Priesthood from the Inside Out

I joined a team of search and rescue volunteers at Caprock Canyons State Park. I thought the job would entail rescuing hikers who ran out of water or tourists who cozied up too close to the bison herd (which, for some reason, tend to think they own the place). Little did I suspect that the Search and Rescue Team would be searching for run-away horses.

Songs about ranch hands and horses blared from the dash of my pickup when I drove to Texas twenty years ago. The Amarillo Diocese needed priests and I needed land to raise cows and break colts. God answered my prayers...

On the way to Mass at the Mission of Mt. Carmel, I am greeted by the face of Our Lady of Guadalupe peering from a large mural painted on a gas station wall. Poised at an angle above the gas pumps and a delivery truck, her blue veil and gentle smile warms the morning air. As always happens when I behold this image of Our Lady, the words she spoke to St. Juan Diego echo in my soul, “I am your mother. Am I not your mother?”

It has been a hectic day at the migrant shelter. The second-shift coordinator asks me to pick up a prescription at Wal-Mart for one of our guests...

The road to El Paso pushes through an arid region of tall yucca and thin grass. South of Carlsbad, a mountain range sawtooths the horizon like the snarl of an angry dog. The vast expanse is brown and brittle, a land of cactus and serpents. I arrive at the migrant shelter after dark...