As many of you (or all of you) know, I am going to Rome for my graduate studies on my road to become a priest. Let me be perfectly honest with you, internet community, because I know you have always been honest with me... save the times I've had to look up disease symptoms.
The few weeks leading up to my departure have been somewhat agonising. The goodbyes, the packing, the not-wanting-to-forget-anything-ing, the procrastination, the thought of more classes, early mornings, exams, homesickness, etc.
Well, as you can imagine, one's sight can become rather clouded when knee-deep in the mire of self-absorbed consternation. Nevertheless, I recently had an epiphany.
It was right after I went to confession at my parish, I was kneeling before a statue of the Blessed Mother praying my penance, when I realised: I am not going to Rome for something, I am going for somebody.
Plain and simple, I was going for Jesus' sake. Getting down to brass tacks, that was it. Looking past all the other stuff was that first movement of my soul from all those years ago pushing me to enter seminary in the first place. It was not for the sake of an institution, someone's expectations, or even my own satisfaction. Jesus is asking me if I would be willing to fly across the ocean for Him. Not for all the awesome experiences I will inevitably have, the authentic Italian food, and most definitely not for bragging rights or my own ego. Just for the Love of God. When I had that epiphany, everything suddenly seemed to be okay. Am I still nervous? Yes. Duh. But knowing that I was doing this for a whom and not for a what changed everything.
Think about it: What are you doing, and for whom are you doing it? Whether we know it or not, we do everything for somebody. It may be for our families, ourselves, or for God, but we do it for someone. Figure out who your doing what your doing for, and that may determine whether or not you should keep doing it.
Just remember: God takes everything personally, and thanks to His mercy, that is actually very good news for us.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Accidentally Charitable
I wanted to go for a run. Simple enough, although very naive of me when you consider the fact that I assumed it would be a reasonably straightforward ordeal. It was Saturday morning, and the car which I shared with other members of my diocese was purloined for reasons unbeknownst to me. I needed stamps for my graduation invitations, so my objective was to run to the nearby supermarket to pick them up. Unfortunately, it began to rain before I had begun my run. I looked out my window and thought to myself: You will be the only nut-job running in the rain this morning, so expect to look fairly ridiculous in public, but I'm gonna do it anyway.
My mind being thus made up, I started out of the college building at 9:12am.
Now, I have made this run a couple times during the course of my college career, and it usually takes about a half-hour. I approached the first traffic light and noticed that there was a cop-car sitting in front of the road with a "do not cross" sign stretched thereon. Great, I mused, someone must've gotten shot. So I took a right and kept running in order to find a way around, but street after street was blocked of with those ever-smug "do not cross" signs. After running several blocks down the road, I finally found a street which was not thus barricaded. I took this as a stroke of good fortune and ran down that road, hoping that I could eventually find my way to some region of the world I recognized. I knew I was in or near the town of Narberth, PA. As I was running I noticed a small white sign with blue print planted in the grass by the road that read something to the effect of: "Narberth Children's Charity walk/run" Ahh, I said to myself, that explains the closures... Sure enough, on the road ahead, I saw a group of kind-hearted people running, in the rain, for charity.
I wanted nothing to do with that.
I wanted stamps.
That's it.
So, it was my full intention to run straight past these people and carry on my own merry way, provided I could even find my own merry way, to the supermarket. The Children of Narberth had other plans.
As I approached the street these runners were crossing, runners of all ages panting their hearts out for this noble cause, a spectator, believing that I was a stray charity runner participant, waved me into the group.
So here I was, now suddenly registered, participating, wet, stampless, and running for charity.
I didn't know exactly what to do. It was then I saw yet another sign, next to a large digital clock, which read: "Mile 4" My heart crashed to the asphalt. I knew that a 5k was about 3 miles, so I hadn't the slightest idea how long I would be running for. People were standing on the sides of the street, on their porches, in the backs of their trucks, clapping, cheering me on, trying to give me water and "high-fives". I was completely and utterly trapped. I dare not break away from the throng of runners, for fear that they may form a lynch-mob and hang me for charity... And I would feel like a jerk.
As I was giving up hope of ever returning to the seminary, I turned to my left and noticed a Catholic school with which I was familiar. Then I looked to my right, and saw the catholic Church who owned said school. I wound up right where I wanted to be. I ran down the main street and past the finish line, my final time coming to about 47 minutes... not too bad.
