Mystery

The concept of mystery strikes fear into many people these days. Science wants to answer every question. People ask for proof of God’s existence constantly. Something about the unknown unnerves us as human beings. We want reassurance of what is real, what can be proven, what is scientifically verifiable. Mystery? There’s no room for it. Not today. Not in our advancing world.

I want to bring mystery back. Rather than fear it, we need to embrace some level of mystery in our lives. Without mystery, the human experience would be maddeningly boring.

Imagine you are standing before your spouse on the altar ready to exchange vows and enter into matrimony. By this moment, you will hopefully know your spouse very well—preferences and personality, plans for the future and peculiarities. You have been on countless dates, shared conversation constantly, confirmed your hopes and ambitions. You must know enough to know you want to share your lives for eternity.

But some mystery remains.

You don’t know how this person will react to every situation. You can speculate, but you can never be sure. You don’t know what life will bring, and where it will take you and your spouse. You don’t know how your spouse’s appearance, cognition, and personality will change over time. Some mystery remains. Even for a couple with white hair and 50 years of marriage, some mystery remains. If there were no mystery, there would be no need for commitment. The mystery makes the investment worthwhile.

That same sense of mystery applies to our faith and our world. As much as our human curiosity creates the need to answer all questions, our human limits inevitably leave us disappointed in that quest. Some mystery remains. We should not shut down the sciences or diminish their value. Science is wonderful as a tool to understand and utilize the world, but all things cannot be known. At some point, we must be OK with that reality. Some mystery will always remain.

Have you ever noticed how often the priest refers to the “sacred mysteries” or “the mystery of our faith” in the text of the Mass? This is vital. When we encounter the Eucharist, it is a profound mystery we should constantly ponder. Why would God become incarnate and come to us in such simple elements as bread and wine? How can these things contain quite literally the King of the Universe? In his song “Remembrance,” Matt Maher poses the question: “Oh how could it be / that my God would welcome me / into this mystery? Say take this bread / take this wine / now the simple made divine. / For any to receive.”

Mystery need not be feared. We encounter it ceaselessly throughout our day, in the people we meet and the world in which we live. Yet the unknown still creates angst because our human inclination is to know and to control. God longs for us to lose control. “Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?” (Matthew 6:26).

One of my classes this autumn explained the difference between the Life World—the experience we use our senses to take in—and the sciences, which seek to explain how the Life World functions. A problem comes about when some claim the theories of science supersede the realities of the Life World. The Life World is the experience upon which everything else is built. It is the foundation without which nothing else can be understood. Mathematics and science work in perfect shapes, intricately exact details, single rays of light. These fields posit theories that help explain realities, but the theories aren’t reality itself. There are no perfectly square tables whose dimensions we can find. There are no single rays of light we can separate from everything else we optically interpret. Reality is messier, more mysterious, less exact, and harder to explain.

We can explain things about the Eucharist—substance and accident layers, transubstantiation, theology of the sacrifice, the Old Testament foreshadowing—but in truth, the Pascal Mystery will always elude our human capacities, as it should. That’s what makes it divine. Similarly we should encounter the Incarnation of God as profoundly mysterious and life-giving, particularly in this Christmas Season.

This is the Year of Faith, and our faith asks us to ponder the sacred mysteries. Just as spouses spend their entire lives coming to know one another, so must we be drawn into deeper relationship with the Lord through the Church. Some mystery remains. Let us explore it.

Normalcy

Normalcy: At times I crave it as as seminarian. I live this rather set-apart life on a rural hilltop with an almost all-male population and days filled with prayer, Mass, classes, and discernment. It's not a normal life, and it shouldn't be. Preparing for the priesthood should demand a great deal from the candidate because the priesthood demands a great deal from the priest. Yet a drop of normalcy feeds the soul. As funny as it sounds, finals week felt oddly normal to me.

Perhaps because I have been a student the better part of my life, testing and writing synthesis papers seems second nature even though college is four-and-a-half years behind me. The crunch of fitting it in, the pressure of showing your work throughout the semester, the cramming of facts and ideas into my head -- all of it reminded me that in all I am doing, I am simply a student.

Other moments during finals week brought out normalcy too. My seminarian brothers excitedly departed to families and Christmas breaks, though not all of us were privileged to journey home. Some seminarians come from Africa and will celebrate Christmas with second families in the United States. Some could not afford airfare. Some had no home or were unable to return to it because of instability in their countries. My sacrifice seems so minimal compared to the Vietnamese, Columbian, Nigerian, or Ivory Coast seminarians who do not have return plans in their future. I simply hopped in the car after completing my last final on Friday, drove eight hours, and found a light on, a bed ready, and a family eager to welcome me. The biggest obstacle I faced was light snow in the Blues Mountains. I am immeasurably blessed in the normalcy of my life. Perhaps my most significant obstacle is letting go of the creature comforts that come with a blessed American life.

