Gabe

Gabe’s Twisted Sense of Humor

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

We’re at Bren’s baseball game, with our backs to the high-school girls’ softball team. Behind us: PING!, then “Heads up!” A fluorescent yellow softball rockets over the backstop behind us, over our heads, and slams into the fence around the ball field in front of us.

“Wow!” I say.

“They shouldn’t say, ‘Heads up,'” says Gabe, “because if you stick your head up …” — and he extends his neck as high as it will go — “… you have a better chance of getting hit by the ball.”

I smile and nod. “Maybe they should say, ‘Duck and cover!'” I suggest.

“Yeah,” says Gabe, “and then it’s like you grab a little kid to duck under!” … and he laughs and laughs.

Callings, Revisited

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Blogger’s Note: That last post garnered some interesting comments, both on- and off-line. Hope this one does, too.

It occurred to me on my commute this morning that there is one aspect of the priestly vocation versus the married vocation that I failed to explore: The possibility of answering one calling, only to hear another years or even decades later.

I know of at least two former Catholic priests who have chosen to leave the priesthood and get married. To the best of my knowledge, one left the Catholic Church and may now be a Protestant minister; the other is the head of one of the most Catholic families I know back home in Michigan.

I know of precisely zero married men who have chosen to leave their marriage to become priests. In neither case do I know what the “rules” are — how one “undoes” one sacramental vow and undertakes a new one, or even if it’s possible, within the Catholic Church. I suppose one might do it regardless and seek forgiveness in some way, perhaps.

What is of more interest to me is that it is easier for people to imagine a celibate priest discerning a call to marriage later in life than to imagine a married man discerning a call to the celibate life of a priest. The romantic-triangle buddy comedy Keeping the Faith includes a great scene between a young priest, played by Edward Norton, who is contemplating turning his back on his vows over a girl, and an old priest who declares that falling in love every so often is part of the gig — and just like in marriage, you make a choice to stay faithful to your vows. The scene seems funny, wise, and true.

But why not the other way? I can imagine the possibility of years or even decades of celibacy were I to outlive my wife. (Perhaps even celibacy by my own choice …) But another calling now? While I’m here, with this other half of me? It’s unfathomable.

The question becomes, why is it unfathomable for me to imagine falling so in love with the Church that I would want to leave my married vocation, but it’s not unfathomable for me to imagine a priest falling so in love with a woman that he would want to leave the Church? If you knew a man in former situation, would you not think it strange, or even outrageous? But in the latter situation? I suspect most people might be sympathetic.

I wonder if it’s not the case that have we been so immersed in popular understandings of sexuality — especially male sexuality — that continence seems unnatural and celibacy, next to impossible. In such a world, it’s difficult to imagine anyone who had experienced marital intimacy ever choosing celibacy.

But the discussion returns to a question posed in the last post: Would you leave your spouse if a tragic accident made it necessary for you to spend the rest of your days celibate? Would you stay married and cheat?

If you can imagine one, you can imagine the other. And if you can’t imagine a love for God deep enough to forsake all others, perhaps you simply aren’t called.

Callings

/ J. Thorp / 9 Comments

Lots of folks — Catholic and non-Catholic alike — have a hard time imagining the choice a priest makes to remain celibate his entire life. Some are amazed; some view it as impossible; some are simply grateful they weren’t called to such a life. Boy, I couldn’t do it, they say. Better them than me.

A few months back, our associate pastor, Father G, joined a group of us at an event for married couples. He spoke about what a beautiful vocation marriage is, then said, “I’m glad I wasn’t called to it.”

As you might expect, that got quite a laugh from the couples in attendance — like, if it’s so great a calling, why are you so happy not to be married?

I laughed, too. Later, as I talked to a friend, he pointed out that no one thinks twice about a married man saying, “I’m glad I wasn’t called to the priesthood.” The Catholic Church views both vocations as lifelong, life-giving commitments, in one case, to your spouse; in the other case, to the Church. So just as I feel I am meant to be a husband and father, so Father G feels he is meant to be a priest.

