Good Mood

Nothing much has happened since yesterday... and considering that the summary of my post yesterday was that nothing interesting had happened of late, one might well wonder why I'm bothering to post with the essential message of "ditto".

Because this is less of an update, news-wise, than it is an update "specific detail"-wise.

It seems that, over the month or so coming to a head today, I've sort of developed a bit of a teacher complex. To set the stage my goings on, allow me to first explain that about a month and a half ago I helped an English classmate in preparing her last essay. Without knowing exactly where her marks were from last semester's essays, I know they were "not good". I'm guessing in the 2.5 to 3.0 grade point range.

Well, our class got back our essays last Friday. I got a 4.0, A+, which put me in a fine mood--but it was not anywhere near so fine as discovering today that my classmate got a 3.7 (which the professor apparently said she may regrade as a 4.0) on her essay. Entirely my work, the improvement.

Next tale of me and teaching involves Religion class: Introduction to Christianity. It's the easiest course I've ever taken or am likely to take unless they come up with a Middle-Earth History 101. It's also, rather relatedly, my favourite class. The reason? Well, Christianity (with Tolkien) is probably my favourite field of study. We have an engaging prof, and one who isn't tied in notions of control or doing all the work. She's also quite open to class input. This means that if anything comes up touching on Catholicism... then Michael A. Joosten is the expert who gets to pontificate to the class.

There was also the episode a couple weeks back where I got to class early, and, being bored, took up a piece of chalk and drew a map of the Middle East on the board, marking in a few of major centres of ancient times (this is intro to Christianity, remember? We were studying inter-Testamental times at that point). Well, the prof came in, and loved it. I either got really lucky or really unlucky because it so happened that she had been planning to bring maps in, but hadn't had time. The upshot was that the first five minutes of class were of Professor Michael standing at the front of class giving a very short overview of Middle Eastern history, and the Hebrew involvement therein.

Then, today, in Sociology class, we were divided up into groups and told to discuss the pros and cons of homeschooling. You will all remember that Yours Truly was homeschooled... and had a lot to say. Well, when each group had to pick a spokesperson, I got nominated (I was more than willing). When no group seemed eager to go first, I volunteered... and proceded to spend about five minutes expounding on homeschooling pros and cons from the podium at the front of the class. The best part was that the next group had to be completely cajoled into presenting, since (apparently) I had already covered all the points they came up with. (Not true, as they added a couple things I never thought of at the time, or didn't have time for, but still).

Finally, after my last class today, a religion classmate and I went over last Friday's class, which she had missed. Since I took all of zero notes for class that day, and haven't bothered printing a lecture outline all year, I did it from memory. The main thing regarding that, however, is that we got to talking afterwards (she's one of my best friends at Concordia, where I'm slightly solitary normally), and I mentioned the fun I'd had that morning talking in front of Sociology, and how I loved speaking in public, and expounding on topics I know something about. Of course, she laughed and my history talk in Religion was mentioned, and I believe I said something about it looking like I was becoming something of a teacher.

"You're very good at teaching," was about what she said, or something quite similar. It wasn't a particularly dramatic statement, and conversation flowed on--but it struck me. I considered it a huge compliment, and it was probably the high point of my day.

It's true, really... I love imparting information, and I love speaking in public. It would have been my own verdict, but I'm glad to have a second opinion, but it seems that I'm good at it.

I have no idea if this means anything in the long run. Coupled with the reaffirmation of my intelligence (between getting back marks and beating TGWBS in an IQ exam--surely a fluke, though), I've been thinking about the prospects of me being sent on for further studies after ordination. I thought about that a fair bit before the New Year, as may be recalled, and I hold to my original conclusion that it's way to early to make plans or worry... but my mindset has changed. I still don't really want to do more studies, if that's what I have to do, but the prospect of becoming a professor or seminary formator, rather than looking like the unwanted roadblock on my road to being a pastor, looks like something I could really enjoy.

If I end up an academic... I might not mind so much...

So... It's been a while

No, I haven't gone and died--despite the melodrama of the last post, my diabetes specialist (who I happened to have my half yearly checkup with last week) certified me as "healthy, other than that diabetes thing" (not an exact quote).

It's been a good week and a half... but I can't say much has happened. Probably because it has been a good week and a half. Good times don't merit posting so much as the bad ones. You can be sure that if I had come back from the specialist with a verdict of "you've... got maybe three years, Mr. Joosten, before you go blind" that I would have been hyperventilating here as soon as I got back from that trip. No, the only thing noteworthy about my trip to the specialist is that while my appointment was at 7:45 am (an ungodly hour that involved missing Morning Prayer, breakfast, and my normal hour of rising), I still couldn't make my 11:10 class on time. I was fifteen minutes late. I was furious. Especially because I was the first appointment of the day. Between that and always getting a clean bill of health, is it any wonder I hate going to check-ups? One rather amazing product is that it got me drinking milk, something I've avoided since age 4, and which no amount of prior diabetic check-ups had managed. Must have been that post-mortality depression from my last post...

Let's see... what else has gone on?

Not much.

The weather has been downright gorgeous the last ten days or so. We've had a week averaging about 5 degrees above zero (Celsius). Spring has come! I love it... though it hasn't done much good for my mental frame of mind. I can't wait for summer, and going camping. I'm not even sure I'll have time... but that doesn't matter. I'm going, sometime. Somewhere. I might even go alone (which really defeats the whole purpose of camping... or any sort of holiday. People are key). Even yesterday's slightly chillier, much rainier/windier/cloudier/snowier weather was delightful! Sure it looked nasty. Sure, it WAS nasty. But it was a SPRING nasty! Spring has a completely different feeling and smell from winter. Besides, I adore nasty weather, so long as I don't have to drive in it. I love the wild power of creation, and I love the colours, sounds, and smells. I suspect I'll love it even more once summer comes and I'm at work fencing (with fences, not epées), and bad weather means a day off.

But... yeah... that's all that's going on. It should amply explain why I haven't posted in a while. Live is great, but not particularly newsworthy.

Near-Death Experience

Okay, so it's been what, about five hours, since I lasted posted? A lot has happened since then.

Well, not really. I spent most of that time playing Solitaire (for an hour and more) or finishing Great Expectations.

That's what I did... but what happened to me scared me stiff.

Backstory: This morning my car's locks were frozen, probably due to carwashing yesterday. My memory said nothing about having locked it, so I thought it was the whole door that was frozen--but unlocked. To make a long story short, I nearly busted my arms and the door handles trying unsuccessfully to break into my own car. I didn't succeed. I gave up for an hour or two to let the car defrost some, and succeeded on the third try later (after having missed, non-problematically, English class) to unlock the door, which then opened like a charm.

That was just me being stupid, but the upshot of it was that not only did I miss English, but I really strained my arms and hands, leaving me with a dull ache all day and, more pertinently to where this is going, a general feeling of weakness in my hands.

