There is a good bit of foolishness in the Gospel tonight. We never think about these two parables, parables that lead to the third in this chapter of Saint Luke’s Gospel, the parable of the Prodigal Son. These two parables are also about prodigal things, lost sheep, lost coins. In overlooking them to get to the “good stuff” at the end of the chapter, or in over spiritualizing them, we may miss the point. Sure we get it that God is like the shepherd or that God is like the old lady. We get that.

What we seldom get is how foolish they are. It is foolish to leave 99 sheep to look for one, but then God is foolish. It is foolish to spend the day looking for a lost coin. Of course, that is God. Is God foolish then? He must be. And he is foolish for a reason to tell us how to be more foolish ourselves. Are you prepared to be fools for God? Brothers and sisters, we must be.

This evening I would like to take a bit of a different tactic as we look at the application of the principle of divine foolishness in our lives and in particular the lives of these men who will declare their candidacy for Holy Orders tonight. Lately I have been thinking a great deal about foolishness and thankfulness. Undoubtedly the season is upon us.. What in these days am I thankful for?

I am thankful for my priestly life. The priesthood is not something I do. Like being a Benedictine, the priesthood defines me. It is written in my heart and mind certainly, but also in my limbs, in my actions. I think in the mind of every priest, no matter what he has to face there is always the conviction that being a priest is who I am. I can never put it aside. I feel in the priesthood a spiritual fatherhood, not in a paternalistic way, but in a heartfelt, perhaps heartbroken way. The spirit of the priesthood is engendered in love, not love for the loveable, but love for the erring, the troubled, the troublesome, the lost thing, sheep, coin, parishioners, or seminarian. The priesthood is first and foremost a passion for reality, for the tangible. This is experienced in what the priest does, make the Eucharist. In the Eucharistic celebration each priest has the audacity to hold up what for all appearances is a piece of bread and a cup of common wine and say, Here is God. That is real. It may also be seen in the world’s logic to be quite foolish. The priest must also look at the common things of life, the trials and misfortunes, the triumphs and victory. Again, foolish. He must say in every family situation, in every neighborhood reality, in the school, the funeral home, the store. He must say with his life: Here is God. Perhaps that is foolish. As a priest, I know God cares for you because I know God cares for me, even when I forget it. Priesthood is not something I do, it is the core of who I am, everything is about that reality. Everything centers on it and comes back to it even when I make wild jumps. Sin for me is neglecting my priesthood. Sanctity for me is fully living it. The value of my priesthood is not something that can be measured by the world. God can measure it. God does. It can never be summarized however even by all of the things I do. I know that I am a sinful man. We all are sinful. But I also know I am a forgiven man, my priesthood holds that promise for me. Fr. Julian recently commented on All Souls Day in his homily for the Latin Mass that he was looking forward to purgatory. He was looking forward to being made whole again. Priesthood is my way. Foolish. It is not the only way but it is my way to be saved. It also is the thing that leads me to understand that there is nothing more important than being saved. Can our brothers become candidates for that? Can they learn to be fools for God?

What else is going on in this season of foolishness and thanksgiving?

I am very thankful for the seminary. Being the rector of a seminary is not my job. It is also who I am. At least for now it is my mode of engaging m priesthood. I won’t say that it is all good times. Like life it is not. There are times of frustration, times to cry, times to mourn, times to feel a little sorry about things. But, O my, it is worth it. God has given me the honor of being the father of a community of 160 plus men of every age, varied ethnicities, quite varied eccentricities, faults and failures and almost hourly triumphs. What is it like to live daily in the company of 160 sons? What is it like to feel your pains? What is it like to experience your joys, even quite tangentially? It has a word to describe it. It is love. Most people would have a difficult time dissecting the presence of love in an all male community, but it is here in our community. That is not to say there is not a great deal of teasing and joking, sometimes quite practically. It does not mean that feelings don’t get stepped on every once in a while. It does not mean that there is no sense of failure or loss, theologically speaking it does not mean that there is no sin. There is always the ditzy sheep getting lost or the coin that throw itself away. Love means that we can find love, that through love we can clean it up. We can make it presentable, even precious quite precious to the world and most precious in the eyes of God. Every day I have the great privilege of watching my sons grow up (and some of you are older than me). As I get older I have begun to realize that you are the age of any sons I might have had. It feels natural. There is no one on this earth that can tell me that as I celibate I don’t know what fatherhood is. I know it in your sickness and your victory. I experience it in your laughter and doing crazy things. I understand it when discipline is necessary and it always hurts me more than it hurts you. I’m sure the shepherd had a few choice words for the lost sheep, but he knew and I know how good you are as well. I know it every day when I walk into the chapel and see you praying, or into the dining room and seeing you forget to use your napkins. I think I love you more in your failures than in your successes. Now that is foolish. You are all very different. All very unique, but I will claim you all, because God has given me the greatest vocation ever. He has given me seminarians, and faculty members, and staff who are so dedicated to what you do that it puts me to shame sometimes. God has given me a vocation that gets me up at 3:00 in the morning and makes me run and talk and lecture and joke belly-ache and cry until sometimes 11:00 at night and he has made me love it. He has made me love him through it. Now that is foolish.

My brothers who will declare your candidacy tonight, I hope you have listened to this little bit of foolishness from your old rector. Not lost sheep or coins, but a few lost words and perhaps a few lost marbles. I’m not getting any younger you know.

Tonight you are making your step into the world I have been so foolishly describing. As you move to make your candidacy, when it boils down, here is what I want to say to you:

None of us lives for oneself, and no one dies for oneself.

For if we live, we live for the Lord,

and if we die, we die for the Lord;

so then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.

And that, my brothers is foolish and it is the greatest vocation of all.