This past week was the Feast of the Exultation of the Cross. In non-Catholic speak; it was a celebration of Christ’s suffering and victory on the cross. At the seminary, a relic of the true cross was brought to our chapel for meditation and prayer. Again, in non-Catholic language that is a piece of Jesus’ cross that has been preserved through the ages and now is in small parts all over the world to inspire the faithful. There are questions about the authenticity of the relics, but I’m not going to get into right here.

The prospect of getting to sit at the foot of (part of) the cross is daunting. There is pain, guilt, relief, forgiveness, triumph, and a hundred other emotions wrapped up in it. There aren’t many words to articulate what being in the presence of the cross can do. One of the beauties of the Catholic Church is the tangibility of faith. There are connections to the earliest Christians and Christ himself that can be seen, touched, and experienced.

So I knelt in front of the cross, as Mary did and uncountable others have done, and prepared to encounter my crucified god in a profound and life changing way.

Nothing happened.

The heavens didn’t open up for me. There was no vision from on high. No choir of angels were singing (at least that I could hear). Apparently there is more to sacred objects than just making an appearance.

As I was kneeling in my disillusionment I noticed something hanging out behind the disappointing splinter. There, hanging out in a golden dove, was the sacrament. Christ himself, given in the Eucharist, was in the room where his cross had been brought. Despite how amazing and wonderful and awful and painful and everything else the cross was, Christ himself was present in that space. Surprising as it is, even the cross can be a distraction from Christ. In the unintentionally profound layout of the room, the relic of the cross was in my line of sight, blocking my view of Christ.

Relics are wonderful. They are a window into who God is and a memorial of the saints who blazed the trail for us. They are gifts that radiate God’s grace. At the same time, they are not an end in themselves. The cross is never the fullness of what there is. Behind the cross, when we choose to look past it, is the resurrected and intimately immanent Jesus. The cross may have been that day’s special attraction but Jesus is always present and waiting for me.

Although seeing the cross is a special treat that circumstantially happened to be situated between me and Christ, the path to God remains exactly the same: humility, prayer, and listening. I was too caught up looking for the cross to see Christ. Had praised God for his sacrifice, I might have heard that choir that was doing just the same. Had I been searching for God and not for holy fireworks, I may have found both.

Something I’ve always enjoyed about stories, in literature, movies, or wherever, is the distinction between the primary characters in the story and the stock characters that are thrown in to keep the plot rolling. Although they are usually a passing feature and emerge from the background for just a moment, I have a soft spot for the entirely one-dimensional characters of a story who arrive for just a moment and provide a clear and predictable function in the scene.

One of the earliest characters like this I can remember was from an after-school cartoon. I won’t try to give every detail but hopefully paint a small picture of what happened. One of the characters had lost someone she was close to. There wasn’t a body left behind and, for cartoon reasons, no possibility for a funeral. All she had to remember him by was a bandage he had worn. Not knowing how to grieve and having little forum to do so, she begins to wander through a cemetery. Far from helping, seeing other people remembered and memorialized brings even more pain.

Cue the black robe and white collar. As a young Mennonite, I didn’t connect the dots of what was being represented. It took me a while to realize that this wasn’t a undertaker or cemetery custodian of some sort. But over the next few minutes of the show, healing occurred. Tears stopped and mourning began. In the midst of the frequent violence and explosions of children’s cartoons, this was something completely different. I still haven’t seen monsters or needed a Power Ranger, but I did know what pain was and this priest seemed to be able to kick it square in the butt. I was hooked.

But he was gone. This nameless, faceless black robe moved along and kept on going through the cemetery, probably off to the next adventure and innocent person to rescue. The rest of the show was quickly less interesting.

