I had an interesting dream last night--interesting if only because I remembered it, but interesting for quite a bit more than that, really.
I started by dreaming that I was going in to school--presumably today. Not that Concordia ended up looking anything like it does. One small corner resembled the basement in my parish church, before they renovated, but even there the resemblance was localised and fleeting. I ran into a few people from school: Phil, Sierra, Nolan; before I headed off doing something else, and Concordia shifted from being school.
I was then driving back to the same place, but it was (as I said) no longer Concordia, but apparently some sort of major event... maybe a convention or tournament. The building was still the same, except that now it was a giant parking facility, with many floors, and I was carefully trying to find a parking spot. I ended up parking way off in the annex, and then walking through the rain to whatever was going on.
For whatever reason, I lad to get something from my car after that, and since it was now sunny outside, I took the long way around with a couple of girls in ethnic garb that looked Polish. We had a discussion on the way about how our made-up world (and we knew we were both in it and that it was fictional) had a made-up Poland and Czechoslovakia and other eastern European countries, but no western ones, like France or Germany. This was occurring as we walked through a park/campgroundlike area that was surrounded by mountains. It was high summer and GORGEOUS.
Well, we hadn't made it to the car when things shifted again. I made a detour through a gazebo-looking building in the middle of the park that was actually a bar full of guntoting gansters, and emerged to discover that I was actually at a Bones Tournament, and that my team was playing as soon as I returned from the car with whatever item I was after.
I finally reached my car, which was parked in what was essentially an underground drive-in movie theatre. I say that because it was a parking lot, in a cave, with a screen playing movies on it. Somehow, I got distracted and started watching the movie, and I was reminded of my history. Apparently I'd lost my girlfriend recently after an argument, and I was quite melancholic.
Amusing as that was, I was soon jolted back to reality when I realised I was fifteen minutes late for my first game (which, interestingly, took place at 11:10, the time of my first class in real life), and since there was no way I could walk the enormous distance back in time to play, I decided to sit around near the car-cave and leave later in time for my second set (again, timed to match my class schedule). I went over to a falling-down log cabin near a clear-cut forest littered with fallen wood, where I had a run-in with my former girlfriend and some guy. I'm not sure if he was supposed to be my brother, her brother, or some random friend, but in real life he's another seminarian's brother, and I've met him about once. In the dream he had the function of trying to get us to hook up again.
Feeling melancholy, I went back to the car-cave theatre, where for whatever reason, the direction the movie screen was facing had flipped around, and saw my former girlfriend standing there watching what I thinking was a sappy movie, looking quite sad. At this point I came up behind her, hugged her, and we apparently made up.
At this point, we both realised we were late for our games, and we decided to forget it all, since we didn't really care about the tournament, and it was too late to do anything about it. We got in my car, but I don't think we were driving anywhere.
The perspective now shifted slightly, as two previously-unseen secondary characters (resembling Timon and Pumbaa in camaraderie) started talking, and I was looking at them cut-and-paste a picture together. I have no idea what that was about, but this is when it clued in to me that I was a seminarian, and having a girlfriend was NOT going to work with that... but I couldn't just dump her, having just got back together, especially since I really, really loved her.
Well, that was when Arvo Pärt's Berlinger Messe started tolling out of my alarm clock, waking me up. And let me tell you, I have never been so relieved as finding that I didn't actually have a girlfriend I needed either to dump or dump the seminary for.
I must say that it really had me thinking for most of meditation what, if anything, this dream means. I certainly don't take it as a sign of God's intentions, but it stems from my subconscious... and where did my subconscious get that from? Why is this figuring into my dream landscape?
Also really odd is the fact that my "girlfriend" is actually a classmate at school, but not someone I can really claim to know. Well enough to know her name, and say hello in the halls, but that's about it. It'll be odd if I run into her at Concordia this afternoon.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Thursday, October 04, 2007
With Great Power comes Great Responsibility
So, it had been my hope never again to be involved in a major online dispute. The Davem episode gave me more than enough to satisfy that longing, and I've tangled as a moderator before on Classic-Castle with dealing with upset members. It seemed reasonable to me that, given I'm unlikely to ever have time for internet forums like I once did, and given my interest in those already around is fading, that I would have no real opportunity for it, since one does not have moderation/discussion issues when communicating with friends.
Then along came Facebook and the Philosophy Club's Group and forums.
I can't deny that discussion was getting way off of Philosophical topics, nor that the manner the discussions were being done were failing to conform to any normal concept of "reasoning", which is what Philosophy is supposed to be about... however...
Marking posts as irrelevant, deleting posts, and deleting whole topics is NOT a successful way of dealing with it; not if you actually want to have a lively forum. Already, since the binge-deleting started, fresh posts have dropped off, as everyone with any sense has stepped back and abandoned posting, thinking there's no point.
Half the issue here... or more than half... is that I'm the only Admin who has experience moderating an online forum, and I get the feeling that power has gone right to some people's heads. I agree with what they're trying to accomplish! God knows I have nothing but loathing and derision in my heart of hearts for those who claim to be philosophising when really, all they are doing is rambling on with emotions and ad hominem arguments. But still! If you don't want the forum to die, you have to respond with TACT.
Authority without tact is only going to antagonise people and drive them away. Far from reforming the forums, it will kill them. Which is worse: a dead forum or one that no longer has anything on topic? Frankly, I think it's a lose-lose situation.
So here I am, again stuck in the middle of an internet furor. The worst of it is that I really, really don't feel qualified to play peacemaker. I had a stupid incident in class on Wednesday where I acted like an arrogant know-it-all, and in reflection I feel like an utterly insensitive pedant, and not at all qualified to act as the conscience of an irritated group of powerful and smart admins.
God help us all!
Then along came Facebook and the Philosophy Club's Group and forums.
I can't deny that discussion was getting way off of Philosophical topics, nor that the manner the discussions were being done were failing to conform to any normal concept of "reasoning", which is what Philosophy is supposed to be about... however...
Marking posts as irrelevant, deleting posts, and deleting whole topics is NOT a successful way of dealing with it; not if you actually want to have a lively forum. Already, since the binge-deleting started, fresh posts have dropped off, as everyone with any sense has stepped back and abandoned posting, thinking there's no point.
Half the issue here... or more than half... is that I'm the only Admin who has experience moderating an online forum, and I get the feeling that power has gone right to some people's heads. I agree with what they're trying to accomplish! God knows I have nothing but loathing and derision in my heart of hearts for those who claim to be philosophising when really, all they are doing is rambling on with emotions and ad hominem arguments. But still! If you don't want the forum to die, you have to respond with TACT.
Authority without tact is only going to antagonise people and drive them away. Far from reforming the forums, it will kill them. Which is worse: a dead forum or one that no longer has anything on topic? Frankly, I think it's a lose-lose situation.
So here I am, again stuck in the middle of an internet furor. The worst of it is that I really, really don't feel qualified to play peacemaker. I had a stupid incident in class on Wednesday where I acted like an arrogant know-it-all, and in reflection I feel like an utterly insensitive pedant, and not at all qualified to act as the conscience of an irritated group of powerful and smart admins.
God help us all!
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Internet Philosophy
Well, it feels like ages since I last posted here, but "ages" is really just "eight days", during which the internet was down at the seminary for about five, which made it feel like ages.
The internet being down wasn't the worst of it. For whatever reason, the internet being down had an unforeseen consequence for my computer, insofar as it seemed to go from being junk to being worse junk. I was THIS close to going out and buying a laptop on the spur of the moment, and was saved only because Friday night and Saturday was a silent Recollection, and I didn't feel justified in disappearing during it, and the fact that I don't really have the bank funds to justify it. Still, if the return of the internet on Monday hadn't somehow magically rectified whatever the problem was, I would probably have a new computer by now.
Other than the woes of the internet, life has been good. The Peripatetics, Concordia's brand new (and first) Philosophy Club, of which I am Recording Officer, had its first general meeting on Monday night, and it rocked. We had a twenty-two person turnout, more than expected, and the room was full. We had lively, balanced, engaged discussion (on why prostitution is immoral, to which only one person really disagreed about the basic assumption that it IS immoral--we just didn't all agree why), and wrapped up with lots of energy and excitement for the next installment, on Monday the 15th.
It looks like this is going to be an awesome year, at least as far as Concordia and Philosophy Club is concerned. If the meeting is any indication, Monday nights are going to be a blast, and we have special events cooking that are awesome. And then there's the Facebook group, which is halfway to wacko, but is also halfway to beating the Barrow-Downs as my most engaged-in forum.
Seminary life is also good, but in less obviously spectacular ways. I really can't define why or how except to say that I love living here, and I'm really glad to be back.
Hmm... I had all kinds of ideas while the internet was down for my usual introspective musings, but they aren't coming to me, and may be best left for another post anyway.
The internet being down wasn't the worst of it. For whatever reason, the internet being down had an unforeseen consequence for my computer, insofar as it seemed to go from being junk to being worse junk. I was THIS close to going out and buying a laptop on the spur of the moment, and was saved only because Friday night and Saturday was a silent Recollection, and I didn't feel justified in disappearing during it, and the fact that I don't really have the bank funds to justify it. Still, if the return of the internet on Monday hadn't somehow magically rectified whatever the problem was, I would probably have a new computer by now.
