Would I get the message after three times?!

I felt like Peter, after Jesus inquired of him three times: “Peter, do you love me?”

It was early in a particularly eventful week in my parishes. It so happened to be in the wake of having to make the painful announcement that one of my parish communities would be consolidating with my other parish as a part of the Seek the City merger process. I was overwhelmed and feeling anxious. After the weekend of desolation, I set out into the week ahead, trying to find the way forward and pleading for an outpouring of God’s Spirit.  Speeding from Mass to meetings to errands, I was doing my best to stay focused and upbeat. Sometime on Tuesday, I was out and decided to grab a quick bite. I placed my order, waited for the food, and sat in my favorite corner of the restaurant. A few moments later, whilst I was absorbed in my cellphone, one of the servers inched over and asked: “Are you a priest?” I responded in the affirmative. The gentleman proceeded to ask for prayers, telling me a little of his days in Catholic school and his hesitancy to go back to church. It was a short encounter but a moment from God.

The very next day, I was out again for lunch (different place but same big appetite). Strolling through the order line and about to pay, I caught sight of the lady next to me signaling me. Making eye contact, she asked if I was from a church. Stammering, I responded that I’m the local pastor of two Catholic churches. She asked me, curiously, if the words at church had recently changed. Trying to get a little more context, I gently asked why she was wondering. She shared about her recent experience of going back to her local parish and recognizing that there seemed to be some new prayers. Taking a different tack, I asked her how she felt about going back to Mass. She smiled and shared that it really was time for her to go back and she looks forward to sticking with it. Fast forward to later that day, I received an email from a family member whose loved one I recently buried. Lo and behold, it was a beautiful message expressing her gratitude as well as indicating that she is contemplating coming back to the parish community, even amid the merger change.

Three times that the Lord placed in my path persons, brothers and sisters in Christ, who were not so much in the “church sphere” but out in the world still seeking Christ’s presence, the presence of the Church, the communion that God desires for his people. It took me until the third experience to stitch it all together. God wanted to show me, again, the importance of spiritually remembering those who have drifted away and being actively, joyfully eager to encounter them. How often Pope Francis has taught us to go to the peripheries, to care for those outside the visible confines of the Church, to be missionary disciples. I don’t purport to do it well or have “all the answers.” In fact, I didn’t gain sainthood by these three little chance encounters. What I did learn, once more, was that we are all called to seek and love the lost, to receive them no matter where we are, and to serve Christ in his mission to gather (back) all peoples to himself.  

Fr. John Streifel currently serves as the Pastor of the parishes of Our Lady of Mount Carmel and St. Clare in Essex, MD. He was ordained a priest of the Archdiocese of Baltimore in June 2018.

Featured photo by Kevin J. Parks/Catholic Review Media. Used with permission.

In preparation for my ordination to the diaconate on May 18th, I have imagined what it will be like in the Cathedral as I stand next to my fellow candidates, about to be ordained, before Archbishop Lori. Some of the men with whom I will be ordained plan to remain deacons for life. I hope to continue, God-willing, to presbyteral ordination next year. Whichever ‘type’ of deacon we are, we will all be equal as deacons. Both the permanent diaconate and the transitional diaconate highlight the importance of the diaconate in the life of the Church: the former by emphasizing that the diaconate is an honorable lifelong vocation for a Christian man; the latter by emphasizing that a man’s priesthood is incomplete without the prior diaconal dimension. But what is a deacon? As I step forward to be ordained, in my mind will be an image at the heart of the scriptural and liturgical texts on the diaconate, and confirmed by my experience of the Church: the deacon as a minister of God’s Temple.

