Who am I?

(Can you tell my papers are all done and I've got an academic lull coming? I'm posting here two days in a row!)

I had the most bizarre experience this evening. I'd just come back from supper, and I was rather pumped from post-Vespers, post-Mass, end of the week euphoria, and I popped into the washroom momentarily for the obvious reason. Without dwelling on that, as I was washing my hands and ready to dash off to my next big adventure (visiting Classic-Castle), I happened to notice that a bit of my hair was out of place, and looking at myself in the mirror, I had the thought "huh. I forgot about him."

Him?

I "forgot" about me.

Or, rather, I forgot about what I had looked like all day. Now, if I may say so, I was looking rather sharp today in matching sweater, tie, dress pants and shirt (a brown/black-blue combination in various shades)--not that looking sharp had anything to do with my remembering or forgetting. It was simply that it struck me rather forcefully how little I have a visual perception of myself.

Combined with my really confused perception of time (too much Kant, existentialism, and late-semester time dilation going on), it's made for some rather odd, inexpressible, thoughts of late.

On the Eve of Advent

Whoa! Has it been a while since I've checked in here! Too much going on, I guess. Though, that being said, I don't really feel like very much has happened that's worth touching on since I last posted. I mean, all that's really happened is that I hit a curb in my car and had to pay more money than I'd've like to fix it, but that over and done, and really doesn't prompt anything other than a comment on the fact that it's now really and truly winter in Edmonton. I mean, we've had snow before this fall, but as of Sunday (when I hit the curb) it seems to have come to stay, coupled with a nastily cold snap in the weather. Although the first shock of cold always leaves me in dread and I loathe having to drive on snow at first (justified, given this week's experience), I really don't mind it now that it's shown up. Unless my car doesn't start or I REALLY freeze walking from my car to the building, it's beautiful and makes you feel alive.

So, that's what has passed... what's coming up?

Well, lo and behold, classes end in less than a week. Tuesday is my last day of class, and I'm done my Finals December 12th. I can't say how eager I am to be done the semester, and to be free! A week ago I was really, really looking forward to heading home as soon as my last Final was over... but now I'm not so sure. I'm tempted to stay in Edmonton until Saturday, giving me a few extra days before leaving for Olds; and it's not that I don't still love the feeling of being home around Christmas... it's just the realisation that come December 28th or so I'm going to be nuts to get out of the house and back into the Seminary, at least if last year's any indication. That's a LONG time to be back home, and my social life would not suggest that I have a heck of a lot to do in Olds other than family. I transplanted almost 100% completely from Olds to Edmonton, and there's little enough reason to go back now, other than family.

Ah well, whichever I choose to do, I can't wait until December 12th, and that becomes the chief of my worries. Right now, I still have more important stuff to consider.

Updated

Wow... it's more than two weeks since I last posted, and not due to any lack of action in my life, either in the events part of things, or along the mental front. It's a mark of how busy life's been, I guess. Midterms, Term Papers, Seminary Stuff, Philosophy Club... there's a lot going on right now.

Indeed, the only reason that I making myself post tonight is that I've just come home from Olds with my family's old computer, which (though seven/eight years old still beats the one I had) I've been reorganising to suit my idiosyncracies--which of course involves getting my Bookmarks set up in Firefox. Hence, I'm here, and feeling guilty. But the more of this non-school stuff I clear up today, the more time I can (theoretically) devote to working on homework tomorrow. (Due to "Reading Break", I have an extra day off tacked onto the end of the long weekend.)

As already noted, there's a lot I could write about, but little comes to mind. Everything is a blur right now... I can't believe it's already mid-November, and I'm utterly frightened about how little time I have left before I have to hand in my term papers. Next thing you know we'll have snow (it's been REALLY late this year), then Finals, then Christmas, then the New Year... and then all over again.

Time fascinates me, really... and amazes me. In clearing out the deadwood on the computer I was browsing through old files before I clearcut the folders that aren't mind, and there were copious reminders of how fast time has flown. I still remember when the computer was not a part of my family's life at all, but that's seven years ago now, just for the computer I've inherited, and a couple years more for the first computers we had.

Wow... just... wow...

Sing a new song unto the Lord...

Well, I wrote already last month about music and the huge role that it plays in my life. If it's possible though, since then I think I've come to be even more inundated with music.

You know how you can have a song stuck in your head for days on end? Right now I've got a whole list of tunes I can play mentally. I can select from Carmen, from Andrea Bocelli, from three or so psalm settings, as well as various Mass parts and hymns. I'm humming or singing under my breath constantly the last couple weeks.

I wake up in the morning, and about the first fifteen minutes of tangible consciousness is Lauds, which has the Invitatory, which is sung, an opening hymn, and the Benedictus, which is also sung.

Mass figures into every day save Wednesday, when it occurs while I'm at Concordia. Mass at the seminary includes at least three hymns and four or five Mass parts, if not more of both, and occasionally sung prayers.

About three days a week I make it to chapel at Concordia. There are always at least two musical pieces, if not more.

Going to and from Concordia, the CD player is usually on. This is where Andrea Bocelli or something else, typically classical, would occur, since Pablo oftens makes use of the CD player to indulge our shared musical tastes.

I say the Office of Readings and Daytime Prayer on my own, and I never feel completely satisfied if I omit the hymn at the beginning. Today I was so enamored of the psalm setting we did at Compline last night that I set all the psalms to it.