Other than the woes of the internet, life has been good. The Peripatetics, Concordia's brand new (and first) Philosophy Club, of which I am Recording Officer, had its first general meeting on Monday night, and it rocked. We had a twenty-two person turnout, more than expected, and the room was full. We had lively, balanced, engaged discussion (on why prostitution is immoral, to which only one person really disagreed about the basic assumption that it IS immoral--we just didn't all agree why), and wrapped up with lots of energy and excitement for the next installment, on Monday the 15th.
It looks like this is going to be an awesome year, at least as far as Concordia and Philosophy Club is concerned. If the meeting is any indication, Monday nights are going to be a blast, and we have special events cooking that are awesome. And then there's the Facebook group, which is halfway to wacko, but is also halfway to beating the Barrow-Downs as my most engaged-in forum.
Seminary life is also good, but in less obviously spectacular ways. I really can't define why or how except to say that I love living here, and I'm really glad to be back.
Hmm... I had all kinds of ideas while the internet was down for my usual introspective musings, but they aren't coming to me, and may be best left for another post anyway.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Ordination
Last night the seminary community commuted en masse to St. Thomas More parish for the ordination to the diaconate of one of our own. Victor Botari of the Archdiocese of Edmonton was ordained a transitional deacon in expectation of his ordination to the priesthood in about a year's time. It was my seventh ordination attended, my second diaconal one, and the first ordination in Edmonton since receiving our new Archbishop.
It was a beautiful service, and as ordinations tend to do for me, I came away hungrier than usual for my own ordinations. The music was excellent, the atmosphere serene, and the food afterwards delicious.
For some reason, six years looks incredibly longer than usual at the moment, that being how long about until my diaconal ordination. Really, it's kind of silly, given that I have my whole life to serve as an ordained minister--why should I feel the need to rush it? But I do want to rush it. Badly.
It was a beautiful service, and as ordinations tend to do for me, I came away hungrier than usual for my own ordinations. The music was excellent, the atmosphere serene, and the food afterwards delicious.
For some reason, six years looks incredibly longer than usual at the moment, that being how long about until my diaconal ordination. Really, it's kind of silly, given that I have my whole life to serve as an ordained minister--why should I feel the need to rush it? But I do want to rush it. Badly.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Music
I love being able to sing. The past few weeks I've experienced daily the agony of not being able to and the joy of doing so. Morning Prayer (& Mass) around 7:30 has been horrible for me. I've had phlegm in my throat, I've found higher notes impossible to hit, and I don't have any volume. It's almost a spiritual desolation not being able to sing.
But then Evening Prayer (& Mass) comes along, as today, and my voice hits all the notes, and the joy of singing is inexpressible.
Music plays a pretty large role in my life, I've noticed, and not just because I get it daily in the Liturgy of the Hours and Mass. Putting on a CD or the radio in my room or car when I'm alone is natural going on the Internet, and I have a growing tendency to hum or sing (at varying volumes) when I'm walking alone, either in the hallways here or to and fro at Concordia. Most of these hummed/sung tunes tend to be religious in nature, typically something from Mass or prayer that morning, and they connect me in an interesting way to my faith throughout the day, as well as generally leaving me in a cheerier mood.
I've also noticed that my vocational mood will shift depending on the type of song in my head, though whether as a result or a cause thereof I do not know. Classic pieces, Latin chants, and hymns--not surprisingly--tend to boost my priestly yearnings, while more secular songs (often, but not always, Country) tend to put me into a more wistful, "what if" sort of a mood. It's interesting to note, though, that though there's a wistfulness, it's sort of a half-hearted wistfulness, as if it would hurt much more if I actually wanted some other vocation.
Today the song in my head has been "Panis Angelicus", the more or less most famous version. Pablo had Andrea Bocelli's version playing on the way to Concordia, and it's now pretty much stuck. I'm trying to coerce it out by playing other songs, but I'm having little success.
But then Evening Prayer (& Mass) comes along, as today, and my voice hits all the notes, and the joy of singing is inexpressible.
Music plays a pretty large role in my life, I've noticed, and not just because I get it daily in the Liturgy of the Hours and Mass. Putting on a CD or the radio in my room or car when I'm alone is natural going on the Internet, and I have a growing tendency to hum or sing (at varying volumes) when I'm walking alone, either in the hallways here or to and fro at Concordia. Most of these hummed/sung tunes tend to be religious in nature, typically something from Mass or prayer that morning, and they connect me in an interesting way to my faith throughout the day, as well as generally leaving me in a cheerier mood.
I've also noticed that my vocational mood will shift depending on the type of song in my head, though whether as a result or a cause thereof I do not know. Classic pieces, Latin chants, and hymns--not surprisingly--tend to boost my priestly yearnings, while more secular songs (often, but not always, Country) tend to put me into a more wistful, "what if" sort of a mood. It's interesting to note, though, that though there's a wistfulness, it's sort of a half-hearted wistfulness, as if it would hurt much more if I actually wanted some other vocation.
Today the song in my head has been "Panis Angelicus", the more or less most famous version. Pablo had Andrea Bocelli's version playing on the way to Concordia, and it's now pretty much stuck. I'm trying to coerce it out by playing other songs, but I'm having little success.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Logical Conclusion
I've decided that, for my own good, it would probably be better if I wasn't taking Philosophy.
Kidding. A bit.
The fact is that I have already seen how dangerous it is to wield reason, for one's own sake. Truly, logic is a two-edged sword.
Yesterday, it cut backwards.
I was having a not-particularly-serious discussion about going to chapel. The whole campus on Concordia shuts down for half an hour each morning for chapel--which most students don't attend, myself included. My reasoning for going was never really thought out, but basically it came down to a dislike of style of worship. Call me a Catholic elitist, call me picky, or call me whatever... I wasn't going.
Anyway, I was sort of teasing a friend about going to "feel-good chapel", and she (wisely) was ignoring my arguments and telling me I was being too stubborn (which I was). During a lull in the conversation, however, I had a rather painful epiphany.
My reason for criticising, even in jest, those going to chapel is that they went simply because they wanted to. Well, that was a pretty hypocritical attitude to take, I now realised, since I was not going for basically the same reason: I wasn't feeling good about it.
The logical conclusion then, was that I could no longer criticise those going to chapel. Or, if I were to criticise them for going simply because it felt good, I would be morally obliged to go myself, DESPITE not really enjoying it, if I intended to retain the premise that feelings are a poor basis for worship.
I was also quite unable to come up with a difference reason for avoiding chapel. The fact that it's at a Lutheran college gets me nowhere, since it's a nondenominational worship in pretty much every sense, and quite apart from excusing myself from attending on the grounds of being a Catholic seminarian, I am in fact obliged to attend as a practical sign of ecumenism and Christian unity.
The end result? Barring a startling philosophic revelation, I will likely be in chapel tomorrow (today I'm not at Concordia until 12:30, so I'm excused on the grounds of simply not being at school).
I'm sure this is good for my soul. The having to die to self part makes that evidently clear.
Kidding. A bit.
The fact is that I have already seen how dangerous it is to wield reason, for one's own sake. Truly, logic is a two-edged sword.
Yesterday, it cut backwards.
I was having a not-particularly-serious discussion about going to chapel. The whole campus on Concordia shuts down for half an hour each morning for chapel--which most students don't attend, myself included. My reasoning for going was never really thought out, but basically it came down to a dislike of style of worship. Call me a Catholic elitist, call me picky, or call me whatever... I wasn't going.
Anyway, I was sort of teasing a friend about going to "feel-good chapel", and she (wisely) was ignoring my arguments and telling me I was being too stubborn (which I was). During a lull in the conversation, however, I had a rather painful epiphany.
My reason for criticising, even in jest, those going to chapel is that they went simply because they wanted to. Well, that was a pretty hypocritical attitude to take, I now realised, since I was not going for basically the same reason: I wasn't feeling good about it.
The logical conclusion then, was that I could no longer criticise those going to chapel. Or, if I were to criticise them for going simply because it felt good, I would be morally obliged to go myself, DESPITE not really enjoying it, if I intended to retain the premise that feelings are a poor basis for worship.
I was also quite unable to come up with a difference reason for avoiding chapel. The fact that it's at a Lutheran college gets me nowhere, since it's a nondenominational worship in pretty much every sense, and quite apart from excusing myself from attending on the grounds of being a Catholic seminarian, I am in fact obliged to attend as a practical sign of ecumenism and Christian unity.
The end result? Barring a startling philosophic revelation, I will likely be in chapel tomorrow (today I'm not at Concordia until 12:30, so I'm excused on the grounds of simply not being at school).
I'm sure this is good for my soul. The having to die to self part makes that evidently clear.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Friday Afternoon Blues
It's been all of a week since I last wrote here, and I feel almost... guilty. I mean, a week is REALLY a long time to leave it... okay. Not really.
Actually, it means I'm about right on par for where I was last year in terms of normal posting, which also means that the summer is definitely over. And, after my first full week of classes, I cannot but agree with that. It's been a full week, a busy week, and overall a good week. I really do like being back in school. I missed the place, and the people more importantly, quite a lot.
Which may, or may not, explain the odd feeling I've got right now, fresh back from my last day of the week. On the on hand, I feel awesome: I had an awesome day in class, the weather is good, I had hilarious fun after class, we're going to the football game tonight, and I don't have to get up early for two days. All of that is great, and I feel great about all of that.
