ARTICLES

Year for Priests:
Priest lives in the 24/7 ‘grip of the present’

By Msgr. Michael Schmied
special to The Catholic Virginian

“To the full extent of my power, because I am a priest, I wish from now on to be the first to become conscious of all that the world loves, pursues and suffers.

“I want to be the first to seek, to sympathize and to suffer, the first to unfold and sacrifice myself, to become more widely human and more nobly of the earth than any of the world’s servants.”

These noble words of Jesuit priest-scientist Teilhard de Chardin so inspired me that I etched them on the cover of the invitation to my ordination, May 15, 1971 — when I was at the manly and minimum age of 24.

A few seasons later, and feeling somewhat weatherworn and a bit less noble, I’m presently more suited to these somewhat cryptic words of playboy Thomas Merton turned Trappist monk-priest, Father Louis: “What I wear is pants, what I do is live, how I pray is breathe. . . in the grip of the present.”

I pen this reflection from mountain ensconced Trappist Holy Cross Abbey on the banks of the Shenandoah River, near Berryville, where for most of these 38 years I have spent the first week of Advent watching the stars, hearing the cattle lowing, preparing for the Christmas rush, praying for that personal and global “peace of justice, the glory of God’s worship,” and hoping for Christ’s parousia — in whichever moment or millennium He comes.

After 63 years of living and 38 years of priestly service, I hope I’m ready. Priests and priestly people should be!

What I do as a priest living in the 24/7 “grip of the present,” wearing pants, and sometimes long johns under alb and stole, is count my blessings, and constantly pray to catch my breath and embrace the good and bad surprises, big shocks and sad sins, and deep satisfactions that are part of everyday pastoral work.

From Norfolk’s Tidewaters to. . . Roanoke’s mild mountains, hometown and urban Richmond, war-torn and earth quaked El Salvador, historic Petersburg, our Lady of Guadalupe’s Mexico, suburban, immigrant-enriched Chesterfield - God’s precious and pesky, priestly people have daily gripped me with their hearts and head(ache)s and hopes.

I celebrate and make sacrament of these moments of joy and sorrow, success and satisfaction, frustration and fear, as well as of my own.

As the Lord’s Table is always laden with rich fare, so a priest’s plate, like his heart, is always full.

When I sometimes wonder how many more “sacred mysteries” I can celebrate and embrace, I’m goaded by another good Jesuit’s reminder: “. . . in a time of breaking hearts, the Breaking of Bread.”

Poet and peace activist Daniel Berrigan goes on to say: “the truest joy of a Christian is to know that their life serves. . . an exhilaration, a gift to others, a race which at length is fit for the world — fit for here and now, and for eternity.”

As that eternity daily dawns over the eastern mountains here and now in Berryville and throughout this year’s Advent-Christmas-Epiphany season, I breathe into the crisp, clean air prayers of gratitude to God for the exhilarating gift of the call to serve as a priest, to run and complete the race.

And I urge all priestly parents and grandparents and Godparents to extend and nurture that call to their own beloved children, as did mine.

May many scientists, playboys, poets and peace activists, and all other sorts of saints and sinners respond to the call to honest discernment and good, generous decisions on behalf of the priestly kingdom of God.

Looking forward to being back at the altar at St. Augustine’s for Advent II, I pray with St. Paul his prayer that we will all share that Sunday: “I pray always with joy in my every prayer for all of you, because of your partnership for the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the One who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus!”

back to top