As time has gone on and there has been opportunity to reflect, I’ve realized that the life of a priest has many occasions to be a stock character in another person’s story. In many of the major events of somebody else’s life, the priest is nowhere near the forefront but at the same time, the event isn’t happening without him there. Half the time a priest won’t have a history with what is going on. He’ll drop in, bring Christ to the situation, and then be gone as soon as he arrived. While far from every interaction a priest has with the world around him goes this way, a good portion do. It’s a stock character interaction and the priest is more of a role than a person. A collar and call are what is needed, face or personality not so much.

I’m not trying to comment on if this is a good or bad way of things. Far from it. I’m just trying to get my head around the idea of being a function as frequently as a person. I like stock characters. They are predictable to do their thing. Just like the professor is always absent-minded and the redshirt is killed to signal danger, the priest will always give the sacrament, show love, and say the prayers. Being a faceless priest in somebody else’s story doesn’t exactly get me thrilled, but it is helping me think about what it means to have a lifestyle given to service. It seemed to work out well for the nameless cleric on the weekday afternoon cartoon.

It could just be that this is a sign for me to watch more cartoons.

Not that I have experience with this, but from what I’m told, when one is expecting a child and trying to decide upon a name, there can be a fair bit of process involved. One critical part of this (according to my mom) is testing the name with a variety of possible and hoped for professions to make sure it is a good fit. Take ‘Sebastian’ as an example. He sure sounds like a wonderful chef but if he entered the police force, “Constable Sebastian” doesn’t really have a ring to it. Or ‘Chester’. Chester sounds comfortable as a semi driver but it would be unsettling to get a ‘Chester’ for a lawyer. Although Abraham is a wonderful farmer, ‘DJ Abe’ isn’t making any hits. A person’s name doesn’t formally define what their career options are, but some names and jobs just fit together a whole lot better than others. To an extent, it seems petty. To that same extent, I am quite petty.

While I was being anticipated, my parents went through a similar exercise when they decided what my name should be. According to my mom and dad’s evaluation, Cody works as a lawyer, doctor, engineer, or pastor. (My parents were optimistic.) With the bases covered for my most likely (or at least most desired) career paths, the name was settled on. There wasn’t any reasonable way for my evangelical parents to foresee me becoming a Roman Catholic priest, so they can’t be held accountable for how awkward “Father Cody” sounds.

For my dear mother though, ‘Father Cody’ does sound quite awkward. Her suggestion was for me simply to change my name. I have a middle name (James) that would do quite well. Two of Jesus’ twelve were named James, so I would be in great company. While there isn’t a ‘St. Cody’ (yet) there are plenty of ‘St. James’ around so there is ample history to draw on. Also, I could shorten it to Jim and spend at least one Sunday morning trying to preach in a Shatner voice until I burst out laughing.

I pitched the name-change idea to the youth here at the parish and took suggestions. The laugh-out-loud champ was “Father Judas”. I’m sure they didn’t expect me to take them seriously, but I had strongly considered taking on Jude as a confirmation name and the idea has been making a comeback. I don’t know how well ‘Jude’ fits with the name I have thus far, but with how much I’ve relied on St. Jude's prayers, imitation is the high form of flattery that’s called for.

I know that I and my ministry will not be defined by what I choose to put on my driver’s license. This is very much in the territory of fun priest-things to think about, alongside where I want my first mass to be and the extent to which pet ownership softens the loneliness. I freely acknowledge that there are probably more important aspects of discernment to focus on, but in the midst of serious discernment it's relieving sometimes to take on some of the little things.

Do you have a bunch of young guys and some cassocks laying around? Want to make a nice priest for the dinner party coming up? Here is Col. Benedict's secret recipe.

Ingredients:

One (1) human male, baptized thoroughly.
One (1) philosophy degree.
Four (4) years of theological training.
Twelve (12) months of parish internship.
Four (4) volume set of the Breviary.
Seemingly Infinite (~∞) hours of prayer.
One (1) nice looking white collar.
Two (2) ordinations.
One (1) Bishop, to be applied on multiple occasions.
Three (3) solemn promises.