And yet... and yet... it's like there's something missing, a feeling that today somehow failed to live up to its promise, that in coming home I've admitted defeat and I'm doomed to a weekend of misery. And while, yes, I do have a full slate of homework, I'm looking forward to getting at it, believe it or not, and I'm going out to visit my aunt and uncle on Sunday, and I'm excited about that.
What then, has me with this wistful feeling that today could have been better?
I don't know... but I'd point the guess in the direction of the fact that I really do enjoy being at Concordia.
Actually, it means I'm about right on par for where I was last year in terms of normal posting, which also means that the summer is definitely over. And, after my first full week of classes, I cannot but agree with that. It's been a full week, a busy week, and overall a good week. I really do like being back in school. I missed the place, and the people more importantly, quite a lot.
Which may, or may not, explain the odd feeling I've got right now, fresh back from my last day of the week. On the on hand, I feel awesome: I had an awesome day in class, the weather is good, I had hilarious fun after class, we're going to the football game tonight, and I don't have to get up early for two days. All of that is great, and I feel great about all of that.
And yet... and yet... it's like there's something missing, a feeling that today somehow failed to live up to its promise, that in coming home I've admitted defeat and I'm doomed to a weekend of misery. And while, yes, I do have a full slate of homework, I'm looking forward to getting at it, believe it or not, and I'm going out to visit my aunt and uncle on Sunday, and I'm excited about that.
What then, has me with this wistful feeling that today could have been better?
I don't know... but I'd point the guess in the direction of the fact that I really do enjoy being at Concordia.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Friday Night Live
So... it's a Friday night, most people my age are on the town, and while I am not in bed yet (and I should be), I'm still alive and kicking.
It's been a great first week back to school, in some respects. I've really missed Concordia, and the people there, and even to an extent the hectic pace of homework and commutes. At the risk of sounding very elementary school-ish, I've already "made three new friends", in a manner of speaking, which for me is downright astounding. I am not, generally, an instant friend-maker. I spent the majority of time last year not only without making many friends, but also without having many to begin with. Much of it was a pretty lonely year.
I guess you could say then that I've definitely grown in the past 12 months, since last September. I know this is true in other ways. Just in general, I've become a lot more confidant and even (dare I make the claim?) leaderly. Just up and speaking in front of the seminary community with a bit of a voice of direction is not something I did at all last year, and I certainly didn't walk into strange new situations without anxiety. Maybe it's just that I feel like I'm really at home, coming back this year, but I really do feel a lot more confidant, both here and at Concordia.
I have to say, I'm going to miss Concordia... though I wouldn't want to delay my ordination by staying longer. I just hope I manage to keep in contact with friends made there. Facebook, while good for knowing some things, really doesn't do that job, though it can lay the foundations.
It's been a great first week back to school, in some respects. I've really missed Concordia, and the people there, and even to an extent the hectic pace of homework and commutes. At the risk of sounding very elementary school-ish, I've already "made three new friends", in a manner of speaking, which for me is downright astounding. I am not, generally, an instant friend-maker. I spent the majority of time last year not only without making many friends, but also without having many to begin with. Much of it was a pretty lonely year.
I guess you could say then that I've definitely grown in the past 12 months, since last September. I know this is true in other ways. Just in general, I've become a lot more confidant and even (dare I make the claim?) leaderly. Just up and speaking in front of the seminary community with a bit of a voice of direction is not something I did at all last year, and I certainly didn't walk into strange new situations without anxiety. Maybe it's just that I feel like I'm really at home, coming back this year, but I really do feel a lot more confidant, both here and at Concordia.
I have to say, I'm going to miss Concordia... though I wouldn't want to delay my ordination by staying longer. I just hope I manage to keep in contact with friends made there. Facebook, while good for knowing some things, really doesn't do that job, though it can lay the foundations.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
A Tale of Two Days
My first two days of being back "in school" have now officially been survived. The first day of being back in the school, Orientation Day, was yesterday. The first day being being back at schooling was today.
The two days could scarcely have been more different, I suspect.
Yesterday, I headed to Concordia as early as I could, after a whirlwind tour of the seminary, as I prepared for all sorts of things, in order to try and reach the college early enough to help as a volunteer. Somehow, I'm not entirely sure how, I got roped into volunteering with the Orientation, an event I was somewhat dreading between being somewhat shy and somewhat concerned about my leg.
I needn't have worried: it was a blast! It was so great to be back in school, and it was awesome seeing people I hadn't seen in months, and of reconnecting--even with people I'm not sure I ever connected with the first year around. It was also totally awesome to see how far one comes in a year, looking at all the freshmen with bemused detachment, as these first-timer college students follow you around in very serious, docile timidity.
Yesterday was also the Orientation Day here at Newman, and I got back in time for the supper barbecue, and that too was great as I got to reconnect with a number of the people that, while I might not have studied with them, I was around enough (since I live here) to be well remembered. It was an excellent supper, with great fellowship, and then it turned into an awesome evening as we had a campfire, and a number of the seminarians sat around drinking Uzo and smoking Cuban cigars (yes, I had a Cuban cigar).
Then it was time for Compline, Night Prayer, and that went beautifully as well, I thought. I exited brimming with excitement, and fell in with the crew of post-firepit seminarians heading off to Boston Pizza for "supper". More fellowship and fun.
After all the awesome excitement of the Orientations Day, today was drudgery. True, it was an adventure bouncing all over campus trying to find classes, help with policing the Opening Convocation, and trying to get books out of the bookstore in one piece--but it marked a return to the true sweat and tears of the college routine. Although I know this semester won't overly tax me, it was very overwhelming to run the gamot of all the assignments and expectations of the year to come. It was also a thoroughly exhausting day as I had three classes back-to-back to attend, then another class later, meaning that I have four of my five classes (the normal maximum) that need to be attended on Mondays and Fridays.
Still, I have to admit that I'm liking what the semester looks like. I'm really pleased with my choices in courses. The courses that I started today are as follows:
Early Renaissance English: including St. Thomas More's Utopia, and Shakespeare's Twelvth Night, among others.
Ancient Near Easter Religions: The mythology, history, and culture of the Sumerian, Babylonian, Canaanite, Hittite, Assyrian, and Egyptian cultures. (And it counts as my religion credit! Woot!)
History of Western Philosophy: Modern: Focussing on Descartes, Berkeley, and Kant, primarily.
Ethics: Another Philosophy course, focussing on Aristotle's ethics, Kant again, and John Mills' Utilitarianism. The setup for this course in particular looks to be a lot of fun.
The last class, which I don't start until tomorrow, is another Philosophy course: Analysis of Contemporary Issues. It's the only junior level course I'm taking this semester, and according to a guy who took it last year, it's really good. It has the same prof as my other two Philosophies of the semester, and I'm really liking his style so far.
Still, excited as I am, it's been a long day putting the nose back to the grindstone. I keep wondering when it'll start feeling normal, and I'll start settling in again--then I remember what Fr. Shayne said last year, about things never following the schedule BEING the seminary's schedule.
But yay! I'm home, and I'm in school, and--God willing--things will keep being awesome.
Meanwhile, I should maybe think about my homework.
Yeah....
The two days could scarcely have been more different, I suspect.
Yesterday, I headed to Concordia as early as I could, after a whirlwind tour of the seminary, as I prepared for all sorts of things, in order to try and reach the college early enough to help as a volunteer. Somehow, I'm not entirely sure how, I got roped into volunteering with the Orientation, an event I was somewhat dreading between being somewhat shy and somewhat concerned about my leg.
I needn't have worried: it was a blast! It was so great to be back in school, and it was awesome seeing people I hadn't seen in months, and of reconnecting--even with people I'm not sure I ever connected with the first year around. It was also totally awesome to see how far one comes in a year, looking at all the freshmen with bemused detachment, as these first-timer college students follow you around in very serious, docile timidity.
Yesterday was also the Orientation Day here at Newman, and I got back in time for the supper barbecue, and that too was great as I got to reconnect with a number of the people that, while I might not have studied with them, I was around enough (since I live here) to be well remembered. It was an excellent supper, with great fellowship, and then it turned into an awesome evening as we had a campfire, and a number of the seminarians sat around drinking Uzo and smoking Cuban cigars (yes, I had a Cuban cigar).
Then it was time for Compline, Night Prayer, and that went beautifully as well, I thought. I exited brimming with excitement, and fell in with the crew of post-firepit seminarians heading off to Boston Pizza for "supper". More fellowship and fun.
After all the awesome excitement of the Orientations Day, today was drudgery. True, it was an adventure bouncing all over campus trying to find classes, help with policing the Opening Convocation, and trying to get books out of the bookstore in one piece--but it marked a return to the true sweat and tears of the college routine. Although I know this semester won't overly tax me, it was very overwhelming to run the gamot of all the assignments and expectations of the year to come. It was also a thoroughly exhausting day as I had three classes back-to-back to attend, then another class later, meaning that I have four of my five classes (the normal maximum) that need to be attended on Mondays and Fridays.
Still, I have to admit that I'm liking what the semester looks like. I'm really pleased with my choices in courses. The courses that I started today are as follows:
Early Renaissance English: including St. Thomas More's Utopia, and Shakespeare's Twelvth Night, among others.
Ancient Near Easter Religions: The mythology, history, and culture of the Sumerian, Babylonian, Canaanite, Hittite, Assyrian, and Egyptian cultures. (And it counts as my religion credit! Woot!)
