On Saturday, I came up with what seemed like (to me, at least) a fantastic idea. Hey, why don't I publish little meditations on life and faith for each day during Holy Week? I can increase the amount of stuff on my blog, and maybe someone will read it other than me (fat chance :)! In any event, I already missed yesterday, but that doesn't bother me much, so, onto the reflections!
Palm Sunday: Last night, all the student Masses I saw were way more packed than usual. Granted, one was celebrated by a Cardinal, so that is completely understandable, but the other (which was at 10 p.m.) was at least two and a half times fuller than usual, in spite of the fact that it was only the chaplain saying the Mass, and the Passion was being read (no small feat, even in the short form).
In the chaplain's homily, he reflected on a woman who was 27 when her husband died, and told him that nobody else knew what she was going through. He reminded her of Jesus, and how even as the Son of God, He felt abandoned by God. It was ridiculous, he acknowledged for someone who was God to also feel abandoned by Him, but in Jesus' human nature, He really became like us in everything, save sin. On the Cross, He suffered every human pain there is, and from that came the fruit of our redemption.
For the past few weeks (or maybe months), I think that has been what I have needed to hear. In my pain, I know that pride takes over, and I wonder how it is that anyone else, let alone God, could relate to the pain and frustration I endured, not in silence, but very much alone. In my vanity, I assumed that the fact that I could pull through temptation and nearly sleepless nights and tears meant that I was doing it of my own power and becoming tougher. Not so. I often forget how intimately God knows me and everything about me, and the fact that knowing all of this, even the dirty, cruel, and repugnant things about me, He loved me enough to go to the Cross for me. To go to a death called twice-cursed by Saint Paul himself, and to do it in front of the world, so that everyone would know He loved me enough not to hold back anything, including His own blessed life.
People in general forget this too, I think. When they suffer, they are the first to say "How could God do this to me? How could He let this happen?" But almost nobody looks to the Cross and thinks "How could God let this happen?" And indeed, how could God let His only Son, in essence Himself, die for us? How could He give up His life for creatures who are more often straying than not? The answer, of course, is love, but not just any love. Not just a fleeting fancy, or a superficial affection, but a love that the human mind cannot fathom. A love so all-encompassing that even the Cross cannot fully express it, but to use anything other than a cross, a crown of thorns, three nails, the inscription Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudeus, and the Body of Christ is wholly inadequate.
Monday: I attended the Chrism Mass at the cathedral close to my university last night with some friends, and though it went almost two hours long, it taught me a little about myself and the institution of the priesthood. Most of this observation actually comes from other, separate experiences rather than the Mass itself, but the Cardinal celebrating the Mass ended up tying them together with his homily last night.
Over the year, a deacon who is going to be ordained in May has been coming every Monday night to do what was supposed to be a "light" beginner's catechism talk with us. Within a month, however, this "light catechesis" became much deeper, more puzzling theological discussions, which seemed to suit all involved better. During the course of these little lessons, the deacon and I formed a quirky little intellectual bond, mostly because I'm still somewhat stuck in little kid mode, i.e., whenever I stumble onto a new topic of interest, I have this irrepressible need to ask questions about it until I've exhausted my informant's pool of knowledge. The deacon seems simultaneously amused and bemused by this, but it's allowed us to learn more about each other as time has progressed.
As we are now a little more than a month away from his ordination, the deacon is becoming excited for it, and I can tell it's really beginning to feel real to him. This is exciting for me as well, especially after he brought me a prayer card which each priest has printed up for his ordination to ask people to pray for him and his mission. Having been in formation for the priesthood for 12 years, I can tell it's worn on him a bit, but he is undeniably excited for the prospect of serving God's people, even if it is a daunting call. I believe that even in spite of his doubts of his own ability, he will make an excellent priest, and he will serve his flock well.
During this same year, I have been learning about my Catholic faith left, right, and center, and it has been a fantastic journey. Almost all of my older friends have imparted to me some knowledge or experience that has helped me grow intellectually and personally in my faith, and I am eternally grateful for that. The university's chaplain has probably been the biggest source of this type of knowledge (probably because I bug him the most with my questions), and has always patiently answered my questions while challenging me to look inside and outside of myself to find the answers. Because of this, and the many men I know who are priests, seminarians, or future seminarians, I have come to respect, and in some ways love, the Catholic priesthood. I have often been jealous that God could call a man to such a beautiful sacrifice of self for others, and allow him to lead them along the path to salvation. It has become perfectly apparent to me why a priest is called an alter Christus, or an "other Christ".
Many people have seen this in me, and I do get ribbed by my friends, who will often tell people that I am destined to become a religious sister because of my geeky knowledge of the Church and my apparent piety (I try to make a good appearance, but of course there are struggles). Our chaplain has also noticed, and will lightly tease me about being such a nerd for someone so young and so new to much of what I am learning. However, this made enough of an impression on him that, when we had the Cardinal celebrate our Palm Sunday Mass, he introduced me as one of three great supporters of the priesthood among our group of Catholic students at the university. I was caught completely by surprise by his remark, but nevertheless, I was deeply touched that he should think enough of it to mention it to the Cardinal, who is one of the more prominent among the men of his rank.
By now, I'm sure none of this sounds even remotely related to the Chrism Mass, but it will (hopefully) in just a minute or so, because the Cardinal who celebrated yesterday's Mass (not the same one as Palm Sunday) made his homily all about the priesthood, and addressed his observations to the priests and seminarians present.
With regard to the deacon, the Cardinal remarked that not only do priests come in all shapes, sizes, and personalities, but that this is a beautiful and unique strength of the Catholic priesthood, and it allows them to better and more faithfully serve their flock. It also reflects the essential catholicity of the Church, that is, its universality, because the number and variety of priests makes them a cross-section of the entire Body of Christ, some one sixth of the entire world's population. Over the year and getting to know the deacon and other men like him, I have been able to appreciate the truth of the Cardinal's sentiment: each man comes with his own life's story, and is entirely his own person, except that each story converges with Christ and His call to each of these men to serve Him and His people with his life.
With regard to myself and the priesthood, I have realized that it is no small feat to give up even a part of one's life to God. Even the smallest part of anything a person regards as his own is jealously guarded, but these extraordinary men give up their entire lives. They hold nothing back from God, and many even give up their names, the essence of who they are, to serve Him. My jealousy of this call is unfounded, I know, because God would not offer women an inferior role to men in His creation, just a different one. But seeing this dedication day in and day out has caused me to realize that there can really be only one true happiness, and that is to do God's will. It isn't easy, but each priest has done it, and having met so many whom I would be privileged to emulate, I realize that for me as well, I could not possibly be happier than giving my life to God to do His will. I do not yet know what that will entail for me, but I know that it is the only path I want to pursue.
As is so often quoted to men becoming priests, Jesus says, "You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name." John 15:16 (NRSV). It is not only the priests He has chosen, though. It is every person who belongs to Him, for we are all called to advance and serve the Church.
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