Soccer

I promised last post to share some of the experiences that filled autumn semester, but Christmas Break distracted me. For today, I would like to recount the rather astounding soccer season we enjoyed on the hilltop.

First, let me offer some context for our soccer program. Some of this may be repeated information, but to understand the fullness of our team's story, it ought to be shared again. We play in the Cascade Collegiate Soccer League at a club level against squads from area schools--Central Oregon Community College, Lewis & Clark College, Oregon State University, Portland State University, Reed College, and Willamette University. Last season we won two out of ten games, and our record was celebrated by the seminary as the finest anyone could remember. Our leading goal scorer and captain graduated, and only six players returned to the team this year.

I served as the player-coach after playing for the team last autumn, and I tempered my expectations internally though I was hopeful the season could be a success for reasons other than winning. (Fraternity and the cultivation of virtue are excellent reasons to play even for a losing outfit.) When I arrived back at seminary in late August, I met a number of new students interested in playing for the team, and to my surprise, many of them were very able soccer players. We had 22 players sign up, and 20 played in games at some point. That is an achievement in participation.

After beginning training in September, we started our league schedule with a 4-4 tie against Willamette on our muddy, mismeasured home field. They were furious with themselves for letting the minnows from Mount Angel play them even, but we weren't finished surprising opponents. We went undefeated in our first four games. We won six out of ten games. We tied two. We lost only twice. We were the only team to take points from the top two teams in the league. We had the leading scorer in the league. We achieved more than anyone, including us, had expected at season's beginning. To understand why this is incredible, one must grasp the competitive disadvantages we faced.

Our school draws from about 150 students, many of whom cannot make the time commitment to play a sport. Reed College has 1,400 students. Willamette has 2,000 undergraduate students. Lewis & Clark has 3,700. Central Oregon is a tick above 7,000. Oregon State? Almost 28,000. Portland State? 29,500.

Our athletic budget at Mount Angel is $4,500 for all three of our team sports (basketball, soccer, and volleyball) plus any incidental costs to repair athletic or recreational facilities. Our home games are played on a pitch that doubles as the home of a gopher family and boasts some of the ruddiest terrain between the lines of any regulation playing field. The goal posts are set in cement but were not placed parallel to each other, so one sideline is 18 feet longer than the other. The place becomes a mud pit when the autumn rains fall. Even the gate to get into the field doesn't get unlocked on game days. We have to go around the fence and through a puddle-filled passageway opened up by thousands of footsteps sneaking around the fence's edge. When we don't play on the field, we put up small goals in our gym, where the seal on the hardwood floors is coming up like candy wrappers, and the walls, doors, stage curtain, and rafters present unique challenges to the flow of the game.

We didn't have enough white uniforms to outfit all our players, so we wore blue each game. Our limited window of practice time was for one hour, 4-5 p.m., on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, assuming we didn't have another event for the seminary that conflicted. Only about half of the team could come to each training session, and even that number dwindled at the end of the season.

Quite simply, we competed in a way that our competitive disadvantages should not have allowed us to compete. The schools in our league fielded teams that drew from vastly larger student pools, probably practiced 4-5 days a week for two hours a practice with superior facilities, less time-consuming responsibilities for school, and more money to finance their endeavors. Yet we competed and even won.

As coach, I am proud of the team results, but as a brother seminarian of my teammates, I think we ought to take more pride in the practices we attended, the sacrifices we made, the friendships we built, the patience we exercised, the fortitude we developed, the humility we learned, the integration of faith we implemented, and the witness we offered.

During finals week, I sat at my desk reviewing notes for an exam I would take in the morning when I heard a commotion in the hallway. This isn't unusual. After a minute or so of hearing a large and growing group of voices outside my door, someone knocked. My teammates had all broken their studies to say thank you to me for coaching. They presented to me a soccer ball each one of them had autographed. Even our two diehard fans joined in the group. Not knowing what else to say, they started a rendition of happy birthday. I was humbled and grateful for their gesture.

At its core, soccer is a simple endeavor--22 players trying to put a round ball in the opponent's goal. Setting aside the offside rule and the intricacy of tactics, soccer is a competition with the potential to teach life lessons and cultivate virtue. If we did that this season, even had we gone winless, God would have granted success to the work of our hands. That we experienced a few victories made the culmination even finer. It was a great season.

Finished

Finals week reached its conclusion for me yesterday. I had one exam after completing two others last Wednesday, and the two study days we had prior allowed me to finish the three synthesis papers I needed to compose. While many of my brother seminarians have further testing today and tomorrow, I get to relax a bit before driving away for the break. Since the semester is complete, I thought I might share a few moments that stand out. I will try to do this over the next few blogs. For today, I'd like to share one experience from my pastoral ministry. This is from a theological reflection I wrote in late September.

