Seminarian Life: Healing Through Accompaniment

 There I was… A little six- or seven-year-old kid, fearful for my life. I was standing on the edge of a seemingly endless flood of deadly liquid. Only one step stood between me and impending doom. And everyone around me was coercing me to jump. I alone could save myself from swift and certain demise.
 
Or at least, that must have been what was going through my little mind as I stood on the edge of the pool during my first (and only) year of swimming lessons. My swim instructor was going down the row of my classmates, asking them what kind of tree they were. Once they responded, she would say “chop, chop, timber!” and one by one they enthusiastically jumped into the pool. When she got to me, however, I simply shook my head and refused. “Are you a pear tree?” “No.” “An apple tree?” “No.” “Ok, what do you like?” That question sparked my interest. “Bob the Builder!” I replied excitedly. “Do you want to be a Bob the Builder tree?” Now that was an offer that my little self simply could not refuse. I nodded, closed my eyes, and prepared to jump. “Chop, chop, timber!” However, with all of my little strength and internal encouragement, I could not get myself to jump. Disappointed and a little ashamed, I looked around expecting to see a crowd of faces frowning, even enraged at my weakness, just as I was.
 
Right then, my eyes met my mom’s. And in that moment, in the midst of shrieking children and ear-piercing life-guard whistles, everything was silent. There was nothing in the world but me and her. She was smiling, her eyes soft and excited. She was cheering my name. Then, my eyes met my dad’s. And with a tender, confident smile, he nodded his head. At that moment, my little body became emboldened, motivated by that unique, gentle, unconditional, and encouraging love of a parent. I backed up to the wall and, like Captain America pulsing with super soldier serum, jumped over the insurmountable wall of my doubts and fears.
 
That memory, for me, is a good analogy for seminary life. There are four dimensions of formation for the priesthood: human, spiritual, intellectual, and pastoral. In all of these, I have been patiently accompanied and assisted in learning to use the strengths and weaknesses that God has blessed me with.
 
All of us walk through life with paralyzing fears and crippling, self-deprecating voices that keep us from living in the freedom and boldness of a beloved child of God. Most times, they are internalizations of voices and looks that we have received from others, telling us that we are awkward, unworthy, bad, and someone to be rejected. That’s why we build habits of shame, self-reliance, and self-condemnation. We are so accustomed to this that it becomes indistinguishable from the normal head noise. Only someone outside of us can pierce through this deceptive veil and reveal the truth of who we are and the world that we live in. This is done primarily through Jesus, the Beloved, our Wounded Healer. In prayer, especially in Adoration, we sit in silence long enough to notice the internal maelstrom. And there, in that ache of total weakness and shame, we catch sight of the eyes of our beloved Mother Mary and our Heavenly Father. There we hear the voice of Truth and hear of a peace that defies all understanding.
 
However, sometimes we find that the thought of God and his Goodness is another source of shame for us. He loves us, we know that, but we can’t bring ourselves to look him in the eyes. This is where we need human mediators: the fathers, mothers, and friends who can see “all the beauty in the broken glass,” and who can speak God’s truth to us in a more receivable way. Since many of the lies came through human mouths and eyes, God often uses the same means to heal them. These are the spiritual and human dimensions of formation: receiving faithful accompaniment of spiritual directors, formators, therapists, brothers, and Jesus himself. From these, I have received the freedom and joy to run and jump into the daily circumstances because I know who I am.
 
Through intellectual formation, I’ve learned the Truth about who God is, what the world is like, and who I am. In every truth that we learn, we become conformed in mind and heart to the Word, who is Light and Life.
 
Finally, with this newfound freedom, what can we do but run with joy to share it with every human we encounter? Through our pastoral formation, we learn how to share him who has healed our hearts by his ever-present love.
 
This is the beautiful life of every Christian and, in a special way, the priest.