People applauded my accomplishment and I walked wearily into the supermarket. I was standing in front of the registers, wet, tired, frustrated, clutching a yellow Gatorade so as to restore my electrolytes. And I realized then that I had forgotten what I had gone to the supermarket for in the first place. Thankfully, I was on my way out when I remembered the stamps...
The connection: I wanted stamps = we have plans; for our future, our families, our vocations. So we set out trying to reach those goals and execute those plans. Then, as the path lay seemingly straight before you, all of a sudden, you get Shanghaied into doing something you didn't intend to do. I just wanted to run to the supermarket and back. The Narberth community had other plans for me. So too with God. He upsets our well-laid plans and schemes and sends us down a road, the end of which seems nowhere in sight. For me, in terms of my vocation, this has meant getting sent to Rome for my theological studies (I'm going to Rome, by the way).
We get "lost", we get confused and disoriented. We may even get angry or frustrated with God, but we keep on running. We must keep on running. Because sooner or later, you will reach that goal, you will find your vocation, and all along we will have people cheering for us, giving us high-fives and offering us water. This is especially true as a seminarian. I am supported by so many people whom I hardly know, it's incredibly humbling.
The detour God puts us on may or may not be what we set out for originally, but in the end, it will be better than we had imagined in the first place. take me for example: I ran 5 miles for charity and I got my stamps. It worked out pretty well for everyone. So just keep running. You'll make it eventually.
My mind being thus made up, I started out of the college building at 9:12am.
Now, I have made this run a couple times during the course of my college career, and it usually takes about a half-hour. I approached the first traffic light and noticed that there was a cop-car sitting in front of the road with a "do not cross" sign stretched thereon. Great, I mused, someone must've gotten shot. So I took a right and kept running in order to find a way around, but street after street was blocked of with those ever-smug "do not cross" signs. After running several blocks down the road, I finally found a street which was not thus barricaded. I took this as a stroke of good fortune and ran down that road, hoping that I could eventually find my way to some region of the world I recognized. I knew I was in or near the town of Narberth, PA. As I was running I noticed a small white sign with blue print planted in the grass by the road that read something to the effect of: "Narberth Children's Charity walk/run" Ahh, I said to myself, that explains the closures... Sure enough, on the road ahead, I saw a group of kind-hearted people running, in the rain, for charity.
I wanted nothing to do with that.
I wanted stamps.
That's it.
So, it was my full intention to run straight past these people and carry on my own merry way, provided I could even find my own merry way, to the supermarket. The Children of Narberth had other plans.
As I approached the street these runners were crossing, runners of all ages panting their hearts out for this noble cause, a spectator, believing that I was a stray charity runner participant, waved me into the group.
So here I was, now suddenly registered, participating, wet, stampless, and running for charity.
I didn't know exactly what to do. It was then I saw yet another sign, next to a large digital clock, which read: "Mile 4" My heart crashed to the asphalt. I knew that a 5k was about 3 miles, so I hadn't the slightest idea how long I would be running for. People were standing on the sides of the street, on their porches, in the backs of their trucks, clapping, cheering me on, trying to give me water and "high-fives". I was completely and utterly trapped. I dare not break away from the throng of runners, for fear that they may form a lynch-mob and hang me for charity... And I would feel like a jerk.
As I was giving up hope of ever returning to the seminary, I turned to my left and noticed a Catholic school with which I was familiar. Then I looked to my right, and saw the catholic Church who owned said school. I wound up right where I wanted to be. I ran down the main street and past the finish line, my final time coming to about 47 minutes... not too bad.
People applauded my accomplishment and I walked wearily into the supermarket. I was standing in front of the registers, wet, tired, frustrated, clutching a yellow Gatorade so as to restore my electrolytes. And I realized then that I had forgotten what I had gone to the supermarket for in the first place. Thankfully, I was on my way out when I remembered the stamps...
The connection: I wanted stamps = we have plans; for our future, our families, our vocations. So we set out trying to reach those goals and execute those plans. Then, as the path lay seemingly straight before you, all of a sudden, you get Shanghaied into doing something you didn't intend to do. I just wanted to run to the supermarket and back. The Narberth community had other plans for me. So too with God. He upsets our well-laid plans and schemes and sends us down a road, the end of which seems nowhere in sight. For me, in terms of my vocation, this has meant getting sent to Rome for my theological studies (I'm going to Rome, by the way).