I never thought a sniffle could terrify me, but on Wednesday night, as I heard a second grader’s faint whimper, I knew tears were coming. A shred of dread filled my insides. How should I respond? It was the first day of Religious Education at St. Joseph Church in Salem. Twenty-one wonder-filled, hushed students packed the seats. We had not even shared names as this quivering boy verged on a breakdown. What should have been my pastoral response?

Without a name or any background on the boy, I kneeled before his desk, placing my face at his level and spoke as soothingly as I could. “Are you OK?” I half-whispered. “Would you like to come over to the side and sit with me? Maybe we could talk about how you’re feeling. All this new stuff can be overwhelming, can’t it?”

No response. Glassy eyes fixed on me. His young mind was overcome in the new surroundings.

There is no tremendous end to this story. The boy eventually wiped his nose and eyes and meekly stayed in his seat. I didn’t have precisely what he needed at that moment, so the best I could do was to help him feel welcome and recognize his discomfort at the newness of the situation. I don’t know whether he will come back. I hope he does. (He did return and is now well integrated into the class.)

In this moment I saw a new way of welcoming the stranger. Matthew 25:40 says, “…whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me” (NAB). Who is a lesser brother than a frightened child? Who needs welcoming more than a second-grader in a moment of vulnerability? Dorians offered for a fleeting second the opportunity to practice a corporal work of mercy: To welcome a stranger. Did I cause him to experience transformation with my words? Certainly not. But I tried to let him know that I and the other catechists in the room care about him and want him to be comfortable in our classroom. I found myself wanting to feel good after performing this seeming corporal work of mercy, to experience gratification and closure. I didn’t get that, but it was unfair of me to expect personal fulfillment.

Welcoming the stranger does not always result in conversion or fond memories. It is not for the benefit of the person doing the welcoming or the person doing the feeding or quenching the thirst. Rather, the corporal works of mercy are meant to provide essential food, drink, clothing, and shared humanity. Corporal works of mercy provide dignity to another. And when dignity is recognized, an overflow occurs that conforms us—that conforms me—to serve and love my neighbor without expectation of reward.

In moments like I experienced with this young boy, there is an immediate choice, and choices prudently made, said Blessed Pope John Paul II repeatedly in his teachings, are what transform ordinary people into holy saints. Did I choose rightly? There are small adjustments I could have made to help him more. Perhaps I could have asked him to help by passing out the nametags we were about to create. Or I could have said something more cheery to welcome him. What I did was instinctual. I tried to match his mood, speak at his level, and offer gentle welcome to a young boy who felt like an outsider. 

My approach may have been imperfect, but choices also mean an opportunity to learn. Next time I hear a sniffle, I won’t be terrified. I will be steadier in response, truer to welcome, and more relaxed in my approach. Experience is a fine teacher.

Writing

I have been writing a good deal this semester for my journalism class. Here are some highlights you can peruse:

• As part of the class, we hosted three press conferences to promote stories on the hilltop and practice our interviewing skills. I wrote a brief story on each for the Mount Angel Seminary (MAS) Journalism Blog. Here are Press Conference #1, Press Conference #2, and Press Conference #3.
• My project for the semester is to tackle an unfamiliar genre in journalism, so I have been researching and practicing the photo essay. To compile my work, I published a blog that will eventually feature the capstone of my work, a photo essay covering the shoe shining service of Seattle seminarian Greg Snyder here at Mount Angel. For now, the blog has much of the process I have undergone in my research. I call the project "Another's Shoes."

The last couple weeks have been long as my leg heals from my run-in with the soccer goal post. It's tough to sit on the sidelines. Luckily, my teammates have done well: We won two soccer games this weekend to push us into a tie for first place in our league at 5-2-2, and the basketball team won for the first time this fall. The staples are out of my leg now, so I'm hoping to take the field on Saturday for the final soccer match and perhaps the court for two basketball contests on Friday and Saturday. After that, the two sport craziness of the last month will end, and I can focus on hoops, formation, studies, prayer, and the upcoming break.

Wounded

I had a minor accident in soccer yesterday. Our goal post was unyielding on a slide tackle. Luckily, it's just a flesh wound. The skin broke open, but the bone and leg are fine. A quick trip to the ER, four staples, and I feel pretty swell today considering I banged my leg against a pole cemented into the ground. I can't go full contact for 10 days (even though the pain is minimal enough that I feel like I could still run around), but I will be coaching and cheering for my team in our game today against Oregon State. All is well.