History of Western Philosophy: Modern: Focussing on Descartes, Berkeley, and Kant, primarily.
Ethics: Another Philosophy course, focussing on Aristotle's ethics, Kant again, and John Mills' Utilitarianism. The setup for this course in particular looks to be a lot of fun.
The last class, which I don't start until tomorrow, is another Philosophy course: Analysis of Contemporary Issues. It's the only junior level course I'm taking this semester, and according to a guy who took it last year, it's really good. It has the same prof as my other two Philosophies of the semester, and I'm really liking his style so far.
Still, excited as I am, it's been a long day putting the nose back to the grindstone. I keep wondering when it'll start feeling normal, and I'll start settling in again--then I remember what Fr. Shayne said last year, about things never following the schedule BEING the seminary's schedule.
But yay! I'm home, and I'm in school, and--God willing--things will keep being awesome.
Meanwhile, I should maybe think about my homework.
Yeah....
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Retreat into Renewal
I am now back from the opening retreat of the seminary year, and I am filled with all kinds of reflections on what an amazing experience it was. Our speaker, Bishop Richard Gagnon of Victoria, did an excellent job and somehow what he said has melded in my mind with the books I was reading this week: Jesus of Nazareth, by Pope Benedict, A House United?, by Keith Fournier, and The Gift of Faith, by Fr. Tadeusz Dajczer. Separate posts on each of the books may follow, depending on how my weekend goes, but for the moment, here are the main thoughts that came out of my weekend:
Jesus is the centre and focus of the Church. Seems like a bit of a "duh!" statement, but it's one of those things that needs to be revisited, to be remembered. It's pretty easy to get caught up in the serving of people, the self-improvement, the day-to-day stuff, and forget that the real foundation of Christianity goes beyond that, but is specifically Christ-centric.
Secondly, there's a new clarity regarding sin and God's love. Ironically, given that I've just called it a clarity, I'm not entirely sure how to put it... but basically it comes down to the fact that sin, first and foremost isn't about us--isn't about me, myself, and I, as it often tends to be viewed--but is about God and us, about our relationship with God.
Thirdly, and most importantly, I think, is the idea that holiness can be planned. For me, this is particularly important, given that I'm a planner. All too often, my spiritual life is haphazard in how it works, and it is an important step for me to realise that "okay, even if I probably haven't got the reliability to follow it totally, every day, I should at least PLAN for prayer and personal time with God, above and beyond the demands of seminary routine". Seminary routine is great, but it doesn't require MY self-discipline, just my obedience to the rules. If I am to be a good priest--nay, if I am to be a good Christian--I need to do MORE. I need to make my relationship with God a priority.
That, in a nutshell, is the fundamentals of my retreat. And now it's time to take off for an uncle's birthday.
Jesus is the centre and focus of the Church. Seems like a bit of a "duh!" statement, but it's one of those things that needs to be revisited, to be remembered. It's pretty easy to get caught up in the serving of people, the self-improvement, the day-to-day stuff, and forget that the real foundation of Christianity goes beyond that, but is specifically Christ-centric.
Secondly, there's a new clarity regarding sin and God's love. Ironically, given that I've just called it a clarity, I'm not entirely sure how to put it... but basically it comes down to the fact that sin, first and foremost isn't about us--isn't about me, myself, and I, as it often tends to be viewed--but is about God and us, about our relationship with God.
Thirdly, and most importantly, I think, is the idea that holiness can be planned. For me, this is particularly important, given that I'm a planner. All too often, my spiritual life is haphazard in how it works, and it is an important step for me to realise that "okay, even if I probably haven't got the reliability to follow it totally, every day, I should at least PLAN for prayer and personal time with God, above and beyond the demands of seminary routine". Seminary routine is great, but it doesn't require MY self-discipline, just my obedience to the rules. If I am to be a good priest--nay, if I am to be a good Christian--I need to do MORE. I need to make my relationship with God a priority.
That, in a nutshell, is the fundamentals of my retreat. And now it's time to take off for an uncle's birthday.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
And, Speaking of Covers...
Going through the new posts on Nathan's blog, and having just printed yet another post, I'm reminded that I can't seem to print in my last template using black ink, but only in grey (the actual text colour). As a result, although I did like the dark look of the previous template, I've decided to change the look of the blog to something with black text, so that it actually will print mostly in black.
Now, if I had a black laser printer like I wanted, this wouldn't be an issue, but I don't. And I think it's quite clear already that I've spent enough money this summer.
If you're asking "why is Michael printing his blog?", the answer is fairly simple:
a) I'm a paper fiend, and thanks to Tolkien, my goal is life is to leave more paper behind than a dead Redwood, and:
b) I worked in an Archive all summer, and am acutely aware of how much better it is reading paper than a screen--and how impermanent electronic storage can be.
Now, if I had a black laser printer like I wanted, this wouldn't be an issue, but I don't. And I think it's quite clear already that I've spent enough money this summer.
If you're asking "why is Michael printing his blog?", the answer is fairly simple:
a) I'm a paper fiend, and thanks to Tolkien, my goal is life is to leave more paper behind than a dead Redwood, and:
b) I worked in an Archive all summer, and am acutely aware of how much better it is reading paper than a screen--and how impermanent electronic storage can be.
Don't judge me by my cover!
I've just come back from a visit to the eyedoctor, and the verdict is about what I had reason to suspect: I need new glasses. I've had my current pair for three years, and every year the prescription has changed slightly, so that while my eye-health is about the same as its always been, my vision no longer matches my glasses. This bugged me all last winter, during Logic class, trying to focus on the projection screen, and has made some driving difficult, when looking for street signs, but hasn't been a huge deal.
I'll probably be safer on the road, and it's certainly about time they were replaced.
All the same...
New car, new glasses. I hope I don't show up at seminary looking like I have it made, financially, because that would be horribly, ironically, false.
I'll probably be safer on the road, and it's certainly about time they were replaced.
All the same...
New car, new glasses. I hope I don't show up at seminary looking like I have it made, financially, because that would be horribly, ironically, false.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Spiritual Summer
It seems somewhat appropriate that I culminate my "summer in review" posting, looking specifically at how July really helped my spiritual life, on the day that I finally go to Confession. All the old is wiped away, with today starts a fresh slate.
July was, moreso than anything else, a really important month for me spiritually. In July I not only managed to start praying again, something I could only manage as a plaintive plea in my loneliest, most despairing moments, earlier; but I also found the FLAME rekindled.
I've spoken, at least once in this blog, of my passion for becoming a priest, using the metaphor of an all-consuming flame. Burning with intense heat and shining with passion very much describes how badly I want to be ordained.
From when I broke my leg, for about all of May and June, I could barely muster a flicker of conviction that this was my vocation. It wasn't so much that I abandoned the idea, or intellectually lost hope, since my stated goal remained a return to the seminary this fall, and I never considered otherwise. No, what happened was a complete loss of passion. My relationship with God went from "I really want to be a priest" to "why me? why me?"
Not "why do you want me as a priest?", but "why did I break my leg?"
It was the most basic of plaintive cries. "Why me?"
I asked the same thing again, not even two weeks ago, when my car's transmission went and I had to replace the whole car. However, because I was able to work through the question the first time, when it REALLY hurt, it was hardly an issue at all the second time.
It's easy enough to believe, when you're not the one concerned, in the idea of Divine Providence, and all hardships and ailments working for one's own good, but it is HARD to believe that there is a point to having something bad happen to yourself. We are not an objective race where ourselves are concerned.
July not only saw me lose my crutches, it saw me regain my balance spiritually. Even before I got rid of the crutches in mid-July, and long after I was SO eager to lose them, I managed to start saying the Liturgy of the Hours again on a regular basis, something that I lost the ability to do as early as April 22nd. This coincided with wanting to go to daily Mass again, with wanting to talk to Jesus, with living in a mindframe that was more God-oriented.
And then things started sort of slipping into place, understanding-wise.
Just from a plot, "this is what happens to Michael" point of view, I could see as early as May what breaking my leg meant: working in the Archives, and all the wide array of effects that could have on my life. The stuff learned there provided lots of potential teaching for the day-to-day problems of being a priest and parish administrator, as well as possibly being the first step on a path towards a career in the Archdiocesan administration, for all that I am able to guess.
More importantly, though, I began to see the effect that it was having on me, as a person.
In breaking my leg and having to suffer through all the effects of surgery and healing, I went through my "valley of the shadow of death". It's one thing to just sit there and know something, intellectually; it's quite something else to experience it. Breaking my leg, being hospitalised, and having to go through the agony of recovery is likely to be, for me, an incredible experience for being able to relate to people. A large part of the ministry of a parish priest is ministry to the sick and dying. The healthy cannot relate nearly so well as the formerly-injured can. In one, very important, way I grew up that much more thanks to the broken leg.
I think it was also important for me to be forcibly knocked out of a feeling of optimism where the seminary was concerned. I needed to go through a period where I didn't want to think about the future, didn't want to do ANY work, and didn't want to really have anything to do with people, where all the good parts of seminary life were missing, and I was left in a grey, half-seminary which it was ultimately really good to get out of.
What this meant is that in the future, when a point comes in my seminary life where the academics finally become too much, where the busyness becomes too much, where I just don't want to be in those walls any longer-- I'll have somewhere to look back on and remember "this isn't nearly as bad as that was, and I got through that".