The unchanging God through his Word established the universe from the beginning as the original Temple of creation. Across history, he has constantly reformed this Temple, as part of his work of recreation. The renewed Temple has its beginnings in the Old Testament, with men such as Abel, Abraham, and Melchizedek. It is clearly prefigured by Moses and the sons of Levi in the wilderness, and then in the Temple of Jerusalem. The Gospels begin with a family intimately connected to the Temple: with Zechariah, John, Elizabeth—and her cousin Mary. Through this family, Temple renewal reaches its climax, in the body of Jesus himself. The rebuilt Temple is not in a geographical location. It is the Body of the Risen Lord, the Temple of the Holy Spirit. With Jesus as cornerstone, the Temple is rebuilt on the foundation of the Apostles, assisted by the holy deacons whom they first ordained, and also on the martyrs, of whom a deacon, Stephen, was the very first. The work of re-creation happens as the Holy Spirit gathers women and men from across space and time, from every race, language, class, and culture, building up a holy Temple, a dwelling place for God (see Ephesians 2:19–22). The deacon, a modern son of Levi, enters directly into God’s work of re-creation through ministry to this Temple.

How does a deacon minister in the Temple of the living God? The deacon’s liturgical ministry is easiest to see and hear. He takes care of the Body and Blood of the Risen Lord and the vessels which hold this blessed sacrament. He is also a bridge between the priest and the laity during the liturgy: “Let us offer each other a sign of peace;” “Bow down for the blessing;” “Go in peace!” These moments are connected. The deacon’s liturgical ministry to the vessels holding Jesus’s Body and Blood is a sign of his ministry to the vessels of the Holy Spirit who make up the Body that is the Church. The deacon’s liturgical ministry is a preparatory sign, because he is inspired by his ministry to the Eucharistic Lord to minister to the people on the margins (physical and existential) of the diocese. But his liturgical ministry is also a sign of fulfillment, because the deacon’s mission to the margins has its goal in uniting ever more women and men to Christ for the upbuilding of the heavenly Temple. I love the example of the great deacon of the city of Rome, Lawrence. Lawrence was responsible for the wealth of the church: both the vessels for the Eucharistic sacrifice as well as the money, much of it for the poor. When the ruling prefect of Rome demanded that the church hand over all of her wealth, Lawrence gathered together the poor of Rome and declared them to be her true treasure —vessels of the Holy Spirit, in the treasury of the renewed Temple. For this boldness, Lawrence was martyred.

Lawrence’s knowledge of and care for the marginalized will challenge me in my diaconal ministry to encounter new people, especially those who are different, distant, or deprived of dignity. In my years of preparation for ordination, I have met many people from all walks of life. By hearing their stories and seeing God work his re-creation in their lives, I am convinced that God’s people really are the true treasures of the Church. The Holy Spirit so clearly works his cosmic gathering in the Archdiocese of Baltimore, building up the Body of Christ. In the months to come, I look forward to serving the ‘Temple treasury.’ Pray for me and for all the men ordained deacons on May 18th, that we may be found worthy of this service.

Tommy O’Donnell is a seminarian at the Pontifical North American College in Rome. His home parish is St. Mark’s in Catonsville. He will be ordained to the diaconate on May 18, 2024. Please pray for Tommy.

Featured photo by Kevin J. Parks/Catholic Review Media. Used with permission.

While praying before the Blessed Sacrament, I often hear the voice of Jesus ask me, “What are you looking for my child?” This is a burning question which resides in the hearts of all men. We are people of desires and are looking for something or someone to fill in our void. Christ knows our hearts and desires much more than we do ourselves. We are looking so desperately for something, but what is it that we seek so much? This is a question that has particularly formed my pathway to seminary, and which still resides in my heart every time I am before the Lord.

