Jack's Ordination, 2023

I can't travel to the Pacific Northwest to witness Jack's ordination into the Catholic Deaconate in preparation for the priesthood, but he sends me a link. I'm really interested; I've been deeply moved to see his growth from a distressed fifteen-year-old to a thoughtful man leading a meaningful life of service. I also long to see how his story progresses beyond what I started to discuss in Backward and Blind, so I click. 

There's the image of a Renaissance painting on the static screen accompanied by the sound of a woman's voice, repeating a well-known verse. 

" ...Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus,...

"Hail Mary full of grace,...." 

"...In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen..."

..."Blessed are you,..."

 The gentle Hail Marys are spoken clearly, slowly, with feeling as I hear people filter into the chapel. I lose count at how many, it's clearly a delightfully calming routine that gathers us all into the same mindset and prepares us for the service. 

A view of the chapel appears on my screen, then a men's choir begins to sing with controlled vigor.  A procession moves to the front of the chapel; the voice of God is heard through the organ, and the congregation rises to join in. 

The camera angle shifts towards the back of the church, and a long line of white-robed men enters.  I scan the faces to see if I recognize Jack; it's been now nearly forty years since he was a young teen struggling with his demons and the devils of high school algebra, so I'm not optimistic that I'll find him. Clearly, he's not wearing his athletic jacket advertising his varsity letters in ice hockey. The images of the men's faces are too small and too many for me to identify Jack, but that's ok. I know he's there. I'm wondering if his family and dear friends are there, doing the same thing I am doing -- scanning the crowd for Jack. 

The men each kneel and bow as they enter the altar area, finding places at the transepts. Incense is waved over the table and offerings.  The congregation is still engaged in song as the white robed men assume their places surrounding the altar. 

The Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception is bathed in light and is filled with voices proclaiming faith, love, and joy accompanied by music and alternating times of quiet.  This is a solemn beautiful ceremony with liturgy sung and responses given by the congregants in song.  

"Glory to God in the highest...."

"Seek not to be served but to serve brother and sister..."

A reading from Acts.  A responsorial Psalm. A letter from St. Paul to the Ephesians. 

Then Jack is called forward.  He stands with his back to the congregation, facing the Archbishop. 

"Do you know him to be worthy....?" asks the Most Reverend Archbishop of someone I can't identify.

"I testify that he has been found worthy," comes the response. 

The Most Reverend Archbishop replies, "We choose this man to be in the order of the Deaconate.  

"Thanks be to God."

The crowd erupts into a long, loud, sustained applause. I expect it to end, but it continues.  Jack is loved with a power that bounces off the walls of the cathedral with joy and enthusiasm. Jack looks over his shoulder to the congregation, then sits in a pew, seemingly overwhelmed.

Most Reverend Archbishop adjusts his tone (it sounds like he's smiling), "I get the idea you all approve."  The congregation replies with laughter.

"What's up with celibacy?" He asks rhetorically, after an appropriate pause. "There are good reasons. More time available for service.  But it's more than that. Charism is the gift of celibacy. a total gift of a man for his bride -- the church. An undivided heart is given to Jesus, God, and the Church.  We are here to celebrate that Jack has offered himself as a total gift to the church to serve YOU."  The Archbishop continues with his homily, underscoring the depth and meaning of the commitment of entering the priesthood.

I quickly look up charism. Miriam-Webster writes the following: "an extraordinary power given by a Christian for the Holy Spirit for the good of the Church."

The next phase begins. Jack reclines, then kneels as the Archbishop asks God's grace in Jack's mission.  

It's pageantry at it's finest, thick with history, emotion, formality, centuries-old traditions, and punctuated with music. 

Jack is again before the Archbishop, this time in his priest robes. The Archbishop addresses Jack: 

"Teach what you believe

"Practice what you believe

"And practice what you teach."

Jack faces the congregation. He is wearing glasses -- I don't remember him wearing glasses, but then I remind myself that he has passed the half-century mark and is subject to aging, just like the rest of us. He is not frozen as a fifteen-year-old. Even though one of my main messages in Backward and Blind is that we fail to let people grow into better versions of themselves, I remain occasionally guilty of forgetting that people grow up. He receives hugs from a long line of robed men that process in single file before him. It's clear he has their support and affection.  He takes a minute with each of these members of his community as they greet each other, sharing the honor, the time, the quiet, the solemnity, and what must be the unbridled joy for Jack. 

Jack prepares the elements, slowly, deliberately, under the watchful eyes of the assembled multitude.  It's a special moment when he is preparing the table for the first time as a deacon. He stands at the table with the highest priests, enjoying his first time in his new role before a congregation. 

"Take and eat this, for this is my body which will be given up for you...

"Take this and drink, for this is the chalice of my blood.... Do this in memory of me."

The priests serve Holy Communion, the choir sings.  The sanctuary is calm and quiet. The service ends; Jack is a deacon. 

I'm feeling honored that he thought to send me the link so I could watch this defining moment in his life. This moment is now seared in my memory; I am changed for it. 

Upon visiting Europe, I am drawn to the cathedrals of lore even though I have no root in the church.  Sacre Coeur's grandeur on the hill, familiarity, and timeless strength has me, the atheist, want to kneel.  Notre Dame, clothed in 40,000 (literally, I read the signs) pieces of scaffolding, in recovery still from her injury nearly brings me to tears. There is a familiarity in the traditions, the peace, and the solace offered by these wonders of medieval construction. 

While experiencing the feels, the smells, and the welcome of a cathedral -- any cathedral -- I think of Jack, bathed in the affection and love of the community of Catholicism, and I find a calm for this man borne into grace after a labor of fifty years.