Retreat

It has been a few days since my last blog. I have been away on a retreat with some other priests fromthe diocese. It was good to be in the land of some of my hero's - Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross and to ponder some of their teachings on prayer and discipleship. I also spent some time with the words of Pere Michel Quoist (see previous post), this time words very much oriented to me as a priest. The words of Michel Quiost disturb me, console me, encourage me, and challenge me. See what you think. I give them to you as they appear in his book 'Prayers of Life.'

The Priest ~ A Prayer on a Sunday Night

People ask a great deal of their priest, and they are right. But they should understand that it is not easy to be a priest. He has given himself in all the ardour of youth, yet he still remains a man, and every day the man in him tries to take back what he has surrendered. It is a continual struggle to remain completely at the service of Christ and others.

A priest needs no praise or embarrassing gifts; what he needs is that those committed to his charge should, by loving their fellows more and more, prove to him that he has not given his life in vain. And as he remains a man, he may need once in a while a delicate gesture of disinterested friendship … some Sunday night when he is alone.

Come with me, and I will make you fishers of men. (Mark 1:17)
You did not choose me: but I chose you. I appointed you to go on and bear fruit that shall last. (John 15: 16)
Forgetting what is bwhind me, and reaching out for that which lies ahead, I press towards the goal to win the prize which is God’s cal to the life above in Christ Jesus. (Phil 3: 13-14)

Tonight, Lord, I am alone.
Little by little the sounds died down in the church,
the people went away,
and I came home, alone.

I passed people who were returning from a walk.
I went by the cinema that was disgorging its crowd.
I skirted café terraces where tired strollers were trying to prolong
the pleasure of a Sunday holiday.
I bumped into youngsters playing on the footpath,
youngsters, Lord, other people’s youngsters who will never be my own.

Here I am, Lord, alone.
The silence troubles me,
the solitude oppresses me.

Lord, I am 35 years old,
a body made like others, ready for work,
a heart meant for love,
but I’ve given you all.
It’s true, of course, that you needed it.
I’ve given you all, but it’s hard, Lord.
It’s hard to give one’s body; it would like to give itself to others.
It’s hard to love everyone and claim no one.
It’s hard to shake a hand and not to want to retain it.
It’s hard to inspire affection, to give it to you.
It’s hard to be nothing to oneself in order to be everything to others.
It’s hard to be like others, among others, and to be of them.
It’s hard always to give without trying to receive.
It’s hard to seek out others and to be unsought oneself.
It’s hard to suffer from the sins of others, and yet be obliged to hear and bear them.
It’s hard to be told secrets, and be unable to share them.
It’s hard to carry others and never, even for a moment, be carried.
It’s hard to sustain the feeble and never be able to lean on one who is strong.
It’s hard to be alone,
alone before everyone,
alone before the world,
alone before suffering, death, sin.

Son, you are not alone,
I am with you, I am you.
For I needed another human vehicle to continue my Incarnation and my Redemption.

Out of all eternity, I chose you, I need you.

I need your hands to continue to bless,
I need your lips to continue to speak,
I need your body to continue to suffer,
I need your heart to continue to love,
I need you to continue to save,
Stay with me, son.

Here I am, Lord;
Here is my body,
Here is my heart,
Here is my soul.
Grant that I may be big enough to reach the world,
Strong enough to carry it,
Pure enough to embrace it without wanting to keep it.
Grant that I may be a meeting place, but a temporary one,
A road that does not end in itself,
because everything to be gathered there,
everything human, leads towards you.

Lord, tonight, while all is still and I fell sharply the sting of solitude,
While men devour my soul and I feel incapable of satisfying their hunger,
While the whole world presses on my shoulders with all its misery and sin,
I repeat to you my “yes”- not in a burst of laughter,
but slowly, clearly, humbly,
Alone, Lord, before you,
in the peace of the evening