As of right now, I'm not quite out of the woods with my leg: I'm still limping somewhat. Spiritually, however, I'm well away. I've spent more than a month now with the flames not only regrown to their former height, but soaring higher: a wildfire raging out of control. I want to to be a priest so badly--the seven years to ordination hasn't looked so long since before I entered. I'm finally over the bad end to last year, and I'm looking forward eagerly to next year.
July was, moreso than anything else, a really important month for me spiritually. In July I not only managed to start praying again, something I could only manage as a plaintive plea in my loneliest, most despairing moments, earlier; but I also found the FLAME rekindled.
I've spoken, at least once in this blog, of my passion for becoming a priest, using the metaphor of an all-consuming flame. Burning with intense heat and shining with passion very much describes how badly I want to be ordained.
From when I broke my leg, for about all of May and June, I could barely muster a flicker of conviction that this was my vocation. It wasn't so much that I abandoned the idea, or intellectually lost hope, since my stated goal remained a return to the seminary this fall, and I never considered otherwise. No, what happened was a complete loss of passion. My relationship with God went from "I really want to be a priest" to "why me? why me?"
Not "why do you want me as a priest?", but "why did I break my leg?"
It was the most basic of plaintive cries. "Why me?"
I asked the same thing again, not even two weeks ago, when my car's transmission went and I had to replace the whole car. However, because I was able to work through the question the first time, when it REALLY hurt, it was hardly an issue at all the second time.
It's easy enough to believe, when you're not the one concerned, in the idea of Divine Providence, and all hardships and ailments working for one's own good, but it is HARD to believe that there is a point to having something bad happen to yourself. We are not an objective race where ourselves are concerned.
July not only saw me lose my crutches, it saw me regain my balance spiritually. Even before I got rid of the crutches in mid-July, and long after I was SO eager to lose them, I managed to start saying the Liturgy of the Hours again on a regular basis, something that I lost the ability to do as early as April 22nd. This coincided with wanting to go to daily Mass again, with wanting to talk to Jesus, with living in a mindframe that was more God-oriented.
And then things started sort of slipping into place, understanding-wise.
Just from a plot, "this is what happens to Michael" point of view, I could see as early as May what breaking my leg meant: working in the Archives, and all the wide array of effects that could have on my life. The stuff learned there provided lots of potential teaching for the day-to-day problems of being a priest and parish administrator, as well as possibly being the first step on a path towards a career in the Archdiocesan administration, for all that I am able to guess.
More importantly, though, I began to see the effect that it was having on me, as a person.
In breaking my leg and having to suffer through all the effects of surgery and healing, I went through my "valley of the shadow of death". It's one thing to just sit there and know something, intellectually; it's quite something else to experience it. Breaking my leg, being hospitalised, and having to go through the agony of recovery is likely to be, for me, an incredible experience for being able to relate to people. A large part of the ministry of a parish priest is ministry to the sick and dying. The healthy cannot relate nearly so well as the formerly-injured can. In one, very important, way I grew up that much more thanks to the broken leg.
I think it was also important for me to be forcibly knocked out of a feeling of optimism where the seminary was concerned. I needed to go through a period where I didn't want to think about the future, didn't want to do ANY work, and didn't want to really have anything to do with people, where all the good parts of seminary life were missing, and I was left in a grey, half-seminary which it was ultimately really good to get out of.
What this meant is that in the future, when a point comes in my seminary life where the academics finally become too much, where the busyness becomes too much, where I just don't want to be in those walls any longer-- I'll have somewhere to look back on and remember "this isn't nearly as bad as that was, and I got through that".
As of right now, I'm not quite out of the woods with my leg: I'm still limping somewhat. Spiritually, however, I'm well away. I've spent more than a month now with the flames not only regrown to their former height, but soaring higher: a wildfire raging out of control. I want to to be a priest so badly--the seven years to ordination hasn't looked so long since before I entered. I'm finally over the bad end to last year, and I'm looking forward eagerly to next year.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Life Without People
If memory serves, I more or less set up my life as it was when I moved into the Rectory, just into the month of June, and made it fairly clear it was a not particularly good time in my life. June was too busy to be much better, one way or another. I was still settling in, and I was busy with going home on weekends, spending time with friends, and, of course, work.
July was a horse of a difference colour.
Work was the same.
Residence was the same.
Nothing else was.
I went home for the last time, the last weekend of June, for my cousin's wedding. That was a long weekend, and I stayed until Monday night/Tuesday morning, getting up really early, so as to avoid the long weekend traffic as I returned to the city. From then on in, I had a month to myself.
The single most important thing about the month of July, 2007, at least as far as I can see it right now, is that it amply demonstrated I'll have no problem with living alone as a priest. This is no small discovery, given that loneliness is given as one of the biggest stumbling blocks to people envisioning what it is like to be a priest. Mind you, I never had any serious doubts on that score, but there's a world of difference between thinking something probable, and knowing it.
In all fairness, though, I probably had a quieter month than I'll ever get as a priest. True, unlike the priests living at Annunciation, I probably won't have housemates, but considering that they were hardly ever in the building at the same time, that's not exactly a major factor. With holidays and three disparate schedules/careers, they were often gone, and I was quite often home alone.
Furthermore, the day jobs of the priests are a good deal busier and full of people than my job was. Working in the Archives was lovely, given bad memories of dealing with hungry, cranky people at Panago, simply because it was almost completely free of human contact. There were a couple of weeks we had a researcher in, but that was hardly something I was much involved in, and researchers (like archivists) seem to be a quiet sort. Other than that, there was the odd visit from upstairs into the sacramental registers (usually regarding people wanting to find out if they were baptised and/or confirmed in the church, in order to get married) was about it.
I've described the month of July many times to many people already as a "silent retreat" or a "month long retreat" or a "sabbatical". Words like this describe really well what it was for me: a time to recharge my batteries. May and June, particularly the parts where I was around people, were full of me putting on a happier, more patient face than I really felt like doing, simply because it's not in my personality to whine and complain very often. By the time May rolled around, I'd had my leg broken for more than a week, I was out of the hospital, and I was starting to get around. I still needed help with things, but my mind was already going into its normal mode of "you don't want to bother anybody, either with your woes or to take up their time helping you".
For me, it was a major struggle during May to deal with people offering to help me. Maybe it's my genetic heritage, maybe it's being an eldest child amongst seven children, maybe it's just how I fluked out-- but whatever the case, I am not the sort who is good at asking for help, and I get uncomfortable if it's offered too often, at least if I actually do need it, since I feel like I should somehow be tougher.
By June, I was pretty much past needing much help, and I was getting really good on the crutches, but it was hard month too, with those weddings, ordination, and grad. Three weekends out of five that month, I made the journey back to Olds, squeezing in a weekend between the pressures of work and commutting, to attend some sort of major ceremony where there were all kinds of people that I had to explain--again--how I broke my leg, as well as Mass each Sunday in my home parish where there were, every week, people who didn't know about the leg... and had to ask.
I appreciated the concern and the interest in my life--really. As someone who has at least as much of the general human condition of insecurity and a need for validation as the next person, it feels great to be noticed and love.
But.
There's always a but, isn't there?
But the fact is, though, that what I wanted, as early as the beginning of May, wasn't attention and sympathy about the leg--I was tough enough for that--but to be able to blend into the crowd. I wanted to be normal again. Perhaps a rather plaintive cry, and a very silly one, given that I'm hardly normal to begin with, and don't intend to become such, but as regards my leg, I wanted normality.
And recovery never goes as fast as the patient wants it too. I was (and am) making noticeable progress from week to week. I cannot say I was ever stagnating or backsliding... but I wanted off of those crutches so badly. I had hoped, initially, that I might be into a walking cast after a few weeks, but either my doctor isn't a fan of those or I had the wrong sort of break for it, but he kept me on crutches. Then I thought I might be off them towards the end of June, say 8 weeks/2 months or so after I broke my leg. Well... no luck there. It was another 3-4 weeks of crutches, then onto a cane, then I would see him again in late July. Accepting that was hard.
So what was the sum of all this?
Basically, it was that I was tired of having to put on a happier face than I was feeling, and the effect of having to "ride the circuit" saying "hi" and being happy on the weekends was really too much. Perhaps that's a very ominous thing to say, given that it can be taken as one of the descriptions of a priest's weekend life, so I'll point out a fundamental difference between the two: as a priest, I'll be a working man, I'll be a useful, busy, funtioning member of a community--a man with a mission, while as the guy with a broken leg, I was exerting all this energy at a low point in my life, and coming home and.... doing nothing.
The fact that I was sort of just "there" at the weddings etc, and unable to really do anything irked me. While I'm not a dancer to begin with, the fact that I could not have danced and was basically a chairbound invalid meant that I would have LOVED to danced, something not normally the case.
A solution for many people in a situation like this, of having to put on a happier face than they feel might be resolvable by being around people they feel really comfortable with, who they can let down their guards and just whine and baby themselves--I don't know, since that solution is an imperfect one for me.
It's only my family that I could really do that around--and they were much too busy and wrapped up with all that was going on those weekends to really be available in that respect--and Mom complained each time, I think, that my visits were too short and hectic. Furthermore, I am probably just as likely to put up a strong face for family and friends as for anyone else, if not moreso. For me, the solution is not the right people, but no people.