Optional Ingredients include:
- Cooking Lessons
- Musical Talent
- Working Knowledge of Latin
- Love of Fishing


1) Preheat the seminary to 325 degrees. Take the man and blend with a philosophy degree while slowly adding in prayer. This can be done in a Seminary or if not, a large mixing bowl will do. Once the mix is thoroughly blended, add further prayer to taste. At this point, sprinkle in some consent from the local Bishop and you're ready to move the batter to the seminary. (If you are modifying this recipe for use in a religious order, add permission from the superior and the appropriate blend of spices.)

2) Once the batter has been transferred to the seminary, it is prepared for the next round of ingredients. Add the 4 volume breviary and start dumping in as much prayer as the dough can take. Mix it in at least five times a day but don't be shy about giving more than that. It will greatly affect how the priest turns out when it's done in the oven so you want as much as you can and as early as possible. This is a good time to set the whole batch aside for 5 or 6 days in silent retreat so the dough can rise.

3) With the breviary in and the prayer starting to mix through the dough, it is ready for the first two years of theological training to be added. Stir them in slowly, continuously adding more prayer. You really can't have too much of that. Be sure to pull the dough out of the seminary between each year so you can let it cool down a little and restore some sanity.

4) Once the first two years of theological training are blended in, you're ready to add the internship. All that prayer should be leavening the dough noticeably by this point. Add all the months of internship. It is recommended to get a another dash or so of consent and support from the local bishop while you do this. And as always, keep adding in that prayer. Throwing in a cassock is always a nice touch.

5) With the internship complete, put the mix back into the seminary and turn the heat up to 400. Stir in theology over the course of another year and don't let up on the prayer. It might seem like there is enough already but there is always need of more. Once the third year of theology is all in, it is time for a whole lot of the bishop. Have the bishop lay hands on the dough and stir in some chrism oil. The dough will be ready for all three promises now so add in the promises of celibacy, obedience, and prayer. At this point you'll have a deacon and you're almost done. Wrap the deacon in a stole and put that nice looking white collar on the front.

6) Increase the temperature in the seminary to 475 and put the deacon back in. This might seem like it'll burn out the deacon but it will actually make for a nice finish on the dough. Add the final year of theology and heap in more prayer. This is your last chance to get prayer in before the recipe is finished so don't hold back. Just add it in and your deacon will know what to do with it.

7) The dough will have cooked thoroughly at this point so it is ready to come out of the seminary. Don't shut it off because there are still many more guys in there. Once the deacon is out of the oven and cooled enough to touch, you're ready for for the bishop again. Have the bishop lay hands on the deacon and glaze lightly with chrism oil.

There you have it, your priest is done!

Garnish with stole and chasuble.

When I was a young, I wanted to be an “Army Man.” I was a history nerd and history frequently involves conflict, so many of my childhood icons were in the military. The heroes of history always seemed to be the guys who won battles and I wanted to be just like them … that or a ditch digger. I had a colourful book about construction equipment and the ditch digging machine looked like the most fun.

When I got to high school, I wanted to be in politics. All of the influence, intrigue and idealism infatuated me. Well, maybe mostly idealism. I wanted to change society and make the world a better place. I was in student government just because I loved getting elected. You couldn’t imagine a rush like the sophistry of convincing people I was the best candidate to fill a pop machine. There were huge dreams and a small soapbox.

In college I wanted to be a lawyer. I wanted to help the marginalized. There was endless injustice and I was chomping at the bit to rail against it. Pro bono work held the majority of my interest but the paycheck was tempting too.

As an adult, I just wanted to be a dad. No career could compete with raising a child. I was going to empty myself into the little one and leave a legacy in the goodness I could impart to them. Nothing kept me up at night like the prospect of family.