Every evening we say Vespers together. This has, again, an opening hymn, as well as the Magnificat, which we sing. Tonight we get the full musical version, "Cathedral Vespers". And right before bedtime we have Compline, which has at least an opening hymn sung.

The communal life of the Church is full of music. Though the liturgy does not require it, it is a rare liturgy that lacks it, and it is a poorer liturgy, in my opinion. If words are the expression of our thoughts, then I think that music is the expression of our emotions.

And yet, for all that I am musically addicted and revolving... I absolutely hate iPods. Well, it's not that I think they are intrinsically bad. An iPod is like almost any tool: in and of itself there is nothing bad about it, and used well it can be a great boon to have.

However, I do not think most people use it well. It has become an antisocial agent, encouraging people not to communicate, but to withdraw from the world. It encourages obliviousness to the needs and presence of the community around us, and is really used in a profoundly selfish way. Equally bad, I don't think I've ever seen any evidence that iPods do anything to encourage people to sing or make music of their own. It certainly stifles the sharing of music, since they are scarce to be seen without the presence of earbuds. Music is like speech--it is meant to be audible, it is inherently communal. Music cordoned off into just one person's isolated ears is next to an abomination.

Anyway, that's my rant about it...

It's really funny, though, how this insane urge to hum and sing has been constantly recurring this weekend, which is supposed to be a silent retreat. Actually, I don't think I've had a less silent retreat yet... besides the musical instinct, I've had music practice which also entails all sorts of unnecessary conversation, and I'm engaged right now in outside communication, besides which I tend to read aloud... and read I have. That being said, this has been one of the most productive recollections I've experienced spiritually.

In a way, that's a microcosm of the seminary year thus far: less strictly adherent to the rules, but a lot more spiritually fruitful.

I lift my eyes up to the mountains, from where shall come my help?

Over the weekend, I had the privilege/task of chauffeuring Archbishop Smith to Hinton for a parish visit. His Grace is attempting to make such visits to all the parishes in the Archdiocese, above and beyond regular visits such as for Confirmation, and Hinton was on the agenda for last weekend. Since I had no overly large burden of homework, I said yes to Fr. Stephen when I was asked to take on the task of driving the Archbishop and acting as his MC at the Masses.

Now, before I go into the peculiar thoughts that occurred to me during the weekend, let me state that it was a good trip. Hinton is about three hours west of Edmonton, and is just on the edge of the Rocky Mountains, outside Jasper National Park. The Yellowhead Highway runs direct from Edmonton, and we had excellent driving weather, and the highway was quiet. Once in Hinton, we had an excellent reception by the parish. The Masses were good, the socials were good, the people were friendly, and my hosts were charming (due to there only being one spare bedroom in the rectory, the Archbishop stayed there with Fr. Brian while I stayed with a couple parishioners).

Indeed, it was really nice to get away from Edmonton. I think I passed through Hinton when I was five, on our way to B.C., but I have no memory of the event, nor indeed do I ever remember driving the Yellowhead west of Edmonton. It's a gorgeous drive, being mostly in forest and the foothills once you get past the suburbs, and for the last half hour before Hinton the Rockies loom enormous in front of you. I loved the trip, as it took me somewhere I'd never been, somewhere beautiful, and it got me out of the city. It had all the hallmarks of a vacation, except for the company.

And therein lay the most mind-bending part of the trip. Despite having the right conditions for feeling like a really awesome roadtrip or vacation, it was a business trip, and it was just the Archbishop and me. Now His Grace is a really nice and gracious man, and I enjoyed his company, but I really don't know him particularly well (which is a part of the reason he gets seminarians to drive him around), and he is twenty-five years my senior--and my boss.

I don't know... it just felt a little odd, and the fact that I neither had family nor friends along gave me quite a bit of cause for thought as we drove out. Simultaneous with being awestruck by the enjoyment of the adventure, I was quite melancholic with the realisation that that very lack of loved ones was probably going to be a major factor in my future travels.

Thinking on roadtrips, it occurred to me that I'll probably never go on a roadtrip with anyone other than seminarians (or once we're ordained, priests). The constraints of seminary life are such that I'll never have the flexibility to up and go somewhere with other friends from school, and the constraints of being a seminarian are such that while I have many people I call friends at school, precious few of them do or will likely ever see me outside of it, especially within the parameters of just having fun.

Once I'm ordained, I do get four weeks of vacation a year, and most priests I know do like to spend them going on trips--to Europe, to the States, to tropical locales--but they generally all go with their brother priests. While the option is there for me to spend my holidays with non-sacerdotal friends, it is unlikely that I'll have very many close enough that I would invite them or they would invite me, and the older I get, the less likely it is that I'll develop more such friends, while it's certainly likely that I'll lose them.

As for family, while I certainly intend to be as much a member there as possible, the fact is that while holidays such as Thanksgiving may see me at home, they are far more likely to see me in small doses, like visits for the weekend than for anything exciting like traveling. Maybe my parents--except that neither of them are really travelers.

On top of all this travel companion business--about which I'm not sure whether I like it or am neutral to it entirely--there's a more sobering thought about travel which really does strike me. Odds are, most of the traveling I do, especially the grand international stuff will be as much business as pleasure. It concerns me that what should be the awesome events of a lifetime will become the rote duties to be escaped in holidays.

I don't know where I'm going, exactly. I'm feeling quite melancholic about all these thoughts, but I don't see them as bad, or even necessarily as inevitable, but simply as probable. It is, really, just another hallmark of the fact that a priest is not his own man, but is someone set apart, sealed off for the service of God and the Church.

Dreaming

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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....