I have always loved Advent. The anticipation of something wonderful coming filled my childhood world with delight and awe. Of course, as a child, I was not fully aware of the true nature of my excitement and the anticipation was focused more on myself than on the true gift that was about to fill our world.
It was early on Saturday morning, and daylight was still a long way off. The moon was a melancholy half-circle in the night sky overhead, and chill gusts of wind carried shreds of cloud over the silhouettes of gently tossing trees. Fifty yards away, the trailhead was marked by a rickety gate and a sign. Looking around the gravel lot, I saw only dark and empty cars outlined against the shadow of the alpine forest. We were all alone.
Have you ever thought about what it would be like without modern medicine, even primitive medicine? What if you had a gash on your leg that needed stitches, but there was no way to bridge the gap and allow for healing? These were things I wondered sitting in the emergency room, staring down at my leg that looked like a shark had taken a bite out of it — but there are no sharks on the side of the road in the mountains of Maryland.
In a world that is ever-changing, I really appreciate having some things that are constant. One great example for me is the sanctuary lamp. Whenever I visit a church for the first time, as I try to navigate the layout, art and architecture of the place, I feel grounded once I find the familiar flicker of the sanctuary lamp. The quiet dancing flame acts as a warden, faithfully standing guard in the church and signaling that Jesus is present there, like a lighthouse on the shore breaking through the fog and offering guidance to a ship tossed at sea.
I found myself asking “how did we get here?” a lot over this past year. I witnessed such sadness, anger, confusion, frustration and feelings of loneliness — and that was just when I looked in the mirror. The venom and resentment showcased on the different media outlets led me to wonder when is the last time it has been this bad? Lives being lost and livelihoods changed dramatically by this virus. With the murder of George Floyd and racial tensions at an all-time high in my lifetime, I did not know what to do.
Get to know the diocese’s newest seminarians as the church celebrates National Vocation Awareness Week Nov. 1-7.
Dedicated nonprofits and generous individuals are helping young people saddled with student loans follow God’s call for their lives.
It was a crisp morning in February and I was nearing the end of a run with some fellow seminarians. My legs were tired, I was breathing heavily, but the one thing that kept me going was the fact that the end was close at hand. Out of the blue, Daniel Rice, one of the seminarians I was running with, piped up and changed our course. Instead of taking the easy path back to the seminary, he led us around a corner —and waiting for us was a monster of a hill. Any consolation I had was dashed as we began the trudge up the hill. In between gasps for breath, and in an attempt to quell my growing frustration, I said to Daniel: “It’s a good thing I love you, bro.” His response was instantaneous, with a huge smile spread across his
The Swiss town of Les Diablerets gets its name from its devilish thunders and dangerous landslides. With a name that means the abode of little devils in French, the Alpine village is renowned for both its natural beauty and dangerous winters. In the summer of 2019, it served as the destination of a weeklong scientific conference I had helped organize.
The COVID-19 pandemic has instilled fear in many. We feel an urge to withdraw, hide, be safe. That does not work if you feel called to spread the joyful message of Christ’s Gospel, and it is even less effective if you are a seminarian tapped by God to step way out of your comfort zone to do so.