And that's what I got in July. Thank you God, that is what I got in July.
To Be Continued...
July was a horse of a difference colour.
Work was the same.
Residence was the same.
Nothing else was.
I went home for the last time, the last weekend of June, for my cousin's wedding. That was a long weekend, and I stayed until Monday night/Tuesday morning, getting up really early, so as to avoid the long weekend traffic as I returned to the city. From then on in, I had a month to myself.
The single most important thing about the month of July, 2007, at least as far as I can see it right now, is that it amply demonstrated I'll have no problem with living alone as a priest. This is no small discovery, given that loneliness is given as one of the biggest stumbling blocks to people envisioning what it is like to be a priest. Mind you, I never had any serious doubts on that score, but there's a world of difference between thinking something probable, and knowing it.
In all fairness, though, I probably had a quieter month than I'll ever get as a priest. True, unlike the priests living at Annunciation, I probably won't have housemates, but considering that they were hardly ever in the building at the same time, that's not exactly a major factor. With holidays and three disparate schedules/careers, they were often gone, and I was quite often home alone.
Furthermore, the day jobs of the priests are a good deal busier and full of people than my job was. Working in the Archives was lovely, given bad memories of dealing with hungry, cranky people at Panago, simply because it was almost completely free of human contact. There were a couple of weeks we had a researcher in, but that was hardly something I was much involved in, and researchers (like archivists) seem to be a quiet sort. Other than that, there was the odd visit from upstairs into the sacramental registers (usually regarding people wanting to find out if they were baptised and/or confirmed in the church, in order to get married) was about it.
I've described the month of July many times to many people already as a "silent retreat" or a "month long retreat" or a "sabbatical". Words like this describe really well what it was for me: a time to recharge my batteries. May and June, particularly the parts where I was around people, were full of me putting on a happier, more patient face than I really felt like doing, simply because it's not in my personality to whine and complain very often. By the time May rolled around, I'd had my leg broken for more than a week, I was out of the hospital, and I was starting to get around. I still needed help with things, but my mind was already going into its normal mode of "you don't want to bother anybody, either with your woes or to take up their time helping you".
For me, it was a major struggle during May to deal with people offering to help me. Maybe it's my genetic heritage, maybe it's being an eldest child amongst seven children, maybe it's just how I fluked out-- but whatever the case, I am not the sort who is good at asking for help, and I get uncomfortable if it's offered too often, at least if I actually do need it, since I feel like I should somehow be tougher.
By June, I was pretty much past needing much help, and I was getting really good on the crutches, but it was hard month too, with those weddings, ordination, and grad. Three weekends out of five that month, I made the journey back to Olds, squeezing in a weekend between the pressures of work and commutting, to attend some sort of major ceremony where there were all kinds of people that I had to explain--again--how I broke my leg, as well as Mass each Sunday in my home parish where there were, every week, people who didn't know about the leg... and had to ask.
I appreciated the concern and the interest in my life--really. As someone who has at least as much of the general human condition of insecurity and a need for validation as the next person, it feels great to be noticed and love.
But.
There's always a but, isn't there?
But the fact is, though, that what I wanted, as early as the beginning of May, wasn't attention and sympathy about the leg--I was tough enough for that--but to be able to blend into the crowd. I wanted to be normal again. Perhaps a rather plaintive cry, and a very silly one, given that I'm hardly normal to begin with, and don't intend to become such, but as regards my leg, I wanted normality.
And recovery never goes as fast as the patient wants it too. I was (and am) making noticeable progress from week to week. I cannot say I was ever stagnating or backsliding... but I wanted off of those crutches so badly. I had hoped, initially, that I might be into a walking cast after a few weeks, but either my doctor isn't a fan of those or I had the wrong sort of break for it, but he kept me on crutches. Then I thought I might be off them towards the end of June, say 8 weeks/2 months or so after I broke my leg. Well... no luck there. It was another 3-4 weeks of crutches, then onto a cane, then I would see him again in late July. Accepting that was hard.
So what was the sum of all this?
Basically, it was that I was tired of having to put on a happier face than I was feeling, and the effect of having to "ride the circuit" saying "hi" and being happy on the weekends was really too much. Perhaps that's a very ominous thing to say, given that it can be taken as one of the descriptions of a priest's weekend life, so I'll point out a fundamental difference between the two: as a priest, I'll be a working man, I'll be a useful, busy, funtioning member of a community--a man with a mission, while as the guy with a broken leg, I was exerting all this energy at a low point in my life, and coming home and.... doing nothing.
The fact that I was sort of just "there" at the weddings etc, and unable to really do anything irked me. While I'm not a dancer to begin with, the fact that I could not have danced and was basically a chairbound invalid meant that I would have LOVED to danced, something not normally the case.
A solution for many people in a situation like this, of having to put on a happier face than they feel might be resolvable by being around people they feel really comfortable with, who they can let down their guards and just whine and baby themselves--I don't know, since that solution is an imperfect one for me.
It's only my family that I could really do that around--and they were much too busy and wrapped up with all that was going on those weekends to really be available in that respect--and Mom complained each time, I think, that my visits were too short and hectic. Furthermore, I am probably just as likely to put up a strong face for family and friends as for anyone else, if not moreso. For me, the solution is not the right people, but no people.
And that's what I got in July. Thank you God, that is what I got in July.
To Be Continued...
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Silence of Summer
Well, it's taken me a while, but I think I'm finally about ready to look back on my close to two months with scarcely any internet or social life. Already, closing in on two weeks past, it feels like quite a while ago, though I can't really say I feel like I've been home for a long time. As an aside, let me say that perception of time has got to be one of the oddest things there is. The simultaneous feel of a given space of time as "long" and "short" is just plain weird.
Anyway, to recap: at the very beginning of June, I was told Wednesday morning that I had until Sunday night to move out of the seminary. In reality, however, since I was going home that weekend for a wedding, I really only had until Friday morning. To make matters worse, when Fr. Paul (the Archdiocesan vocations director, who is "in charge" of the seminarians, more or less, if they need it) told me this, he didn't know then where I was moving--and I didn't find out until the next day.
I'll ask you to recall that, at that point, I was still on crutches, and I was working at the Archives. This gave me two evenings to pack and move a year's worth of stuff. Christian charity prevails among seminarians, thank God, and with help I just managed it. I didn't realise I had so much STUFF--even after leaving two lockers of stuff behind at the seminary (and these are pretty roomy lockers), I still had a full car.
Anyway, the weekend passed, and I found myself living at the rectory of Annunciation parish, in west Edmonton--just six blocks or so from West Edmonton Mall, with three priests: Fr. Paul, Fr. Andrew (the parish's pastor), and Fr. Stephan (a professor at St. Joseph's College on the U of A campus).
June, though more or less internet-deprived, was a busy month. After that first wedding, I was back in Olds on two more occassions: for my brother's grad, and for my cousin's wedding. I also went up to St. Paul (in Alberta, not Minnesota) for an ordination, visited my uncle and cousins, and hung out a couple times with a few friends. Not a crazy life, by far, but with work it was certainly one relatively occupied with people. Even if I didn't have time to post anything, my visits home meant that I was able to at least keep informed of the goings-on of my online life.
Perhaps it should be highlighted here that I did not have internet access either at the rectory or at work. At work, of course, I was dealing with 10, 20, 50, 100+ year old documents, and not with computers at all. The rectory is another matter. It certainly had internet hookup, and Frs. Andrew and Stephan, if not Fr. Paul as well, had computers using it, but those were in their own rooms. My computer remained in my car's trunk for the duration of my stay there. I had an internet connection in my room, but no place to put a desktop computer. What's more, having the broken leg didn't encourage me to attempt rearranging things.
Finally...
I wanted a break.
Really, thanks to the literal break in my leg, I was internet-burned out. In the month and more previous, the computer was pretty much all I did in my off-time. I didn't have any fresh reading material, and I didn't have the interest or stamina to try and find more. There were the occasional forays other than work or time spent alone, but these were not regular or frequent. I spent a LOT of time online--hours a day.
Eventually, it you CAN'T do anything else, that burns you out--especially when you don't have the energy to DO much online... but just sit, and read, and post somewhat.
Breaking my leg, I didn't realise at the time, took more out of me than just my ability to walk. I was tired emotionally. I didn't want to do pretty much anything. My prayer life was completely derailed. My personality and sense of vocation was knocked aside. As my body focussed on repair, my mind was left... unfocussed.
In part, this was probably due to the school-year ending. Rather than being a moment of celebration and free abandonment to summer, the stresses of finals were prolonged and merged with the agony of crutches, and as everyone left the seminary for the summer and I was left behind pretty much alone and unable and unwilling to go OUT and do anything, I was left more or less empty.
To Be Continued....
Anyway, to recap: at the very beginning of June, I was told Wednesday morning that I had until Sunday night to move out of the seminary. In reality, however, since I was going home that weekend for a wedding, I really only had until Friday morning. To make matters worse, when Fr. Paul (the Archdiocesan vocations director, who is "in charge" of the seminarians, more or less, if they need it) told me this, he didn't know then where I was moving--and I didn't find out until the next day.
I'll ask you to recall that, at that point, I was still on crutches, and I was working at the Archives. This gave me two evenings to pack and move a year's worth of stuff. Christian charity prevails among seminarians, thank God, and with help I just managed it. I didn't realise I had so much STUFF--even after leaving two lockers of stuff behind at the seminary (and these are pretty roomy lockers), I still had a full car.