Fast forward to this evening, after my last post. I compound the lightness in my hands by playing Solitaire for an hour and more, a procedure that, due to the non-ergonomicness of my desk, cuts off the circulation a wee bit. When I got to Great Expectations, my hands were rather weak-feeling indeed, as if my circulation was not so good.

Not TOO long later, whilst reading... let's say two hours ago, I start to notice this general feeling of poor circulation, and take some pains to encourage my blood to flow to my hands, and my brain (no doubt tired of reading, momentarily) decides to invent a conspiracy theory wherein my diabetes is not so well-managed as I have been led to believe, and that I am exhibiting the first signs of the overall poor circulation typical of diabetics with poor control.

In finding support for this theory, my brain decides that the sleepiness in my legs is another symptom--a very spurious relationship as that is quite simply the result of being elevated by sitting in a crossed-legged position. In addition, however, it adds the fact that I need a new glasses prescription--again ignoring a pertinent fact, here the fact that my left eye, far from getting worse, actually improved.

Murphy's Law holding as true in Edmonton as anywhere else, I felt my bloodsugars dropping about this time. Too much insulin or not enough food at supper, apparently (more likely the latter, thinking back... shrimp and noodles in alfredo sauce is okay, but not a favourite for me). So with this persisting weakness/lighthandedness in my fingers and palms, I head down to the cafeteria (still with nose in my book, I might add) to remedy that fact.

I'm not sure how I found the time to think it over, because I don't recall putting down Great Expectations, beyond the unlit hallway I didn't bother to light, but I certainly had time to ponder what it would really mean if I was loosing control of my diabetes--or, rather, if it was too late to do anything about it.

And I was scared. Scared to the point of ridiculous.

And very, very serious.

My first thought was that if it looked like I wouldn't be able to manage my diabetes with the hectic schedule of a priest or seminarian, then I'd have to leave: either voluntarily or under orders.

That scared me. Badly. I haven't a clue what else I would do with my life. And I'd have a debt, since the free room and board the Diocese pays for is then 50% mine to repay. (Now, in real life if they kicked me for medical reasons, I might be able to expect it to be waived, but this didn't occur to me.)

And then I began to contemplate what else I would do... nothing occurred to me. If I'm not fit to be a seminarian/priest, then I doubt I'd be fit for most jobs. Who would I be dependent on? My family? Who else?

The thought also occurred to me (perhaps absurdly, though I'm inclined to think not) that I might end up married if I didn't make the cut for the priesthood. Not so absurd if I was healthy and left of my own accord, but I'd rather necessarily be a rather poor prospect if I was kicked out on medical grounds. What girl would want to be saddled with a shortened-lifespan, physically-weaker, lost and clueless guy?

(As an aside: I retained either enough whimsy or else was so serious I was, well, serious, that I know who I'd WANT to fall in love with/marry, possibly. Though I'm not sure I'd want to dump that broken, fictional ex-seminarian on her...)

That was about it. I regained my blood-gluclose equilibrium, and finished Great Expectations. I was, and am, sane enough to dismiss this crackpot hypothesis and projection of the future as having no real ground to stand on. I am, after all, studying Logic this semester, and as demonstrated above, none of my premises is really true, and therefore my conclusion is invalid.

All the same, though, the thought scared me--as I've kind of made clear. Death doesn't scare me. I'm sure enough of the afterlife and what it's like that I think I have as good or better a chance than most at ending up all right. (And the best thing is... if there's no afterlife, I'll never know.)

But the process of dying scared me horribly... I don't mind the idea of going quickly, be it at gunpoint or car accident, or whatnot. But if it were to drag on for years, leaving me unable to earn a living... that's what scared me, the idea of being shunted into dependence and uselessness before I'd even had a chance to earn the care of the Church or a wife.

It still gives me the jibblies. I'm going to bed.

"We Adore You, O Christ, and we Praise You"

"Because by Your Holy Cross You have Redeemed the World."

So begins each station in the traditional Lenten prayer, the Stations of the Cross.

I just got back from it.

It officially opened our silent recollection. Naturally, I'm blogging. There's something about the deep, prayerful silence of a recollection that sends my comtemplator into overdrive-- and there's no distractions to stop me diarizing it here.

Anyway, the Via Dolorosa (Stations of the Cross as it's generally known in English) has got to be among the most emotionally powerful prayers the Church has in her armoury. It IS the embodiment of what Lent is meant to be; the reliving of Christ's passion and death. It doesn't hold anything back.

Station 1: Jesus is Scourged.
Station 2: Jesus takes up the Cross.
Station 3: Jesus falls (carrying the Cross) the First Time.
Station 4: Jesus meets His mother on the road.
Station 5: Jesus is assisted in carrying the cross by Simon of Cyrene.
Station 6: Jesus' bloody face is wiped by Veronica.
Station 7: Jesus falls the Second Time.
Station 8: Jesus meets the mourning women of Jerusalem.
Station 9: Jesus falls the Third Time.
Station 10: Jesus is stripped of his clothes.
Station 11: Jesus is nailed to the Cross.
Station 12: Jesus Dies.

Station 13: Jesus' body is taken down from the Cross.
Station 14: Jesus' body is laid in the Tomb.

Even the "happier" stations, where Jesus is assisted by Simon or Veronica only serve to highlight the fact that he needed that help in the first place, that he was so weak and bloody as to need assistance.

Not all forms of the Stations include the Fifteenth station--at least not all the ones I've seen used. The Fifteenth station is the Resurrection, which is of course the reason that for all the suffering in the first place. But unlike the Easter season, the focus of Lent and Via Dolorosa is the SUFFERING and DEATH of Christ.

It's a very serious season indeed, and I've always found it to succeed a great deal better than Advent at capturing the serious feeling of the pre-festive season. Probably that has to do with all the carols blaring on the radios, decorations everywhere, and frantic shopping and partying going on. Lent, mercifully, is free of such concerns, and assisted in this goal by a sharper focus on penance, with days of Fasting and Abstinence, the custom of giving something up for Lent, and the somehow very noticeable removal of the Alleluia from all worship.

It's more than that, of course. Advent is a serious season, a season of anticipation for the coming of Christ, just as all the centuries before A.D. 1 were anticipating Christ. It's a hopeful, eager, if solemn season. It's a housecleaning and refocussing season.

Lent, by contrast, is a preparation for Easter. And just as Advent echoes the reality of waiting for the first Christmas, so Lent recalls the events that led to the first Easter, namely the suffering and death of Jesus.

It's a very powerful season... and I find it gets moreso each year. Of course, it's the feast of Easter that makes it worthwhile. As St. Paul said in his letters, if Jesus didn't rise from the dead, there's absolutely no point to Christianity--and no point to Lent.

Lent is an awesome season, but thank You, God, that it comes only once a year. Just as you can only go about forty days without food, you can't go much longer with that kind of sorrow. You need the promise of Easter to make it worthwhile.

Gotta Get Out!

Sometimes... I wish I didn't live in Seminary. More accurately, sometimes I wish more of the seminarians were party animals.