From my first year of high school until my senior year, I searched and looked for something that would fulfill me. Yet, time after time, I failed to ever find happiness in the worldly things offered to me. No amount of money, food, pleasures, or entertainment could ever fill the void in my heart. Each time I attempted to fill the emptiness; my heart would burn for something greater than what was offered. “What are you looking for?!” screamed in my head day after day. Was I looking for food? No. Was I searching for money? No. Was I longing for physical pleasures? No. The material things of the world never seemed to satiate my hunger for fulfillment. What then was I yearning for if not these things? It became quite obvious that no matter how hard I tried, I was not looking in the right places or for the right things in my life. It was only in the moments that I placed myself before the Lord where I experienced fulfillment and true happiness. This sense of happiness gave me an immense amount of peace in my heart and a sense of purpose and meaning. The deep longing which burnt in my weary and burdened heart was put to rest as I fixed my heart upon the heart of Jesus: His Eucharistic Heart. All my desires, all my wants, and all my searching was present in the Heart of Jesus, in the Holy Eucharist. It is in the Holy Eucharist that I find my meaning, my purpose, and my identity as a
man. By being united to Christ through the Blessed Sacrament, I was able to grow deeper in the mystery of Christ: a greater appreciation for the gift of the Holy Eucharist and thus a new understanding of Christ’s love for me. However, not only the mystery of Christ but also the mystery of my humanity unraveled before me. I discovered how it is only in diving into the mystery of Christ that I can understand the mystery of myself. It was through this discovery that I came to understand who Christ was calling me to be and where Christ was calling me to go. Before Him, Christ asked me to follow Him and enter seminary. Christ was asking me to give myself totally to His Heart. It was only in my relationship and love for the Holy Eucharist that I was able to hear the voice of Christ calling me. It became evident that what I was seeking was life with Christ untied in the Eucharist, to abide in His Heart of Love. The greatest way, then, to abide in His heart was by accepting His invitation to be one of His priests. So, every time I am before Christ and He asks me in the depths of my heart, “What are you looking for my child?” I say in my heart just as Thomas Aquinas said to Jesus, “Non Nisi Te, Domine – Nothing except you, O Lord!”

Ray Seeley is a seminarian at St. John Paul II Seminary in Washington, D.C. His home parish is St. John’s in Westminster. Please pray for Ray.

The Vatican began a new initiative this year in which they offer an hour of Eucharistic Adoration
in St. Peter’s Square every second Tuesday of the month on the steps in front of the towering
façade. The purpose of the time of prayer is to put the focus on the reality of Jesus in our midst
and to help pilgrims experience the reality that Christ continually dwells in the world through His
Church. Being a seminarian studying at the North American College, I can walk 10 minutes and
be in the center of St. Peter’s Square.

In October, I went for the first time to this celebration. One of the great things about this event
for a seminarian from the United States is that, in Rome, there is the opportunity to encounter
people from all over the world. On that night, I met a group of three German young people who
seemed to be in line but looked confused. I started to make my way around them and quickly
realized that they were interested in going to “the event.” They turned to me and one of the
young women asked me, “Are there tickets for this?” I responded, “The only ticket necessary for
this event is a heart open to prayer.” I think they were intrigued by this but more excited at the
sound of a free event in such an important place for art and culture.

As we walked up towards the altar, the priest was in the process of exposing the Blessed
Sacrament on the altar. I quickly noticed that this group of three Germans looked very confused.
I approached them and asked if they understood what was taking place and if they were
Catholic. The young man said “yes” while the two girls with him both said that they were
Protestant. I was moved to invite them to worship. I turned to them, feeling filled with the Lord’s
own longing for His children to come to Him, and said, pointing towards the Eucharist:
“That is Jesus right over there. He longs to share Himself with you. I promise you that indeed it
is Him there. This time of prayer will be for an hour, so find a seat and simply bring a heart
willing to receive the gift of Jesus giving Himself to you.”

My prayer during that Holy Hour focused on my insufficiencies and how I needed to surrender
those worries to the Lord who gives me everything in the Eucharist. Jesus answered those
prayers because after prayer, those three German young adults approached me again. The
young man, shaking my hand, said, “Thank you so much for helping us understand what was
going on.” I said, “You’re welcome” and the group of them just stood there for a moment, as
though they were seeking something more from me. However, the strange thing was that even
as they approached me, I could tell that they were not approaching me for my own sake, but
they were approaching me as a man who they believed to know Jesus Christ as an intimate
friend. They saw something in me that I was not seeing in myself.