Normalcy appeared in odd places during finals week. I bought a rug and coat rack for my room, and it felt much cozier and personal. Normalcy. I went on a run around the hilltop on Wednesday as the clouds broke, allowing streams of sunlight through the dusk sky. Normalcy. I spoke with the choir director about the variety of things one can purchase on Amazon.com these days. Normalcy. I tried to help someone jumpstart their vehicle. Normalcy, all of it.

In a place like Mount Angel where so much is asked of us each day, moments of normalcy allow for my defenses to fall and life to feel real and authentic. Pray, if you would, that normalcy greets me and the other seminarians regularly. If we are to be excellent priests, we must understand the world and live in it even while we train for something otherworldly.

I have long neglected to post much the last few weeks, but I promise more frequent updates during this Christmas break as I have time and space to contemplate my first semester. Thanks for reading, for praying, and for walking with me in this journey. Let us rejoice in this week of preparation for Christ's coming! The incarnation is near!

Politics

The President was re-elected a couple weeks ago. Many other legislators, local and national, were chosen. Policies were passed or rejected. As far as I can tell, the planet continues to spin on its axis, hell has yet to freeze over, and our country is moving forward.

Now, do not mistake me. I voted. I care who gets elected and what laws go into effect. However, I also recognize that the leaders I favor will not always win, and the hopes I have for government will not always be realized. Despite disappointments, I will not cease civic engagement nor lose the hope that compromise is possible.

In the past few weeks I have had many conversations about the presidency, the Health and Human Services (HHS) Mandate, life issues, liberalism, conservatism, the two-party system, deceit in politics, the usefulness and purpose of debates, immigration, economic policies, foreign diplomacy, ongoing wars, troops, the relationship between religious faith and government. Most of these conversations produced a substantive discussion about voting priorities. A few, though, devolved into lectures portraying the political sphere as black and white, right and wrong, heathen and Christian. I adamantly disagree with this understanding.

No political party is a moral arbiter. Republic and Democratic factions seek to serve people in different ways, and the individual person has all sorts of reasons for voting one way or another -- experience, knowledge, and priorities vary greatly. As a Catholic, I have been taught that civic engagement is vitally important and that forming my conscience is a duty I must undertake seriously to adequately prepare myself as a voter.

My vote should express the value of human dignity, from the moment of conception to birth, offering the opportunity for education, religious freedom, and dignified work in life, and recognizing the preciousness of the unrepeatable, individual person to natural death.

After the election is finished, when the leaders are chosen and the policies decided, my role changes. I should always strive to be informed and use the many resources available to continually be forming my conscience. I should be participating in my community, engaging in dialogue with neighbors and at times with legislators and leaders, and offering help to others where I am able.

In conjunction with all these actions, I must be civically engaged through prayer. Our leaders, no matter what we think of them, need our prayers. They make decisions daily that change lives, both in our country and around the world. That comes with being a nation as materially and monetarily powerful as we are. Even if I despise a politician, Christ commanded us to pray for our enemies. Too much vitriol and polarization characterize the political conversation. How can we progress if we continue to stand in our corners plotting, bemoaning, and pronouncing armageddon?

For the rest of this month, I am making a special effort to pray for political leaders each day. Will you join me in prayer? Will you challenge me to be civically engaged? Will you walk with me in trying to understand how we can best uphold human dignity and live the Catholic principle of subsidiarity?

Let us pray: God, Our Father, Giver of Life, we entrust our nation to Your loving care. You are the rock on which this nation was founded. You alone are the true source of our cherished rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Reclaim this land for your glory and dwell among your people.

Send your Spirit to touch the hearts of our nations' leaders. Open their minds to the great worth of human life and the responsibilities that accompany human freedom. Remind your people that true happiness is rooted in seeking and doing your will.

Through the intercession of Mary Immaculate, Our Lady of Guadalupe, patroness of the Americas, grant us the courage to reject the culture of death. Lead us into a new millennium of life. We ask this through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Journaling

Many who know me have heard me advocate for journaling as a healthy regular practice. Spiritual or not, writing reflections on life is a discipline I value highly, and it's been shown to have health benefits in formal studies.

During times of prayer, I journal. I clarify my thoughts. I write my prayers and sort through the mess of discernment, feelings, pressures, and realities. Life gets messy; journaling brings clarity.

I got to thinking about this because in the last two days I read over my journal entries from April to now, reflecting on the journey I've experienced. Daily experiences and repeated feelings flooded my consciousness from reading my journal. From the end of April to July, I wrote something every day. Sometimes it was no more than a sentence, often just a paragraph, but at times I processed many things in the midst of my writing. Now I can look with a reflective eye at the inklings and challenges I encountered. I can compare them to my experience of today, and formulate more eagerly how I should be moving forward. I cannot think of a better partner to examine the complexities of my mind and my will.

