To Be, Or Not To Be: A Seminarian

On Monday, a few of the brothers and I were able to enjoy Labor Day at Brooklyn’s West Indian Day Mass and Parade. The two are really separate, concurrent events. But upon receiving the final blessing at Mass, the thousands of faithful Catholics in attendance at St. Matthew’s Church on Eastern Parkway spilled out into the streets and right into the parade route.

En route, as the diocese has done for a number of years, now, we put the faith on parade. Thousands of parishioners from all over the diocese and the West Indies clapped, sang, danced, jumped, and partied in red diocesan t-shirts all the way down Eastern Parkway with Bishop Nicholas, Bishop Guy, and a Carribean band in the lead.

You can imagine the many dumbstruck onlookers who witnessed the Catholic contingent. At times it seemed as if I could read their minds trying to process the scene. Then bewilderment turned into a smiles and waves. Many of them began dancing and singing to the classic Caribbean Christian songs they hadn’t heard since they were back home.

Luckily so many were busy enjoying themselves that only a few of the noticed me awkwardly gyrating, clapping offbeat and singing out of tune to songs I didn’t recognize.

I bet a few of them were saying to themselves “where on earth did that out-of-step brotha come from?”

“He must be from Trinidad,” one of the Jamaicans might have said.

“Nah, chill. My people can dance, man. Don’t blame that on us. He’s probably Bermudan,” would come the Trinidadian retort.

“Save dem lies for da confessional, sister! That man would never have been allowed on my country’s soil wit dem stiff rythymless hips!” one of the Bermudans would argue.

Meanwhile, the Haitians who could instantly indentify me as one of their own, kept the lips shut and bowed their heads in shame.

I study Scripture, not Soca; I’m sorry.

When I was younger, I was always struck by the phrase “the Lord’s work.” People used it to refer to some good deed which someone else had done. “Therese is helping at the soup kitchen. She really loves doing the Lord’s work.” It always sounded odd to me, because I thought “why can’t the Lord do His own work? Why does Therese have to pick up the slack?”

Only (much) later did I realize the great privilege the Lord has given us in participating in His own work of creation and salvation. The Lord acts as a father who asks his son to help him measure a cut a segment of wood. The task is so easy; the father would save a great deal of time and trouble if only he’d do it himself. Instead, he invites the son into a learning opportunity and the chance to serve.

Yesterday’s solemnity of the Assumption of our Lady was a reminder of this gift of participation. Our Lord, of course, didn’t need Mary, strictly speaking. But he was pleased to allow her to assist Him in the salvation of the world. And when she had done her part, the Father hoisted His precious daughter onto the workman’s bench and embraced her for her careful attention to His instruction.

Let us pray that we can listen to Him as she did. She sits high above us looking at our feeble attempts to make cabinets out of straw and whispers “do whatever He tells you.”  Let us do the little work which He asks of us today, at this moment. And, if it pleases Him, let our selves be lifted up with Mary and seated near her on the workman’s bench the Master’s throne.

The “few more weeks” until ordination have long come and gone. And it would seem to visitors of this blog that the seminarians have fallen off the map. We’ve been all over the map, though, out in the Lord’s field trying to do the work He gives us.

As Bishop Nicholas announces the parish assignments of the newly ordained priests at the end of an ordination Mass, he always says “now it’s time to put these men to work.” It seems that the formators at the seminary say the same of the priests-to-be under their care.

During our summer assignments, the seminarians are sent to study, work, or minister in areas which interest us, give us a greater appreciation of our future ministry, benefit our dioceses, and enrich our spiritual lives. All these are done in ways that we may not be able to accomplish fully (if at all) during the usual academic semester.

Some of my brothers are studying languages. One, for example, found an excellent Spanish program in Mexico. A couple of others are studying the same in Florida. A couple of others enrolled into an intensive Latin course in Manhattan. Some have studied Hebrew and Greek intensively at a university in New Jersey.

A few of my brothers have taken hospice care as their opportunity for learning and ministry this summer. Administering whole summer camp operations and preaching at retreats are also amongst the many other active ministries into which the seminary faculty, the bishop, and above all, the Lord send us.