These people were moved by the time of prayer but did not understand it. And so I found myself
in a position where I had to preach to them anew the kerygma. The kerygma is a fancy way of
saying, ‘the core message of the Gospel’ – the whole reason for all of Jesus’ ministry.
I began to explain that God had created the whole world out of a burning desire to share with
the world His goodness. So many times we fell short of that goodness and so in the fullness of
time, God sent Jesus Christ His Beloved Son – fully God and fully man – to be an image of
God’s desire for His people to be in union with Him. Therefore, we can trust that God is willing to
go to extreme limits to invite us into His joy. I finished by saying that union with God is what will
completely fill us – it is the only thing that truly will bring us happiness and that is why Jesus
gave us the Eucharist. It is a visible sign that Jesus Christ longs to be with us and to share
Himself fully with us.

I was absolutely certain of God’s love for me and these people in that moment. My
insufficiencies disappeared in surrendering myself to God’s own longing, which in a mysterious
way became my own longing – an invitation to peace and rest.

I do not know what happened in their hearts after our conversation. However, what I do know is
that God used that moment to reveal a certain reality of faith to me. The Eucharist is enough. It
is that gift in which God gives us everything we need. It is the absurdity of the perfect God
humbling Himself to be with us and calling us to Himself saying, “Come to me all you who labor
and are burdened and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28).

He longs for us and we must ask ourselves if we long for Him and what is keeping us from
giving all as He does. That is one of the reflections that the Eucharistic Revival in the US should
engender in us.

Originally posted Oct. 20, 2023 at Aleteia. For full-length original post:
https://aleteia.org/2023/10/20/what-happened-when-a-us-seminarian-found-german-tourists-at-a
doration-in-rome/

John is a seminarian at the Pontifical North American College in Rome. His home parish is St.
Mary’s in Hagerstown. Please pray for John.

The account of the calming storm is a text full of images and symbols, which apply as much to the difficult conditions of Matthew’s time as to my own personal life experience. I am originally from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Congo is in the center of Africa. It has been blessed with different mineral resources, but there are still many kinds of storms: war as various rebel groups continue to operate there, forest fires and floods, violence, and lack of employment are part of our daily lives. The serious storm is the ongoing military conflict that kills millions of innocent civilians. Since the beginning of the war, many people have been displaced, and there have been famines everywhere and diseases of all kinds. I testify that life in all its aspects was not easy for myself and for my family. I remember eating once a day and selling fruits in the public market during vacations so that I could pay my school fees. Even though Congo is still in the storm, all my trust is in God’s grace and love. He is the One who has the final say. I believe, one day, peace will be restored, and people will again live their lives worthily.

Most of the time, when I read this Gospel and meditate upon it, I see myself as Peter who performs an act of bravery by asking Jesus Christ if he can join Him on the raging waters, but his faith does not live up to his aspirations. Fear takes hold of him, and he begins to sink. “Man of little faith!” said Jesus Christ, holding out his hand. Before I used to trust only in my ability and intelligence. My ego was telling me that I was the master of my own life. Maybe I was correct, but after facing many challenges in my life, and seeing how the war takes out the lives of many people, I understood that life without Christ is worthless. Only Christ can calm the storm of one’s life. In my time of difficulties, troubles, confusion, or problems, I am not alone. Christ is there standing next to me consoling me and asking me to fix my eyes on Him alone. Jesus Christ is my hope and my consoler. He is the only One who wipes away my tears when I cry.

