
Editor's note: This post
originally appeared in our student newsletter, The Raven. To read
more, click here.
I was praying with FOCUS missionaries in a chapel not too long
ago. We were kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament with
listening hearts. The monstrance glistened on a marble altar,
with a mosaic of Our Lady of Guadalupe praying serenely behind
Him. The afternoon rain from the mountains softly calmed the
garden outside. It was as if God was instilling a new hope
thorugh our own poverty and for the poverty we witnessed. We
saw simple joy in the poor. The raining down of graces was
consoling, and our deepened undertsanding of God resulted from one
thing. What was that one thing?
Arriving to St. Meinrad as a new seminarian was like a newcomer
arriving in Hobbiton. Once I saw the Abbeyton spires I had
instant peace. Benevolent villagers were eager to take my
belongings, bags, and books to my hole. You could tell the
second theology villagers were the most excited ones for the
school. Even the gregarious mayor new my name!
"Tulsa!" Well, nice try anyway. Once I was selttled in,
meeting new villagers of my class was a welcome sight.
Orientation days, sung by the vice-mayor, gave way to a week of
prayers. Then classes begun, focusing on Abbeyton ancient
lore, creeds, villager maturity and development, and Latin (though
there was that guy who took Greek). Looming, though, was the
spewing ash from Mount Doom, festering clouds of sin. It
would seem as if our class came in at the right time. Our
formation would consist in eventually fighting evil forces as, God
willing, priests of Jesus Christ.
In the wake of disturbing reports of sexual scandal, I
disheartened but not weary. The abuse details are a crude
look into the perversion of healthy, mature, and integrated
sexuality. It is just to ask how this happened, to make
amends, to make public all the jury reports, and to pray for the
victims of the abusers. Some may say, to an extreme, that the
Catholic Church is doomed in America, that behind the mask of
clericalism this was a fatal blow. Yet there is a fellowship,
called by God and forged in grace, to die. To die to themselves
just as Christ did for His Church.
We have a rapport among our entering class. Aware of the
scandal, I believe it has steeled our resolve to be holy, learned,
and dedicated priests. We are doctors, engineers, IT wizards,
scientists, teachers, historians, lawyers, accountants: sons of
God. We have prayed chaplets of divine mercy, the Stations of
the Cross, and rosaries together for our Church. We believe,
with an existential register, that our Church is worth fighting
for. In fighting our vices: with patience and humility, with
discernment and rightousness, with chastity and perseverance, we
will cover many sins with that one thing called love.
"No one," says Newman, "dies for his own calculations; he dies
for realities." The reality is this: our Church is Christ's
bride. She is alive, she is Beauty ever ancient ever new.