Some navel-gazing. . .

BE WARNED: this is a fairly rambling piece of somewhat self-indulgent navel-gazing. . .

Normally, I am all-too aware of "where I am" spiritually--usually, somewhere around Not Quite Mortally Wounded Enough to Give Up Entirely but never Flying High Near the Throne. Like most struggling Catholics, I do as well as I can and throw my lot in with God's promise of mercy. This is as it should be. We struggle; we hope; and we get on with our day. Lately, something has changed, and I can't figure out what exactly is different.

Though I value the intellectual life, my basic instinct is intuitive; that is, most of my decisions/evaluations are deeply rooted in empathetic urgings, or fits and starts--maybe even leaps--of insight that push me onward and outward. I hate to admit it, but many of my choices in the past have been gambles rather than reasoned choices. For the most part, these bets against logic have worked out to my benefit. I vaguely remember someone once saying something about only children and fools rely on Providence. . .

Anyway, during my recent visit to the U.S., I was in touch with a strange sense of Something Isn't Right. There's nothing I can point to concretely as an example. Just a really bizarre, almost physical, twinging that I am in the wrong place spiritually. This isn't about being in Rome or about studying philosophy. . .it's more about my relationship to God and His Church, something more fundamental than what I am doing intellectually or vocationally and more about who I am as a priest.

During my three years as a campus minister at U.D. I was in a position to work as a priest on a daily basis. I celebrated Mass as many as five times a week. I was spiritual director to several students, a few staff members, some folks from the community. I heard confessions daily. There were even a few weddings and some baptisms. There's not much of that here in Rome. Two Masses a month. One spiritual directee. No confessions, baptisms, or weddings. Who is a priest without his people? Hmmmmm. . .

Though I taught literature and theology at U.D. the entire time I was there, these were academic exercises rather than strictly priestly ones. Teaching thrills me almost as much as preaching. . .I've learn more in front of a classroom than I ever have sitting in a desk. It's the give and take of a good discussion rooted in a text that stretches me intellectually not the solitary life of a scholar sitting in his room reading. The teaching I did stretched my spiritual muscles as well as my brain. But nothing strains against my naturally spiritual laziness like having to prepare five homilies a week. Of having to read, study, pray over, and preach about the scriptural readings for the ecclesial occasion. Add to that a poet's pride in needing to be original (i.e., not simply reaching into the file and pulling out a homily from three years ago) and you have a recipe for growth. I recently reviewed some of my earlier homilies and compared them to the few I've preached since October 2008. Though my more recent homilies are better focused and more clearly communicated, there's not as much energy there, not as much verve in the text or the delivery. Is that a bad thing? Maybe this is an indication that I am maturing, or maybe I'm feeling spiritually constipated. Stunted. Or held back. Who knows?

In many ways--despite my years in the academy--I was not prepared to be a student again. Sitting in a desk, taking notes, being examined. There's a different kind of discipline in being a teacher. Come to think of it. . .I've rarely been a student without also being a teacher. The typical model of university teaching is Master/Apprentice. Accomplished scholar imparts his/her mastery to those who want to attain competence in a field on the way to achieving expertise. From the beginning of my professional training as a reader/teacher of literature, I have been steeped in a different model: Coach/Athlete. Though I rebelled early on against the Marxism used to fuel this model (the so-called "pedagogy of the oppressed"), it best fits my personality. It is more dynamic, more intuitive, less authoritarian than authoritative, and it gives the teacher lots of room to grow. There's content to impart, of course, but the power of this model is the demonstration of a skill and the constant need to hone that skill.

Maybe my current spiritual discomfort has something to do with my academic discomfort? For Dominicans, study is a form of prayer. But I don't study well alone, or rather, I study best when studying is a communal activity, something done with others who need to sharpen their intellectual skills. What's a coach without his/her athletes?

So, I'm a priest without his people and a coach without his athletes. That goes a long way toward explaining my current malaise. Don't get me wrong here! I'm not unhappy or depressed or anything like that. Just. . .blah. Just tepid in all things spiritual and academic. The intellectual work I have ahead of me is daunting, even overwhelming. But that's not new. What's new, I guess, is that I feel little or no urgency to engage it or complete it. Why? I dunno. I'm reading. I'm thinking. I'm praying. Doing what I can to progress. But my heart isn't in it right now. I wish I could say that I'm being unduly distracted by more urgent problems. Nope. Or that I am being oppressed or burdened with third party problems. Nope. Yet, the sense of being stalled, of wading through molasses remains. Even my creative project--the prayer book--isn't moving my spirit to bigger and better things.

Who knows? It could be this Roman winter--cold, dark, damp. Could be that I am focusing on my health right now. Losing weight. Getting my HBP meds atraightened out. Or that I am too much concerned about where I will be this summer. It's easier to live in the future, isn't it?

What I need is a Coach standing over me yelling, "One more page, you wimp! Come on, you lazy bum! One more book! One more homily!" Ha! Yea, that's the ticket.