To be honest, I'm probably on the sedate end of the spectrum in most places... but seminary seems to attract the sedater kind, and I'm probably about middle-of-the-road for this community, so you'd think that out of twenty-seven guys I'd never really feel a huge need for a rowdier crowd. The handful of greater exuberance than myself ought to be enough.

Except that that half-dozen or so aren't as lazy as me. Or they have more work. Or tonight they're all tired. Or I'm not invited... (probably one of the others, but this should not be ruled out--I am a loner, after all)

Whatever the cause, I'm itching to go out and do something... but here I am, doing nothing. I doubt this would be such an issue if I weren't so darned reticent about ASKING people for things/to do things, but there you have it. That's the way I am, and precious little about that is going to change. I'd rather stew in my own loneliness than--Heaven forbid!--ask anyone to DO something.

It's a part of myself I've grown accustomed to, and I can't really say I'm bitter about it (though in my melodramatic moments, I could try...). After all, it's not as if I'm never invited by others, or ignored. It's simply that I don't do my share of footing the invitations. If that means I feel like I've got a lonely, spartan social life... well, I've got no one to blame but me.

Tonight, though... I've got an itch to go and DO something-- and it's bugging me!

Lent

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the first day of the liturgical season of Lent, which precedes the joyous season of Easter, and is a time of seriousness, a time of fasting and abstinence, a time of remembering the darkness of our sin, and of cleansing it, before the bright glory of the Easter celebrations.

Ash Wednesday is one of my favourite holy days. Here in Olds, we've always had evening Masses for as long as I can remember, in order to accomodate those who have to work during the daylight hours. This gives the Mass a special feeling of culmination after a long day of fasting (I was doing fine until supper, when I had my only proper meal of the day, then after eating a good-sized meal I was STARVING). Mind, I tend to favour evening Masses in the first place. I like starting my day with Mass, but a day that builds up to Mass as the final major action of the day has a certain attraction as well.

The ceremony of being marked with ashes is one I like, if only because the choir, every year, sings "Ashes" during it. It is possibly morbid of me, but I think "Ashes" is a song I want played at my funeral. It's not exactly a classical song of comfort and hope, but it's not bereft of the latter.

And now it's Lent.... I go home (to Seminary) tomorrow sometime, in order to be around of the Rite of Election at the Basilica on Sunday, the rehearsal being Saturday morning. I get to be thurifer (incenser), which is my favourite job as a server, but one which (in this case) I didn't even ask for. It'll be good to be home.

Yes, I think I'm writing a little disjointedly, but we can put it down to lack of practice. Reading Break has been blissfully free of anything resembling school work.

Absolution

I love Confession! Or the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or Penance, or whatever you want to call it. Be it a psychological or transcendental thrill, nothing beats that feeling of being clean (even if, as is the case, you feel slightly grungy and sweaty), of being at peace with God.

I leave open the possibility of a mere psychological thrill, though I am a completely convinced Catholic, simply because it could be just that. God works through physical signs and sacraments not because He can't do better, but because He made material reality fundamentally good, and because we are material creatures and we are most easily touched through it. So the thrill may just be the psychological result of believe in an unseen God and a cleansing personal guilt... but if so then that's a side-effect of scrubbing off the black mark of sin that I'm willing to keep.

Not that the thrill's always there. The absolution is, but I don't always get that rush of weak-kneed awe when I leave confession. Sometimes it's just more of a "been there, done it, I'm clean... now what?"

There's no "now what?" this time around. 'Tis too difficult when you're simply bubbling with joy.

Is it Rude?

Nothing major to report regarding Valentine's Day. Or, rather, there's NOTHING to report. Sts. Cyril and Methodius had a very quiet feast day (since the restructuring of the liturgical calendar, and possibly longer, St. Valentine hasn't had a formal feast. Instead, we celebrate the Apostles to the Slavs, who with St. Benedict are the Patron Saints of Europe. Amazing guys, I might add. They wrote the Slavonic alphabet).

Yesterday's blues are long gone. Nothing a trip to Boston Pizza couldn't cure--to say nothing of a good night's sleep. I dressed all in black for school today. As clerically as possible, to put it another way. Looked rather sharp too, I might add, if not quite priestly. Call it a psychological protest of the celibate on a day devoted to romantic relationships.

On a totally different topic, I got to thinking about politeness today. To set the state, at the start of religion class, I was offered some of those cinnamon-flavoured heart-shaped candy. I declined. As the test was starting, I didn't explain further. I doubt it was a big issue one way or another.

However, perhaps demonstrating how little the test concerned me, I got to thinking. What should one do in such situations, when offered gum or candy (typically, that's what it would be). Do people find it rude when you refuse? Do they find you standoffish?

I wonder mainly because I generally refuse. Being diabetic has a lot to do with it, but I were to be perfectly honest, I'd say that it's more of a justification than a reason for refusing. It should be a reason--I certainly need to think more about watching my diet. But more often it's simply "I don't want any".

Now, obviously this isn't something I worry about much. But I had a spare five minutes today, so I did. Would the polite thing be to just accept the offer, and so build a bond of generosity/acceptance, and connect with the human network?

Or do people simply not care... as would be the case if it were me offering?

Yeah, I should be busier during Midterms week, I know...

Post-Birthday

So I've been twenty for 62 hours, 35 minutes (as of RIGHT now). I had thought I'd get to blogging about it sooner, if not on the night thereof, then yesterday... but life conspired to prevent that. Life and/or overall mood.

I'm in a rather blue/introspective mood these last couple days, and to judge by her email, Mom's evidence would say such was the same on Sunday. It's possible, therefore, that I will come across as giving a gloomier picture of my birthday than it actually seemed to me.

Certainly, it was a quiet day. I got up early, went to Mass at Holy Trinity at 9:00, and made it out to my aunt and uncle's a full two hours before my immediate family showed up. It's my uncle's 50th birthday this coming weekend, so he ended up getting royally roasted by my family in terms of birthday wishes. Possibly because I'm the favoured, dearly departed, son I was spared the razzing, and got useful presents that didn't poke fun at my age. Clothes, books, even a little LEGO.

After the extended presents-episode in which my uncle was given everything from a cane to a rocking chair, we had a game of Scrabble, where I managed to garner second place, my uncle overtaking me in the last lap with a stupidly obvious double-word placement of an "S" that gave him a handy 23 points or something. I guess he deserved it, though.

Supper was tacos (delicious), followed by cake (also delicious). My family took off right after that, having to be back in Olds at 8:00 (at it's a two and half hour drive, at least). I remained at my uncle's until about eleven. Most of the time was spent either playing with my 4 year old cousin or, after she was in bed, reading from my uncle's extensive library. In the last hour or so I managed to put the book down and engage my recently returned from lurking aunt in conversation, and finally headed back to the Seminary, laden with presents.

