My dear parishioners, the year was 1985. My adult confirmation in the Church was approaching. The days were hectic at work. I wanted to pray the Stations of the Cross. Actually, I was eager to pray them. Catholic tradition imparts the belief that God will answer one’s most heartfelt prayer at the last of the fourteen stations. I wanted to ask God something that could change my life profoundly. Scarcely understanding this ancient devotion of Jesus’ passion and death, I walked through the heavy carved doors of St. Anne Church leaving the glaring sun and heat of day behind. It was a Friday afternoon, the day when Stations are prayed in Lent. I was grateful to be alone in the solemn stillness. With my little prayer book in hand, I walked the Via Dolorosa for the first time, hesitantly, concentrating on kneeling and the rhythm of the devotion. The First Station. Jesus Is Condemned to Death. The events of Our Lord’s passion and death moved me deeply as I prayed each station. Jesus meets his mother . . . Veronica and the women of Jerusalem approach him . . . The cross throws him to the ground . . . Stripped and nailed, Jesus is lifted up . . . Dying, he is taken down. Until at last, The Fourteenth Station. Jesus Is Laid in the Tomb. I knelt down, took a deep breath, and prayed. The words poured from my heart. Father in heaven, I ask for the hand of your daughter the Church. Will you allow me to become a priest? “For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand elsewhere,” I prayed. “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness.” [Psa 84:10] I remained on my knees for some time. No sight or sound or insight altered the startling silence. Nothing disturbed the serenity of the nave or the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. I had dared to ask God too much, too soon. You can’t go any lower than the grave, and I suppose that’s why petitioners pour their hearts out in this spiritual pilgrimage. I never went back to the Fourteenth Station to ask God again about Catholic priesthood. Once was enough. I was not going to put my faith to the test. Yet my friends — all but one who soon would disavow me — knew where to find me. Thirsting for living water, I was always at St. Anne. There I waited in hope for the Lord. It’s not a matter of adroitness or merit or even personal need but rather the impossible — daring to ask for that which no human excellence can inspire or substitute. God’s own unfathomable reasons prevail, for human powers always come to nothing. Prayerful silence looms like a mountain before human frailty. God answered me slowly and in his own way. Inevitably, all human experiences surrender to forgetfulness, rarely to be summoned by conscious reflection and illumined in the present moment. This may seem to be cause for distress, especially when the loveliest events of life begin to fade, and one fears losing them altogether. In truth, I learned that such forgetfulness prepares one’s heart to more fully embrace Jesus the Word of Life and his teachings. Stillness doesn’t mean oblivion for as the shepherd-king David wrote, “But as for me, my prayer is to thee, O Lord. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of thy steadfast love answer me.” [Psa 69:13] God wonderfully recalls to my soul the things of faith “like a householder who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old” . [Mt 13:52] Not new or old, but rather the good things in God’s time that are always old and always new. Sincerely in hearts of Jesus and Mary, Your pastor, Reverend Richard Barker
My dear parishioners, the year was 1985. My adult confirmation in the Church was approaching. The days were hectic at work. I wanted to pray the Stations of the Cross. Actually, I was eager to pray them. Catholic tradition imparts the belief that God will answer one’s most heartfelt prayer at the last of the fourteen stations. I wanted to ask God something that could change my life profoundly. Scarcely understanding this ancient devotion of Jesus’ passion and death, I walked through the heavy carved doors of St. Anne Church leaving the glaring sun and heat of day behind. It was a Friday afternoon, the day when Stations are prayed in Lent. I was grateful to be alone in the solemn stillness. With my little prayer book in hand, I walked the Via Dolorosa for the first time, hesitantly, concentrating on kneeling and the rhythm of the devotion. The First Station. Jesus Is Condemned to Death. The events of Our Lord’s passion and death moved me deeply as I prayed each station. Jesus meets his mother . . . Veronica and the women of Jerusalem approach him . . . The cross throws him to the ground . . . Stripped and nailed, Jesus is lifted up . . . Dying, he is taken down. Until at last, The Fourteenth Station. Jesus Is Laid in the Tomb. I knelt down, took a deep breath, and prayed. The words poured from my heart. Father in heaven, I ask for the hand of your daughter the Church. Will you allow me to become a priest? “For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand elsewhere,” I prayed. “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness.” [Psa 84:10] I remained on my knees for some time. No sight or sound or insight altered the startling silence. Nothing disturbed the serenity of the nave or the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. I had dared to ask God too much, too soon. You can’t go any lower than the grave, and I suppose that’s why petitioners pour their hearts out in this spiritual pilgrimage. I never went back to the Fourteenth Station to ask God again about Catholic priesthood. Once was enough. I was not going to put my faith to the test. Yet my friends — all but one who soon would disavow me — knew where to find me. Thirsting for living water, I was always at St. Anne. There I waited in hope for the Lord. It’s not a matter of adroitness or merit or even personal need but rather the impossible — daring to ask for that which no human excellence can inspire or substitute. God’s own unfathomable reasons prevail, for human powers always come to nothing. Prayerful silence looms like a mountain before human frailty. God answered me slowly and in his own way. Inevitably, all human experiences surrender to forgetfulness, rarely to be summoned by conscious reflection and illumined in the present moment. This may seem to be cause for distress, especially when the loveliest events of life begin to fade, and one fears losing them altogether. In truth, I learned that such forgetfulness prepares one’s heart to more fully embrace Jesus the Word of Life and his teachings. Stillness doesn’t mean oblivion for as the shepherd-king David wrote, “But as for me, my prayer is to thee, O Lord. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of thy steadfast love answer me.” [Psa 69:13] God wonderfully recalls to my soul the things of faith “like a householder who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old” . [Mt 13:52] Not new or old, but rather the good things in God’s time that are always old and always new. Sincerely in hearts of Jesus and Mary, Your pastor, Reverend Richard Barker