Callings - Part 2

. . .Continued from Part 1: "If I was wrong about my call to ordained ministry, what else have I been wrong about? Confusion spiraled deeper into doubt. When I recall the darkest, most desperate moment of my life, it wasn't the day I lost Tara, it was the day I lost God." ~Bunny Cox  

Sacred Heart Monastery, Cullman, Alabama 

“Let me tell you a story about a man who came to our monastery," said Sister Kathleen when she visited me in the guest room the morning after my arrival. “The man was in agony because he too longed to serve the Lord. He was called to be a monk. But there was a problem," she said. "He had a wife and five children!  How could he reconcile a call to the monastery?  He knew God would not ask him to abandon his family to live the monastic life, but of his call to become a monk, he was certain."

“After a period of great struggle,” she continued. “The man concluded, he was indeed to be a monk.  He was to pray as a monk, live as a monk, act as a monk would, but without the walls of the monastery.”

“Perhaps, my dear,” she said gently, “You are to be a priest--but without the walls of the priesthood.”

In spite of her consolations, I lay on my bed and cried in a depth of misery previously unknown to me. The sun settled in the afternoon sky before I rose to wander the grounds. I sat on a bench beside a pond at the bottom of a grass-covered slope--watched clouds reflected upon the still water--and cried. I continued my tearful journey on a path that winds through the woods, up a hill, and beyond to a cemetery where identical white crosses mark the graves of sisters who lived and died in the faith. The thought crossed my mind as I gazed across the neatly laid rows, if faith were required, there would never be a cross for me.  

Near the cemetery on a knoll beside a massive oak, I discovered the rock-lined paths of a labyrinth with spiraling passageways leading to a center resting place, its twisting turns symbolizing life and the sacred inner journey.  The labyrinth is an ancient prayer practice, a type of body prayer, which has been used for centuries by seekers who pray as they walk. The earth between the stones of the monastery labyrinth was rutted by years of footsteps. I yielded to a sudden and unexpected urge to step onto the path. Tears flowed anew as I recalled the bishop's discernment that I should not go to seminary. I began to walk the labyrinth, begging for clarity. “You said you wanted me to be a priest. Do you want me to be a priest or not! Just tell me! Yes or no!”

Tears obscured my steps as I slowly wound my way towards the center. I cried. I railed. With clenched fists I spat, “You said you wanted me to be a priest!  Well, if you want me to be a priest, you’re going to have to zap me into one, because I quit! I have been faithful.  I have done everything you wanted me to do!  Do you want me to be a priest?  It probably doesn’t matter, because I quit!”

I never reached the center.  When I ran out of breath and “I quits,” I stopped too exhausted to continue. I raised my face to the sky. Light filtered through tiny vessels in my closed lids and began to glow red, as if a cloud had stepped aside to let the sun’s rays pass. Heat washed my face. I stood in a pool of warmth.

It is hard to explain how a person hears words that are not spoken or the answer to a question that hasn’t been asked, but I did.

“I am real.”

At first, I didn’t understand, but slowly it began to dawn. God had reached into my soul, pulled out the essence of my agony, and asked, “Isn’t this what you really want to know?”

I opened my eyes. Brilliant blue sparks flashed before me. Bluebirds filled the air and perched in every tree.  Bluebirds swirled around me and swooped in to land on each arm of every white cross in the cemetery.  I watched, mesmerized. 


Finally, it was time to leave, and I turned to begin my journey back down the hill. I was stunned to realize the warmth on my face had not come from the sun. The slanting rays of the setting sun were at my back.  

I left in the morning not knowing if I would ever become a priest, but not caring quite as much as when I arrived.

“What did you see yourself doing as a priest?” my mentor asked now that I stood at a fork in the road to ordination. The quickness and sureness of my reply surprised me.


“I am to share the journey with other people in an intimate way.” 


I entered the process for ordination expecting to find the priesthood, instead I found my purpose. And more importantly, I found bedrock.

There are times in life, difficult times, when we must ask ourselves, "What do I believe now that this has happened?" My daughter's death was one of those times.  I tumbled into the chasm of grief. I struggled to regain a foothold, crying, “Where were you, God? Why didn't you answer my prayer? Why didn't you save her,"  but I am grateful. When Tara died, I was spared the pain of wrestling with the ultimate question of faith. God had already told me. 

He is real!  

Reflections:

Psalm 62:1a "My soul finds rest in God alone." 

"When suddenly you seem to lose all you thought you had gained, do not despair. You must expect setbacks and regressions. Don't say to yourself, 'All is lost. I have to start all over again.' This is not true. What you have gained you have gained....When you return to the road, you return to the place where you left it, not to where you started."~Henri J.M. Nouwen

"By doubting we come at truth."~Marcus Tillius Cicero

"Listen to your life. All moments are key moments."~ Frederick Buechner 

--What have been "key moments" in my spiritual journey?
--Do I have "questions of faith?" What are they?
--What are my thoughts about "unanswered prayer?"