Recollection

"I put up with this church in the hope that one day it will become better, just as it is constrained to put up with me in the hope that one day I will become better."

Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus

Once a semester we embrace silence on the hilltop. Cell phones are forbidden, homework is excused, the internet is discouraged, and the invitation is open to pursue the Lord's love at work in our lives. It's called a Day of Recollection. I like that. Re-collecting of our thoughts. Re-invigoration of our relationship with Christ. Re-engagement with our deeper selves. Re-alignment of our priorities. Recollection. It fits.

I wrote about silence last year on this blog, so I won't rehash previous thoughts, but these Days of Recollection usually take one of two directions for me (and I would guess for others as well): Either I consciously set aside the activities at hand to offer the day to the Lord, or I go about halfway and sneak a couple peeks of Facebook, read a textbook for class (but a spiritual one, of course), and maybe watch an episode of TV before going to bed (with my headphones on so as not to disturb the silence for anyone else). I bet you can guess which approach has been more fruitful.

Why is it that we have such a hard time slowing down and letting things go from time to time? While I'm at school, I have a number of activities and responsibilities. I coach and play for the soccer team and play for the basketball team; I am the Athletic Chair for Pre-Theology and Theology; I have a full course load of philosophy and other classes; I take piano lessons; I teach second grade religious education for my pastoral ministry on Wednesday evenings; I pray in community with my brothers twice a day; I attend daily Mass; I am expected at a conference each Monday evening; I tutor in the Writing Center. I'm busy. Most people are too. We tend to have full to-do lists and stretch our ability to time manage. In truth, that's why these periods of concentrated, planned rest can be powerful and even vital to our wellbeing. Taking care of ourselves helps us take care of others. This is true for seminarians and priests as much as lay persons.

As part of the Day of Recollection, Archbishop Emeritus John Vlazny of Portland presented three conferences (talks) as points of reflection to stimulate our prayer, journaling, and introspection. In the morning, he spoke about how to be a healthy, holy, and happy priest. In the afternoon, he shared about the importance of loving the Church. When he did, he told us the quotation above. I am a fan of pithy quotes, and this one caught me. Yes. This is why the Catholic Church is important to me. This is why I can love the Church despite its obvious failings and human limitations. This is why the Church can survive despite being in the charge of sinners--because those sinners (like me) have been redeemed and called. The Church challenges me to have experiences like the Day of Recollection so I can grow in holiness and in relationship with the Lord. The Church teaches me a fullness of faith I cannot find elsewhere. The Church is my home. The Church does not lose hope in me, nor do I lose hope in the Church. We encounter this journey together.

Archbishop Vlazny shared another quotation with us, this one from Venerable Fulton Sheen, who said, "Our Lord's first word to his disciples was 'come.' His last word was 'go.'" If I spend my entire life coming to the Church, being fed by the Word and Eucharist, that is precisely what enables me to go and be Christ to the world. From this Day of Recollection, I recall how privileged I am to share in a profound communion that continually calls me to become the best version of myself. Wounds, warts, mistakes, and all, will you join me in the great adventure to which the Church calls us?

Brothers

One of the most memorable aspects of seminary life is to be in a fraternity based on our shared purpose to be formed as men of Christ and future priests for His Church. Here are my brothers from the Diocese of Boise with whom I have the potential to share in ministry throughout the state in the coming years of our lives.

Bridesman

To receive one of the sacraments of vocation makes for an unforgettable day. Lately I have been able to witness many friends undergo the transformation of Matrimony or Holy Orders and celebrate with them. Their lives will never be the same.

On Thursday at Mount Angel, 17 seminarians were admitted as official candidates for Holy Orders, meaning they are on track to become transitional deacons on their way to the priesthood. Archbishop Sample heard these brothers make their commitments verbally in front of the gathered community, including many visiting vocations directors and bishops, and he blessed their continued journey. I was in the choir loft at the back of the long Abbey Church, but I did manage to snap a couple photos. Seeing so many priests in one place makes me grateful for the sacrifices they make to be Christ and bring the Eucharist to the people each day.