If I am to become the person I hope to be (and that God knows and wishes I can be), journaling will play a pivotal role in how I go about growing.

I am no expert, but that's the great thing about journaling. It's for me. No expertise is required. No one else sees it. That's why I don't regard blogging or any writing I distribute as journaling. These are similarly reflective habits, but they are intended for an audience. A journal is more raw. There is no one but me, the pen, and the paper. No one will check up on whether I do it. For many years I was a sporadic journaler, and while that was helpful, I always told myself I should be doing more because I found it to be so healthy when I made the time. That's why I decided this spring to make a daily commitment. For me, the time that worked came just before bedtime. I had an entire day upon which I could reflect. Some days I wrote very little, spending no more than a minute, but I still wrote something. The size of the entry does not matter, though I often found myself having notable experiences and wanting to record them so I would not forget. Moments of inspiration, sources of struggle, experiences that brought me joy or made me giggle -- all these made it into my journal.

My journal is a sanctuary, a crucible, a healing space, a hiding place, a close companion, a pathway to intimacy with the Lord, and a record of wrongs and rights. Do you journal? If yes, what significance does journaling have for you? If no, start today. It's a healthy habit you will never regret and always treasure.

Hope

On Friday, a Mount Angel seminarian for the Missionaries of the Holy Spirit died in a car accident. The story of his accident can be read here. Br. Robin Bernabe was a quiet man I did not know well. In fact, I had only one interaction with him I can remember, and it took place the Sunday before he died. Br. Robin joined in a pickup basketball game. I guarded him. He played for perhaps five minutes, did not score, thanked us for letting him take part, and hurried off to Filipino choir practice. The moment was simple, unremarkable except that his life would end five days later.

I replay that interaction inwardly as I contemplate how instantly Br. Robin's life ended. Here is a man living the Gospel simply, forsaking the world, nearing ordination as a priest of Jesus Christ, and he is abruptly called out of this life and hopefully to Heaven. For his family and brothers of the Missionaries of the Holy Spirit, I grieve. For Br. Robin, I mourn and rejoice. Many questions are raised in moments like these: Why did he have to die so needlessly? Why him? Why now? Why this way?

Fragile, fleeting, scarred. Our existence is short in this life before we pass to another. A grain of sand in time. It could be any one of us, through no fault of our own, to have been driving when we encountered unavoidable catastrophe. That it was Br. Robin, a faithful man who knew the saving power and love of our Lord, offers some comfort in the angst and loss.

We know not the hour of our death, but we do know this: God is faithful. Whether in sorrow or joy, God is faithful. The world makes no sense any other way. I cannot explain a death that seemingly has no reason. On a larger scale, I cannot understand why Hurricane Sandy caused immense destruction and took 38 lives last week. I am left with questions; many others are left with pain. But I know a man with answers; I know the Great Physician. In times like this, He is the Rock to which we must cling. "To whom else would we go, Lord? You have the words of eternal life."

Hilltop Sports

Recently I finished an article for The Catholic Sentinel, Portland's Archdiocesan newspaper. The Sentinel publishes a special issue on Mount Angel Seminary in conjunction with the Benefit Dinner we host in November. The issue portrays life on the hilltop in various ways. I was asked to write about sports and recreation on the hilltop. Here is the article:

A goal! Cheers and high fives follow with the usual congratulatory words. But this goal pleads to be commemorated.

A shout rises. Everyone turns. A fan, uninhibited, races down the sideline, yellow-and-white Vatican flag draped over his shoulders and rippling behind him amid his own roars of glee. Players glance and grin. That’s more like it. The celebration is on.

Mount Angel, three. Reed College, zero.

For the soccer team and their supporters at Mount Angel Seminary, this home victory on Oct. 7 highlighted the sports calendar. The fan, Phillip Shifflet, a seminarian from the Diocese of Orange, Calif., relished the victory as much as the players.

“Even the refs were smiling,” Shifflet said. “Even if I don’t play soccer, the fact that I’m there and cheering them on, that somebody cares and is there to support them, that’s one of the many reasons I would go down to the soccer field.”

The soccer team had not won in two years, said Joshua Keeney, a former coach, current player, and seminarian for the Diocese of Sacramento, Calif. Competitive disadvantages for Mount Angel are apparent: A smaller pool of student athletes, limited facilities, and a demanding academic and spiritual schedule not present at other institutions. Winning is rare for Mount Angel athletics, but formation in virtue is not.

“Sports offer opportunities to grow in community,” Volleyball Coach and Diocese of Honolulu seminarian Frank Villanueva said. “They are an avenue for men here to express themselves in healthy ways outside of the academic and spiritual aspects of the seminary. Sports enhance those opportunities.”

Winning makes for memories, as with Shifflet and the soccer team, but whether an outing ends in victory or defeat, lessons can be cultivated in patience, courage, compassion, forgiveness, and virtue, Dr. Andrew Cummings said.