Mercifully, He sends us a great deal of needed rest, as well. While the seminary affords a retreat for the men every year, for many it becomes necessary to take an additional retreat during the summer which suits the man’s personal spirituality. One man might spend a week at a priests and seminarians conference; another may attend a preached retreat. Another may spend a week in a monastery or private hermitage. There’s even something wonderfully pensive and relaxing about working in a library (as a few of the men do )– losing one’s self in a cloister made of wood, paper, vellum, and dust.

I get a bit of that experience, even in the bustle of Jamaica, Queens, while I paint the outside walls of my parish. I work slowly, for only a few hours each day in my free time.  I can meditate on the mysteries of the rosary, the readings from the Mass of the day, my own spiritual life, or spiritual reading. It’s one of the innumerable graces our Lord has given me during this summer. But then every so often one of the columns of my mental monastery comes crashing down when a passing commentator screams out from across the street “yo, man, when you gonna finish paintin’ that wall?” “Word up,” someone else chimes in; “that brotha’s takin’ forever.” The harvest is indeed full. And the other laborers are taking note of my slow progress…

My brothers and I are excited, however, to share with you some of the fruit our Lord has borne in our lives in the past few months. We’ll just let them ripen on the vine a bit longer.

Until then, may our Lady keep you and us united in prayerful expectation of the gifts He has in hand.

Several weeks ago, the men here at the Immaculate Conception Seminary in Huntington, Long Island began a campaign of speaking at local parishes.

Formerly on the weekends, we were free from activities at the Seminary from Friday afternoon into Saturday night. Now we’re away from the seminary from Friday afternoon into Sunday afternoon. Instead we spend our Sunday mornings in various parishes. Our rector, Fr. Peter Vaccari, asked us to go out two by two (and sometimes three) into the local churches of Brooklyn and Rockville Centre as an opportunity in the Year for Priests to encourage vocations. Today my brother, Jason Espinal, and I went to my fourth parish: Ss. Peter and Paul/Epiphany parish in Williamsburg.

The people of God are great. This latest journey into the deep confirms that even more. Every time I speak to a parish and am greeted with thanks and prayers by well-wishing families, teens and seniors, my vocation grows stronger.

What’s odd is that, their accolades do not encourage me in the way that might typically be assumed. Their praise and joy at seeing Jason and me aren’t really meant for Jason and me. Rather their praise is meant for Jesus. Jason and I happen to be receptors of that sacrifice of praise.

You see, the people of God in the parishes we have all visited would be content with seeing, greeting and listening to any seminarian. They are excited (many times even more than we are) at the amazing fact that in only a few short years, (and in some cases, only a few short months), the bishop will lay his hands on us and by power of the Holy Spirit change the essential nature of our soul and conform it to Jesus Christ’s. The people of God are overjoyed to see us young men who are, in effect, living sonograms of the Christ. We are Christs in gestation being formed by prayer and study in the womb of Virgin Mother, preparing to help Him take over the world.

My brothers and sisters, this is no small event. It reminds me of the Visitation of our Lady, Mother Mary, to her cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth and St. John the Baptist were filled with joy at the sound of Mary’s voice and at the approach of her and her Son. So too we fill the hearts of the parishioners with hope: Christ has come and Christ is coming again in us who pray and study to be a part of His holy priesthood.

I pray that what we all had to say this weekend to encourage prayers for vocations and work for vocations will have some effect in every heart prepared to receive it. But I do believe our prayerful presence, like Christ’s in utero –with only the fertive gestures and soft heartbeat of a prenatal child– spoke more than our lips could dare to try.

We approach the Feast of the Annunciation, on March 25th: the commemoration of the moment when the Angel Gabriel declared to Mary that she might have the privileged of bearing the Son of God. In response, Mary said “Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum” –let it be done unto me according to thy word.

May more men feel the the desire to be living images of Christ to His people. May they make themselves humble and vulnerable and respond “Fiat” to His request. May they be nurtured by prayer and study to grow into new Christs to serve the people of God, to bring hope into the deep.

Thank you, Deacon Bruno for your post on the effects and response needed by the Faithful when faced with a crises such as we are now. The Archdiocese of New York and the Dioceses of Brooklyn and Rockville Centre are home to hundreds of thousands of Haitians. Everyone is aware of that, I’m sure.
In formation for the priesthood we have ten Haitian seminarians, myself included. The last few weeks have been difficult to navigate emotionally for all of us in the house.