Last weekend I flew to Boise for the wedding of Derek and Kayla. Kayla and I grew up at St. John's Cathedral, went to Seattle Pacific University, volunteered together at multiple parishes, and have shared in friendship for over a decade. A few months ago she asked me to be in the wedding with one catch: That I give some thought to being on her side of the aisle. I agreed with trepidation, but I felt more at ease when she said Derek's sister would be on his side. So this was my first (and likely only) time acting as a "Bridesman." Derek's sister served as a "Groomsmaid." I even have an engraved flask to commemorate the occasion. The dancing was rowdy, the food was tasty, and the celebration was worthy of two lovers rejoicing in their sacramental union. I was glad to take part. Her marriage to Derek is a beautiful culmination of young adulthood. Now she is equipped with a Master's of Social Work from the University of Washington, a new job in her field, and a triathlete husband who adores her. 

Finally, yesterday in absence I celebrated with the six permanent deacons ordained for the Diocese of Boise, two of whom I know well enough to congratulate: Deacon Mac Chester and Deacon Clyde Brinegar. They are principled, humorous, caring, and abiding individuals who will serve their parishes and the greater community well.

May you invite the Holy Spirit into your journey at each step, my friends. Congratulations and thank you for allowing me to share in your joy.

Sisters

Have you ever wondered what a nun does? Do you know anyone that wants to give their life to Jesus in a special and particular way? I was surprised and moved seeing the sisters in the video below direct their lives to serving the Lord in medicine, education, prayer, and many ways of interacting with the world. Watch this video. Forward it to friends and family. Parents, encourage your daughters to invite the Lord into their life decisions. Let us do all we can to foster the life of women in the Church, both in religious vocations and secular vocations.


Light of Love from Imagine Sisters on Vimeo.
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Shakespeare

Last weekend, I enjoyed two plays at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland with brother seminarians and a few faculty members. For an upcoming issue of the Catholic Sentinel for the Archdiocese of Portland, I wrote about this experience. Below is the article, along with a few photos.

Seminarians Study Shakespeare, Encounter Characters

Picture this: The Shakespearian comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream set in 1964, the king and queen morphed into a priest and nun set to leave their religious vows to be married, the four young lovers played by two black and two white actors, ripples from the Second Vatican Council and the Civil Rights Movement onstage amid the poetic musings of history’s most renowned playwright.

These directorial choices aroused varying responses among the 17 seminarians from Mount Angel Seminary that attended the Oregon Shakespeare Festival on Sept. 27 and 28.

“That was jarring,” seminarian Paul Grandi of the Diocese of Tucson said. “It added a layer to the play beyond what Shakespeare intended. It took me out of his world.”

The seminarians journeyed four-and-a-half hours to Ashland, Oreg., to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream and King Lear. The trip to Ashland is an annual staple for those double-majoring in literature and philosophy and other interested students. Literature Professor Creighton Lindsay said the tradition started around 2006 with a group of seven students.

“I like it when the students get excited about something, whether they are critical or not,” Lindsay said. “It’s a joy to share my appreciation of things, when students give themselves over to the pleasure of theatre.”

King Lear similarly evoked varied reactions. In a climactic scene of the cognitively declining king enduring a tremendous storm, two of the main characters were stripped of their positions and seeming dignity. They were also stripped of all but their underwear. Some liked the symbolism. Others thought it went too far.

“They do that just to get a reaction out of us,” said John Hesla, seminarian for the Archdiocese of Portland.

Grandi appreciated the scene.

“They captured some moments beautifully, like Lear in the storm and his descent into madness,” Grandi said.

In addition to the plays, seminarians experienced sleeping over at the Southern Oregon University Newman Center, a game of bocce ball in the park, sharing dinners at Standing Stone Brew Pub and Pasta Piatti, and time away from campus.

“It’s nice to be off the hill to just relax with other seminarians and the good doctors and their wives,” Hesla said, referring to two of the four faculty members that also attended, both of whom brought their spouses.

For 10 individuals, Saturday featured a backstage tour of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Students were led by an actor as a tour guide, sat in the green room, saw a time-lapse set change, walked behind and on the Elizabethan Stage, and learned that student groups such as theirs make up 25 percent of ticket sales.

“Studying literature in general and Shakespeare in particular is a wonderful way for seminarians to challenge themselves,” Lindsay said. “Students tell me literature is good training for becoming a priest, because in literature you get to explore a variety of the types of people you might see in your diocese or parish.”

Huddle

I haven't been around much lately, but I promise I will return soon. The start of soccer season involves endless detail work -- rosters, uniforms, league fees, player cards, field painting, scheduling, and lack of free time. But I have adventures to share about pastors having the "stench of the sheep," seeing Shakespeare performed in Ashland, and the inaugural game of our season, a four-all tie with Willamette in dreary rain and blustery conditions this afternoon. For now, you must be content with this photo taken as our team huddled to conclude the afternoon. Until we meet again...

