A Day in The Life of a Paraclete

When the alarm goes off early in the morning, I find it a real struggle to pull myself from the warmth of the covers. After some twenty-two years in the priesthood, I hit the deck uncertain of the new day and the demands it will surely present. I think of the priest who called a few nights ago. His first words were, “I’m just tired of giving.” As this new day dawns, his words come to mind.

I join the community for morning prayer. I beg for an increase in faith. Little of what I do this day will bear visible results. As I grow older as a priest, I can no longer lean too heavily on the natural satisfaction so present in the early days of my priesthood. My faith must grow in abundance so I can see, hear, and feel God’s presence in myself, in my surroundings, and in those I am called to serve.

After morning prayer, one of our guest Fathers asks for a few moments of my time—just to talk. As a paraclete, I have heard the story so many times, but for the priest who now sits before me, what he has to say is all important—unique. He is precious in the Lord. I listen as I would wish to be listened to in my time of need.

The phone rings, and it means a trip to the airport to meet a priest confused in soul and body. As he walks towards me from the airplane, I try my best to see through his untidy appearance, the defeated look. In faith I know his hands have administered life unto many. In the silence of my heart, I beg God that he again will experience the joy, the fullness of loving service.

It is my turn to prepare the evening meal. I’m convinced this is a holy task. Over the entrance of our dining room we formerly had a small sign that read, “Good food is good for the soul.” When the dining room was redecorated the sign disappeared. I miss it. A man can come to the table burdened with the weight of many problems, enjoy a well-prepared meal, and go away refreshed in mind and heart.

The Father that arrived this day is silent at the evening meal—impossible at this time to break through the hurt, his confusion. Just being present to him is all I can offer at the moment.

There are those precious moments throughout the day and especially in the evening hours when I can truly lift my mind and heart to my Father. Time to get my head on straight and hope for a better tomorrow. I may find some way to build a bridge of understanding and trust with the priest that arrived this clay. He feels much alone tonight. Possibly tomorrow he’ll find a brother.

It is a struggle to live out our priestly calling, no matter what our particular ministry might be. I personally find the joys of my priesthood far outweigh the sorrows. My life is nothing too great, but it is in these everyday happenings that I’m to work out my salvation, saying with Paul, “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”