It is interesting to note that Peter, the one who doubts, who sinks into the raging sea, who denies Christ, is the one chosen to become the head of our Church. And his task will be “to strengthen his brothers and sisters in the faith!” This reminds me that my faith is based on my personal experience of life, and it is Christ Himself who can ensure peace and joy through the storms of my life. It is Him who calls and chooses His servants. He can take someone from the trash, clean him, and make him a worthy person in people’s eyes. I remember going to school without shoes. This is the reason why I believe that faith is a fight against doubt and fear. I am not called into this life because of my personal qualities, but it is because of Christ’s mercy and love in me. In the midst of my doubt and fear, I always pray emphatically: “Lord, save me! Kyrie Eleison!” I mean, when Jesus is with me, when He takes my hand, I feel safe.

My country is still in extreme turbulence; I believe that Christ is there in the midst of its storms. It is Him who is the source of peace. At certain moments in life, our horizon darkens, because of failures, illnesses, bereavement, family problems, and difficulties of all kinds. But our hope and trust need to be in Christ alone. He is our Savior. In the difficult moments of our lives, He is there suffering and journeying with us. He will never allow us to sink in the storm of this world.

If you are facing challenges, let me tell you that we can be on a boat battered by the waves, under the deadly gusts of the contrary winds; but Christ is there for us. He repeats to us: “Do not be afraid, it is I, behold, I am with you, even to the end of time.” He is always ready to reach out to us to keep us from being swallowed up by the waves. On the evening of Holy Thursday, He had said to his disciples: “I leave you my peace, I give you my peace, but I do not give it to you as the world gives it. Let not your heart be troubled or afraid (Jn. 14:27).” In our daily lives, Christ repeats to us what He said to his apostles on the raging waters: “Courage, it’s me! Don’t be afraid.”

Bienvenu is a seminarian currently on his pastoral year at the Pastorate of St. Charles Borromeo-St. Gabriel in Pikesville. His home parish is the Pastorate of St. Matthew-Blessed Sacrament in Baltimore. Please pray for Bienvenu.

Soon after I arrived at my summer assignment, St. Andrew by the Bay parish, this past June and began taking stock of the parish’s upcoming events, the pastor mentioned that a team of young people from the parish was going to North Carolina in July to participate in Catholic Heart Work Camp – but he added quickly that I likely wouldn’t be joining them since the group did not need additional members. I’m ashamed to say that a part of me was relieved at the realization that I would probably miss the week’s events.

You can imagine my surprise a few weeks later when I was told that they were suddenly down a chaperone and were wondering if I might be able to fill in. But God’s providence was working overtime, despite my initial reluctance and apprehension – the entire week was a wonderful testament to this simple fact: life is messy. Life is messy, but it is so beautiful.

I think back often to an interaction I had with one of the campers that week. At an evening Q&A between the teens and adults, one camper started to bring up some heavy topics, and pretty soon I was thinking to myself, “I’m not prepared for this!” Eventually this person brought up a struggle to come to terms with the death of a very close friend. Some thoughts started to come to mind that I could share, but I still felt very unequipped to engage with this camper’s pain, and so, while I continued to listen, I offered a quick prayer to the Holy Spirit to give me some words of consolation. Immediately, my mind was drawn to a talk I gave for a retreat a few years ago when I was working in youth ministry at my home parish. The crux of the talk was about shifting our perspective on suffering to see it not just as random and meaningless, something somehow irreconcilable with the life of faith, but as something redemptive that God can and will draw good from. I stepped out in faith and shared my thoughts – and thanks be to God, these were the words this person needed to hear! It soon became clear to me that this camper was starting to see things in a new light.

One of the things that I have seen over and over again in general throughout my life, and especially since entering seminary last year, is that God uses our past experiences to accomplish His will in us and through us. That talk I gave at the retreat was years ago, but I believe it was written in large part for that specific interaction, so that I would be able to recall it. There’s such a joy and a freedom that comes with living in light of the fact that God uses all of our experiences, both bad and good, in order to be at work in the world. With it comes the realization that because God chooses to work at times through us, some good He has envisioned might only come about if we are willing to discern His will and carry it out whenever we can.