"Pink"

I discovered inspiration in a strange place tonight: An obituary of a woman I never knew. I happened to click on a friend's Facebook post, and the story of Mary A. "Pink" Mullaney sounded like a cross between my nurturing, crazy Aunt Jackie, my faithful, holy friend Lorissa, and many other characters I have the privilege to know. I hope you enjoy the tale of "Pink's" life as much as I did.

If you're about to throw away an old pair of pantyhose, stop. Consider: Mary Agnes Mullaney (you probably knew her as "Pink") who entered eternal life on Sunday, September 1, 2013. Her spirit is carried on by her six children, 17 grandchildren, three surviving siblings in New "Joisey", and an extended family of relations and friends from every walk of life. We were blessed to learn many valuable lessons from Pink during her 85 years, among them: Never throw away old pantyhose. Use the old ones to tie gutters, child-proof cabinets, tie toilet flappers, or hang Christmas ornaments.

Also: If a possum takes up residence in your shed, grab a barbecue brush to coax him out. If he doesn't leave, brush him for twenty minutes and let him stay.

Let a dog (or two or three) share your bed. Say the rosary while you walk them.

Go to church with a chicken sandwich in your purse. Cry at the consecration, every time. Give the chicken sandwich to your homeless friend after mass.

Go to a nursing home and kiss everyone. When you learn someone's name, share their patron saint's story, and their feast day, so they can celebrate. Invite new friends to Thanksgiving dinner. If they are from another country and you have trouble understanding them, learn to "listen with an accent."

Never say mean things about anybody; they are "poor souls to pray for."

Put picky-eating children in the box at the bottom of the laundry chute, tell them they are hungry lions in a cage, and feed them veggies through the slats.

Correspond with the imprisoned and have lunch with the cognitively challenged.

Do the Jumble every morning.

Keep the car keys under the front seat so they don't get lost.

Make the car dance by lightly tapping the brakes to the beat of songs on the radio.

Offer rides to people carrying a big load or caught in the rain or summer heat. Believe the hitchhiker you pick up who says he is a landscaper and his name is "Peat Moss."

Help anyone struggling to get their kids into a car or shopping cart or across a parking lot.

Give to every charity that asks. Choose to believe the best about what they do with your money, no matter what your children say they discovered online.

Allow the homeless to keep warm in your car while you are at Mass.

Take magazines you've already read to your doctors' office for others to enjoy. Do not tear off the mailing label, "Because if someone wants to contact me, that would be nice."

In her lifetime, Pink made contact time after time. Those who've taken her lessons to heart will continue to ensure that a cold drink will be left for the overheated garbage collector and mail carrier, every baby will be kissed, every nursing home resident will be visited, the hungry will have a sandwich, the guest will have a warm bed and soft nightlight, and the encroaching possum will know the soothing sensation of a barbecue brush upon its back.

Above all, Pink wrote -- to everyone, about everything. You may read this and recall a letter from her that touched your heart, tickled your funny bone, or maybe made you say "huh?"

She is survived by her children and grandchildren whose photos she would share with prospective friends in the checkout line: Tim (wife Janice, children Timmy, Joey, T.J., Miki and Danny); Kevin (wife Kathy, children Kacey, Ryan, Jordan and Kevin); Jerry (wife Gita, children Nisha and Cathan); MaryAnne; Peter (wife Maria Jose, children Rodrigo and Paulo); and Meg (husband David Vartanian, children Peter, Lily, Jerry and Blase); siblings Anne, Helen, and Robert; and many in-laws, nieces, nephews, friends and family too numerous to list but not forgotten.

Pink is reunited with her husband and favorite dance and political debate partner, Dr. Gerald L. Mullaney, and is predeceased by six siblings.

Fear

Fear seizes me sometimes. I might not identify the fear or call it by name, but at moments, I fear the obstacles before me. I fear loneliness. I fear restlessness. I fear foregoing my ambitions. I fear the disapproval or disappointment of others. I fear losing control.

This time at Mount Angel directs my gaze at those fears. The Lord stands alongside me and beckons me to humble myself, to acknowledge the presence of worldly passions, to allow the Holy Spirit to gently melt that which delays and prevents revelation and self-mastery. In this inner struggle toward holiness, I have an anthem. My alarm each morning is set to this song, and its message echoes through my waking hours.

The song is I Shall Not Want by Audrey Assad. In it, she blends the Litany of Humility with the well-loved line from the twenty-third psalm.