We get "lost", we get confused and disoriented. We may even get angry or frustrated with God, but we keep on running. We must keep on running. Because sooner or later, you will reach that goal, you will find your vocation, and all along we will have people cheering for us, giving us high-fives and offering us water. This is especially true as a seminarian. I am supported by so many people whom I hardly know, it's incredibly humbling.
The detour God puts us on may or may not be what we set out for originally, but in the end, it will be better than we had imagined in the first place. take me for example: I ran 5 miles for charity and I got my stamps. It worked out pretty well for everyone. So just keep running. You'll make it eventually.
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
A broken/rewritten Promise...
I made a New Year's resolution, which I made and broke two days ago. It is a New Year's resolution because Sunday was the first day of Advent, which is technically a new Liturgucal year in the Church. Hence, "New Year's resolution". The resolution? To faithfully post to my blog every day so as to maintain mental homeostasis. Well, here we are in day two of the new liturgical year and I have already broken it. So I have developed a compromise. I will faithfully post every week, rather than everyday...
Due to the massive lacuna in my postings, I will bring you up to speed:
I left school for the summer, I went to Texas for two months, I learned a bunch of Spanish, I came back from Texas, spent a week at home, began the new school year (as a senior in college), took classes, the Pope came and stayed at my school, I had midterms, kicked a pumpkin, went to NC and made tacos, came back to school, left for Thanksgiving break, saw my brother who is teaching in Mexico with the Legionaries of Christ, watched Quo Vadis two days in a row, came back to seminary, cut down two of the most Charlie Brown Christmas trees I have ever seen, I just ate three sugar cookies and now I am sitting in the library... where I was prior to the lacuna.
I understand. That's a lot to unpack, and I have been woefully negligent. But look at it this way: If I kept up to date with every little thing that happened to me over the summer over the summer and up to this point, I would have nothing to write about for these next few weeks.
I just wanted to let whomever stumbles upon this website know that I am still alive and intend to maintain regular contact with the cyberspace community from here on out.
Oh yeah, word of the day is lacuna which means a "blank space or a missing part"
see: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/lacuna
I learned that this semester... Yay, schooling...
Due to the massive lacuna in my postings, I will bring you up to speed:
I left school for the summer, I went to Texas for two months, I learned a bunch of Spanish, I came back from Texas, spent a week at home, began the new school year (as a senior in college), took classes, the Pope came and stayed at my school, I had midterms, kicked a pumpkin, went to NC and made tacos, came back to school, left for Thanksgiving break, saw my brother who is teaching in Mexico with the Legionaries of Christ, watched Quo Vadis two days in a row, came back to seminary, cut down two of the most Charlie Brown Christmas trees I have ever seen, I just ate three sugar cookies and now I am sitting in the library... where I was prior to the lacuna.
I understand. That's a lot to unpack, and I have been woefully negligent. But look at it this way: If I kept up to date with every little thing that happened to me over the summer over the summer and up to this point, I would have nothing to write about for these next few weeks.
I just wanted to let whomever stumbles upon this website know that I am still alive and intend to maintain regular contact with the cyberspace community from here on out.
Oh yeah, word of the day is lacuna which means a "blank space or a missing part"
see: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/lacuna
I learned that this semester... Yay, schooling...
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Long post for a short point.
We, as a seminary community, went to a Phillies game last week. First, we had a tailgate sponsored by the Knights of Columbus council from seminary. It consisted of "hoagies", "tomato pie" and salted pretzels. There was also beer. It is funny how you can tell who is familiar with the aforementioned beverage by the way they hold the bottle. The amateurs seem to hold it as though they were trying to strangle a goose. The more seasoned among the populace hold the bottle as if they were about to drop it and that was fine with them. But I digress. The real reason for this post is to expostulate on something that has bothered me for three years. You will notice how in beginning of this arduous post, I put certain items in parenthesis. Namely, "hoagies" and "tomato pie".
As you may or may not know, I was home schooled my whole life, and more than one person has referred to me as "sheltered" due to my apprehension and mild abhorrence of expletives, and other questionable behavior of habitual practice. Mind you, I don't let stuff like expletives shake my person to its very core. Certain things come with the human territory that shouldn't cause one to shun the entirety of the race simply because it doesn't jive with one's preconceived notions of propriety. Quoting a seminarian friend of mine, I am "moral, but not soft." However, living in Philadelphia these past few years I cannot come to grips with the word "hoagie". "Tomato pie" is less alien to my "sheltered" ears, because I can at least identify each member of that phrase independent of its relation to a cold, soggy, piece of bread with tomato sauce on it. Nothing but tomato sauce.
