. Will I wear it to the bank, grocery store, or movie theatre? I’m not sure, but I do think there is a need for the world to see a habited religious in normal, secular places. I understand the desire to lead as equals and the sentiment of not drawing too much attention to oneself, but a the same time, if we only wear our habits to church how will we ever be able to evangelize to those who have never heard the Word or know what a Franciscan is?

As it stands now, I won’t receive a habit for another eleven months. A lot could change between now and then. A lot could change when I put it on for the first time. A lot could change the first time I’m out in public and realize that everyone is staring at me. All I can say right now is what I’ve seen so far. Until then, I’m going to dream about having my habit and wearing it too!

 6 Comments

 Posted on January 13, 2012 by

 Discernment

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Breaking In The Habit

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