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Saturday, July 14, 2012

Priest: Half a Life

I was ordained a priest on Saturday, July 14, 1984. Twenty eight years ago I was face first on the floor. As I lay there, I heard a cantor chanting various names of holy men and women from the history of the church. I recall some were there at my request including St. Francis of Assisi, St. John of the Cross, St. Theresa of Avila, and St. Catherine of Siena. There were two other men with me, both named Dan. One I had a friendship stretching back to our college days together and mission work doing VBS throughout rural West Tennessee. The other, whom I knew, but not well, had a brother at my first church with whom I was to do extensive pastoral work a year or so later.

Prior to that, I was still in Leuven Belgium finishing up my thesis and Master's degree and had had little input into the liturgical planning. It was just as well, I tend to shy away from that sort of thing, leaving it in the hands of those who relish such opportunities. I was wrestling with more significant things, like my feelings about ordination. I was a reluctant candidate. I believed I was called by God and responded in obedience, but never felt called to celibacy and even then (as a psychologist later said) "the shoes did not fit." I wanted to use the text Jeremiah 20:7 in my first mass, but  had been counseled out of it. It did not take much to convince me it was a bad idea to have a reading from a dismayed prophet which begins "You duped me, O Lord!" The text resonated with me because it conveyed something which I felt. God was too powerful, His will was too enticing. I could not walk away. I could not reject His call. I could not. Yet, the internal struggle was so painful.

Not to say the day was covered with gloom. I was happy and excited. I was hopeful that the worst of my discernment travails was now past. I looked forward to faithful service. I wanted to teach, preach, counsel and celebrate the sacraments. I wanted to be an icon of Jesus to young and old, especially young. I wanted to work in our school with the children (like Jesus) and shepherd teens in our youth group to a deep and abiding faith.

In a few months I will  have spent exactly half my life as a priest. Many Christians do not believe in the priesthood, even think it apostate that I would claim to be one. Now, of course, I have spent more than twice as long 'priesting' in the Epsicopal church than I did in the Roman Catholic. While I recall with some clarity moments of that long off day, I am divorced from that institution and in rare contact with those still in it. I savor those friends with whom I continue to have contact, but my return to the Roman church for liturgical reasons (usually funerals or weddings) are always a chilling and uncomfortable reminder that I do not belong there. As much as my theological imagination is shaped and formed by that Catholic story, it has since been reshaped and reformed by two decades as an Episcopalian. Some doors close never to open again.

I did not keep my promise. Lots of people try to make nice and make all manner of excuse so I don't feel bad. Truth be told, I usually don't. I have paid a price for my choice. I am an alienated figure in a hostile church environment. But like any good story, the redemption of the failed character comes when he gets a second chance and decides to be faithful whatever the cost. I hope I am that guy! My ten year absence from active ministry grew me in various ways. Social Work was a good place to learn new skills and expand my knowledge of many things. I am convinced that much of my success today is a fruit of those labors. The people whom I have loved and served these past 13 years have convinced me that our Lord has been at work in and through my ministry. That is heartening. Perhaps I am forgiven. I also know that there are scars. Some of them deep. Many are healed but some still fester. Life is hard, right? Priests do not get a free pass.

I am glad for my life and very thankful. I cannot imagine having done anything else. I am also troubled about this context, a church in turmoil, seemingly embracing every error it can get its hands on. But my own foibles and failures make it easy to have compassion for those who seem hell bent to make error into our chruch's new "truth." My self (centered?) reflection reminds me that the words "Lord Jesus have mercy on me a sinner" trump my prophetic impulses to point out the sins of others (which I can and will do with relish and enthusiasm). One reason I write is I hope it reminds others of their own imperfect state. I hope it provides reason to be a bit more aware of how each of us is apostate, how all of us are unfaithful, how "love grown cold and faith departed" describe not just our enemies, but also our friends and our very selves.

At 11:00 today I have a funeral. Burying another friend, mourning in hope with other friends. In the middle of the last paragraph I was interrupted as I went into the church to meet with the funeral directors. One of them, a man in his 70's was present at my ordination. His wife and four kids (all younger than me) were a big part of my adolecent church experience. He buried his wife ten years ago and his oldest son this winter. A personal connection for me. And that is what a priest is and does. Funerals. Weddings. Weekly mass with homily. Sunday school and Bible study. Counseling and hand holding in dark days. Even late night calls on occassion, usually harboring most tragice news. Most of all it is an intensification of what all baptized Christians are (icon of Jesus) and do (His Spirit empowered ministry). Half a life time ago I began that journey (after seven years of preparation in seminary). Half a life time ago. My parents, grandparents, pastor and many friends who were all there to celebrate now sleep in the earth. Someday I will join them. I, too, will meet the King, Our Lord, the Judge. Today I will try to honor and serve Jesus and worship the Father in the Spirit. I will try to make decisions which makes my parish faithful, especially in the face of opposition from a secular world and an errant church. I will do this in hope and trust. I will do it with others, people who were not present as I lay on the floor at IC Cathedral half a lifetime ago. Yet people who were there, in potentia, as I pledged that I would serve them, even then, not knowing who they would be.

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