Today is a day of endings and beginnings. Of leaving and arriving. A day defined by its liminality.
...And liminality can be scary, not quite knowing the fullness of what’s around the corner. Around that corner where they will call you Father for the first time, or Deacon when they listen to you preach. Around that corner with that pastor whom you’ve only met once and you have no idea what he thinks of you. Around that corner where a new world awaits with people and challenges that can be fearsome. Summer’s a relief, because there are no more exams, papers or evaluations (at least for a while) and some rest, but there’s also a lot of unknowns.
But whenever I get scared, I find it's the best (if not always the easiest) time to pray.
And so I pray.
For you, my brothers, who will be Priests in just a matter of days. Priests of the Lord Jesus, through whom all things were made, who offered his life in sacrifice for our sins and who will consecrate through your hands, forgive with your words and proclaim his Good News through your voices. We will miss you, but they need you. So go forth, and make us proud!
I pray for you, dear Deacons, the embodiement of the Lord who washed our feet and laid down his life for his friends. Minister at his altar and feed him, clothe him and visit him in the streets and prisons and alleyways to which you are sent.
I pray for you who are going to work in a parish, the sheepfold of the Church, and the most wonderful place to be a priest, a deacon or a seminarian. For, there you will act as shepherd, in imitation of and in union with the Good Shepherd, who has called you, out of love for him, to tend his sheep.
I pray for you going to CPE, or IPF or Mexico or Rome or some other exotic locale to study and grow.
I pray for you who may not be returning here next September. You will always be missed.
And I pray a bunch of other stuff too.
I pray that I, and every one of my brothers on this Faculty, have served you well in this past year. That we have been examples of what it means to be a Good Shepherd. That our prayers for you, sometimes late into the night, will be answered. I pray we have done the best we could.
And for those times when “our best” (or something less than it) has not been quite enough, I pray you will forgive us. I pray you will forgive me, for the times when I was not quite up to task, with the right word or the right encouragement or the right decision. For while I know that each of us are human, I have a front row seat at my own inadequacies, and I beg that God will use my crooked lines to write straight and even my weaknesses to make you strong.
And finally, I pray the simplest of prayers: That you will be good, and humble and loving, whatever you do and wherever he leads you this summer: That the love with which he has loved us, may be in you, and they may see Christ in you, as well.
...And liminality can be scary, not quite knowing the fullness of what’s around the corner. Around that corner where they will call you Father for the first time, or Deacon when they listen to you preach. Around that corner with that pastor whom you’ve only met once and you have no idea what he thinks of you. Around that corner where a new world awaits with people and challenges that can be fearsome. Summer’s a relief, because there are no more exams, papers or evaluations (at least for a while) and some rest, but there’s also a lot of unknowns.
But whenever I get scared, I find it's the best (if not always the easiest) time to pray.
And so I pray.
For you, my brothers, who will be Priests in just a matter of days. Priests of the Lord Jesus, through whom all things were made, who offered his life in sacrifice for our sins and who will consecrate through your hands, forgive with your words and proclaim his Good News through your voices. We will miss you, but they need you. So go forth, and make us proud!
I pray for you, dear Deacons, the embodiement of the Lord who washed our feet and laid down his life for his friends. Minister at his altar and feed him, clothe him and visit him in the streets and prisons and alleyways to which you are sent.
I pray for you who are going to work in a parish, the sheepfold of the Church, and the most wonderful place to be a priest, a deacon or a seminarian. For, there you will act as shepherd, in imitation of and in union with the Good Shepherd, who has called you, out of love for him, to tend his sheep.
I pray for you going to CPE, or IPF or Mexico or Rome or some other exotic locale to study and grow.
I pray for you who may not be returning here next September. You will always be missed.
And I pray a bunch of other stuff too.
I pray that I, and every one of my brothers on this Faculty, have served you well in this past year. That we have been examples of what it means to be a Good Shepherd. That our prayers for you, sometimes late into the night, will be answered. I pray we have done the best we could.
And for those times when “our best” (or something less than it) has not been quite enough, I pray you will forgive us. I pray you will forgive me, for the times when I was not quite up to task, with the right word or the right encouragement or the right decision. For while I know that each of us are human, I have a front row seat at my own inadequacies, and I beg that God will use my crooked lines to write straight and even my weaknesses to make you strong.
And finally, I pray the simplest of prayers: That you will be good, and humble and loving, whatever you do and wherever he leads you this summer: That the love with which he has loved us, may be in you, and they may see Christ in you, as well.