I managed to escape their driveway without backing into the ditch, and got back to Edmonton safely. It's the first time I've ever driven out there and back without SOMETHING happening... like getting lost (happened twice), getting stuck (happened once), nearly hitting a moose (THAT was scary...). Fun stuff-- really.

So that was my birthday. Possibly because I hardly saw any of them, my birthday barely registered on the seminary radar. Well, I shouldn't say that... In the half hour I was publicly visible before hightailing it to Mass, I think I got "Happy Birthday" from all the six seminarians I saw (which surprised me, since I didn't think I'd advertised my birthday that much... but I guess I did...). And there was the community-signed card. But, really, birthdays aren't a big thing in the seminarian. Probably has something to do with being a community of single guys.

As of Sunday, getting into bed, I didn't think I had that bad a birthday. I saw my family, had a good time. Sure, it wasn't exciting, and certainly didn't register high on anyone else's to-do list, but I've never expected much from my birthdays. I never had big parties as a kid, and I never really enjoyed them much. Birthdays have been something I've either shrugged off as inconsequential (getting older doesn't bother me) or a yearly dose of social blues. As birthdays went, this was a good one.

But getting online yesterday, I really was choked up by all the birthday wishes from people who I've never met in person-- people I might know from a picture or a voice-post, but that's it. In reality, I probably enjoyed it an awful lot more than I would in real life-- simply because I've never really been comfortable with being the centre of attention. It's a lot easier to deal with when you have time to compose a purely written responce. But still... it made me look at my "real" life a bit closer.

If my birthday is a matter of little consequence to others, and/or little remembered... well, it's my fault. I don't advertise such things, and I certainly present an aura of not really caring about such events. I've fully asked for it. What's more, even knowing this and experiencing a twinge of regret, I still wouldn't act differently-- which is probably why the online responce choked me so much. When you think you've set yourself and everyone around you up to ignore your birthday, drowning in it is that much more touching.

I mean, I expected one or two best wishes. Abby, certainly, as younger sister. Maybe a couple PMs or LJ posts... but that's it. Instead I get... I dunno... lots. It sounds the height of arrogance to say it, but the LJ friends page was MINE.

Couple all this post-birthday introspection with a very real, and unexpected, brush with mortality in the seminary community (our secretary's husband died very suddenly of a heart attack yesterday), and I'm in a really quiet and introspective mood. Valentine's Day may perk me up, though... we'll see. My dry sense of humour has a game afoot.

Parish Campaign

Last weekend I went home for the annual Parish Campaign for Newman Theological College and St. Joseph's Seminary. Consequently, I attended all three weekend Masses in Olds and Trochu, and spoke after Communion at all three, to drum up interest and support for the College/Seminary's campaign. Because Newman receives not a penny in government education dollars, we rely quite a bit on donations, tuition only going so far.

As far as my part of the campaign went, I think it went fairly well. I didn't have to time to linger after Mass in Trochu, since we had to hie back to Olds almost immediately for the 11:15 Mass, but judging by the comments after the Olds Masses, I think I spoke fairly well. I more or less ad-libbed, using the provided text as an outline, rather than reading it word for word. Of course, it's always better if your eyes are visible to the audience/congregation, rather than out sight glancing down at a paper.

Naturally, close to a decade of dramatic training doesn't hurt. I have a clear, loud voice and I know how to project into the microphone (an obscure talent reserved only for the most gifted, it sometimes seems...). Consensus in the parish was that I'll make a fine homilist-- which is good, but as my main point was that we need money (and since I'll be here for another 7.5 years, this impacts me not a little), I hope that point will stick with them.

It was interesting, riding to and from Trochu with Fr. Les and Deacon Jim. Interesting if only because it was the first time that it really hit home that, yes, I am well on my way to being a priest, and not just one of the ordinary laity anymore. Well, I am technically still a lay person in terms of what I'm canonically allowed to do, but as a seminarian I am a cleric, if an unordained one.

It was also an interesting and upclose look at Father. As a little kid, of course, Father is this mightly and awesome figure. It's not uncommon for a little kid to conflate the image of Father with the image of Jesus (though I think I avoided that one). I've known Fr. Les for nearly a decade, since he first came to Olds (probably the longest tenure in the same parish of any parish in this diocese), but there's always been this element of mystery.

I certainly still respect him and admire his priestly vocation, but I can see the human in him as well now. I can smile at some of his foibles. I can grimace at some of his liturgical oddities (perhaps more the parish's than his, if one thinks about it). And the more human he is--the more human any priest is--the more one can want to emulate them.

I've heard it said, more than once, that while proper philosophical and theological formation is extremely importance to a priest, it is his pastoral formation that is most important. A priest needs to be a catechist and a minister in his parish, yes. But he needs to be first and foremost a shepherd. The people of God will overlook many defects in their pastor if he gives his life in love for them. To quote St. Paul:

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, but have not love, I gain nothing." -- 1 Corinthians 13:1-3

If I, as a priest, have not love, I have nothing.

Scholastics

So, it's Recollection already... or silent retreat weekend, as it could also be known. Or, as I'm discovering, it's also been voted "Weekend Most Likely to Produce a Blog Post".

I think it's probably got something to do with the whole reflection aspect of Recollection. And, with me, anyway, introspection leads to realisations, leads to blogging.

Back within the month or so before the holidays, I had my follow-up meeting with Fr. Shayne (the seminary's rector) and the psychiatrist who did my evaluation (standard procedure for seminarians). There's no need or reason to go into all the sordid details of my life that were revealed-- save one. It came out in the testing, somehow, that I'm "very smart"... which Fr. Shayne warned me then could well mean that I'll get sent on to doctoral or liceniate studies, post-ordination.

Well, I liked the compliment about my intelligence as much as the next person, but to be perfectly honest... the thought of MORE than the eight years of study I've already got to work on did NOT appeal to me. It's part laziness, but it's also part humility. If not real humility, then some sort of faux humility. As a kid all I ever wanted to be was a parish priest... not a seminary formator, or a diocesan administrator... or anything.

The whole prospect of possibly going on to further studies lurked on the edge of my mind for a good month, maybe two, thereafter. I'll readily admit that it's foolish to have been thinking in 2006 about events that couldn't happen any sooner than 2014... but it was rather a foundation-shaking event. Though I didn't KNOW I was going to the seminary throughout high school, it was the default setting. Since I was about five, there was never another real expectation of what I'd do.

Well, I came back to Seminary at the start of January... and got my marks (a solid 4.0 average), and started classes again... and I started to get excited about classes. English, Sociology, and History were all gearing up to be spent on... my pastoral future, more or less. Not exactly, but something like that. Then there's religion (Intro to Christianity: easiest course I'll ever take, and rather useful in my field...) and Logic (the only course this semester towards my major). School was suddenly not looking so much like a bad thing, but an awesome thing.