At times a visitor might ask about the backgrounds of the seminarians. When one or another of us says he’s Haitian, the inquirer falls silent –unsure of what to say next. I can imagine that “I’m sorry” just doesn’t feel right for the person. He or she asks about family members lost or injured. And when the answer is given, more silence follows.

It’s easier to talk about when neither party is invested as deeply as the seminarians here are.

I can’t speak for the other men in formation. But anyone who knows me knows that I love apologetics. I enjoy the back-and-forth of a respectful debate on religion as I try to show a skeptic the beauty of the Catholic Christian Faith. I get a kick out of the crazy questions kids ask me when I visit school. I’ve always got a response.

And yet these passed few weeks, when friends have called me asking how they could help, what I might need, and how I’m feeling, I’m almost unable to speak. It’s especially difficult when I can hear the echo in some of my friends questions. The immediate question concerns my family members. But the in the silence which follows, he or she wants me to tell them “why.” Unfortunately, the citation from the Catechism won’t help.

A stock answer forms itself. “All of my family members in Haiti are alive, thanks be to God.”

But every time I say it I’m less satisfied. And the hearer believes little of the calmness reflected in the words.

Since what I said is true, shouldn’t I be happy? Can I exult? But others of my Haitian brethren in this house of formation have lost best-friends, former professors, cousins, and other close family members. Many of those family members still alive are living homeless, afraid to go back to their hometown where food may be even more scarce than in the capitol. And sometimes the tremors are more prevalent away from Port-au-Prince.

This mixed elation, sadness, fear, and confusion escape the polished, antiseptic answer which I usually enjoy (which is probably evident even now as I try to type them into sense). They elude the thesis statements which lead my scholarly essays.

Instead the same dry, sooty responses repeat themselves.

It’s easier I believe to remember St. Paul’s letter to the Romans (8:22-28) where he writes

“We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now; and not only that, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, we also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.
For in hope we were saved. Now hope that sees for itself is not hope. For who hopes for what one sees?
But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait with endurance. In the same way, the Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit itself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. And the one who searches hearts knows what is the intention of the Spirit, because it intercedes for the holy ones according to God’s will. We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”

The questions aren’t new.  We’ve been asking them ever since the first innocent person died in history. I pray the priests who are called upon to be the answer-men, have the right ones to give. I pray when I’m ordained I’ll be able to respond satisfactorily to the woman or man who comes to my door having experienced unimaginable tragedy. I suspect though that the answer won’t be very different from the silence and inexpressible groanings I hear from all the learned men around me at the seminary. May the Spirit comes to our aid. May our Lord guide us by hope to those places, those answers which we seek with endurance.

Notre Dame du Perpetuel Secours, priez pour nous.

Saint Esprit, intercedez pour nous.

Scripture refers to Jesus as the cornerstone of the Church, that crucial piece of the construction without which the whole structure cannot properly take shape.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I wrote about time and its proper use. It’s so ironic then that I was so swamped with activities during the interim.

I had a presentation and two papers due this week. I nailed the presentation on the head on Monday. On the papers, I’ve received a stay of execution from both professors.

I can’t get out from under these papers. It’s been a problem since highschool. I had it diagnosed in college by a couple of professor who labeled me a perfectionist. I thought perfectionist got everything done well.

They informed me, though, that perfectionists actually get nothing done because the task at hand never seems quite done. It’s a bit different from procrastination which thinks the job will get itself done.

Thus instead of handing in a B+ paper when it’s due, I hand in one worth an A+ one week later. The result: a C+.

Imagine a kid who got all wound up with anxiety when he wanted to play with his Lego set. He’d enjoy himself…if only he had enough pieces for the front foyer.

You’d feel like yelling “just build a regualr castle, Johnny”. But he’s paralyzed, unable to start until he’s planned the Swedish baths in the North wing of the structure.

But it’s not essential. Christ is essential. Christ keeps the castle standing. His absence makes it crumble.

May Our Lady and her “Fiat”– her quick acceptance of God’s offer, her immediate response to allow Christ to structure her– allow me to complete these last few days of the semester with ease.

Let’s get it done, Johnny. And may Christ be the center.