Over that week at Catholic Heart Work Camp, there were so many other mishaps and difficulties and problems that it would take a book just to cover it all, but the one thing I’m sure of is that in each of the mishaps, in each of the difficulties, and in each of the problems, in each of life’s little messes, God is so very close to us and is at work to bring all things to Himself.

Matthew is a seminarian at St. Mary’s Seminary and University in Baltimore, MD. His home parish is the Pastorate of St. Francis – St. Mary and Holy Family in Middletown. Please pray for Matthew!

Everyone as a child has an instinct to wonder about the world. How could the stars in the sky and height
of a great tree be anything other than a testimony to some unknown greatness? Yet nearly everyone as
an adult experiences an atrophy of this sense as the responsibilities pile up. With so much to do, what
else is there other than the next task? In both these ways my life was completely typical for many years.
I knew this was a dissatisfying and fundamentally incomplete way to live, but a return to wonder
seemed to be a mere fantasy.

Thanks be to God, that sense of wonder was returned to me gradually – it became especially apparent
on a family fishing trip shortly after I returned to practicing the Faith and a year before I entered
seminary. Fishing is the family past time and has been central to every vacation we’ve taken for the past
20 years. It was a chance to break the routine of professional life and stay close to my parents and
brother. Sure, it was always pleasant, but I don’t remember ever feeling so enlivened by the experience
as I did on that day.

On the calm water with my back to the shore, I looked out and thought I could make out the curvature
of the earth itself on the horizon. The deep blue sea before me seemed to wilt on the periphery of my
vision as it stretched beyond my line of sight. A world that for years had been shrinking returned to its
full size, too big to wrap my arms around and too deep to imagine its limits. The world was again three
dimensional and I was very much in it. What lay before me was limitless and mysterious, but not
confusing. I was immersed, but not irrelevant amid the grandeur; terribly small, but anything but
worthless. It made sense, even if I couldn’t express it in the moment.

I don’t recall feeling any physical sensation, or even a distinct emotion, but both peace and vigor poured
into my heart and it grew back to the size it was when I was a child. There was undeniable beauty and
order before me. Instinctively, I knew that beauty can come only from a brilliant artist and order can
come only from a rational mind. I’m so very grateful that I didn’t confuse the art and the artist. But this
would’ve contradicted the experience itself: I was immersed in the beauty and grandeur; I was part of
this great tapestry. Surely, I was created by the same brilliant artist.

When Our Lord invited me to priestly formation, He gave me the great gift to make some more sense of
this experience. What I knew but couldn’t express in my own words, was laid before me by the saints
and philosophers of centuries past. All creation testifies to the brilliance and perfection of the One
through whom and for whom all things were made. It is intelligible because it was made by God who is
perfectly intelligent. What a gift to see beauty and now come to know the artist! If I only saw the art, I
surely would have fallen back into the morass of the mundane as time wore on, but to see myself as
part of God’s creative work nudged me further along the path to discipleship. The faith I had recently
returned to converged with the childlike wonder. God had become more present in every bit of His
creation. It sounds childish, but that’s exactly the point. I’m His creation, His artwork, and His child.
Living out my vocation is the fullest way I can say to God, “Yes, I am Your creation, Your son. Let me be a
part of your perfectly beautiful plan.”

Kevin McCarthy is a seminarian at Mount Saint Mary’s Seminary in Emmitsburg, Md. His home parish is
The Basilica of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Baltimore. Please pray for Kevin!

During my last summer assignment, I found myself alone and with nothing to do on my day off.
Normally, I would’ve just lounged around the house on a day like this. But on that beautiful
summer afternoon, I decided to do something different. After I left the rectory, I drove to a
nearby park. This park had a massive hill with a large, flat plane. I’m telling you, this hill was
straight out of The Sound of Music. The view on top extended for miles, the wind was blowing,
the trees were rustling, and the sun was shining. Then I was suddenly struck with a funny idea:
“Today would be a great day to fly a kite.”

