Priesthood from the Inside Out

Every defensive line has a weak player or two. Mine is a wide receiver who runs for the sideline to avoid getting tackled. I’m referring to my tendency to avoid conflict at all costs.

Mid-November finds me in the Midwest. Hunkered inside a cabin , I watch hickory boughs outside the window sway in the wind. Flurries swirl. Swaths of snow, thin as muslin, drape the ground.

We live in a time of division and the priesthood is not exempt: young vs. old; tradition vs. innovation; social justice vs. prayer and fasting.

Mighty grain elevators once stood guard over Texas farm towns. Today, less than a third of the aged watchmen report for duty.

For this priest, the ill-defined term, “retirement,” has come to mean a well-chiseled silence in which to hear the whispering of God.