The Life of a Seminarian - II

The aeroplane has landed once more in Rome. Since I have started this life, I have lost count of the number of times I flew to and out of Italy to keep the emotional attachment with family and the commitment with colleagues, staff and the college. I have enjoyed the holidays and midterm breaks nine times now, and I look forward to the next three this year. Vacations have been well deserved periods to forget the academic and formational demands that befall those who want to be sacramental agents. I was ordained a deacon four months ago, and I am now on my final and fourth year as a seminarian. I am in transition from being a student to becoming a priest.

As I return from the airport and head to the seminary with my luggage, people look to me as to wonder where I came from. They are not interested in me; they are interested in the possible exotic place I visited. They ignore I spent most of the time with Mom and Dad in a dull English village. After taking a quick look at my casual Summer clothing, they return to their thoughts.

When the shirt becomes plain black, the scenario changes radically. When people see me on the street, they nod respectfully, and some express a close-lipped smile. When I go to shops on my clerics, people address me as 'father'. From many, I still get deference and admiration for leaving everything behind to follow the Master. From others, I am an odd creature who decided to live twenty-four hours a day with this ethereal entity called ‘God’ instead of living with a woman next to me. '-What a waste', some women would whisper to each other, seeing my tall figure in an impeccable suit and shiny black shoes. I exude holiness, and my dog-collar over a black fabric tells people that the Lord has imposed his yoke on me and that, therefore, I am dead to the world. How many members of the opposite sex have for a few moments fantasised with a clergyman and the prospect of keeping on earth someone who has heaven in his heart? I must confess I have imagined the same several times. Falling into the arms of a loving and passionate woman is good; I know because I have done that in my "previous" life. I still remember all the relationships I had, the good and the not so good ones. Now that I am unavailable, they all come to haunt me in my mind and implore me to abandon this irrational enterprise of serving God. Their insistence increases when I go to bed at night, after saying my last prayers, and I contemplate the cold pillows and the empty bed. Why two pillows instead of one? Is this a subtle test set up by the staff to see how resilient I am? It is not funny, especially when there is no one to wrap me with their arms, no one to touch my skin with their moist and warm lips, no one's breath to be inhaled. Worse than this, no one of flesh and bone to talk with, to share stories and to unburden frustrations and anxieties. No one to dry my tears when the weight seems unbearable.

Several times I considered abandoning this demanding lifestyle and resuming the life of an ordinary person. I shared with my spiritual director and with my confessor not only the struggles to keep my zipper closed but also more significant challenges. One of them is some unnerving colleagues. It is hard sometimes to see something of God in one or two jerks who could be barely considered Christians, much less future priests. But I have to forgive as to be forgiven. Another challenge is the spiritual disciplines. I was brave enough to admit sometimes the Daily Office is dry, the Eucharist is a dull habit, and I oftentimes don't connect with God in prayer.

The enemy proposes a plan; no one has to know. And even if someone would find out, ‘let the one who has never sinned cast the first stone.’ ‘-Make the best of your day-off. Go out for a drink, sit on the bar terrace and eventually you will exchange looks with a stranger who will smile at you, and you will smile back at her. Then you will know it is time for a break from the religious routine. Come on! Loosen up and have fun. After all, you are still young, and life is to be enjoyed. Right?' '-No', I shout out from this mental trap. My external man may like the idea, but my inner man says something else. I can still clearly hear God's calling in my whole being. I may not entirely discern his plans for me, but I know he will never fail me. He will lead me through the valley of the shadow of death of my flesh to the still waters of the Holy Spirit. I will serve the Lord all the days of my life.

Have I mentioned that I even struggle with some doctrinal points so stubbornly upheld by the Church? There are dogmas I would like to change, others which I don't understand and some others I proclaim only out of obedience, believing the Lord in his mercy eventually will illuminate my mind, and I will make me wholeheartedly adhere to them. Obedience plays an important in my life, and I have been growing in it over the years. There are things that I understand more now than when I started my training. I also trust the Church's wisdom and her agents to help me take the best decisions for me. It is not by chance or only out of courtesy that I address my bishop as 'my lord.' God's authority rests on him, and his words convey divine will.

By mid-summer, I will be returning to my home diocese and leaving this other home, a haven in Rome's bustling suburbs. I will miss the boys and the staff. I will miss my brothers, and I will remember the joys and the challenges we experienced and the support we gave each other. I have made some excellent friends, and I will try to keep the connection strong even if once a year I will have to travel to the other side of the world to hug them and have a few beers. I will miss this place. I don't know what life as a parish priest entails. I have heard some grim stories, but in general, people seem pleased to be able to serve the Almighty.