A Willing Victim

* Note: From 2008-2010, I wrote an occasional blog for the Archdiocese of Baltimore's website. This is one of the blog posts. *

Title: A Willing Victim

 

            When I was in college I really enjoyed praise-and-worship music. I still do, really, but don’t get much of a chance to praise God with it nowadays. But I recall that many of the songs had themes such as:

-          I surrender all to You, Lord

-          Lord, I give You my life

-          You, Lord, are my everything and I want nothing apart from You

These songs were really genuine prayers for me. When I sang them, I put my

soul into these lyrics. Yet, little did I know that when I offered the Lord my life, He would take me up on the offer.

            It’s always hard to be clay in the Lord’s hands, but times like this are especially difficult. I just received word a couple of weeks ago that I will be moving on from my beloved St. Johns in Severna Park to take up a new assignment at St. Timothy’s in Walkersville. After having been at St. Johns for two years, I have truly fallen in love with the place and with the people. They really become a family to a priest or seminarian, and I am truly saddened to leave.

            And yet, how can I take back my self-gift to the Lord? Even before I ever became a seminarian, I gave my life to Christ – so if He asks me to go somewhere or do something, how can I go back on my promise to be His forever? He’s worth committing our lives to – He is pure Love Himself, the only Truth worth dying for.

            This thought helps me during those difficult moments, like leaving a beloved parish. I have given myself to Him, and I belong to Him, and not to the people, as much as I love them. He is the only unchanging reality in my life.

            The day that I found out I was leaving St. Johns, the reading in Evening Prayer was from Hebrews: “For here we have no lasting city; we are seeking one which is to come.” How true. Nothing in this world lasts – the harder we grasp after that which cannot last, the more painful the loss when it comes to an end.

            And yet there is such great peace in self-surrender. It’s odd to think that sorrow and peace can coexist within a soul, and yet in Christ, it can. I think of Mary at the foot of the Cross, completely resigned to God’s will, yet filled with more sorrow than has ever been known. We will forever have times of sorrow in this life because we were made for eternity. We have no home here – we are pilgrims longing for our Heavenly homeland.

            And that, I suppose, is why I can joyfully embrace the priesthood despite the sacrifices that I know come with it. Because we were made, not for this world, but for eternal joy. This joy only comes to those who surrender themselves to Him Who is Love.