On Pilgrimage

"She does not speak English but would like your prayers," whispered a middle aged woman in a thick accent from behind her elderly mother. I smiled and asked what I could pray for. After whispering in Chaldean (a neo-Aramaic dialect spoken in northern Iraq), the daughter said "She is in remission from cancer, but her daughter, my sister, now has it. Also, her son has left the Church and is living with his girlfriend." I was struck by the matter-of-fact translation of these prayer requests, and the weight of this old immigrant woman's daily burden. Nevertheless, I remembered my role as a prayer minister, collected myself, and was about to pray when the whispering resumed. "Also, and most of all, she would like your prayers for the people suffering in Iraq."

Wham! 
Like a blow to my entire being. Like all of the air in the church had left. Like I had been teleported to the rim of the Grand Canyon - just so God could show me how small, petty, ignorant, and proud I still am. After praying for the Holy Spirit's presence, intercession, and guidance, for a dozen or so Iraqi pilgrims, I should not have been surprised by his arrival. It was as though this old and hunched over woman, leaning on her cane, not able to speak a word of English, suddenly had a neon light flashing over her head: HUMILITY.

The amount of struggle in this woman's life! Being an alien in a foreign land, afflicted by disease, having children who are also afflicted, but also betray... but the most important thing I could pray for was the people suffering in Iraq... And, I should mention, she comes to the one prayer minister not wearing the Franciscan habit, not wearing any article of religious clothing, the one layman standing among a group of men who have taken Orders, many who have been raised to the dignity of priest, and she approaches me. Were the roles reversed, I wouldn't have even gone to me!

Again, remembering why I was standing in front of the alter rail after the Novena Devotions that afternoon, and recognizing the lines of people awaiting prayer, I placed my hand on her shoulder and began to pray. I had few words. How do I empathize with, let alone intercede for, a suffering that is so unknown to me? I prayed for consoling grace and for the Holy Spirit's comfort, I remember that, and that I was not especially eloquent.

After saying "amen" I looked up just in time to see the elderly woman raising her head with tears streaming down her face. Silent tears. She gently touched my hand and turned to leave the area in front of the alter rail where the other prayer ministers and I were standing. This elderly Iraqi immigrant did not speak any English, she knew of struggle more than most. Yet she was moved to tears by the simple experience of having her intentions heard and being prayed for by a fellow believer.

"Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective." - James 5:13-16

This is just one of the many anecdotes I could tell you about my time in Carey, Ohio this past week. Carey, a small farm town north of Columbus, is home to the National Shrine and Basilica to Our Lady of Consolation. It has been a special place of pilgrimage for immigrant populations for over a century and has been entrusted to the care of the Conventual Franciscans for almost as long. Most recently, the Chaldean Catholic immigrants from Iraq have been coming in droves during the Novena and Feast for the Assumption of Mary. There were an estimated 5,000 pilgrims present, many camping in the Shrine Park, this past week. They are a people I never knew about, but they are a people who demonstrate hospitality, kindness, and humility better than most. My time there will be an experience that I surely draw on for years to come. 

On Vocation

For those reading this that may not know, and especially for those who may not understand, I would like to begin with a brief introduction of where I am at, and what I am doing. I do not mean, the "I'm Rob and I graduate student of theology at SLU." What I mean instead is this: Hi, I'm Rob and I am discerning my vocation. "Vocation" is a tricky word these days, especially amidst the re-establishment of "vocational" high schools, where it is viewed as a synonym of "profession" or "occupation." While this is not a completely false understanding of the word, it is missing the root of the term.

The Latin, vocare - to call, or vocatio - what one is called - has a greater meaning when brought to the deeper context of the ultimate questions, particularly with the divine. When we move beyond the shallow use of vocation meaning what one does, towards a more important question of identity - who one is, we can begin to see that vocation is a calling of the most intimate, intrinsic, and personal level.

Examples may prove to be helpful here. Some might say in the first sense that their vocation is a doctor, lawyer, or banker. In the second, they might say their vocation is wife, husband, father, mother, son, daughter, or priest. It is not about what they do, but about the question of who they are on the deepest level.

All of that to explain that I am currently discerning my vocation, or my calling. God calls everyone to a vocation, for many this is married life, for others it is the single life, and for some this is the religious life - or the life of Orders. The term discernment is important because it connotes an important aspect of this process. I am not creating or inventing, I am prayerfully trying to perceive or recognize what is already there - my calling, my identity.

I recently met a friar who explained an interaction he had with a former minister general (think, president or archbishop) of the Conventual Franciscans. The minister general asked a group of recently professed friars what vocation was. Each friar gave a basic description as they understood it to the complete rejection of the minister. He then paraphrased Michelangelo and said, "Vocation is standing before the Lord as a block of marble and humbly handing him a hammer and chisel so that he may remove everything that you are not, and make you into what you are."

Michelangelo is of course reported to have said, "Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it."

It is not any easy task to release so much control, and to faithfully wake up each day and say, "Lord, I do not yet know what it is you are calling me to become, but I ask that you would direct my path and choices so that I may become it." An easier life would certainly be one where I follow desire and whim, choosing as I please. I have by no means mastered this yet, and there are days and weeks where, shamefully, I forget that this life is not my own, that being a Christian means to live for God and for others.

This is where my occupation as a student intersects with my vocational discernment. As I enter my second year as a student of theology, I am frequently asked a variety of questions that usually boil down to, "What is theology?" This question has existed for millennia and been hotly debated and contested. A number of definitions are suitable - the use of reason to explore faith, to speak about God, faith seeking understanding. However, many of these definitions lead me to think that this study of theology is simply an academic exercise or pure thought and speculation. I much prefer St. Bonaventure's definition, which goes further. He writes that theology "exists so that we might become good and be saved, and that this is not achieved through bare speculation, but by an inclination of the will."

The task of theology is, or at least should be, the same as the task of vocational discernment - to become what we were at creation ("God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good."), and what are by virtue of Christ's merit, and will continue to grow into. It is, in a sense, the task St. Paul gives in his Epistle to the Philippians. "... work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure." This means that this journey is neither passive, nor wholly in my complete control.

All of this I write to you so that you may know that these past few and next several months, I will be trying to discern my vocation, particularly as to whether is is to be with the Conventual Franciscans. I ask for your prayers and hope to write soon on my recent experience with the friars in Carey, Ohio.