Meanwhile, my reasonable side reasserted itself and told me that it was way too early to be worrying about being shipped off to doctoral studies, as I don't even have a Baccalaureate yet. The Archbishop was gone, so who knows what my bishop-to-be will decide to do with me? We don't even have a clue who he'll be, so far all I know, I won't get along with him, and he'll just keep me in the parish, or I will get along with him and he'll just keep me in the parish, or he'll ignore me, and I'll just stay in the parish. Basically, reason won out and reminded me that nothing's to be taken for granted, and one can still hope...

...even as my mind began to think that another stint at studies might be cool. Fr. Shayne's Rector's Conference a couple weeks ago didn't hurt that prospect either. It was a frank look at how stressful and overworked the modern priesthood is-- scary, but with God's grace, lovely.

Thank goodness my life isn't in my hands. I wouldn't know what's best for me.

Come, Now is the Time to Worship...

... Come, now is the time to give your heart.
Come, now is the time to worship.
Come, just as you are before your God.
Come.

One day every tongue will confess God,
One day every knee will bow.
But still the greatest treasure remains for those,
Who gladly choose you now.

*hums*

That song was a part of the background in the English video promoting the 49th Eucharistic Congress, taking place in Quebec City in June 2008. (An event I'd really like to go to, incidentally, since I'm quite certain that World Youth Day in Sydney is going to be way to expensive for me to consider the following month... and the pope'll be at both, probably.)

So it's stuck in my head. It's one my favourite religious songs (can I call it a hymn?) that is a "youth"ish song. Meaning it's not a classical hymn, but is common at church youth events. I would even go so far as to call it something of my vocational themesong. Not so much because of the words (though I could make something up there), as because of the memories. This one was big in the events and stuff in the year up to and into World Youth Day. It associate it with Eucharistic processions and praise and worship, and it is associated strongly with that surge of flame that envelopes my heart when I think about the actions I can perform once I'm a priest.

It's impossible to convey the longing I have to wear a stole and chasuble, to swing the thurible as a priest and not merely as a server, to lift high the host in the very act of consecration, to proclaim the words "this is my Body", acting in the very person of Christ. That brief moment of adoration, when the host is elevated, and has become the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, of Jesus Himself, is a moment in which the priest is a human monstrance (not monstrosity, monstrance. It's the name of the very ornate, usually god, sun-like thing used to expose the Blessed Sacrament for adoration). I want it so badly...

Erhem!

Yeah, I digress... basically, that song's one of the songs that triggers those feelings.

And yeah... that's about all I have to say.

Stranger

Normally, I don't feel too out of place at Concordia. It's a lot like Grade 2 was for me: a bit of a loner during "recess" (spare periods), a few friends (none particularly close), get along well with people, academically smart. All of which is true...

Today was interesting, though... Thanks to English being divvied up into groups for a presentation on Friday, I was a bit more social than usual, and possibly because it's the third full week back, and I'm used to the whole "spare periods" thing (first semester of my life I've had them), I was feeling the most "at home" I have at Concordia yet.

But culturally... I felt WAY out there...

The main incident occurred when I was broadsided with overhearing a conversation I would have heartily rather avoided. It went something like this:

Girl One: "Don't mind me, I'm having my period. At least I'm having it though. I was so relieved to take the test, and come up negative."

Girl Two: "Yeah, I was two weeks late... it was scary, but we didn't have to do anything."

I'm confidant the conversation continued for a while in this vein, but this is where I left that area and headed over towards Tegler, a taste of "blegh" in my mouth.

Now, I'm well aware that I'm a true-blue anti-abortionist, pro-abstinence-until-marriage. I'm not out to defend myself so much as to reflect on just how deeply this runs in me. It wasn't the topics of the conversation that got me (though they have their reasons why they could've), so much as the casualness of it. It was so... routine...

Concordia's a pretty Christian place. It should be, as a Lutheran college with a considerable religious emphasis. Obviously, we're not talking a conservative Catholic institution, but still... I don't think I realised before how "one in a million" I am not. And I don't mean that in a self-pleasing, egoistic sort of way, but in an almost accurate statistical way. Probably it's more like "one in five thousand" or something... but still... we're a rare, rare breed, people like me.

Seminary never felt more like home, or more dear, than this afternoon when I got back.

Silence is Golden

Further to my TV update of yesterday... I have JUST come (and I mean within the last 100 seconds just) from three straight hours of TV. For someone who grew up never watching anything other than movies (the old rabbit ears weren't that useful), three hours of commercials has me twitching like a rabbit. I'm ready to shoot somebody...

Mind you, instead of just seeing on Stargate episode, I managed to catch two-- as well as a Supernatural episode (Sarah, if you're reading: you have an interesting obsession here... well-produced, but somewhere out of left field...).

I really need to get more homework or something. This is fine for a day or two now (other than the horrid side-effects-twitching-itis), but this could be dangerous if it ever gets to be habit.

Another Day, Another Addiction

By now I can confidantly say I'm a major Stargate fan. Haven't seen enough episodes or dug up anything online to qualify me as an expert, but that doesn't stop me being a fan. Didn't stop me with Star Trek either.

This is in the span of about five months, or not even. My addiction has been fed, of course, by having a half dozen more expert Stargate fans in-house, as well as Space Channel having a Stargate episode every weekday night, right when I can watch it.

This is all very well and good. It may even be old news, if you stalk me online. What is breaking news however is that after Stargate yesterday I saw my first episode of Dr. Who.

No idea if it was the newest episode or some rerun (though of the current doctor... thanks to LEGO, I know enough to know that), but I was hooked. The eerie theme, the Britishness, the polish of the show, the writing... it fascinated me. Fortunately it's only on CBC once a week... but I fear I may be hooked, yet again.

Non Habemus Archiepiscopum

"We Have No Archbishop"

And haven't for a month, for that matter. On December 16th, Archbishop Thomas Collins made public his very recent acceptance of Rome's request to move him to Toronto, where Archbishop Aloysius Cardinal Ambrozic officially retired, more than a year after turning 75.

Since then, Archbishop Collins has been Archbishop-Elect of Toronto, and Administrator of the Archdiocese of Edmonton-- a title he will soon drop-- and the Archdiocese of Edmonton has been sede vacante, a "vacant see".

This is the first time in the Archdiocese's history that we have been sede vacante without knowing who the new Archbishop will be. Naturally, this means that the entire Diocese (and possibly then some) have been speculating-- and the seminary as much or more than most. But that is not the point here...

Tonight was the farewell event for Archbishop Collins from Newman Theological College-- the college down the hallway from the Seminary, and where I'll study for my Master of Divinity Degree in a few years. It's also celebrating the occasion of the Archbishop's 60th birthday. And it's the third farewell I've attended in the past eight days.

A week ago, St. Joseph's Seminary held a private farewell dinner for the Archbishop: just him and us. On Sunday, the Archdiocese held a rather formal affair at the Basilica. Formal in the sense of somewhat dressed up, and by invitation only. I've attended all three.

It's starting to slowly sink in that the Archbishop is leaving. It's a measure of the man that there has been so much outpouring of love and regret over his departure. He will be sorely missed. He is a great man: kind, intelligent, witty, personal. He was close to being the "perfect bishop". Insofar as a human can be, he was.