You might argue that the reason one’s easier to swallow for most people than the other is that taking a mate and giving birth to children seems somehow more natural. And in a way, that makes sense — in a “taking a mate and giving birth” sort of way. But in terms of a lifelong commitment to marriage and raising a family, come what may, the differences are less apparent. Would I leave Jodi if a tragic accident made it necessary for us to spend the rest of our days celibate? No. Would I stay married and cheat? Of course not. My “I do” a dozen years ago was more than a mere one-time choice — it’s a daily commitment and lifelong vocation. It’s a calling.

I bring this up because for the past couple of years, our middle son, Gabriel, has been talking about becoming a priest. When he first told our priest, Father M began to call Gabe “Father Gabriel” — and it bugged him at first, because he was worried that we might hold him to a lifelong decision made at age seven. “What if I don’t become a priest?” he asked.

But his comfort with the idea seems to be deepening, and he talks to Father M and Father G whenever he gets the chance. When we start poking fun at the kids about girls and boys and who they might marry, Gabe says matter-of-factly, “I’m marrying the church.”

Puberty may tweak his thinking, but for now, he seems to be serious.

When my mom first heard this, she was saddened, despite herself. She’s Catholic, too, and knows we need priests, but she also dreams of seeing countless great-grandchildren from each of her grandkids. Our oldest, Brendan, wants to go the Naval Academy, then become an officer in the Marine Corps. I mentioned this to another friend of mine, who said, “Well, at least you’ve got time to talk him out of that!”

I understand these feelings, but I wouldn’t dream of it — first, because a kid deserves his or her dreams, and second, because I am so deeply proud to have two boys who are willing to entertain lives of service and sacrifice at their young age. Even if they don’t become what they aspire to today, that willingness to serve will be a great asset to our future.

Some of you read about the special gift given to Gabe by Father M a few weeks back — a stole, chalice and paten (pictured above) with which to practice the Mass. Gabe made him a thank-you card and has been looking for an opportunity to give it to him. In the meantime, last Saturday we visited our friend Deacon Tyler (from the Future Priests of the Third Millennium blog) at the St. Paul Seminary. (He will be ordained a priest in Rapid City this June, and yeah, we’ll be there.) He showed us all around: the chapel, the dorms, the lounge, the grounds. He explained that the higher floors of the residence hall have the best view of the Mississippi River below, and that the priests who teach at the seminary get those rooms.

While we were in St. Paul, we stopped by one of my favorite used bookstores, Sixth Chamber, to pick up a copy of Steinbeck’s East of Eden, which Deacon Tyler, Jacqui of Jacqui’s Room, and Matt “Hubba” Trask of Hubba’s House turned me onto. I had discussed it briefly with Father M and discovered that he hadn’t read it, so we thought we would get a copy to thank him for his thoughtfulness toward Gabe.

He was not the presiding priest at the Mass we attending on Sunday, but appeared just before the end to make a bombshell announcement: he will leaving our parish this summer — the archbishop has asked him to teach at the seminary.

Through my own tears, I looked at Brendan. He was crying softly; he and Father M had bonded over military history during numerous conversations. Gabe was quiet, unflinching.

After Mass, we made a beeline across the church with Gabe’s card and the book. We hugged Father M and told him it was coincidental, but we had something for him. It was a bittersweet moment — then Gabe piped up that he had been to the seminary the day before, and that Father would live on the upper floors, overlooking the river …

Later, I asked Gabe how he felt to hear that Father was leaving for the seminary. His eyes grew wide and glassy, but he didn’t speak.

I told him that I noticed he didn’t cry like Bren and I did. He told me he was sad, too — but a little excited that he might have Father M for a teacher one day.

He is eight, but this appears to be no distant calling.

Four Kids; Four Tidbits

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

Blogger’s Note: Thought I’d share a little bit about the family from the past few weeks. Just random stuff. Little things …

I was digging through a closet and found a stack of National Geographic magazines from the turn of the century (the 21st Century, unfortunately). The April 2000 issue has an open-mouthed great white shark on it, and as soon as I saw it, I had a flashback to when Brendan was about three years old. I flipped it open and found a feature story called “Yemen United.” I flipped several more pages and found a full-page portrait of a dark-skinned, graceful Yemeni girl, her face more African than Asian, with deep brown eyes, wearing a purple headscarf with black flowers, a colorful floral-and-stripes dress, and a beaded necklace and silver rope chain around her neck.