Cummings is the Athletic Director and a player on the soccer team. As such, he oversees the $4,600 athletic budget, maintains facilities, and acts as an advocate for the student coaches in soccer, basketball, and volleyball, the newest team sport.

Sports among the Mount Angel hilltop community include lesser-celebrated pastimes, too: Table tennis on Friday afternoons draws a crowd. Diocese of Helena seminarians Alex Woelkers and Jacob Floch are aiming to complete a marathon in November, and seven seminarians ran the Mount Angel Oktoberfest five and 10-kilometer races in September. Other favorite seminarian activities include aikido, weight lifting, racquetball, cycling, tennis, pool, and the workout series P90X.

Hiking appeals to many. Fr. Ralph Recker, O.S.B., leads weekend hikes to Saddle Mountain, Table Rock, and nearby peaks. The reward for tired legs comes from vivid celebrations of the Mass overlooking the serene Cascade Mountain Range.

“One of my favorite sports moments is praying on top of a summit,” Recker said. “Especially if you have someone who didn’t think they’d make it initially. There is a feeling of conquest.”

The value of Mount Angel sports goes beyond athletes to fans and the greater hilltop fraternity, celebrating together conquests large and small, in virtue and in competition.

My Visit

"There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship."

THOMAS AQUINAS

I drove and drove and drove and drove and drove on Friday afternoon. Traffic came to a stop in Olympia, in Tacoma, and again in Seattle. I played music, found some podcasts, prayed the rosary, anything to pass the time. A four-and-a-half-hour trek became a six-hour trek. I hit rush hour in the Puget Sound at the wrong time. When my car gratefully came to a stop in the parking lot of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, I took a deep breath, grabbed my rain jacket, and eagerly walked inside.

Home again.

I love this parish. I love the people. I love my experience as a youth minister there, with triumphs, struggles and time to grow and pray. I love coming back. I love standing in the vestibule hugging so many people that are special, beautiful, and unique. I love this parish, and despite the drive and the three-month wait to be back, I loved my return trip last weekend.

My friends spoiled me and filled my cup. On Friday, Mass started just as I pulled up. A few hellos, and I took a seat at the back, trying unsuccessfully to blend in and not steal attention from the Sacred Mysteries. Unexpectedly, the Kyrie and Gloria Mass parts brought me to tears. God is merciful, and God gave me this community for the last four years to draw me closer to Him. The tears were an expression of how humbled, fortunate, and grateful I am to have such a loving God.

On Saturday, my friend Craig Lundberg was ordained with 21 other men as permanent deacons for the Archdiocese of Seattle. He and his wife Marti serve the church in myriad ways, so Craig's ordination fittingly culminates a four-year journey of preparation for the Sacrament of Holy Orders and begins a new chapter of ministry for them. The ordination drew a standing-room-only crowd to St. James Cathedral. The children's choir lifted our spirits to Heaven; the men being ordained and their wives joyously received Archbishop Sartain's blessing and laying on of hands; the Eucharist enlivened us; the Lord graciously welcomed us to the wedding feast.

Susie hosted me for the weekend in her seemingly quiet house, with her husband Francis gone to Melbourne, Australia on work and just her youngest son Kelly left at home. We prepared Saturday afternoon for the guests that would come that evening. I baked cookies and brownies for a potluck while Susie and Kelly went to the store for plates, plasticware, and pop. Though I don't get to do it much at seminary, cooking still strikes me as therapeutic, especially when I have solitude as I did Saturday afternoon. Quiet descended, ingredients hit the bowl, and I contemplated how blessed I am.

The afternoon turned to evening quickly. I made a brief stop at Craig and Marti's reception, departed for 5 p.m. Mass since I couldn't make it in the morning, and raced back to Susie's around 6:30 p.m. after all the guests had arrived. They saw me coming and made a human tunnel for my entrance like parents used to do at the end of soccer games for the players. My heart felt like it would burst.

Susie's counters and table were covered with potluck foods -- fried chicken, tomato and cucumber salad, Funfetti cookies, brownies, Jell-O, and goodies everywhere. I went from conversation to conversation, catching up and joking around, playing games and talking sports, snapping photos and retelling my experiences thus far. The night made me wish anew I could be in two places at once -- studying at seminary, living and ministering in this faith community.

Susie guessed about 50 people came Saturday night. Who am I that such an outpouring of love would be for me? I am immeasurably blessed. I did my best to listen to each person intently, to reconnect in the limited time we shared, though I wish it could have been longer.

On Sunday I met with Erin, the youth minister now working with the high schoolers, and we talked about the challenges and triumphs of the work. I expect she and the community will grow to love each other more as I did in my first year. She is diligent and full of ideas, good traits that will help bring about new ways of ministering to teens.

