I did not always know I was going to become a priest. When I was a child, I did have a love for the liturgy, but I thought everyone did. While attending St. Mary’s Catholic School and Church, I was so excited for the day that I could one day serve at the altar as an altar boy. I anxiously awaited the time I would enter the fourth grade, because that was the age when Msgr. Tom Vidra allowed boys to start serving at the altar. I eventually became head altar server, and persuaded Fr. Vidra to finally allow girls to serve at the altar at St. Mary’s for the first time. Look at me! A feminist by the age of 12! When I grew older, I participated in other ministry capacities. I served as a lector, a Eucharistic minister, and as an usher all through high school and beyond. When I was a child, people in the parish would tell me, “Timmy! We’re praying for you to become a priest!” I rolled my eyes at every utterance of a prayer for this vocation. I eventually gave in to the will of these parishioners (and maybe even the Holy Spirit) and entertained the idea, and I attended a vocation retreat with the Paulist Priests to discern a call to the priesthood. The Paulists’ charism is writing, the media, and broadcast. I discerned I was not called to be a Paulist priest, at least for the time being, and I went on to live my life. Eventually, the call caught up with me again and I am now blessed to say I’m an ordained person in the Church of God. But my path was not without bumps and diversions. My road to ordination was not always easy, and it was not always pleasant. I had to learn a whole lot about myself, about the Church and how it operates, and about how it’s important to learn how to function within it.
I use social media as a means of keeping in touch with friends, family, and parishioners, but I find it to be a double-edged sword. I know it can be used for good, and I know it can be used for not-so-good. For better or for worse, social media reminds users of things they said or did on this day in history. And yesterday, March 12, I was reminded of the time I had been turned down when I applied to enter the ordination process. I didn’t post about my rejection at the time. My post was about a trip my now-wife Brandy made to come see me and to spend some time with me. I was already nearly a year into my seminary studies in Berkeley. What I didn’t say publicly that day was that she came to be present with me and to remind me she loved me, despite me being turned away. The memory popped up with photos of our motorcycle ride around Berkeley, Oakland, Marin County, and Muir Woods National Monument. We had a picnic that day at Muir Woods among the redwoods, and we hiked by the streams and over bridges and near felled trees. We watched the sunset and we returned to Berkeley for dinner. But my social media post did not tell about the pain I felt inside. I had already committed a whole lot of time, money, and effort into my studies and discernment. Nonetheless, the Commission on Ministry of the Diocese of Utah did not feel I was called to enter the ordination process at the time and the bishop agreed. I shed a whole lot of tears that day, the few days before Brandy arrived, and for quite some time after. In fact, when I think about it, I still hurt inside. I was pretty devastated and I didn’t know what direction I ought to steer my life. So what happened? Why did the bishop choose against making me a postulant for holy orders?
I think it’s an interesting coincidence that this memory popped up during the season of Lent. We’ve talked a lot about Lent being a time for self-discovery and renewal. When I was turned down for postulancy, I had to do a whole lot of self-discovery. Some of it I was ready to do. Some of it I was not. Obviously, I was quick to look for a scapegoat. “This bishop is wrong! He set me up!” I thought. I also blamed it on the relationship my then-rector had with the diocese at the time. “I’m a victim here! This is a load of crap!” (although I didn’t say or think the word “crap” and I likely specified that the excrement in question was either of the of the bovine or equine nature). I suppose there’s a possibility I was a victim in some ways, but it really wasn’t helpful to dwell on it too much. After Brandy flew home, I needed to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart and do some more discernment.
Why did I want to be a priest? Was it because those ladies at church planted a seed in my mind? Was it because I wanted to be a glorified head altar boy? Was it because I really wanted to serve the Lord in a specific way? Was it because I had gifts and talents that made me an effective pastoral presence? Was it because I wanted to be the kind of guy who had command of an entire room of worshippers and I needed the validation? Was I trying to escape and heal from some kind of emotional trauma? These are the kinds of questions I needed to ask myself. Although I tried to wallow in my sorrows and sulk, I really didn’t have much choice but to press on with my studies. I remember the advice from my then-rector’s now ex-wife: Remember your call. I also remember the words of a seminary classmate who became a dear friend and has now died of cancer: “Tim, you’re a caring, compassionate person and I clearly see a call in you. I think you owe it to the Church to push forward.” Those were the kinds of words that kept me going. People knew I was called. My classmates, fellow parishioners, professors, and friends knew I was called. God knew I was called. But did I know? Not always.
Through discernment, I eventually decided I needed to continue my education. At worst, I would have a valuable master’s degree. A graduate degree from Berkeley is a nice addition to any resume, after all. And if I was truly called, I’d sure show ‘em! I’d prove they were wrong! I was determined. So I put my nose to the grindstone and focused on learning what I could. I learned about myself. I learned about the Church. I learned about God. I learned about his people. Most importantly, I learned that I will never stop being a student. Graduation from seminary wouldn’t mean I’d have all the answers. It would mean I’d have to become humble enough to admit when I was wrong and to acknowledge that I don’t know everything.
Fortunately, when I returned to the Commission on Ministry a year later, the members noticed the growth I most certainly felt. This time around, they did recommend postulancy. The bishop agreed, and I was made a postulant halfway through my seminary career. Someone on the commission told me I’d look back on the experience as “the best thing that ever happened to me.” I don’t think that’s true, exactly. But it certainly wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me. It was just… a thing that happened. We all have things that happen in our lives. Some are good, some are bad, and some are neutral. Sometimes we learn from things that happen to us and sometimes we can’t. I can’t say for certain whether I learned from the rejection. Maybe I learned that sometimes my heart would be broken. Maybe I learned that sometimes the odds would seem against me. Maybe I learned that I needed to be tough in the face of adversity. Maybe I didn’t learn a darn thing. If I did learn from the experience, my learnings are in my heart somewhere. I’m glad that I was received as a postulant and I’m glad that I was ordained a priest. I’m glad to be the priest at St. John’s. And if my trial all those years ago was the piece of my journey that made my arrival at St. John’s possible, then it was well worth the heartache.