Anyway, the weekend passed, and I found myself living at the rectory of Annunciation parish, in west Edmonton--just six blocks or so from West Edmonton Mall, with three priests: Fr. Paul, Fr. Andrew (the parish's pastor), and Fr. Stephan (a professor at St. Joseph's College on the U of A campus).
June, though more or less internet-deprived, was a busy month. After that first wedding, I was back in Olds on two more occassions: for my brother's grad, and for my cousin's wedding. I also went up to St. Paul (in Alberta, not Minnesota) for an ordination, visited my uncle and cousins, and hung out a couple times with a few friends. Not a crazy life, by far, but with work it was certainly one relatively occupied with people. Even if I didn't have time to post anything, my visits home meant that I was able to at least keep informed of the goings-on of my online life.
Perhaps it should be highlighted here that I did not have internet access either at the rectory or at work. At work, of course, I was dealing with 10, 20, 50, 100+ year old documents, and not with computers at all. The rectory is another matter. It certainly had internet hookup, and Frs. Andrew and Stephan, if not Fr. Paul as well, had computers using it, but those were in their own rooms. My computer remained in my car's trunk for the duration of my stay there. I had an internet connection in my room, but no place to put a desktop computer. What's more, having the broken leg didn't encourage me to attempt rearranging things.
Finally...
I wanted a break.
Really, thanks to the literal break in my leg, I was internet-burned out. In the month and more previous, the computer was pretty much all I did in my off-time. I didn't have any fresh reading material, and I didn't have the interest or stamina to try and find more. There were the occasional forays other than work or time spent alone, but these were not regular or frequent. I spent a LOT of time online--hours a day.
Eventually, it you CAN'T do anything else, that burns you out--especially when you don't have the energy to DO much online... but just sit, and read, and post somewhat.
Breaking my leg, I didn't realise at the time, took more out of me than just my ability to walk. I was tired emotionally. I didn't want to do pretty much anything. My prayer life was completely derailed. My personality and sense of vocation was knocked aside. As my body focussed on repair, my mind was left... unfocussed.
In part, this was probably due to the school-year ending. Rather than being a moment of celebration and free abandonment to summer, the stresses of finals were prolonged and merged with the agony of crutches, and as everyone left the seminary for the summer and I was left behind pretty much alone and unable and unwilling to go OUT and do anything, I was left more or less empty.
To Be Continued....
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Sick
CAUTION: The following post contains scenes of illness and disgusting subject matter. Reader discretion is advised.
It feels like every time I start to get over one thing this summer, another thing hits me. Just when I was halfways recovered from the car loss, the internet abstinence, and the crutches... I get hit with my first stomach bug in years, and have a horrid day.
It all started last night... amidst dreaming about visiting home, seeing people I hadn't seen in a few years (and their sisters, whom I've never met... ??...), I start dreaming about being back in the seminary, which for no good reason had a long, wide, curving hallway spliced between the entrance and the chapel. And, while dreaming this, I start dreaming that I have an upset stomach, which proceeds to dominate my dreams (they weren't quite uneasy enough to be nightmares) until I get up this morning.
I think the dream version might have been a bit better. All I did there was vomit, and that without the normal issues of that horrid acid aftertaste and the muscles complaining about working in reverse.
No, in real life, I did not vomit... but there's actually a lot more discomfort to the stomach. I haven't eaten all day, due to a complete loss of appetite and a fear of prompting a real life vomitting. I spent my first two or three hours awake running to the toilet with diarrhea every 15 minutes or so. The only reason I figure that stopped is that the bug ran out of ammo.
My stomach, due to care nurturing (ie. sitting on the couch as still as possible, watching movies) has more or less ceased to pain me--unless I get up and do anything, in which case it doesn't take long to make me queasy again.
I suppose it's just as well it's not happening while I'm in school, and it probably couldn't come at a better time, if illness ever can... but I still feel like crap.
It feels like every time I start to get over one thing this summer, another thing hits me. Just when I was halfways recovered from the car loss, the internet abstinence, and the crutches... I get hit with my first stomach bug in years, and have a horrid day.
It all started last night... amidst dreaming about visiting home, seeing people I hadn't seen in a few years (and their sisters, whom I've never met... ??...), I start dreaming about being back in the seminary, which for no good reason had a long, wide, curving hallway spliced between the entrance and the chapel. And, while dreaming this, I start dreaming that I have an upset stomach, which proceeds to dominate my dreams (they weren't quite uneasy enough to be nightmares) until I get up this morning.
I think the dream version might have been a bit better. All I did there was vomit, and that without the normal issues of that horrid acid aftertaste and the muscles complaining about working in reverse.
No, in real life, I did not vomit... but there's actually a lot more discomfort to the stomach. I haven't eaten all day, due to a complete loss of appetite and a fear of prompting a real life vomitting. I spent my first two or three hours awake running to the toilet with diarrhea every 15 minutes or so. The only reason I figure that stopped is that the bug ran out of ammo.
My stomach, due to care nurturing (ie. sitting on the couch as still as possible, watching movies) has more or less ceased to pain me--unless I get up and do anything, in which case it doesn't take long to make me queasy again.
I suppose it's just as well it's not happening while I'm in school, and it probably couldn't come at a better time, if illness ever can... but I still feel like crap.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Car Troubles
So, I do still intend to have a big post or two on the whole awesomeness/terror of my mental state this past month and more, but I'm still experiencing serious internet lethargy, so we'll just put up a status update for the moment, regarding my car.
Turns out, having a Ford Contour is crap for repairs. Used transmissions are expensive and near impossible to find. Even if you do, the design of the engine makes for ridiculous man-hours of repair, and the end result is that it would have cost $4000.00 or more to repair.
I learned that yesterday morning. It was worse news seconding bad news.
Yesterday afternoon we started looking around for a new car. We looked at one in the evening, and another today, about a couple hours ago. Between the price and quality of car, they are probably about as good as I'm likely to find in the two weeks before I go back to seminary.
We've decided to buy the one we saw tonight, and come this time Wednesday, it should be mine. It's a 1997 Ford Escort, so a very similar car to my last one, though a couple years newer. It's a darkish green, well-taken care of, with 215,000 kilometres, so more than my car had--which is why, probably, it's a bit more affordable.
Mind you, affordable is a relative term for me right now. My parents are going to do what they can to help me out right now, and I should get a little (and really, little is the right word) for the Contour--if my experience in trying to get parts for it in the past and present is any indication, it should have some value, and the tires are fairly new.
So... I'll have a new car. The major heartache/headache of not having a vehicle is basically resolved. The heartache/headache of being broke is barely begun.
Turns out, having a Ford Contour is crap for repairs. Used transmissions are expensive and near impossible to find. Even if you do, the design of the engine makes for ridiculous man-hours of repair, and the end result is that it would have cost $4000.00 or more to repair.
I learned that yesterday morning. It was worse news seconding bad news.
Yesterday afternoon we started looking around for a new car. We looked at one in the evening, and another today, about a couple hours ago. Between the price and quality of car, they are probably about as good as I'm likely to find in the two weeks before I go back to seminary.
We've decided to buy the one we saw tonight, and come this time Wednesday, it should be mine. It's a 1997 Ford Escort, so a very similar car to my last one, though a couple years newer. It's a darkish green, well-taken care of, with 215,000 kilometres, so more than my car had--which is why, probably, it's a bit more affordable.
Mind you, affordable is a relative term for me right now. My parents are going to do what they can to help me out right now, and I should get a little (and really, little is the right word) for the Contour--if my experience in trying to get parts for it in the past and present is any indication, it should have some value, and the tires are fairly new.
So... I'll have a new car. The major heartache/headache of not having a vehicle is basically resolved. The heartache/headache of being broke is barely begun.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Sabbatical in Retrospect
So... I had really planned on my first big post upon having an internet connection again being about all the GOOD stuff of being away: how refreshed I feel, how great it is not to be addicted to the computer, how my leg is better, how much writing I did, how my vocation is definitely back, and a number of other things...
Instead, I am writing about the bad stuff that happened about three hours before I got home.
Those of you who were reading any of this last year will remember that I wrote about a game called Bunnock, and that my family goes every year, on the first weekend of August, to the town of Macklin, Saskatchewan, to compete in a huge tournament of the same. For the fifteenth consecutive year, we did so, and my last day of work at the Archives was timed so that I would arrive there Thursday night, my family having already shown up.
Well, it was a great weekend, all told. It was probably my poorest year ever, in terms of wins/losses, but my level of play was about the same as last year, which isn't bad given that I played only two games this summer, and those on crutches. For the first time, all of my siblings were playing on one team or another, and I was impressed at how well they were playing--though it seemed that we were all about the same for lack of luck in winning games.
Anyway, we had a great weekend, and yesterday we all headed back to Olds. Well, that's about a 4.5 to 5 hour drive, depending, and we were on the second leg of the trip, and I was ahead of the others on Highway 21, just south of Delburne. At one of the intersections crossing the highway, as I was coming near, some brainless front-end-loader tractor driver with a bucket full of boulders decided to cross, forcing me to slow down unexpectedly. Now, this in itself would have been only a minor irritation, had not one of his boulders bounced out and landed right in my path. I suppose, in hindsight, if I had been thinking and knowing what it was, I would have swerved immediately, but for all the multiple reasons that were on my mind at the time, such as irritation at the tractor, concern for the vehicle behind me, and thinking it was just a garbage bag or something... well, I cruised right over it and blew my transmission.