I tend to be serious in blog posts, but in reality, I'm not that way most of the time. I make wise cracks and use sarcasm. I laugh with brother seminarians. I enjoy my time here. Yet even humor can be a crutch disguising discomfort at the formation process. When I am forced to reflect on how I spend my time and prioritize life, I can grow uncomfortable. That's the nature of growth. Growth is not putting giftedness to use and laughing all the way. Growth confronts weakness, inaccuracy, and ignorance and asks how to burn it away. Matthew Kelly emphasizes the creation of habits to teach virtue, to stimulate growth, to give individuals the impetus to become the best version of ourselves. Cultivating healthy, life-giving habits necessarily entails the confrontation of fears.

At Mount Angel, I meet every other week with a Formation Director assigned to me. We examine my life from a number of aspects -- spirituality, sexuality, academics, physical wellbeing, social life, discernment, discipline. From our meetings, my formater brings his impressions to the entire formation team -- the president-rector, vice rectors, formaters, and staff that participate in the process. And they make recommendations to my local bishop and vocations directors on my continuing formation. When I get to the end of the year, this group of people will decide whether I am fit to begin more intensive and focused theological studies. At the end of the formation process, this group makes a final recommendation as to whether an individual is adequately prepared for ordination to the priesthood.

I say this because in our current world, many Catholics and many non-Catholics are concerned that priests are not sufficiently screened or prepared to be celibate, chaste, holy, competent leaders for God's people. In my experience, the Church is doing everything it can to find the right people and equip them to shepherd parishes and people. Each day I am part of a rigorous program that examines my fears, keeps me busy, fills my mind with the knowledge and training I need, and pushes me beyond barriers to personal growth.

No matter how my journey ends -- in ordination, in realization of lay vocational calling, in mission, at peace -- this time at Mount Angel Seminary will be an immeasurably valuable time of reflection. I feared coming to seminary, and I still have trepidation about being ordained as a priest. But I no longer fear where this time will lead. God cares for me. The Lord has an end meant expressly for my life, and it will bring about my deepest joy. I experience peace reflecting on that reality. Fear fades. I taste God's goodness. And I shall not want.

Radio

My longtime mentors and friends Johnny and Lorissa Horn interviewed me on their radio show Made for More from Salt and Light Radio in Boise. The interview was supposed to air last Friday, but a programming glitch forced a change. It should appear on the radio soon. If you would like, you can listen to the show by following this link.

Chopped

Wacky and exotic ingredients, extreme time limits, discerning judges, and creative dishes distinguish the Food Network show Chopped. On Tuesday, a group of friends recreated those elements in a heart-pounding, intense, and high-quality cooking challenge in the heart of Garden City, Idaho. Or something like that.

My first experience as a Chopped contestant took a more relaxed and friendly tone. There was no $10,000 prize for which we were competing (unfortunately), no utterly unrecognizable items in our baskets, and even the time limits were flexible. We had fun. We got to be creative. And we made four surprisingly scrumptious dishes.

First, for any unfamiliar with Chopped rules, the show goes something like this: Four contestants (typically professional chefs), three rounds (appetizer, entree, dessert), one basket the contestants open as the clock begins that has four ridiculous ingredients which must be included in the dish for each round (think octopus, duck, fennel, and animal crackers or halibut, Chinese celery, peperoni risotto, and orange drink mix). One contestant is eliminated each round (chopped), and one victor as determined by the three-person judging panel. On Tuesday, Megan, Kayla, Natalie, and I modified things. We only required three ingredients in our "baskets," our time was flexible, and we were our own judging panel.

In the appetizer round, Megan and I were given corn flakes, a can of Coors, grape jelly, and a half-hour. I thought I was sunk when I saw Megan go for the bacon, make a breading out of the beer and corn flakes, and start a pan with oil for frying. I mean, beer-battered, breaded, and fried bacon? How do I beat that? She topped it with a pineapple chipotle grape jelly dip. Not healthy, but savory, salty, and satisfying.

My first step was to use the beer with a box of corn muffin mix. Since we were making appetizers, I made mini beer cornbread muffins that I figured I would top with something to make a bite-sized portion. The mini-muffins went into the oven to bake. Then I grabbed protein from the same animal as Megan, but rather than smoky bacon, my choice was pork cutlets. I too went with a cornflake breading to fry the cutlets. My strategy was to go for bold flavors, so I put finely diced lemon rind in the breading. Beer in the bread, lemon in the meat, but how was I going to use the grape jelly? In truth, I almost forgot about it. With five minutes left, Megan reminded me about the jelly and even suggested I mix it with the creamy horseradish sitting on the countertop to make sauce with a bite for drizzling over my concoction. Her advice was excellent. The grape jelly-horseradish sauce was the crown my flavorful bite needed.