I showed the cover it to Brendan. “Do you remember this?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he said. “We watched a show about those sharks.”

I open to page 52. “Do you remember this girl?” He is confused by the question and shakes his head no.

“She was your first crush,” I tell him. “When you were three, you used to find the shark magazine every night, look through it until you found this picture, and tell this girl, ‘Good night.'”

He looks embarrassed. “Really?” he asks.

No reason to be embarrassed, Bren. She’s beautiful.*

* * * * *

The Easter Bunny brought the kids Night at the Museum on DVD. Sunday afternoon, Trevor said he couldn’t wait to watch “Hotel After Dark.”

Later in the day, one of the kids said something about the Easter Bunny laying eggs in our house. He or she quickly changed it to hiding eggs, but the whole deal got a big laugh .. and got Trevor thinking.

“I know!” he said. “What if it was Christmas time, and Santa was a polar bear that laid presents!”

* * * * *

After Mass the other day, Father M called Gabriel (and the rest of us) into the vesting sacristy to give Gabe something. Because our middle son thinks he may want to be a priest when he grows up, Father had hinted that he had communion set of some sort for Gabe to practice with.

Gabe was so excited, but almost had to be pushed into the sacristy because it felt “off-limits” — like he was backstage without a pass. Father turned to him, smiling, and presented him with a long purple cleric’s stole, which appeared hand-woven south of the border. “You must always kiss it before you put it on,” Father said, and Gabe nodded, wide-eyed. Then Father gave him a large brown stoneware chalice and paten with the Words of Consecration on their rims. He took them, and stared, and said next to nothing.

Jodi and I both thanked Father, then coaxed Gabe to do the same. He did, haltingly. “We don’t use clay in this church,” said Father, “but this is a real set. Someday, when you’re ordained, you’ll get your own set, but you can practice with this one.”

Gabe said nothing, but nodded. “I think he’s in shock — a little overwhelmed,” I said.

As we walked to the car, I told Gabe that I had thought Father was going to give him some sort of kid’s set: a tin cup and plate, or something. “This was very generous of Father,” I said.

“Dad,” he said, “when I didn’t say anything right away, it was because I was surprised, and overwhelmed, and a little disappointed all at once, because I thought it would be gold, and it wasn’t. I didn’t know it was a real set.”

I told him that I understood how you get something in your head, and when it comes out differently, it can disappoint. “But remember Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? When Indy had to pick the right Grail and drink from it, but if he picked wrong, he would die? Of all those beautiful cups, which was the right one?”

Gabe’s face lit up. “The carpenter’s cup!”

“Right — the clay cup. Jesus wasn’t rich man, and neither were his disciples. He wouldn’t have had a gold cup!”

You should see him now: he kisses the stole, puts in on, and carries his chalice and paten with such care!

* * * * *

Emma has been working for several weeks, 10 to 15 minutes a night, to read Beverly Cleary’s Runaway Ralph. It was slow going at times — a “stretch” book from the get-go, since she’s just finishing first grade. But she insisted, persisted … and today got 10 out of 10 on her Accelerated Reader quiz, which means she understood what she read. Yeah, Rosie!

* * * * *

* I’ve search the Web over, and cannot find this photo, and I don’t feel right about scanning it. The photographer who shot it has books of famous National Geographic portraits and photos, including this famous Afghan girl. He does good work, and I’m sure he protects his copyrights.

Gourmet or Gross-Out?

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

Sometimes in the hustle of the day-care day, Jodi lets the older kids help out by making their own lunches. So a few weeks back, she told Gabe he could make a sandwich, and he did.

After he cleared his dishes, she asked how the sandwich was. “Pretty good,” he said, “except for one thing. I’m not sure if it was the grape jelly, the mustard, or the Cheezits.”

My money was on the jelly, but the more culinarily adventurous among my co-workers said they could imagine jelly and mustard being complementary. I asked Gabe what he thought, and his best guess was the Cheezits. I asked what else was on it: turkey, spinach, and colby-jack cheese.

The Cheezits, I gathered, were for texture …