This effectively ruined my day.
I coasted to the side of the road, and waited fifteen minutes for my parents, who were behind me and had stopped for gas, to catch up, and then proceeded to drag out the remaining hour and a half of the trip home into about three hours, while we found a towtruck (not easy on a holiday Monday) to pull my poor abused car home.
If I was not in a mood to do more than passively check the news online yesterday, I think depression can be considered a contributing factor.
Mind you, I should be depressed today, but I had a very long sleep, and I'm not on the road in the blistering August sun trying to get home after an exhausting weekend. Besides... there's pretty much nothing that can happen now to make things worse. Dad phoned this morning with the news that I'm looking at around $2500.00 to replace the transmission. This is very nearly what I have in my bank account right now, and even if I had the leg or the energy to work until it's time to go back to seminary, that's only about two and a half weeks of work...
So I'm very, very depressed at the moment, in terms of money, but I'm also kind of just at the point where I don't care anymore. I haven't got the faintest clue how I'm going to pay for anything, starting about right now... but I'm a little bit beyond caring. It's so much easier to worry when you have $2500.00 with which to pay $6000.00 of expenses than when you have $0.00 and the same expenses.
Mom wants me to work, I think, and Dad is probably thinking about the money too... but I need a break. I went straight from school into breaking my leg into work this summer. I haven't had a rest since Christmas (Reading Break so does not count...). I need my two and a half weeks of doing nothing.
Meanwhile, I am so broke....
Alms, anyone?
Instead, I am writing about the bad stuff that happened about three hours before I got home.
Those of you who were reading any of this last year will remember that I wrote about a game called Bunnock, and that my family goes every year, on the first weekend of August, to the town of Macklin, Saskatchewan, to compete in a huge tournament of the same. For the fifteenth consecutive year, we did so, and my last day of work at the Archives was timed so that I would arrive there Thursday night, my family having already shown up.
Well, it was a great weekend, all told. It was probably my poorest year ever, in terms of wins/losses, but my level of play was about the same as last year, which isn't bad given that I played only two games this summer, and those on crutches. For the first time, all of my siblings were playing on one team or another, and I was impressed at how well they were playing--though it seemed that we were all about the same for lack of luck in winning games.
Anyway, we had a great weekend, and yesterday we all headed back to Olds. Well, that's about a 4.5 to 5 hour drive, depending, and we were on the second leg of the trip, and I was ahead of the others on Highway 21, just south of Delburne. At one of the intersections crossing the highway, as I was coming near, some brainless front-end-loader tractor driver with a bucket full of boulders decided to cross, forcing me to slow down unexpectedly. Now, this in itself would have been only a minor irritation, had not one of his boulders bounced out and landed right in my path. I suppose, in hindsight, if I had been thinking and knowing what it was, I would have swerved immediately, but for all the multiple reasons that were on my mind at the time, such as irritation at the tractor, concern for the vehicle behind me, and thinking it was just a garbage bag or something... well, I cruised right over it and blew my transmission.
This effectively ruined my day.
I coasted to the side of the road, and waited fifteen minutes for my parents, who were behind me and had stopped for gas, to catch up, and then proceeded to drag out the remaining hour and a half of the trip home into about three hours, while we found a towtruck (not easy on a holiday Monday) to pull my poor abused car home.
If I was not in a mood to do more than passively check the news online yesterday, I think depression can be considered a contributing factor.
Mind you, I should be depressed today, but I had a very long sleep, and I'm not on the road in the blistering August sun trying to get home after an exhausting weekend. Besides... there's pretty much nothing that can happen now to make things worse. Dad phoned this morning with the news that I'm looking at around $2500.00 to replace the transmission. This is very nearly what I have in my bank account right now, and even if I had the leg or the energy to work until it's time to go back to seminary, that's only about two and a half weeks of work...
So I'm very, very depressed at the moment, in terms of money, but I'm also kind of just at the point where I don't care anymore. I haven't got the faintest clue how I'm going to pay for anything, starting about right now... but I'm a little bit beyond caring. It's so much easier to worry when you have $2500.00 with which to pay $6000.00 of expenses than when you have $0.00 and the same expenses.
Mom wants me to work, I think, and Dad is probably thinking about the money too... but I need a break. I went straight from school into breaking my leg into work this summer. I haven't had a rest since Christmas (Reading Break so does not count...). I need my two and a half weeks of doing nothing.
Meanwhile, I am so broke....
Alms, anyone?
Monday, August 06, 2007
Memo
I am back from my month-long, internet-free, telephone-light, computer-free, friend-free, family-free sabbatical.
I am so tired of people, after spending a weekend around them, following a month without, that I can't even work up the stamina for a post--though I've spent the better part of a month wondering over it.
I'm also really ticked off about my car... but that's another story for later.
Just announcing that I'm not dead yet.
I am so tired of people, after spending a weekend around them, following a month without, that I can't even work up the stamina for a post--though I've spent the better part of a month wondering over it.
I'm also really ticked off about my car... but that's another story for later.
Just announcing that I'm not dead yet.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Credo in Deum
"I believe in God".
Just a quick post, while I'm home for the long weekend (Canada Day, July 1st is a statutory holiday), amid a whirlwind visit involving a cousin's wedding, a big good-bye at the church, and all the stuff going on in catching up with a big, busy family.
Life is good. My job is great, my leg is getting better (less than two weeks of crutches to go), and the living arrangement at the rectory is awesome.
From now until August there will likely be little or no time online by Yours Truly, since he will not be home in that time, and I've not found any internet "accomodations" in Edmonton. Furthermore, I'm actually quite enjoying the enforced sabbatical from time online. True, I miss having the opportunity to keep up with people and their lives, but it's really nice to to spend hours a day staring at a screen, wasting time that could be spent on far more profitable pursuits. I've been writing, and reading, more since I moved, and I feel like life is good.
Now--why the statement heading this post? Basically, because of Davem's recent post on LJ.
I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of Heaven and Earth.
I believe in JESUS Christ, His only son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the Dead, and on the third day He rose again. He ascended into Heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy, catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.
I furthermore believe in the apostolic succession of the bishops, the authority of the Pope the Vicar of Christ, and the teaching of the Magisterium. I believe in the reality of Christ's presence in the Eucharist: body and blood, soul and divinity. I believe in the sanctity of marriage, in its exclusivity to the relationship of one man and one woman for life. I believe in the sanctity of human life, in all its stages.
I believe that with the conviction of the faith given me by my parents and grandparents as a child, the faith imparted by the reason of philosophers great and small, the faith nurtured by experiences I can only call touching the Divine, and by the example and faith of dozens or hundreds of those I have seen.
This faith is not a childish fantasy. Nor am I an ignoramus led into delusion. I am proud to be "the Catholic one" in my online communties, and I confess that I am a sinner--a proud, lazy, guilty man who is saved but by the Grace of God who accepts what little good I can do as good enough for Him. I am an imperfect human, an imperfect Christian.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I am not a bigoted redneck.
And I am better than I would be if I had no faith.
If you don't like me, you'd best leave me alone, because I'm going to change.
Just a quick post, while I'm home for the long weekend (Canada Day, July 1st is a statutory holiday), amid a whirlwind visit involving a cousin's wedding, a big good-bye at the church, and all the stuff going on in catching up with a big, busy family.
Life is good. My job is great, my leg is getting better (less than two weeks of crutches to go), and the living arrangement at the rectory is awesome.
From now until August there will likely be little or no time online by Yours Truly, since he will not be home in that time, and I've not found any internet "accomodations" in Edmonton. Furthermore, I'm actually quite enjoying the enforced sabbatical from time online. True, I miss having the opportunity to keep up with people and their lives, but it's really nice to to spend hours a day staring at a screen, wasting time that could be spent on far more profitable pursuits. I've been writing, and reading, more since I moved, and I feel like life is good.
Now--why the statement heading this post? Basically, because of Davem's recent post on LJ.
I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of Heaven and Earth.
I believe in JESUS Christ, His only son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the Dead, and on the third day He rose again. He ascended into Heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy, catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.
I furthermore believe in the apostolic succession of the bishops, the authority of the Pope the Vicar of Christ, and the teaching of the Magisterium. I believe in the reality of Christ's presence in the Eucharist: body and blood, soul and divinity. I believe in the sanctity of marriage, in its exclusivity to the relationship of one man and one woman for life. I believe in the sanctity of human life, in all its stages.
I believe that with the conviction of the faith given me by my parents and grandparents as a child, the faith imparted by the reason of philosophers great and small, the faith nurtured by experiences I can only call touching the Divine, and by the example and faith of dozens or hundreds of those I have seen.
This faith is not a childish fantasy. Nor am I an ignoramus led into delusion. I am proud to be "the Catholic one" in my online communties, and I confess that I am a sinner--a proud, lazy, guilty man who is saved but by the Grace of God who accepts what little good I can do as good enough for Him. I am an imperfect human, an imperfect Christian.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I am not a bigoted redneck.
And I am better than I would be if I had no faith.
If you don't like me, you'd best leave me alone, because I'm going to change.
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