Who are my brothers and sisters?
Who is my mother?
It is not a rhetorical question. I believe it has an answer.

One advantage to a globe trotting lifestyle like mine is that you just get to see so many people.

People, everywhere
Crammed together on a Roman bus
The furry, coats and hats and animal pelts
The stinky the perfumed and the putrid
The felonious pick-pocketing their way between exhausted tourists
The frantic, panicked, heated, desperate – Scusi, porta, permesso
The catatonic riding round and round with no where to go
The feely, prurient or pecunial, you decide
There is nothing like a Roman bus to give you a nice panoply of the human situation, up close and personal
Very close and very personal
These are people
And there is more to see in places like Rome
Korean brides and African chiefs all silk and feathers, color and elegance in different tones
Tyrolean shepherds who look like hobbits, furs and sticks and boots and beards
Legionaries and soldiers, sharp, arresting, combed, trimmed
Nuns of various stripes all trying to break in line, blue and white and grey and green
Gypsies and Gigolos smooth and oily and slithering through the crowd
Dancers, Accordion Players, Soliloquizers, itinerate tunes sung through the nasal choruses of coughs and wheezes throughout itinerate lives lived with only a metro pass and a cup from McDonalds
These are people
Orthodox Priests in robes and veils like sails crossing the Tiber, great ships of history
Confused Japanese Tourists, clicking, digitally clicking a scrapbook of memories that they will never remember how to comprehend and knowing, somehow, this is a metaphor for life
Beggars jingling their cups and calling out, Padre Padre with twisted limbs and darting glances, furtive glances. Summing up and moving on
Infants, mewing and bound up in blankets and furs and hats and mittens with one lost or on the breast completely unabashed
Children so intelligent they speak Italian and crying out and clamoring over things and heedless
These are people
Teenagers, pimply and hormonal, twisting, shouting, texting and texting and texting
Married Couples holding hands, they still do that
Old People, wobbling and tottering like the Tower of Pisa, but majestic
Lovers, kissing and touching and whispering meaningless things and wondering
These are people
Cardinals, birds of men, authoritative
Bishops, purple and pointed
Monks, solemn and screaming out across the piazza, Va, throughout the bus: GET OUT!
Seminarians bundled and backpacked and enthralled and fatigued and very endearing

And not only the living, the breathing, but the dead
Saints, embalmed, immured, ennobled in marble and bronze
Artists forgotten or immortal
Musicians with too many notes
Painters of canvases too large
Architects of buildings too grand
Sinners, forgotten and reconciled long ago

The living and the dead a great cloud of witnesses at the crossroads of civilization which might be Rome, or Jasper or Iowa, or Louisiana, or anywhere.


Who are my mother and my brothers and sisters?
It is not a rhetorical question. The answer is: Yes!

Rector’s Reflections – January 30, 2009

This week, our seminary fulfilled a great responsibility. For the first time we organized a seminary-wide trip to Washington to march and stand in solidarity with all the weak and marginalized in our society, especially those threatened each day by the evil of abortion. What a moving experience it was, mingling with thousands upon thousands of men, women and children all moving forward (literally) with a common purpose, to speak out life. Surely the voice and the movement of so many cannot have gone unheard by the powers that be. This surging crowd witnessed with choreographed testimony to the reality that false understandings of freedom and choice cannot stand in a culture committed to virtue, to value, to life. I have never been more proud of the men of Saint Meinrad than I was on that morning two weeks ago and that is saying a great deal because I have almost daily evidence of the holiness and goodness of the men who make up our community of formation. Fr. Godfrey organized the whole event. Vans were rented, communications were laid, lunches were packed. The seminarians departed on Wednesday morning, the Solemnity of our holy patron, Saint Meinrad and the Feast of St. Agnes, the patroness of the innocent and the helpless. What happy patrons!. Saint Meinrad is known as the martyr of hospitality and what greater act of hospitality than to stand up for those who cannot stand, to speak out for those who cannot cry. Those tiny unborn souls need our legs and our voice and so, under the patronage of our patron, we set out and drove for hours, through the hills of Kentucky and West Virginia, through the heartland of an America that stands on the threshold of a new era, but one that surely must speak up for those in need. On Wednesday night, the seminarians were hosted by the Benedictine sisters of Bristow Virginia. Fr. Godfrey had formerly been their chaplain while doing his doctoral work at CUA. The seminarians were taken in by families and strangers, another witness to the power of St. Meinrad. On Thursday we marched, we prayed, we testified as one body. What a privilege it was to be in that throng of seminarians moving together. That is what we must be, one body, the body of Christ witnessing and crying out within the throng of the Church. The evening of the march we were hosted by families of Our Lady of Mercy parish in Potomac, Maryland, Our overseer, Linda Budney works in the parish and organized everything for our stay. St. Meinrad continued to be with us. On Friday, we made a pilgrimage to the shrine of the first American saint, St. Elizabeth Seton. I have been here many times alone, throwing myself on the merciful intercession of this great educator and humanitarian. Now it was a great honor to present our seminarians to her and encourage them to seek her prayers as well. After this, I left the group to return to the seminary where I taught the weekend course on Vatican II for the lay students. The seminarians went on with Fr. Godfrey and Fr. Joe Moriarty to Baltimore and celebrated the holy Mass in the first cathedral. On Saturday everyone headed back to southern Indian and arrived safely (God be praised) if a bit worse for wear with time to rest before the new semester begins tomorrow. I feel so humbled to have been called to this ministry among these holy men, each with a beautiful story to tell of God’s grace.

Our new semester begins with good news, two new seminarians will be joining us, Adam Mauman from the Diocese of Lafayette, transfers from Mount St. Mary’s in Emmitsburg. And Shayne Duvall, from the Archdiocese of Louisville who transfers from St. Mary’s in Baltimore. We are happy to welcome these new men to our community of formation. We opened the second semester on Tuesday with classes getting underway. On Wednesday, the second semester ministry placements began. This is the first year that all seminarians in the six years of formation will have placements. This is part of our new program, Workers into the Harvest, These placements have been arranged through the hard labors of Br. Zachary and Fr. Brendan and there are many new supervisory sites this year. It is always amazing to be how our life of prayer and work can resume so effortlessly from the discombobulation of all the January term activities. Then, the ice storm. We were without power on the hill for 27 hours. Once again, however, our men came through. They worked together, along with our remarkable staff. They recreated by candlelight. They prayed and studied and bundled up for one of the coldest nights of the year. Now we have heat and light again and things begin to move forward as usual. Pray for the seminarians and the staff as we continue the work of God here on this holy hill.