When I was a kid, my family and I flew a kite once, maybe even twice, but it wasn’t something I
did all that much. Never before had I been inspired to do something so childlike, so spontaneous,
and yet, something that I hadn’t done often growing up. But there I found myself: looking for a
place to buy a kite, driving to Target, locating the “least childish” kite I could find, and heading
to the checkout to purchase my prize. I grew more giddy at every moment.

When I got back to the hill, it took me a while to assemble the kite – and then came the moment
of truth. I took a firm grip on the kite, I let it out into the wind just a bit, and as it was starting to
float on its own…it darted into the ground. Undaunted, I tried it again, this time finessing it a bit.
I let it out 30 feet, 60 feet, 100 feet. Before I knew it, it was soaring above me as high as a
building! I watched with awe and glee as it darted left and right, and spiraled all over the place.
Then the higher, faster winds took it – 150 feet, then 200, then 300. It was so far now that the
only indication that the kite was still up there was the thin line of string extending infinitely into
the big, blue, beautiful, summer sky. It was so serene. It was in that peacful moment that I came
to an important realization – I knew that the Lord delighted in this as much as I did!

Spontaneity makes up a necessary part of the life of a Christian, and indeed, the life of a
seminarian. St. Peter’s spontaneity , along with Jesus’ invitation, is what inspired him to step out
of the boat and walk to Jesus on the water. This gave Peter and the other disciples the faith they
needed to proclaim that Jesus truly is the Son of God, which Peter confirmed later before Jesus
named him “Rock.” It is Satan who wants us to live a life of mindless drudgery, not God. God
inspires us to use the free will that He gave us to step out of what we’re familiar with, what’s
comprehensible. This makes us free for Him to take us to heights we never could have dreamed
of on our own. So next time you feel your life dragging on the ground, know that God is right
there, ready for liftoff!

David Stein is a Seminarian at Pope St. John Paul II College Seminarian. David’s sponsoring parish is the Basilica of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (The Baltimore Basilica). Please pray for David!

“Okay this breathing thing is hard!”

I distinctly remember saying this to myself one evening while attempting somewhat frustratingly for the third time to swim. I was clinging to the edge of the deep end of the pool, after about five minutes of “warming up.” My lungs felt like I had just run straight up a steep hill, not swimming at a slow pace for a few minutes.

“Lord, why am I doing this?”

I remember thinking this as well. I was warned by some brother seminarians who swam when they were younger that there would be a learning curve, but their words did not prepare me for that feeling of being facedown in the water, legs kicking, arms pulling, and lungs absolutely begging for air, to stop, to rest.

I had run, cycled, done more burpees, pushups, sit-ups, and squats than I cared to admit. I hiked mountains, ran races. Despite not considering myself an athlete, I had been getting used to putting my body through difficult situations, so I didn’t think this would be much different. And yet here I was, at the end of my swimming lane, at the deep end of the pool, at the start of my seemingly pointless attempt to try something new, and I was already at the end of my rope.

I remembered three things at that moment.

First, having grown up with pretty severe asthma, I probably had a stronger inclination to avoid feeling what I am feeling in my lungs right now. So I clearly needed to teach my lungs to get used to this feeling.
“Okay. I think I can do that.”

Second, just like those difficult points of running a lap on the track, biking up the mountains, or any other physical endeavor, while I may have made the ridiculous decision to put myself in those situations, that didn’t stop the Lord from being with me in that moment. And it certainly didn’t stop me, in a rather mystical way, from entering into Our Lord’s passion, to being with Him in that moment as well. It may be painful, but it’s rich with meaning when I’m doing it with Him.

Third, I remembered a quote attributed to Franklin Delano Roosevelt … “when you reach the end of your rope … tie a knot and hang on!”