Which, I guess, is why the Holy Father is sending him to Toronto. God knows, I assure you, that Toronto needs someone like him. It's a huge diocese, more than a million Catholics, nearly eight hundred priests (counting the religious orders), and because of its size and Toronto's prominence in Canada, possibly the most "important" diocese in the country. If the Archbishop is not named Cardinal in the next few years, the entire seminary will be much surprised.

And Toronto, being the "centre of the universe" for Canada, makes its prelate an important figure in Canadian life as well. As the foremost Catholic figure in Canada (well, we have two other Cardinals, but they aren't from Toronto), he's going to bear a lot of the heat from left-wingers who had a grudge against the Church. Apparently he has a bodyguard chauffeur and a fortress-like security system in the rectory-- and gets death threats (or will).

The poor Archbishop seems a little overwhelmed by all this, and one can't blame him. But the Holy Father has asked him to serve, and he has said yes. It's a powerful witness to the importance of obedience in the Church-- particularly for us seminarians who, as priests, may someday be asked to serve in a parish we absolutely do NOT want to go to.

When I first heard the news, the day I headed back home for Christmas, I took it rather poorly. I'm afraid I've grown rather attached to His Grace. I've come to know him well over the last few years, especially since being in Seminary, having seen him on a nearly fortnightly basis; but I knew him earlier as well. I knew him from serving at Confirmations (including my own), from the parish mission he gave us last February, from various youth events up to Edmonton where he was present, from seeing him briefly in Köln for World Youth Day. Even before I entered the Seminary, I knew him fairly well, and he knew me by name. And he's only, as I said, sixty. Assuming he has a normal and healthy life, he should have been here long enough to ordain me and assign me my first couple parishes.

It's hard on a diocese, moving the bishop, and it's not really the intended norm. A bishop is supposed, ideally, to be father of his flock for life, or at least until retirement at age 75 (and they usually retire within their diocese). And this was the norm in western Canada for a generation. Archbishop McNeil, Archbishop Collins' predecessor, was Bishop of Edmonton for twenty years, and is still around and kicking-- a near permanent fixture on the Archdiocesan scene.

It's hard to lose such a good man (and a Tolkien fan, even... an English major, with a complete OED), but we cannot begrudge him-- for he is serving as God and church direct. But we can pray for him, and will.

"God of Wonders Beyond Our Galaxy"

"...You are holy, holy. The Universe declares Your majesty. You are Holy, Holy. Lord of Heaven and Earth."

I am in a mood I like to think of as a post-sacramental high. It's that awesome rush of praise and thanksgiving that wells up after Mass and receiving the Eucharist, or after Reconciliation. It's a grace, and so doesn't exactly show up after every reception of the sacraments, but when it does, nothing compares!

Let it never be said that a priest has no passion! No sex, yes. No partner, yes. But passion? Oh yes!

This afternoon was Archbishop Thomas Collins' farewell from the Archdiocese, downtown at the basilica. Somehow, for reasons unknown to me, I got one of the four invitations handed out to the seminarians, and so got to attend. Mostly, it was an awful lot of thanking the Archbishop for his years of service, and a chance for him to say goodbye to a lot of people... but it touched on the joy of being a priest, particularly in His Grace's own farewell message.

And I can see it in so many of the priests around me! In Fr. Stephen, at church tonight, in Frs. Shayne, Marco, Stephen, Augusto, and Eric here at the Seminary. In Fr. Les back home. In pretty much all the priests I've known much in my short life. And I can feel the same or a similar passion burning in me to become a priest. If a priest does not have passion for his priesthood, something is horribly wrong!

And tonight is one of those nights when you can FEEL the passion consuming you. From my head to my toe, I want to be a priest. I want to be ordained, I want to wear the collar, I want to preach the Gospel. And oh, oh! how I want to celebrate Mass! My body aches to take the bread and wine, to say the words of Our Lord, to genuflect in awe at the miracle God has worked through me. I yearn with my whole being to rise, and beckon the people of God in soaring notes to "Proclaim the Mystery of Faith!"

"Christ has died. Christ is Risen. Christ will come again!"

In the words of the Psalmist:

"O God, you are my God, for You I long,
For You my soul is thirsting,
My body pines for You,
Like a dry, weary land without water,
So I gaze on You in the santuary,
To see Your strength and Your glory."

I cannot even attempt to describe this feeling of surety, love, and consuming desire. The image of flames-- crackling, burning, roaring, devouring, shining in the darkness, soaring up to Heaven-- it's the closest description one can have of how I feel for my vocation right now.

God is good. God is so good, to give me this fiery pull towards the altar. It's not as if it's been one of those weekends I've been particularly holy. If anything, I've been morosely contemplating my lack of spiritual growth, and I've been considering a lot the reality of relationships, of having girlfriends, and it's been a bit of a nostalgic moment on that front.

But no more!

There is definitely a bittersweet ache in my heart, looking at couples, thinking of people in love, getting married. There's definitely a part of me, as a normal human being, that desires this the normal human desire.

But it pales in comparison to the awesome vocation I feel God is calling me towards. The sweet chirping of the marriage sparrow has nothing on the soaring grandeur of the priestly feeling. At least, such is the feeling for me.

I cannot, of course, know that I'm called to be a priest until that moment at last comes when the bishop lays his hands on my head and there's no going back... but for now, for now I cannot say I forsee any other end. If there is a life for me other than that as a priest, God is keeping it hidden, and meanwhile is providing me with a burning flame to keep me where I need to be at the moment: here in the Seminary.

Alleluia!!!!

Religions

One thing I've noticed in the past half year or so of trawling through various people's blogs (mainly Downers), is that people like to refer to religion as if it were a dirty word. Religions cause wars, religions are bad. Faith is good, but religion is bad.

Now, there may be some mentalities wherein religion, period, is bad. But I quote the Dictionary's definition of religion:

religion n. 1 the belief in a superhuman controlling power, esp. in a personal God or gods entitled to obedience and worship. 2 the expression of this in worship. 3 a particular system of faith and worship. 4 life under monastic vows (the way of religion). 5 a thing that one is strongly devoted to (football is their religion)

What people MEAN when they are saying religion is bad is that religionous organisation is bad. They aren't saying that belief in God is bad (I hope not anyway, because some of them claim to belief in Him). And I don't think they're saying that a codified system of belief is bad. No, they just don't like set structures.

You know what, people: that's what a faith entails. If you believe in God, and in acknowledging His presence in some way or another, then you believe there should be worship, prayer, a moral code, or something. But as soon as you feel that that such things should exist, you will necessarily have SYSTEMS of doing these things, because there will always be a BEST way of doing these things, meaning there will be rules.