"Hoagie", however, is something I will never get used to saying. I even feel weird typing it. I think it might just be my family, you will need to ask around yourself. There are certain words we can't stand. For example, my sisters cannot stand the word "crackle". Do not ask me why, because I do not know. They just cannot stand the way it sounds. Nor do they like the word "crisp", or "cracker". I think it has something to do with a guttural pronunciation of the "c". Whatever the reason may be, they just don't like the words. They make their skin crawl.
"Hoagie" has a similar effect on me, but in an incredibly Puritan, New England way. Forgive my bluntness, but it sounds dumb. There is no other reason for my opinion other than the entirely subjective fact that I think the word in itself sounds unintelligent. That is me being very, very, hubristic.
Regardless of how I think the word sounds, the fact of the matter remains: a hoagie is a hoagie. Now, there are a plethora of other ways in which one may refer to the same item: Sub, sandwich, deli meat crammed into a roll. But I cannot change the truth which the name "hoagie" stands for. It's a little bit like how people don't like the truth the name "Jesus Christ", or "marriage", or "God" signifies, but no matter how much they don't like the word, they cannot change the truth of it. Now I'm hungry.
As you may or may not know, I was home schooled my whole life, and more than one person has referred to me as "sheltered" due to my apprehension and mild abhorrence of expletives, and other questionable behavior of habitual practice. Mind you, I don't let stuff like expletives shake my person to its very core. Certain things come with the human territory that shouldn't cause one to shun the entirety of the race simply because it doesn't jive with one's preconceived notions of propriety. Quoting a seminarian friend of mine, I am "moral, but not soft." However, living in Philadelphia these past few years I cannot come to grips with the word "hoagie". "Tomato pie" is less alien to my "sheltered" ears, because I can at least identify each member of that phrase independent of its relation to a cold, soggy, piece of bread with tomato sauce on it. Nothing but tomato sauce.
"Hoagie", however, is something I will never get used to saying. I even feel weird typing it. I think it might just be my family, you will need to ask around yourself. There are certain words we can't stand. For example, my sisters cannot stand the word "crackle". Do not ask me why, because I do not know. They just cannot stand the way it sounds. Nor do they like the word "crisp", or "cracker". I think it has something to do with a guttural pronunciation of the "c". Whatever the reason may be, they just don't like the words. They make their skin crawl.
"Hoagie" has a similar effect on me, but in an incredibly Puritan, New England way. Forgive my bluntness, but it sounds dumb. There is no other reason for my opinion other than the entirely subjective fact that I think the word in itself sounds unintelligent. That is me being very, very, hubristic.
Regardless of how I think the word sounds, the fact of the matter remains: a hoagie is a hoagie. Now, there are a plethora of other ways in which one may refer to the same item: Sub, sandwich, deli meat crammed into a roll. But I cannot change the truth which the name "hoagie" stands for. It's a little bit like how people don't like the truth the name "Jesus Christ", or "marriage", or "God" signifies, but no matter how much they don't like the word, they cannot change the truth of it. Now I'm hungry.
Monday, April 27, 2015
Garden Boxes: Parts 2, 3, & 4. (I was getting antsy)
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And this is the finished product of our labor! A 2x8 ft chunk of wood.
And this is the box sitting where it is going to be. I have one more to build to reach the total of 4. Thank you so much for all who helped make this ridiculous enterprise a reality! My ridiculous enterprises usually come to nothing... Like a blog.
Garden Boxes: Part 1
Aha! The flea-bitten computer finally decided to upload the darned image!
This is the beginning stages of my little garden-box project. If I didn't tell you about it already, I started a garden box project. Moving on...
The project was undertaken by myself and another seminarian who got roped into the effort by my magnetic personality. Actually, it was pity. I hadn't counted on lumber being so... long... and had no way to transport it from where I bought it, save by my Chevy Impala, which I can hardly sit in comfortably. He had a truck, so it worked out well for both of us. We cut all the wood with nothing but a handsaw. It was awesome and didn't even take that long.
A short epic in the interrim...