The finished product was a bite-sized beer cornbread muffin with arugula, cornflake-breaded pork cutlet and a touch of horseradish grape jelly sauce. The combination was a good mix of flavors, hot from the horseradish, hearty from the muffin, peppery with the arugula, bright and satisfying with the pork. Megan and I both smiled at our product.

After downing hors d'oeuvres we cleaned the kitchen to prepare for round two, the entree competition. Kayla and Natalie switched places with Megan and me. Their basket was filled with yellow squash, fresh ginger, and packaged kettle corn. I took more pictures of the process because I wasn't busy cooking.

Kayla at the stove.

Natalie prepping an Asian-inspired entree.

A sea of secret ingredients surrounding the chefs.

Natalie and Kayla sharing the range.

The ingredients inspired Kayla and Natalie in very different ways. Kayla made an eggplant curry with ginger, chicken, and squash, quinoa with kettle corn bits, and a garnish of fresh, lemony herb from her garden. Natalie used the squash to make ribbons that functioned like noodles and were infused with ginger, soy sauce, sesame oil, and Asian flavors. She topped that with beef medallions and a crunchy topping from the kettle corn. Two dishes, tons of textures and flavors, utterly unlike each other.

Yum. Fun. Friends. Three memorable ingredients amplified when found in combination. We resolved to do this again. In the mean time, we will continue watching Chopped and plotting our next plate. Anyone want to join in the flavors and fun?

Endings

I look at the photo above from my last evening in Sandpoint, and it seems appropriate for me to be riding away by horseback. We should have been playing this song:

June and July in north Idaho was pristine -- sun, warmth, green mountainsides, caring parishioners, early morning runs, hearty fish fries, lessons in parish ministry, small town friendliness. But as July closed and August began, Boise beckoned. I have until August 25 to spend with my family, and I am savoring that precious time.

First, though, I must recount some of my experience from St. Joseph. I tried to name the many activities in which I participated, and though I missed some, here are a few:

• Saw the documentary film G-Dog at the Panida Theater
• Attended my first barn dance
• Distributed communion to fifty-ish Catholics confined to their homes and assisted livings centers
• Ate four dinners at the Hydra Steakhouse
• Learned a number of funny jokes: the lawyer and the Czech refugee, Sam Clam and Freddy Fish, the three-legged dog, the mushroom in a bar
• Counted the Sunday collection for the first time
• Jumped from a forty foot cliff into Lake Pend Oreille
• Tried an air chair behind the Lewis boat on the lake
• Served at the smallest church in Idaho, Sacred Heart in Clark Fork
• Attended Steubenville Northwest with 15 teens and one youth minister
• Talked to Sandpoint residents at the Friday Soup Supper
• Caught six Kokanee salmon and ate them for dinner
• Lived in the rectory with Fr. Dennis
• Saw the daily function and life of a committed parish priest
• Photographed the distant views from the top of Schweitzer Mountain
• Flew in a four-seater plane above the surrounding area and steered the plane for the better part of a half-hour
• Won Tuesday Trivia at Mick Duff's
• Enjoyed the many parishioner offerings at the parish picnic
• Shot hoops at City Beach
• Devoured fish tacos and pork carnitas tacos at the Dover Dish
• Drove to Bloom Lake with Ed and Paula
• Lectored, Eucharistic ministered, altar served, greeted visitors, made announcements, and assisted at Masses
• Continued to ponder my vocational calling and the implications of God's will for my life
• Played the baby grand piano many afternoons
• Bought fresh produce at the Saturday Farmer's Market
• Sat beneath a better-than-the-city-could-have-done-it fireworks display for Independence Day at the Lewis beach
• Drove to Seattle and back for the funeral of a dear friend
• Saddled up to go horseback riding for the first time
• Went to the homes of a number of generous parishioners for dinner and conversation
• Attended Family Camp with about 70 Catholic households near Cascade
• Used a Crayola marker to draw 50 stars on a true American flag for Vacation Bible School
• Taught kindergarteners the Birdie Song during VBS
• Picked the tastiest blueberries of my life at Omodt Family's Shingle Mill Blueberry Farm
• Witnessed my first super moon
• Rode a red cruiser bike around town and down the road to Dover
• Met the people of God in Sandpoint and left thankful for the experiences and friendships forged during my short time there

The sum of these experiences is a renewed intensity for the life of the local parish. I value building relationships with people of all ages, sharing life over a sandwich at Spuds or a parking lot conversation after Mass. No matter how quirky we can be, the communal aspect of being Catholic is true to our call to communion, to church, and to love. In the intimacy of people's homes, at the bedside of the frail and elderly, on a boat motoring around the lake, from the peak of the ski hill above the city, on the walk back from Adoration and Reconciliation at Steubenville, in the moment a water balloon broke and gushed refreshment down my back, in the homemade treats crafted especially for Fr. Dennis and me, in God's embrace during the liturgy -- in all these places I witnessed Christ transforming me and transforming His people into God's image.