Now, if you don't believe in God, or you don't believe that God needs or wants any sort of acknowledgement from creation, then you're okay. But these people don't seem to oppose acknowledging God. Well, if people are going to acknowledge God, there are going to be better ways about doing it, and that will entail rules. Furthermore, an awful lot of people believe that there are certain divinely ordained authorities or rules to dictate HOW to do that. And if you are willing to let people believe as they will, then you are allowing people to believe that-- and to DO that.

My point: religion is not something you can do away with if you claim to be tolerant of people's faiths. Religion is not seperable from faith. Nor is it a dirty word, a perversion of a pure "faith".

I would use governments as an analogy. There are a lot of governments out there that have given it a bad name, and there are a lot of governments out there that have lost or forgotten why they rule and what they rule for... but does that mean we should abolish governments? Not too many people seriously think so. What it means is that governments need reform.

Similarly, religions don't need to be abolished. They need to be cleaned up. Getting rid of a system of faith will not leave faith intact. So if you're going to respect faith, then you have to respect religion. They come hand in hand.

Religion is not a dirty word.

On the Brink of... Fanfiction?

You know I'm not really back to school proper yet by all the time I have to spend blogging. And likely enough, my choice of topic will clue you in even more.

I've been re-reading Harry Potter lately. Started over the holidays, due to a lack of other reading on hand that engaged me, and found myself pleasantly in the right mood to take them up again. It's time #3 for the new book, I think, but I've lost count on all the others. That they still entertain is a good sign-- it means I haven't overdone them yet.

Anyway, there's a whole plethora of topics I could get into (and might, if this blogging trend keeps up), but tonight I stray dangerously close to fanfiction in my ramblings.

To set the scene, I'm halfway through The Goblet of Fire right now, and I've been cogitating for a book and a half about how I really don't like Ron and Hermione getting set up, as eventually happens in Book Six.

I guess it's too late to give spoiler warnings... But anyone who's read the books at all knew it was coming, and there's still Book Seven to get rid of it. Hopefully.

I'm not sure exactly WHY I don't like Hermione and Ron as a couple. Partly, I think, it stems from the fact that Ron reminds me a LOT of my next-oldest brother, even a bit in looks (not the red hair, though). And why should that bug me?

This will sound rather peculiar, or silly, but my personal guess is that Hermione is the sort of girl that I would fancy-- possibly because there's some common ground. I'm not quite so keen on school as Hermione, but I definitely come close in terms of marks. It's only an easy first semester done thus far, but it's a straight 4.0 under the belt thus far. I'm also not much of a rule-breaker; another attractive Hermione quality.

Definitely not off on the House-Elf thing, but I worked in a library for two and a half years, and still liked the place at the end. But I digress; I'm supposed to be explaining why I don't like Ron and Hermione as a couple. Could it come down to plain old Freudian sibling jealousy? Am I irked because I'm projecting my brother's image onto Ron and projecting my ideal girlfriend image onto Hermione, and feeling shafted or something?

The sad thing is... I'm not sure it's as far out there as it sounds. Could be some truth to it.

Anyway, looking at Ron and Hermione through more objective lens, I'm still rather puzzled as to why Rowling would put them together. I can sort of see why Ron would want Hermione. But why Hermione feels the same way? Again, I'm suspicious of my motives here, but Ron is a bit of an insensitive clod.

Then there's the matter of common interests. I can't think of a lot... Sure, they're both in Gryffindor, and they're both Harry's very close friends, and going to help him with that whole "Kill Voldemort" thing... but hmmm...

See, I'm trying to picture a married Ron and Hermione, and I can't quite do it. Remove Harry, and what do these two have in common? Hermione's goals and dreams mean little to Ron. House-elfs? Muggle-wizard relations? New books in the family library? No... not seeing it. And it cuts back the other way too. Actually, other than the Chuddley Cannons, I'm having a hard time at the moment thinking of anything that would get Ron excited... but anything Ron-ish seeming doesn't generally smack of Hermione, does it?

She'd be better off with Harry.

The first time I thought that, I shrugged it off. I think that back around Book Five, when Cho was in picture. I didn't really care that much for Cho, figuring Harry simply infatuated, but I was willing to let it pass. Harry needed something to do while he waited for Ginny to grow up, anyway. I was quite fine with them eventually getting together... though when they did in Book Six, I wasn't so sure that I like it.

So... Harry and Hermione?

I'm having a tough time thinking of a psychological subtext for this one. I can't honestly say I identify with Harry that much. I'm sympathetic, yes, and I like him... but I don't project myself onto him, except maybe insofar as one identifies most with the main character, or is intended to.

To be honest, I'm not sure where this leaves Ron, and no matter how I may like him least of the trio, for artistic purposes one can't just cut him out of the picture by having his best friend steal his girlfriend. But what if Ron is the major good guy character who dies in Book Seven? To be honest, I'm not even sure that one does die... it just seems like a logical extension of the last couple books. SOMEONE has to die other than Voldemort.

I am amused to no end by myself here. This is definitely the closest to wanting to write fanfiction I've ever come. Harry Potter sits at just about the right level of fan intensity to prompt such an urge. It's not up with Tolkien (nothing is), so revered that nothing is questioned, but all is taken as dogma. On the other hand, it's intense enough that the urge is there. It's not like Narnia, where yes, I would not have brought the children back to Our World, personally, but I really don't care, it worked for the series.

Possibly Star Trek could compete... but it's so replete with alternate universes already that I need only pick one, and we're good to go. As for Star Wars, I'd just like to take a mass action on the Prequels, and wipe it all out, except for Qui-gon Jinn, Darth Maul, and Obi-wan... basically leaving us with a cool lightsabre duel and a few lines of dialogue.

One thing is certain: I will be reading Book Seven with great interest indeed.

Thoughts Provoked

So, I've been back home for 24 hours, and I'm supposed to on silent retreat. And this is the second silent retreat, at least, that I've blogged during. I feel rather guilty, though I'm technically silent (even my speakers are off), but that's an issue for me and my spiritual director. And, since my Instant Messangers are logged out, I'm not really talking to anyone. It's more like journal writing, or diary writing... or blogging.

Anyway, the reason that I am writing in possible contravention of the silence of the retreat is to preserve some of the awesome thoughts that were buzzing around my mind tonight, as our speaker, Bishop Fred Henry of Calgary, spoke.

Bishop Henry is an amazing man. Most Canadians, if they know him, know him as the really outspoken Catholic bishop out in Alberta-- and he's certainly butted heads with the press on many, many occasions, all of which I call recall having been for good reason. He's a really nice, and almost soft-spoken man in person, though.

Anyway, to the talk....

The first main idea that His Excellency spoke on was about identity, and how in the olden days (meaning when he was younger) people identified with their jobs. People not only got their earnings from being a teacher, or doctor, or bus driver, or priest, or whatnot; they took a lot of their identity from the institution they belonged to, from the name they bore as an employee. It was a source of strength and self-knowledge.

This was all just a prelude to talking about priests and their specific vocations and hardships, but in continuing to talk about society in general, he noted that this is no longer the case. As the world becomes globalised, and as time passes, we no longer really take our identity from being teachers or doctors or bus drivers. We become just mere consumers.