My Sunday also included a soccer game with my men's league team (they graciously let me step in for a game) and lunch with two friends from SPU, Jess and Melissa, with whom it's natural to pick up the conversation we left three months ago and feel like it never ended.

The time for me to depart arrived, but instead of dread at leaving so great an experience, my life overflowed with all the weekend's events. Coming back to Mount Angel made me appreciate the many people who offer an abundance of friendship and love. Community, while never perfect, should bring us the sort of comfort I found this weekend, especially as our lives weave tapestries of sorrow and joy. As God abides, so must we abide. Thankfully, I found people who abide, and I am so much richer for it.

Restorative Justice

Back when I was planning retreats, teens would often grumble about giving up an entire weekend. Many would have their parents call and try to weasel a few hours off the obligation on account of choir or sports or other activities. I never understood why the teens didn't all want to come to this fantastic event we were working so hard to plan. "It's good stuff," I'd want to tell them. "Come enjoy it!"

The roles flipped on me this weekend. I was required to attend a two full days of training as part of my pastoral ministry with the Clackamas County Juvenile Center. I grumbled. Do I really have to come for two full days? The topic: Restorative Justice. Ever heard of it? I had not, and I was not thrilled at the prospect of missing classes on Friday and giving up one of my two days off, including missing a soccer match.

I'm glad I did.

Like most of the teens that attend retreat, my world was realigned in a new and exciting way. Restorative Justice has the power to change our legal system, and two days of learning about it made me into a supporter. Let me briefly explain the concepts behind it.

The way our legal system is set up currently, when a crime is committed the offender is the focus. We find the offender, try them, and give a punishment that is most often not connected to the crime. For instance, a bank robber going to jail has nothing to do with the bank that was robbed or the impact the robbery had on the community. This is retributive justice.

Restorative justice puts the emphasis on three stakeholders in the process. When a crime is committed, there are offenders, victims, and community. In a restorative process, the offender accepts responsibility for the offense and seeks to fulfill the obligation created to the victim(s) and community. The offender takes a significant role in deciding what that obligation should be. The victim(s) also take part in the process as the community (often represented by an office like Clackamas County's or through some governmental agency) contacts the victim to check in and see what is needed to move forward. Ideally, the community also takes part in rehabilitating the offender, bringing them back into society, caring for the needs of the victim, preventing future crime, and in other ways of healing. It's a beautiful picture of a restoration.

Sound too good to be true? The main criticism of Restorative Justice is that it is too soft on crime. But what we found in this training is that jail time and the death penalty don't create any sense of change or healing. They more often create shame, greater expense, and lack of reform.

Restorative Justice, though presented in a secular context, echoed many teachings I have encountered in the Christian faith and especially in Catholic teachings. At one point I wrote in my notes that the three stakeholders (offender[s], victim[s], and community) needed contrition, reconciliation, and communion (not the Eucharist but the sharing of life) to move forward.

As I work with teens that have committed minor offenses, this Restorative Justice model is put into practice. Clackamas County has incredible, meaningful programs that help youth serve the communities they have wronged. For instance, Green Corps teaches the youth life skills in a community garden in which they grow fruits and vegetables to sell at a Farmer's Market, the proceeds from which go toward paying restitution accumulated by the crimes committed. Another program puts the teens directly back into work for the community getting paid restitution money to clean up the places they vandalized. The consequence is tied to the victims and community. There is no sense of shame for the offender, but there is an understanding that he or she created an obligation through his or her offense. The person is not the problem; the crime is.

I cannot relay all the intense and wonderful things we discussed in this program, so let me end with a note about one of the most influential methods within Restorative Justice. It's called victim-offender dialogue. In this, the person that committed the crime faces the victims in person with a mediator. This meeting does not occur haphazardly. Both parties must agree to meet, and often lengthy (months to years to even decades) preparations take place. We ended our training by watching a documentary called "Meeting with a Killer," a true story in which a man who killed and raped a woman in Texas meets the woman's daughter and mother 15 years after the crime. The process includes much pain but even greater healing for both sides.

In our training group of about 15 people, at least four expressed that they had been abused or had been connected to a crime-related death involving a family member. For each of this people, victim-offender dialogue touched their lives or had the potential to do so in ways retributive justice could not. How many more people are hurting from crimes and have never had the chance to heal and restore?

I'm no criminal justice expert, and I know things are far more complicated in crime than I can learn in two days. I also realize Restorative Justice on a large scale will take some serious thought and care to implement effectively. However, there is hope in this philosophy. I really believe there is hope. Do yourself a favor and watch "Meeting with a Killer" below. It's 45 minutes well spent if you watch all four parts.

And to think, I didn't want to go to this training when the weekend started...

Perspective

Midterms arrived this week and last on campus, so I haven't blogged as consistently. Going forward, I doubt I will be able to write as much, but for any faithful readers, I promise to post when I am able.

