Blessed
John Paul II
Fr.
Philip Neri Powell, OP
Notre
Dame Seminary, NOLA
Two
weeks before petitions for solemn vows were due and two months before
my class was scheduled to take solemn vows, I find myself sitting in
the student master's office for yet another Come to Jesus talk. These
talks had become a regular feature of my three years of studium
formation; and this time, Fr. Michael, the Student Master, was really
not happy with me. After six semesters, three summers, and countless
dinner table conversations, you'd think that by now he would've been
used to my peculiar sense of humor. But looking across at his pinched
face and gritted teeth, I could tell that his training as a tax
attorney and Patristics scholar had done nothing to prepare him to
deal the weirdnesses of an over-educated 38 year old redneck-convert
from Episcopaganism. I knew before he spoke a word what the topic of
this exhortation would be: my complete lack of docility. I was
unprepared to embrace the life of departure that every Dominican
friar must be willing to live. In other words, I would not gird my
loins nor would I light my lamp. The master would return from the
wedding and find me sound asleep, snoring loudly.
What
is a life of departure*? What does it have to do with remaining ready
for the master's return? A life of departure is a life lived in
constant readiness to move, a sort of perpetual vigilance against
getting too settled in, too snug and comfy with who we are and where
we are serving. As itinerant friars, Dominicans live lives of
departure quite literally. I've been professed for 13 yrs and I've
lived in five provinces, three countries, and nine or ten cities here
and abroad. In one academic year, I logged almost 60,000 miles of air
travel! That's Dominican life. But what would a life of departure
look like for the laity, or for diocesan clergy? Notice the tension
in our gospel story. The servants are girded. Lamps are lit. They
wait for the knock on the door. Even though they aren't doing much,
they are wound up to spring into action when called. Just being
ready, always ready to answer God's call is holy work. Being ready to
snap into sweat-inducing labor at a moment's notice means that we
cannot rest too long or too soundly; we cannot dig down our roots too
deep; we cannot let yesterday's work haunt us nor tomorrow's work
worry us. Whatever comes next when God calls is what we are charged
with doing. A life of departure is a life lived right at the edge of
expectation, right at the brink of just letting go of everything for
the love of Christ.
In
fact, a life of departure is a life lived by just letting go of
everything—everyTHING—for the love of Christ. For the sake of his
name, and in his name, to be constantly ready to jump at his Word, we
let go of our long-range plans; our packed schedules; our assessments
of failure and success; our competitive comparisons with peers. We
cannot properly gird ourselves or light the lamps if our hands are
busy with the work we think is vital. Now, of course, we need plans,
schedules, assessments, etc., but they cannot be allowed to become
the measure of our availability to serve. Patience, perseverance,
docility—all of these are not only better measures of service, they
are also better tools for serving the Master. A life of departure, a
life of constant service is a life lived in the eternal shade of
God's wisdom. Who can honestly say, “I know it all already”? Or
even worse, “I know enough to get the job done.” Knowing is not
serving. And knowing just enough and no more rewards ignorance. To
serve—in Christ's name—means letting go of what we think we know,
and being ready—always ready—to be moved by divine wisdom from
the comfy pretense of Knowing All to the hard reality of Loving
Others.
As
servants, we wait upon the return of our master. Loins girded. Lamps
lit. When he returns, he will serve us. And from his service, we will
learn what it is to die. . .to die for love of him.
*I borrowed this phrase from Hans Urs Von Balthasar.
_________________
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