Hey everyone,
Whilst I am waiting for my pictures to upload, I would like to share with you a composition of my own doing. In my Sophomore year for English, we were given a "creative writing assignment", in which we were to mimic the style or write on the same topic of one of the authors we learned about. I chose to write in the style of Racine's "Phaedra", which is written in iambic pentameter and rhyming couplets in a-a, b-b, c-c fashion. So, I wrote like a 20th century Frenchman in English about an event in Japanese history, which takes place at the beginning of the reign of Nobunaga Oda in the 16th century. A multi-faceted work, it's true, but I loved doing it and I hope you like it.
Takeda
Characters
TAKEDA KATSUYORI, doomed
warlord
RIKEI, a nun
TAKEDA NOBUKATSU Katsuyori’s son
MESSENGER
LADY TAKEDA, Katsuyori’s wife
MONKS
TSUCHIYA
BROTHERS, Katsuyori’s retainers
The action takes place in a
Zen Monastery, at the foot of Mt. Temmoku.
MONKS Takeda’s dying flame is nearly here,
Its
mighty light, once bright, now bleak and drear.
To
give him aid would be as grave a sin,
As
inviting death, the battle’s din.
Bar
the doors! Let no one in! Should he
Come,
ourselves the more unlucky would be.
RIKEI Can you deny the charge of common good?
What
merit is there in true brotherhood
When
it can be driven away by fears?
To
shun a man’s plight and his widow’s tears!
If
you cannot pity a man in death,
What
joy can be found when he first draws breath?
MONKS If you care for them, you do it alone,
His
peace is not at the price of our own.
(MONKS
leave, KATSUYORI and his subjects enter)
KATSUYORI This race begins to take its toll
on me.
I
could run from Temmoku to the sea,
Under
a mountain’s shadow, I would still
reside,
towering over me until
Ieyasu
has my land and takes my life
And
leaves desolate my unhappy wife.
In
this life, death’s darkness seems to be bright.
Can
blood wash away the shame of my flight?
LADY
TAKEDA My Lord, does Shingen’s[1] honor call
for this?
I
think your sense of honor is amiss.
Is
it defeat; the phoenix’s combustion?
Can
you not save yourself from destruction?
KATSUYORI Can the sun remain aloft in the
sky?
After
its course, is it not doomed to die?
Can
pity or pleas prevent its decline?
Ieyasu
and Oda have taken what’s mine.
My
time as ruler has been quickly spent.
I
am now sworn to death, not to relent.
Do
not give me your vain preaching of hope.
(MESSENGER
enters)
KATSUYORI What news of the victors who
conquered my land?
Do
they now wish to cut the three[2] from my
hand?
MESSENGER My Lord, make haste, take your sword
from its sheath,
The
earth that you walk, the air that you breathe,
The
sun in your land has now run its course,
Takeda
shall be stopped at its source.
The
conquerors come in endless pursuit,
To
crush Takeda; flower, leaf, and root.
KATSUYORI I hear thunderclouds gathering
their rain,
To
pour their blood out hard upon the plain.
My
son shall not carry my loathsome debt,
He
shall not retain my shame and regret.
This
consolation is bitter, ‘tis true,
But
this life is far worse than final adieu.
(Shouting outside, sounds of approaching army)
RIKEI My Lord, they come to take your noble
head,
If
your will is set, leave their triumph dead!
TSUCHIYA
BROTHERS Master, give us leave
to go and defend
For
the sake of your honorable end.
KATSUYORI You who have followed me in my
retreat,
In
defending my death, your own you meet.
Damnéd
Oda! You take my subjects too?
Was
not my land and fortune enough for you?
(TSUCHIYA
BROTHERS exit, sounds of fighting)
KATSUYORI It is now time for my epic to end,
My own poor soul to my
father I send,
To tell him of the kingdom
he has lost,
Of my wife and son; my
honor’s cost.
(stabs himself and dies)
LADY TAKEDA I cannot let my husband die alone!
Our fate will not be to
wail and bemoan
The loss of comfort, power,
and prestige,
(to KATSUYORI’S body)
We now fly to you, our love
and our liege!
(LADY TAKEDA and NOBUKATSU stab themselves and die)
RIKEI I will write of this that the world may
know
To what extent a noble man
must go,
Before his father’s honor
is sated.
To be condemned because
you’re related
By blood to a man after
whom you have striven,
By blood condemned, by
blood forgiven.[3]
[2] The katana is
held loosely by the thumb and forefinger, while the handle is held tightly by
the remaining three. Losing these would render a sword wielder useless.
[3] Her work is the “Rikei-ni no Ki” which is a military
account retelling the suicides of the Takeda family in order to prevent
dishonor and capture.
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