I would like to discuss an experience from a couple weeks ago. For the first time in my life, I served as an acolyte at Mass (the grown-up version of altar serving). Somehow in all my Catholic life, I never altar served. I am trained as a lector and Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist (EME). I sang in the choir. I helped organize liturgies. I presided at Service of the Word with Communion. But I was never an acolyte until coming to Mount Angel.

To begin, the thought of screwing up frightened me. What if I missed my cue? Everyone on the hilltop seems to be watching in daily Mass, so if I lacked confidence or forgot to do something, it would be noticed. To compound the stress, the acolyte with whom I served was also brand new. I couldn't lean on anyone's experience. We had a 15-minute training on Friday, and Monday morning we were expected to be ready.

For the most part, the Mass went smoothly. As I think should be the norm, we faded into the background as acolytes. Process in. Keep hands folded in front. Bow at the altar. Keep those hands folded. Hold the Sacramentary when Father says, "Let us pray." Put the Sacramentary back. Fold those hands (this is a challenge for me!). Place the purificators and chalices on the altar before the gifts are presented. Fold hands. Fold and remove the corporal after communion. Hands -- you guessed it -- are folded. Process out...with hands folded.

Aside from keeping my hands folded, the hardest part was taking in a new perspective. When you go to Mass, do you sit in the same spot? I bet most of us do. We human beings create habits and stick to them. I am no exception. As an acolyte, I had to sit in a new place and experience a forced change of perspective. It was good.

I was closer to altar, more aware of the prayers, alert because I had to follow the cues, and generally engaged in a new way with the liturgy. Liturgy, translated loosely, means the work of the people. Serving as an acolyte helped me see that work with fresh eyes.

Is it time for a change in your perspective? It was time to change for me. Perhaps as a small way of entering into this Year of Faith, we can sit in a new section, meet new people, reflect on the readings in preparation, or pick up a new liturgical ministry. Perhaps we can find a new perspective and enter deeper into the sacred mysteries. Will you enter in with me?

Snapshots

First midterm test at seminary: Done. Quiz in Latin this morning: Postponed until Monday. Lunch: Eaten. Sun: Shining. To do list: Can wait for now.

It's been over a week, and I am overdue to post on this blog. Much happened. Here are some snapshots:

More than a moral victory.
We hosted a doubleheader of soccer games on Saturday against Willamette University and Sunday against Reed College. I haven't written much about the soccer team yet, in part because we only played one game prior to this weekend, and in part because I was still forming thoughts on the experience. We play other small colleges in the area, with Oregon State being the exception. OSU has a full-fledged club team, but we get their "B" team and apparently get slaughtered every time. Our opponents have significant competitive advantages: Larger pools of players for choosing a team (we have about 200 seminarians compared to a couple thousand students at other schools), more time and commitment from players, superior facilities (we spent hours filling in the holes on our field with dirt Friday), and coaches or players with strong soccer backgrounds. As you might guess, we don't win many games. I'm writing an article about sports at Mount Angel for the Portland Archdiocesan newspaper, and my teammates suggested I title it something related to "sacrificial lambs" or "exercises in humility."

That made our win on Sunday very sweet. No one could recall the last time our team recorded a victory. Granted, Reed was down a player, so we didn't face a full squad, but we dominated the match, winning 3-0, missing a penalty kick, and hitting the post. It was a solid performance for the Guardians of Mount Angel. One of my seminarian brothers, a 20-year-old college student who looks like Bishop Mike minus 50 years, took a large Vatican flag to our field and celebrated each goal by waving it on the run and shouting for joy. The Reed players probably thought us obnoxious, but when victories are rare, we savor them.

Singing Competitively.
I tried out for choir on the hilltop but didn't make the cut. The last time I recall not making the team was my freshman and sophomore years of high school in soccer. It hurt then. I tried to pretend it didn't hurt now, but it did, just a little.

I've not been in a choir since fifth grade, and the only formal training I've had was two quarters of voice lessons in college, so I don't feel too bad. But the competitive side of me keeps looking at the members of the choir wondering, "Am I really not as good as any of them?"

I know it's ridiculous of me to be so petty. Actually, I probably would not have accepted the invitation to choir had I made it because I wanted to invest my time in other activities. Still, I wanted the invitation.

Rather than continue moping and seething, I decided to join the one choir on campus that doesn't require a tryout: Spanish Schola. We sing for the Spanish Mass on Wednesday mornings. Our choir director is extremely Canadian, doan cha know, and doesn't speak "a lick" of Spanish (her words). There are three white guys and an Asian, quite a few Mexicans who embrace the mariachi sounds, two guitars, a piano, one jembe, and a good beat. It's a nice place to sing, work on singing better, and make use of the competitive feelings I can't seem to wipe away.

