How on earth can the story of a woman suffering from hemorrhages for 12 years be related to our lives? No problem! How so? Did you notice that the scene was described as overflowing with people—a rock-concern-like crowd following Jesus? The woman thinks to herself that if only she touched the cloak of Jesus, her condition might improve. She touches him, and Jesus feels her touch—and asks the disciples “Who touched me?” They, of course, don’t know who he’s referring to because all sorts of people are brushing up against him and them. But Jesus notices her—and speaks to her.
Imagine looking at a photo—of Jesus in a large crowd speaking face to face with an individual—and now put your face on that individual. Such is the message of this incident. You and I are not lost in the crowd of 7 billion people who inhabit the earth. You are special, and you have a special role within the community. Your presence is felt by the Lord, and his message to her is one of welcome—saying that her ritual impurity that alienated her from Temple presence and the community—is non-existent. He is welcoming her back, or integrating her into the community.
And so it is with each of us. We have our “impurities” that aren’t the same as those besetting the woman and her bleeding condition. But each of us feels alienation from others—either self-imposed or imposed upon us. As ever, our identity is supposed to reflect what Jesus taught—and so a part of our Gospel presence is that we extend hospitality and be a person who welcomes others into community. This is our calling as Christians.
On this topic of our vocation, the Diocese had its quarterly meeting of priests, and once again concluded the meeting with 3 of the clergy telling their vocation story. Bishop Gruss and his brother bishops are trying their best to encourage vocations, and we experienced his outreach on this topic when he visited us and presided at a “holy hour” prayer service.
In light of today’s gospel passage and the theme of vocation, I will report some elements of my experience enroute to being a Jesuit. Telling our story has been encouraged in the hope that our people in the pews might receive some seeds of thought that take root in their heart on this topic of “vocation.” After all, each person here today—if they take their faith seriously—is here because they are asking God to help them further clarify the role they are to place as people of the Way.
Vocation is not just a word associated with priests, brothers, and nuns, but is a word associated with our core identity. If you think that you’ve lived your life and have fulfilled your purpose in life—you’re wrong!!! You and I are not finished discovering what God calls us to be, to say, and to do—until we’re called to eternity. As the image of last week’s gospel pictures us—we’re all in this together—like passengers in a boat on sometimes turbulent waters.
The priests who told of their vocation presented different experiences they had which moved them to pursue the priesthood. Our own TJ Fleming wonderfully told of his never regretting his response to God’s call. Another priest told of how instrumental his parents were in fostering his vocation, I smiled in recalling my parents having little influence other than to affirm whatever “good” path I ever pondered—priesthood just being one such good path.
Overall, the priestly biographies tell of God speaking to each person individually—just like the woman in the crowd. She had her problems, and so do each of us. But God still calls us—into community as a vital presence supporting others.
When I think of “moments” in life that were influential, I think of many. Seeing films like “Joan of Arc,” “Bells of St. Mary’s,” “The Keys of the Kingdom,” “Barabbas,” and others were seeds of inspiration to a young kid who became me. Mom giving me the book “St. Francis of the Seven Seas” was also influential. I got it on my Confirmation day in the 4th grade. It was the life of St. Francis Xavier, an early Jesuit and patron saint of Missionaries. In high school, I read a book about life in the Jesuit Order titled “I’ll Die Laughing.” This book humanized the images of “priest” and religion that were often spiritually intimidating. These Jesuits seemed to have a “riot” when not functioning formally in their many roles.
It’s not holy-holy experiences that alone motivate us to discover what God wants us to do. Sometimes painful experiences move us to search for what Ignatius calls “the more” that might satisfy our hunger. Priests at my parish growing up were not always inspirational. They were sometimes not people I cared to be near. Others were good–like one who was assigned to my high school for his first priestly assignment—a man who would one day be Bishop Ken Untener.
A challenge experienced by many when considering priesthood was the idea of “falling in love.” How could I lose my heart to someone and serve in a Church that forbade a married clergy (since the 12th century)? And just when I had to make up my mind about entering the Jesuits, a darling girl captured my heart senior year. How could I leave her warm presence for the cold atmosphere of a Jesuit novitiate (place where “novices” begin training)?
Today’s gospel referred to “fear and trembling,” and those words described my body and soul on entrance day. I joined 21 other guys—none of whom I knew—and admitted to them in a group “sharing” session that “I don’t know how long I’ll be here because I don’t know if God wants me here or not.” No sooner did I say that than a second-year novice said “Mike, try to be more positive and avoid negative statements.” Strike one!
Initially feeling out of place, I overcame the fear and trembling and ended up being the only one to remain in the Order out of those 22 who entered that day. Befriending a second-year novice, we shared our backgrounds with one another, played ball, did studies, and had a fine friendship until the day he informed me that he was leaving the Order. At the time, I thought I’d never see him again, but circumstances unfolded such that he married that darling girl who owned my heart senior year. I must have painted such a good portrait of her—that he was not averse to seeking a relationship. They married one another, produced fine kids, and the 3 of us remain warm friends.
I think back to the emotional hit of leaving her behind and thinking of her every day in novitiate—and just laugh and roll my eyes. All that needless emotional output!! Jesus said to the woman “Your faith has saved you”—and so it was with me. Staying on track despite the challenge—eventually produced the best results for both them and me.
As a sophomore in high school, I was reprimanded by a nun who asked me to make up for my mistakes by attending a Legion of Mary meeting. This group was not a “cool” crowd, and I was the only boy in attendance. They prayed the rosary and reported what service work they had done since the last meeting. At the meeting’s end, the nun said “You’re coming to next week’s meeting, Michael, aren’t you?” What was I to say?
As I’ve reported in the past, “God writes straight in crooked lines.” I was asked to teach summer bible school at an inner city parish in Detroit—and once again I didn’t know how to say “No thanks.” Teaching first and second-grade Black kids was a joy. I love them, and I turned out to be a White guy they could appreciate. I did that for 3 summers, and I think the roots of my role as a teacher were sewn at that time.
My membership in the Legion of Mary ended on a humorous note. I was asked to a public school prom by a girl I met at a party. She asked if I’d be her prom date, and I agreed. After the prom, we accompanied another couple who became amorous—me in the back seat with my date. Feeling uncomfortable in the back seat conversing while the other couple did not converse, I told my date that I had to get up early the next morning because I had to go downtown to attend a Legion of Mary meeting. I never saw these 3 people again. 2 months later, I entered the Jesuits.
When I visited with 3 former Jesuits with whom I was in studies, I thought of what great guys they were during my early years in the Order. They’re still great guys today—making their contribution to the world via other vocations. I stayed and they left. As with every life, mine had challenges. But whatever might be considered worthwhile accomplishments—were attributable to asking God for the same guidance that each one here at Mass asks of God. May we be open to laboring in new landscapes in which to live our vocation.