At that moment I launched from the wall, accompanied with a mix of frustration, desperation, prayer and even fury. At that moment, as I was facedown in the water, breathing out steadily, ignoring the inherent need for oxygen in my lungs, I felt as if I was not just swimming, but carving through the water! While it still felt painful, it no longer felt worthless, desperate or meaningless. Not only did I recognize something natural in myself — a need to deny some baser need in order to reach a higher purpose and goal – I also recognized that this could then lead to deep spiritual growth and communion, just like I have experienced through my runs, rides, and workouts.

I still get asked why I continue to put my body through these seemingly ridiculous and difficult things, and while it’s still a little hard to articulate my desire to do these things, my heart simply burns within me. I do these things not because they bring me pleasure right away, or even for days afterwards, but because they bring me closer to the Lord. Because in my preparation for the Holy Priesthood, it teaches me to live not for myself, but for Him alone.

Connor Schmidt is a Seminarian at Mount Saint Mary’s Seminary in Emmitsburg, Md., and
currently on Pastoral year at St. John’s Church in Severna Park. Connor’s Home Parish is St.
Ignatius in Ijamsville. Please pray for Connor!

A priest friend once said to me, “Death is the fate that all men share.” Growing up and visiting churches with visible cemeteries you get used to seeing the tomb stones knowing that the person’s bones are several feet beneath the surface of the ground. It wasn’t until my deacon year of seminary that I had the opportunity to visit the tomb that Jesus’s body rested in for three days.

The only significant difference being His body was not there!

My deacon class spent several days in the city of Jerusalem back in January of 2023 and thanks be to God, I was given the opportunity to stay overnight in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher where Golgotha and the empty tomb are both located. After being locked inside the church at 7pm with several classmates, the rector of our seminary, and a few other Christians, our nine hours of prayer, rest and reflection began. I decided to pray a combination of rosaries and divine mercy chaplets for different people each hour of the night, spending as much time as possible at Golgotha and the empty tomb.

At the beginning of the first hour, one of the workers had to fill the candles in the tomb with more oil. During that time as we waited outside the tomb, I couldn’t help but think of Peter, John and Mary Magdelene as they approached the Lord’s tomb, waiting to see inside. Reading and reflecting upon those scripture passages was a great blessing- already enkindling and stirring up the flames of faith in my heart.

As the worker finished filling up the candles, my friend and I rushed into the tomb to start praying. The tomb is designed in such a way that there is a larger outer chamber connected to the smaller inner chamber where Jesus’s body was laid for three days. Thankfully, we were able to pray in both chambers with other Christians for an entire hour.

While reflecting upon such a glorious mystery of our faith, it became much more apparent to me that yes, Jesus did share in a death like ours, but because of his resurrection and Dcn. Luke Koski our baptism into his death, we are now able to share in His resurrection. A resurrection of life, joy, happiness, peace, and love. Death no longer has the last word over our mortal bodies. Sin and its effects no longer rule over the baptized that are in a state of grace. Darkness has lost.

Light has won. Jesus is alive! Death could not contain Him!

Kneeling next to my priest friend, looking at the empty slab of stone, and praying to Jesus who now lives forever, never to die again – my heart was certainly burning! What incomprehensible love our Lord has for us to suffer a death He did not deserve, to then rise and leave us the proof that His love is stronger than death. For the remainder of that night, I felt such an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. Despite being extremely tired and fairly cold, the fire of Christ’s love was propelling me forward into whatever difficulty I might face.

Father Luke Koski, after graduating this year from Mount St. Mary’s Seminary, was
ordained a priest of Jesus Christ on June 24, 2023. He will serve as an Associate Pastor at the
Pastorate of Christ the King, Glen Burnie and St. Bernadette, Severn and also as Chaplain to
Archbishop Spalding High School. Please pray for Fr. LukeI