Journeys Home

This past summer was absolutely incredible and it allowed me to grow in a lot of ways. It was a bit of a spiritual journey for me-- marking the 12 month point of being away from home: family, friends, parishioners... Baltimore. It was a summer that culminated in not being able to return for a best friend's wedding. But more importantly, it was a summer that expressed and in some sense captured the spiritual journey that I am on-- plunging deeper in love with God towards a life lived entirely for him and for others.

This summer I was able to meet, work with, and learn from soldiers and their families. I was able to get to know, learn from, and laugh with the poor and rejected of Dublin, Ireland. I was able to welcome 56 New Men to our seminary community and introduce them to the great spiritual journey of the next 4-5 years, one that they have been making their entire lives. I was also able to travel and bond with other seminarians-- friends who have become spiritual brothers and co-journeyers.

All of us human beings are on a journey home. We are all on a pilgrimage of trust that will hopefully bring every one of us to an eternal union with God our loving creator who desires more than anything to be at the core of our lives as our Lord, Savior, and dearest friend. And this summer I was able to accompany two of my brother seminarians on a bit of a journey home.

Mark is Irish. Both of his parents are of Irish descent and he excels in embracing his Irish heritage. This summer three of us accompanied Mark on his first ever trip to Ireland. We landed in Dublin... by the way, this picture records Mark's first contact with his native land. From Dublin we drove to the great town of Galway, which was our home for a few days as we made day trips out to the Cliffs of Moher, St. Bridget's Well, Croagh Patrick Mountain, and the Our Lady of Knock Shrine.

During the trip Mark was our tour guide and expert in all things Irish. It was awesome to be able to share in the excitement of his first trip to Ireland, the home of his ancestors. There was a certain rightness, a sense that this fit—it made sense. It was cool.

Jon is Italian. Towards the end of the summer I was able to travel with Jon and two other seminarian brothers to Jon’s homeland—to Siracusa, Sicilia. Jon loves his Italian heritage and embraces it well as a creatively traditional Italian chef and a selflessly generous spirit. We landed in Catania and drove to Siracusa—where Jon’s ancestors are from. In Siracusa we were able to eat cheap, awesome, and traditional Sicilian seafood, visit ancient Greek ruins, experience open-air markets, see a church where St. Paul preached, and visit the original cathedral of Siracusa. Inside the cathedral was a baptismal font that dated back to the 3rd century. It was awesome to stand and pray next to this font of life—a font that brought countless people over 1500 years into Christianity. No small or insignificant basin of water.

Like Mark in Ireland, Jon was on cloud-nine in Siracusa. It fit. In a way he was home. And, like in Ireland, those of us who were able to join him in this journey were incredibly thrilled and grateful to be able to be there and experience the joy.

In both Ireland and Sicily there were great moments of silence. There were several times where we just stood in awe of everything that was around us—in awe of the epic green landscapes of Ireland. In awe of the generous hospitality of the Irish people. In awe of the rugged climb up Croagh Patrick. In awe of the breath-takingly sacred beauty of the view at the Cliffs of Moher and at Croagh Patrick. In awe of the calm blue sea of Siracusa. In awe of the fresh fish and life in abundance. In awe of the rugged character of Siracusa. In awe of the longevity and grounded holiness of the Church in Southern Italy.

In both of these places we were moved to silence as we stood in awe of beauty and rightness. We stood in silence, in awe of God who had and continues to intentionally create these beauties—just as intentionally as he continues to create each one of us. We stood in awe of the process of returning home… the progression of this spiritual journey. What an opportunity. What a gift.

Last night I returned to my weekly apostolate—the Dono di Maria, a house run by the Missionaries of Charity that houses disadvantaged women and runs a supper program for homeless men. Each week I go with a good friend and brother seminarian to the Dono to help prepare and serve supper to these men of God. The best part of the apostolate undoubtedly is the men themselves and the many conversations, jokes, and relationships that are formed around the simple meal. Last night I was reminded that a consistent relationship with the poor is an absolutely essential part of my journey. By that I do not mean an abstract or romantic ideal of service—but rather a realization that the poor, known by name and countless stories, are some of the closest in my ecclesiastical family. And just to be clear, I mean the materially poor who suffer daily because they do not have what we take for granted.

Many of the men who frequent the Dono are homeless and unemployed because of mistakes that they have made. In most definitions of justice they deserve what they experience. But in my journey so far I have encountered a God who refuses to accept such a simple justice. A God who refuses to remain silent and inactive in our patterns of mistakes and self-destruction. I have encountered a God who pours himself out into our lives to bring us home. He freely empties himself to bring us home—a process that takes a lifetime of growing in trust and intimacy that gives way to make a home for Faith, Hope, and Love within us.

And so as I grow in awareness and recognition of what it means to be a Christian and what it means to be a priest, I have come to realize that at some level it means standing with those who are furthest from home and helping them to see, through word and witness, the God who is also standing with them—a God who has been there the whole time—waiting eagerly to begin the journey home. The journey to fulfillment. The journey to real justice. The journey to peace. The journey to love which is union with God.

On my way to school today I ran into a friend. Giovanni is a native of Rome who is addicted to alcohol and is homeless. For about a year now Giovanni and I have been exchanging greetings and carrying on full conversations in the form of bird noises. It’s a long story of how this got started, but the short of it is that we have shared our fair share of laughs every weekday morning and afternoon. Well, today Giovanni asked me if I wanted a coffee. After getting our two cappuccini I reached for my wallet only to be yelled at by Giovanni who insisted on paying. He would not let me pay. This was a huge gesture on his part that I will never forget. In this gesture Giovanni, a homeless alcoholic, helped me to see God on my journey to the Gregorian. Giovanni helped me to more freely and lovingly continue and commit myself to my journey with God today. What a gift.

Today is the Feast of St. Luke, an evangelist who has told the world that Jesus Christ is the incarnate God who came to save all people—breaking restrictions on invitation and love to include all, especially the poor and rejected. Our Lord Jesus calls us to love God above all things with our entire being and to love our brothers and sisters. While we are on the course of our own journeys home, why would we not choose to walk with others? How could we choose to not stand with those most rejected?

What a gift it is to be on our journey home. What a gift it is to be able to accompany others on their journey home. What a gift it is to have a home that is far beyond our comprehension and far more beautiful that anything we could ever imagine.