This struck some sort of a cord with me, and it seemed to apply in some way to the online community. I know a lot about WHO people are, but I don't know WHAT they are. I know what most people's jobs are, or for those who are students, what they aspire to-- if they do. But I don't know what they see themselves as, what their identities are. Not for the most part, anyway.

Some people may argue that we don't need such labels, that WHAT we are is simply an adjunct of WHO we are. I'm not sure if I disagree or not. Bishop Henry said that in the past we took a large part of our identity from the institutions we worked with: the schools, the churches, the businesses. We had somewhere we belonged.

Where do my online contacts belong? I'm really not sure. The only group I associate them with is the Barrow-Downs. Perhaps it is a tribute to the remarkable power of Tolkien's works and the personalities on that site that it has become a major facet of our identities. Quite likely, this is why I personally was distraught at Davem's banishment. It wasn't just being kicked out of a website. It was being kicked out a very identifiable community. And if you change a community's makeup, you change the identity of the people who draw on it.

Other than Barrow-Downers, what ARE these people I think I know?

I know that Lal is a bureaucrat... but I really don't identify her with that. I know that Sarah is a librarian... and she gets some of her identity from there, but not particularly strongly. I know that Jay is a student, aiming for Oxford... and I definitely identify him with Oxford. Perhaps that's the answer to his question of why HE got in, specifically. He belongs.

That's where this whole identity question is going for me: where do people belong? I think I know these people's personalities well... but I must admit that I'm rather clueless as to where they belong. What do they identify themselves with?

Looking at myself, I think the results speak for themselves in saying that I identify myself with the Catholic Church, specifically as a priest-to-be and current seminarian. I think myself justified in this opinion simply by how people refer to me. If anything Catholic or related comes up, I am an instant connection. I am identified with the Catholic Church.

That is an awesome feeling. I belong there!!!

Wow, I've written a lot already... but moving on...

The next big thought that Bishop Henry's talk set off was on the downright and complete oddity of Christians (and priests as examples of Christians). If you really step back and think about it, we are really odd ducks. He went on to list three areas, not coincidentally the same as the three religious vows.

Poverty: It isn't the goal of Christians to be poor, but it is not the goal of Christians to accumulate possessions either. For priests in particular, even if you don't take the Vow of Poverty (which Diocesan priests, as I will be, don't), you still adhere to the ideal poverty: if you have it, enjoy it; if you don't, IT DOESN'T MATTER. If you did have it, and it's gone, it doesn't matter. If you'd like it, and you don't have it, it doesn't matter. No material possessions --none-- matter.

Obedience: It's pretty much just the clergy and religious orders that have to take VOWS of obedience among the Christian people... but obedience is built into Christianity. "Not my will, but Yours be done". As the Bishop said, "who wants to be obedient? It's a lot better to be top dog". And I think a lot of Christians have lost this value. I am speaking of the Protestants, and in doing so I'm likely controversial, but I think it true. The Protestant mindset goes back to QUESTIONING, specifically the questioning of authority. And I don't deny that there was some serious garbage going on in the Church back in the 1300s on through to the 1600s that needed some serious fixing. The issue is when the Protestants decided that rather than trusting God to fix the Church, doing their part through prayer, urging, pleading --and loyalty!--; they decided to take matters into their own hands. My apologies to those who have made it this far into the entry, since I don't want to alienate you after all that hard work, but I think I'm on to something. I don't think the Protestants deny the important of obedience, I just think that they've messed up.

Anyway, moving on to the third field and religious vow. Chastity.

For a priest --for me--, this means celibacy: complete sexual abstince, for life. However, this is not so much the unusual in Christianity as it is the unmarried norm. No matter how liberal you get in your interpretation of Christianity, if you remain even halfways orthodox, you have to admit that sex is only intended for within marriage. And even then, there are certain rules (a bit more explicit, if Catholic). And, of the three vows, this one is truly the one that makes us odd ducks from today's society's point of view. Who wants this? Look at it from a modern secular humanist's point of view:

"What do you mean I can only have sex in marriage? I'm not hurting anyone; we're both having a good time! What do you mean I can't have sex with my fiancée before marriage? Come on! We'll be married in a month anyway... What do you mean I have to be faithful? Is one or two itsy-bitsy little affairs going to hurt that much? What if she never knows about it? What about gay guys? Do they count? I mean, really, it's not like it's the same as with her, so why get so tied in a knot about it? Well, can't we have a threesome at least? I mean, I'd still be having sex with my wife, even if there's anyother sexy party involved. Sheesh!!! Can't I at least masturbate or have oral sex?"

The answer from the Church: No. "NO" to all those suggestions, and "NO" to contraceptives. And it's non-negotiable.

As I said, we are odd ducks, and no mistake. From the world's point of view, we are raving lunatics.

The final idea that Bishop Henry's talk got my mind onto was somewhat weaker in its intensity, or seemed so, possibly because it came on the heels of the whole 'odd ducks' bit. But it's an interesting topic anyway, at least for me.

The topic is "detachment", and how a priest NEEDS to be detached. We (I say this with forward-looking expectations) need to able to remove ourselves from immediate, first-person concern. And this is not to make ourselves insensitive, said the Bishop, but to make us feel others' pain more deeply. And we will do so because we won't be taking sides; our judgement won't be clouded by deep personal involvement.

Note, of course, that the Bishop was not saying that we need to become reclusive zombies. Not at all! Rather, the Bishop was saying that we need to allow ourselves to not be tied down in our attachment to any particular person or place. We need, in our love for God and His people, to be able and willing to go wherever God needs, to serve however He wishes, and to not take upon ourselves the burdens that are not ours to carry.

But it is, as he said, a double-edged sword, for it can be lonely.

And, now that I get to re-thinking about this, a part of me is saying "YES!!! NOW I GET IT!!!" I have always been somewhat detached. I've never had a "best friend". Other than family, I cannot honestly say I have people who will miss me years after I'm gone. My funeral will be packed yes, but ten years later people won't say "I miss Michael sooo much!", but rather "I remember him, he was a nice guy". I can even say that the one online person who would (I think) truly miss me if gone is... well, family now. The rest of you would all have good memories, I think, and would mourn me, I hope, but you wouldn't ache ten years later to have a chat.

And you know what? It IS lonely. It is very lonely at times. There is no joking about that.

But it all makes sense now!!! It is such an awesome feeling, knowing that there is a reason, knowing that not only is it another cross to bear, but that it is a cross that I can see results to! Suffering, to a Christian, is never as difficult if one knows why than when one doesn't. And alleluia, I know why!!!

Okay, that has got to be my longest blog post yet. I could honestly not care less if anyone ever reads it (though I think the following debate could be highly amusing), I'm in such a good mood about it. I've remembered more than I expected to of His Excellency's talk, and looking at it in hindsight, I got a lot more out of it than I thought.