There is nothing wrong with any of those goals. They’re actually quite good, but I had a selfish interest in all of them. I wanted to put more of myself into the world around me. What is asked and what is needed isn’t for courageous people to form their world into their image but for holy people to sanctify it. Sanctification is not an exercise of personality. It is an unceasing effort to step aside from one’s self and let God bring his grace into the world. God willing, a few years from now I will be asked to look back on all of those dreams and give cast them aside, to give up the imagined image I had of myself and allow myself to become Christ’s image. I’ll be asked to take all of my dreams and desires, all of them, and die to them. An ordination might as well be a funeral. The call of Christ is to come and die and the life of a priest is a prolonged martyrdom. An ordination is a funeral and the collar is a casket.

None of this is bad news, despite how it sounds. Christ bids us to come and die and he tells us we will rise with him as well. If an ordination is a funeral, a priest is a vision of the resurrection. Being lost in Christ means losing our own dreams and agenda and allowing ourselves to be overwhelmed in his wild, extravagant love. It is not the life I had planned for myself. It is life being lived to the absolute fullest. This love is worth the reckless abandon of putting aside wishes and ambition. It’s worth dying for, no matter how long that takes.

Seminary life has a particular rhythm to it. We follow the liturgy of the hours, so there are five prayer times over the course of the day: morning, daytime, evening, nighttime, and a set of readings that can be done at any time. The scriptures call us To pray always and, in the word of Fr. Stephen Hero, if you want to pray always you have to pray sometimes. It’s helping us all to build a strong habit of prayer for the church and the world. As well, it helps us to organize our day. Morning prayer is at 6:30 and I’m not a morning person so the early starts have been a rewarding challenge for me. Rather than getting lost in classes or planning around (great) meals, we build our schedules on prayer. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wanted to yell at my alarm clock at 5 am but it is always worthwhile when I get to the chapel to join the community in prayer.

At the other end of the spectrum, bedtime should be a lot earlier than I’m used to. Night prayer is usually at 9 and even that sometimes feels staying up too late. Even if I get into bed at 9 though, there is a while before sleep comes. I’m sure it’ll settle down as I get more adjusted to seminary life, but for the moment there is way too much to think about to sleep easily. The idea of being a priest is daunting. Most recently, I was kept up thinking about baptism. Although all people can baptize, it is usually carried out by priests and deacons. I know baptism is God’s work and not mine, but who am I to be part of that process? Who am I to baptize someone? Even if baptizing seems like a hard thing to screw up, I have a hard time seeing myself in it. It’s not that I don’t want to be part of it, I very much do, but I can’t imagine myself being part of the process of God’s grace entering into a human life. I can’t fathom being in any way responsible for the waters of salvation. At the same time, I can’t wait to (hopefully) be part of the mystery of baptism. Being called on to immerse another person in God’s grace is an awesome responsibility and gift. While I’m confused about how I could be part of this supernatural act, I’m eager to help usher in the kingdom one dunk at a time.

Seminary is a place full of delayed eagerness. Everyone here wants to respond to God’s call but knows that priesthood is a long process. We’re all excited but know that ordinations are still a ways off in the horizon. Between then and now is more classes than we want to think about, amazing friendships around the cafeteria tables, and too many early mornings in the chapel. Rather than a quick bath to solve our sin and grant us grace, we are swimming in prayer, study, and community for years to prepare us to be at the other side of the baptismal font. Even though it won’t be a reality for years and we have every distraction available before it, all of the seminarians at St. Joseph have that singular goal of serving the church and helping bring God’s grace into the world as our singular focus.

God gives all of us a vocation and does so at our baptism. Everyone baptized is called out to be part of the kingdom. Being in seminary means that you’ve heard God calling but haven’t quite been able to make out all that God said when He baptized us. Every prayer is another return to our baptism and listen again a little closer. Every class is another dip in the waters. Every meal and act of community is a shared effort to relive our baptisms and explore a little more of what that single moment meant for us. Despite the moment that baptism took, we return to it again and again to explore it more and more. Our baptism fills our day, calling us out of bed to pray and sending us back when our prayers have finished. And it’s still calling us … literally.