On this earthly pilgrimage, if we can invest in the minutiae and monumental moments with equal commitment and love, we are well on the way to a budding relationship with the Lord that will echo into eternity. Thanks to all those special individuals in Sandpoint for letting me share in that process this summer. I leave you with my favorite blessing, one which many of you have heard but which never grows tired.

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

and rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Fishing

My dad and brothers will be proud: I went fishing. Caught our limit: Six Kokanee Salmon. Cleaned them. Ate 'em for dinner. A good old fish fry. Yum.

Thanks to Doug for taking me out and earning me some respect in the family.

I ate all the fish before I remembered to take a picture, so all you get is the bones.

Steubenville

We don't know. We can't know. Even though our innate curiosity impels us to want to know, we lack the capacity to really know.

But we get inklings. Hints. Foretastes. Previews. Samples of the sacred.

Our group of 15 youth and two adults from Sandpoint last weekend tried to put words to the experience of encountering the living God. We had witnessed a procession of Eucharistic Adoration with Fr. Mike Schmitz carrying the King of the Universe among 1200 teens. The lights were off; two spotlights followed the sparkling monstrance around the crowd. Ben Walther and the musicians prayed reflective music. Some wept. Some laughed. Others shouted. Or closed their eyes in newfound peace. Each unrepeatable soul was captivated. We tasted, if for a fleeting moment, Heaven.

But in reality, we didn't know. We couldn't know.

What happened in the Spokane Convention Center on Saturday night went beyond our limited capacity because God was truly present, present physically in the Eucharist, present spiritually in the people, present in each joyful tear, every uninhibited laugh, in hundreds of seeking young minds, among us, around us, pursuing us. And when we talk about the Lord's true presence, the power of healing love overwhelms and peace reigns. Not peace as the world gives, but peace as Jesus gives.

Even more amazing, the next morning we received that peace within our very bodies and selves in the holy sacrifice of the Mass. The most ordinary of elements -- bread and wine -- transformed into the sacred, the risen Lord. Angels acclaimed. Saints rejoiced. We extended our scarred hands. A tasteless wafer on our tongue. The simplest form of God humbled. The Body of Christ. Strength for the journey. Hope to sustain. The mystery of our faith.

A foretaste. A hint. But we didn't know what we received. Not fully. We couldn't know. Though it's rare to admit, we don't need to know, and we shouldn't know. To know the fullness of God is to erase the mystery, and without that, we have nowhere to go when it comes to love. Love means some element of the unknown to be explored and pondered.

God called us to enter the mystery at Steubenville Northwest this weekend. Though each teen had a varied experience and reaction, every person knew they had encountered something profound. How could we not be impacted? We saw a massive gathering of dancing, singing, cheering youth embracing their Catholic faith and loving the Lord. We heard Catholic speakers that had us clutching our sides laughing and then looking within ourselves seeking the meaning for being human. We slept little and prayed a lot.

On Sunday morning, our emcee Ennie Hickman used a parable to conclude our time together. A football team huddles to draw up a play, assign roles, and ultimately to prepare for what is to come -- the next play. It would be ridiculous for a team to huddle, break, and instead of lining up to run the play, jog to the sideline waiting for the next huddle. The huddle isn't the point. It's only meant to prepare us for what is to come. This conference serves a similar function. We can't go to the sideline waiting for the next Steubenville, the next huddle. We must live vibrantly, fully, faithfully in our world. We have to run the play! We have to make a decision to love the Lord every day through our faith communities and our Church.

When we do that we keep the foretastes coming. We keep our eyes on Heaven with our feet planted on earth. We may not ever know all God is doing. We can't. But we don't need to know to love. To trust. To be faithful.

So we exit the huddle, ready for the world, renewed in our faith, prepared for the play. God goes beside us. 1-2-3, BREAK!

P.S. Who are the two yahoos in the teal shirts that snuck into our picture? I didn't even notice them! And for a bonus, here is Ben Walther singing one of the anthems from the weekend.