Seeing Teens.
I miss the teens from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. I keep in touch with some of them, but it's not the same as being part of their lives each week. Luckily, my pastoral assignment gives me an hour each week with some teens, though the setting is quite different. Almost all the seminarians have a once-a-week pastoral assignment working at assisted living centers, area churches, food banks, and charitable organizations. My assignment is with one of the Benedictine monks, Br. Nicolaus. We drive 45 minutes every Thursday afternoon to Oregon City and the Klackamas County Juvenile Center, where we facilitate a discussion group for teens that have gotten into trouble for minor offenses like smoking marijuana, breaking curfew, or expressing too much anger toward a teacher. The discussion group focuses on decision-making skills and how to be a healthier, more mature individual.

To this point, we have observed and contributed to the discussion, but we have yet to facilitate. That should start next week. We have five or six teens each week on a rotating basis as they complete the course and new ones enter in. I'm really looking forward to seeing the growth of these teens, though as I discovered in youth ministry, planting seeds doesn't always yield visible fruit. Hopefully Br. Nicolaus and I have the skills (or can develop them) to draw out of the teens more self-awareness and confidence to be healthy, contributing individuals in their schools, neighborhoods, and homes.

My First Midterm.
My first non-dental oral exam went well. I had to nail down the talking points of five philosophers and explain them to my professor concisely for Philosophic Anthropology. It's a fancy name for the study of the human person. We cover one philosopher's approach to the human person each week. So far, we've talked Plato, Kant, Marx, Freud, and Sartre. If you've taken philosophy, you know these guys can be depressing. Marx: We're all alienated by the capitalistic economic and social conditions that form our being, and the proletariat will rise up. Freud: We have no free will, only subconscious drives that were established from our oddly sexualized first five years of childhood. Sartre: We are condemned to be free, and the only ethical guide we have is to do whatever we want with that freedom. Yikes.

Not all philosophers are devoid of hope, but I will be glad to see glimmers of goodness about humanity as we move to new thinkers. The point here is that the test went well. I described the philosophers like I knew their viewpoint, walked out with an 18 out of 20, and got set for a free weekend. Three more midterms are upcoming, but they are spaced out -- one this week, another two the next.

Year of Faith.
Today opens the Year of Faith declared by Pope Benedict XVI. Each year a theme is given by the Vatican as a point of reflection for the faithful. In the past we celebrated a year of St. Paul and a year for priests. The Year of Faith marks the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the Second Vatican Council commencing and the 20th anniversary of the Catechism of the Catholic Church's publication, quite a cause for reflection and renewal. Catholics are called to celebrate this special time by rededicating ourselves to spiritual acts of faith in our Lord. I am looking for a new and invigorating spiritual practice this year but haven't found one yet. Have you? How are you celebrating the Year of Faith? I'd love to hear ideas if you have them. Know that wherever you read this, we can join together as a Church family, as one body, as Christ's hands and feet following in faith. To borrow loosely from the old text of the Mass, let us lift our hearts and minds together as with one voice, we acclaim the mystery of our faith!

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."

Joy & Happiness

I saw some Seattle friends on the hilltop yesterday. Mark, Karyn, and Calle stopped on their way to visit Fr. Jose, who moved in August from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton to a parish in Hillsboro, Oregon. Something about seeing familiar faces in this new place brings me happiness, even if the conversation is only for a few minutes.

Happiness and joy for me lately have been topics of reflection. My own definition for joy is something much deeper than happiness. Happiness feels good. Most of the time it is good. I feel happy when I eat good food, watch a funny movie, score a goal, or see old friends unexpectedly. Happiness most often is momentary and associated somehow with pleasure, whether with the senses or emotions.

Joy isn't as fleeting. Joy is soulful and may not reflect the mood I am feeling. I experience the most joy when I am disciplined and am able to submit my will.

To understand the difference between joy and happiness, I think about two scenes from The Passion of the Christ. The first is a brief cutaway to the life of Jesus before His passion. He is a carpenter by trade, and in this scene, Jesus shows his mother a table he just finished building that's taller than usual. She tells him it will never catch on, invites him inside to eat, and tells him he must clean up first. They giggle and are happy. Jesus and Mary are also content, fulfilled, full of love, and full of joy.



The second scene is markedly different. It occurs as Jesus carries his cross. He is caked with blood from scourging, his features barely recognizable because of the beating he unjustly endured. On his severely weakened back he carries the instrument of his death. Crowds around him riot. Jesus loses his footing, and the thick beams crash on open flesh. He falls.

As he does, Mary rushes to his side, filled with sorrow. This is her beloved son. This is the savior of the world. This is the fruit of her womb. She changed his diapers, saw him grow, loved him as only a mother can. We see this with bits of a childhood fall intermingled in the imagery, Mary catching Jesus in both instances, telling him, "I am here." But childhood is gone. Now he is passionately suffering to death. She meets him briefly, summoning the courage to be at his side and give him strength by her presence. Jesus rises again, telling his mother achingly, "See, I make all things new."


