Today's Gospel

"No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the Kingdom of God."

Sometimes a passage read in Mass pierces the soul unexpectedly. As the Gospel ended with this line today, I was pierced.

I frequently think about my life in Seattle (what was left behind). Sometimes I long for it. It's the little things -- my own apartment, playing soccer at lunchtime, the friends I saw each day -- and the big things -- the fulfilling work in youth ministry, establishing a community and a network over eight years, the community of faith at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. I miss it. I look to what was left behind. Does that make me unfit for the Kingdom of God?

As in many of my posts, I pose the question without a clear answer. This blog chronicles the quest through queries, not answers in stone. In my process today, I've had three thoughts. At first, I panicked slightly (as much as one can inwardly panic while sitting in Mass listening to the Gospel).

"I'm doing something wrong," I thought to myself. "I have to immediately cease thinking about my past."

This is probably overstating my feelings, but the gut reaction scared me. Could I be doing something so wrong as to inhibit my ability to study and discern at seminary? Then I caught myself justifying: It can't be that bad to reminisce and pine for the old times a little bit, can it?

As Mass concluded and classes commenced, the passage continued playing inwardly. I felt called to reflect on it in greater detail. I still do. Another pervading tidbit stuck with me: I know I am guilty of "looking to what was left behind," so does that mean I am not in the right place? Since I am guilty, am I not fit to be a seminarian for the Kingdom of God?

Negativity pervades both of these thoughts. I am either doing a moral disservice by dwelling on the past, or I am unfit to be a seminarian because I long for the way things were. My rational side says neither of these readings is right, that more reflection is needed and that I must rid myself of the emotional entanglement involved in my immediate understanding of Jesus' call.

The more positive reading points to a weakness I am experiencing and the need to work on it. God loves me just the way I am, but God also loves me too much to let me stay the way I am. This passage pushes me to reform. To evolve. To change my way of understanding. To celebrate the gift of being here and not simply wanting to be there. I have work to do.

That piercing sense remains. Though I'm not sure yet of the prescription in these words, something is there for me to hear if I stop to listen carefully, willfully, with an open heart and mind. I will grapple with this passage further, praying as I go, "Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening."