Sanctuary

"I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself."

-Maya Angelou

My home, for this year at least, is a simple dorm room, built for universal usage and not individual expression. I've never been one to go far in painting and decorating, but I find value in having a few things that make the space my own. One of these things is a bulletin board of mementos -- photos, cards, buttons, license plates, prayers, calendars, sayings, and trinkets that evoke memories. I took with me many of the things I had on my office walls at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, and they serve as a bridge between where I've been and the places I am headed. I'm also reminded in looking at my board how many people care about me, offer prayers for me, and have impacted my life in unrepeatable ways. I am immeasurably blessed.

Our doors to the hallway close automatically unless we go to some great lengths pinning them open. The custodial staff even told us during Orientation if they see any doors open they are required to shut them according to fire code. This doesn't lend itself to great community as one walks the corridor, but it does make for quiet time and a greater sense of sanctuary when I return to my corner of campus and the world. I'm sure after many days of philosophical banter and wearing a clerical collar, I will look forward to this retreat. As with most new places, "home" seems an odd description at first, but as Maya Angelou says, it is where I find myself, so home it must be.

The Familiar

Family. Fulfilling friendships. The need for rest, exercise, sleep, cleanliness, meaning, and love. Enjoyment in sports. Purpose and Truth revealed through the Church and my relationship with the Lord.

Some things are unchanging.

I remember attending a conference in college where a doctor specializing in irregular pregnancies told us the first thing she tells her patients is everything that is normal and functional about the baby and mother. She begins with the familiar. Only then does she reveal what is new and scary. The familiar offers comfort. I need that stability in times like this where everything seems new, where I constantly feel lost in the details, where home is an idea rather than a place I can dwell. I yearn for the familiar, though I trust that the new and scary are coming for good reason. But enough with the philosophic.

I’m moved in (mostly). I’m meeting people -- remarkable men from a range of backgrounds, places, ages, and callings. I’m eating delicious food and for the moment, not missing my own cooking. I’m learning everything about living on “the hilltop.”

Mount Angel Seminary, you see, overlooks the Willamette Valley from a perch that allows for 360-degree views of green farmlands and snowy, sculpted mountain peaks. From our dining hall, we can see Mount Hood quite clearly, Mount St. Helens on some days, the Sisters peaks, and on a very clear day, even Mount Rainier. Here are a few of the views:

Beauty only goes so far. God's creation can be marvelous, but it doesn't bring comfort in times of spiritual wandering. I am wandering. Not in a negative sense. This is an ideal place for wandering because the wandering is very directed. I have no time to be aimless. We have a schedule each day of orientation this week. Today looks like this:

7:00am Breakfast

8:30am Morning Prayer

8:45am Mass

10:00am Liturgy of the Hours Overview

11:00am Safe Environment Training

11:45am Lunch

1:00pm Seminary Facilities & Stewardship

1:30pm Academic & Registration Information

2:00pm Seminary Bookstore Procedures

2:30-4:30pm Academic Advising and Registration

2:30-4:45pm Individual Photos

5:30pm Evening Prayer

5:45pm Dinner

6:30pm Seminary Pastoral Council

8:00pm Tour of St. Mary's Church

9:00pm Stations of the Cross

11:00pm Lights Out

Much of our morning and evening consists of prayer, at times very scripted and at others spontaneous. The Liturgy of the Hours is a devotion of clergy and many religious communities to pray through the Psalms and Scripture at particular times of the day. We say three Psalms/Scriptures in the morning, evening, and at night. I've gone to three or four training sessions on how to find each part, prayed them every day since I arrived, and still am wading through the four-volume set like I would an assembly manual for an Ikea wardrobe that is written in Swedish. All the returning seminarians seem to get it, so there may be hope for me yet. Just the vocabulary is a chore -- invitatory, canticle, psalter, commons, proper, antiphon. I wondered aloud as we flipped through our breviaries (the shorthand for Liturgy of the Hours), "Isn't there an app for this?"

Alas, the app only goes so far. I'm finding that easy isn't often a good or viable option. Everything worth attaining in life takes fortitude.

The familiar. The comfortable. Now as I ready myself for bed, I remark that the smallest things in my comfortable life -- my bedtime routine, my clothing choices, my desire to read for pleasure -- have changed in the days since I arrived. Some things remain and will always. These constants help me transition as the cross is discovered in new ways. Through all I experience, I am steadied by the words of a great friend, reminding me that in everything I do, "The DUDE abides."

Stepping into the deep

A couple months ago I was playing soccer at lunchtime, as I love to do, when I took a shot that sailed over the five-foot-tall fence surrounding the field, zipped over the concrete walking path, and came to rest in the irrigation creek a few feet below. Luckily, the water looked to be ankle deep, so I hopped the fence, removed my cleats and socks, and went to retrieve the ball.

The first steps went as expected in the shallow, if murky water. This is easy, I thought. Only a few more feet to retrieve the ball. One little step at a time. One little step...SPLASH! I was in deep, up to my hips. I couldn’t see that my little steps were quickly coming to an end, that without warning I would quickly be swimming.

By then I was wet, so the last few feet to the ball didn’t matter much. I retrieved it, threw it ashore, and waded to dry ground, dirtied by sediment perhaps but realizing I had just experienced a metaphor for my upcoming life.

I’m taking a step into the deep.

On Saturday a new chapter in my life begins at Mount Angel Seminary outside of Portland. For months I have prepared with applications, medical tests, meetings with Vocational Directors, prayers, journal entries, selling my furniture, saying goodbyes. All were little steps. On Saturday, I dive in.

Unlike my unanticipated soccer swim, I know a little about what to expect. Each morning and evening seminarians pray the Liturgy of the Hours. Mass is a daily obligation and opportunity. We have classes in the morning and early afternoon. I will be assigned a pastoral project serving the local community in some way. The academic schedule looks like college, so I can return to Boise at Christmas and in the summer.

Though I have some details, I am largely entering the unknown. Will God call me to be ordained a priest in seven years? Will I enjoy the relative quiet and seclusion of seminary? How much will I miss my life, work, and friends in Seattle? Will I get to spend time with my family in Boise? How much freedom will I have to keep up the relationships I value? What will it be like to continue supporting the teens to whom I was still youth minister less than a month ago? Is this leading to my vocational calling?

The last month brought a variety of emotions -- fear and sorrow over leaving my life in Seattle, letdown at returning home with my family, trepidation over the challenge to come, wonder that God would choose me, hope as I process the changes with my parents, brothers, and friends. I’m ankle deep and ready for more.

This blog will be a part of the journey if you care to join me. I’ll do my best to update it regularly. Not all of you are likely fans of Latin, but the title reflects my desire to follow God’s will and the connection to a larger movement in history and tradition that is far beyond my small life. I invite you to join in proclaiming, “Incepto ne desistam -- May I not shrink from my purpose!” Let us go forth, one little step at a time, unafraid of the depths.