Jesus summons the fortitude to walk onward in his passion, and somehow he has joy. Not happiness, not pleasure, but even in the extremest suffering, joy. Do you see?

When we take part in the Pascal Mystery we are faced with the paradox of joy. How can Jesus be suffering immeasurably yet be full of abiding joy in fulfilling the Father's will?

That's my point of reflection even as I am carrying no cross and have suffered no scourging. My life is quite comfortable with meals provided and support surrounding me. In tangible ways I cannot compare to Calvary. Still, joy has been difficult for me to find lately.

That's not to say I haven't found moments of happiness at seminary. I have. Some days I really enjoy. I am for the most part happy, but I am also restless. Enjoyment, happiness, and pleasure do not equate to joy. There is a tension in my life I've had difficulty defining. It's not a "dry period" as I've known before in the spiritual life, nor am I wanting for anything in particular. Occasionally I experience moments of revelation in prayer, bits of clarity from God meant for my comfort and purpose. As I pray these days I find this tension of the unknown: Am I fit to be a priest? Is the meeting place for my gifts, the church's need, and God's will? Will I be happy as a celibate man? Could I ever leave seminary and not still wonder if God is asking this of me? Is there another place I could and should be?

The questions multiply and so does the restlessness. I trust that being at Mount Angel will yield spiritual fruit in my life, but the seeds of the spiritual life -- contemplation, reflection, worship -- grow slowly before fruits like peace can be understood and appreciated. The tension comes in the waiting. Somehow in life we should always find ourselves in that tension if we're doing spirituality the right way. This is the human condition: There is always hope and always sorrow. The Kingdom of God is here and now but still to come. Fulfillment is not full just yet. Ronald Rolheiser describes this tension in the book I'm reading, The Holy Longing:

In the Gospels...to ponder is less a question of intellectually contemplating something as it is of patiently holding it inside of one's soul, complete with all the tension it brings. Thus, when Mary stands under the cross of Jesus and watches him die -- and there is absolutely nothing she can do to save him or even to protest his innocence and goodness -- she is pondering in the biblical sense. She is carrying a great tension that she is helpless to resolve and must simply live with. That is what scripture refers to when it tells us that Mary "kept these things in her heart and pondered them." Thus, to ponder, biblically, is to stand before life's great mysteries the way Mary stood before the various events of Jesus' life, including the way she stood under the cross. There is great joy in that but there can also be incredible tension. The type of mysticism that we most need today to revitalize our faith is precisely this kind of pondering, a willingness to carry tension as Mary did.

Somehow I discover new ways of living in that tension each day here. The task never becomes easy or the load lighter, but I don't begrudge this opportunity to sit with Mary beneath the cross. I am learning to embrace it, even as I want more immediate gratification in knowing where the tension leads.

What tension do you carry? Are you pondering? Are you entering the Pascal Mystery? Do you know the deep, abiding joy that carries us through our lives?

Let us keep pondering. May we persevere in prayer, and allow God to breathe into our lives so we can discover joy together and become saints and so that moments like the one with my friends on the hilltop can be part of our eternity in heaven.

Lemon Bread

Some food signals more than just another thing to eat. Some food carries memories. Some food offers comfort. Some food brings us back to the kitchen of our childhood.

That food for me is Mom's Lemon Bread.

We ate it at Easter and Christmas, found it some mornings for breakfast or afternoons for a snack. My mom is known for her lemon bread, but it's difficult to duplicate because she doesn't use a recipe anymore. She just knows it by feel because of familiarity honed in repeated batches through the childhoods of five boys and now 11 grandchildren. Linda's Lemon Bread. It's how my family does comfort food.

In my first attempt at cooking on the hilltop, I made some lemon bread. The process, the aroma, the taste -- everything about lemon bread makes me feel at ease. At home. At peace.

I threw in a big plate of Funfetti cookies just because they are easy, and I could hand them out around campus. Who doesn't like a good cookie?

Most of my friends from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton have at some point eaten a Funfetti cookie at a meeting or gathering. They were my go-to dessert because they are fast, easy, require few ingredients, and are generally enjoyed by all.

I thought of many things I could write about this experience -- the challenge of buying just the right amount of ingredients for a recipe; using all the sugar by accident when I needed more for the glaze and having to open 30 sugar packets; bringing all the right tools down two levels to the only kitchen in our building (and then remembering the other tools I needed); skipping homework for an afternoon to cook; the unbelief by some seminary brothers that I actually made the cookies myself -- but the soothing power of lemon bread stands out. Food can be a powerful experience.

Perhaps that's why the Eucharist evokes the depths of our humanity. It's food at its best, sacred and divine, the meeting of mere mortals with immortality, and the gathering of the whole Church, past, now, and to come. Whatever separates us, we can be united in the blood and body. It's the ultimate comfort food.