Happy the man found without fault, who turns not aside after gain, nor puts his trust in money nor in treasures! Who is he, that we may praise him? For he has done wonders in his life. He has been tested by gold and come off safe, and this remains his glory forever; he could have sinned but did not, could have done evil but would not, so that his possessions are secure in the Lord, and the assembly of the Saints shall recount his alms.

-Sir. 31:8-11

At that time, when it was late, the ship was in the midst of the sea, and Jesus alone on the land. And seeing His disciples straining at the oars, for the wind was against them, about the fourth watch of the night He came to them, walking upon the sea, and He would have passed by them. But they, seeing Him walking upon the sea, thought it was a ghost, and cried out. For they all saw Him, and were troubled. Then He immediately spoke to them, and said to them, Take courage; it is I, do not be afraid. And He got into the boat with them, and the wind fell. And they were utterly beside themselves with astonishment, for they had not understood about the loaves, because their heart was blinded. And crossing over, they came to the land of Genesareth and moored the boat. And when they had gotten out of the boat, the people at once recognized Him; and they hurried through the whole country, and began to bring the sick on their pallets, wherever they heard He was. And wherever He went, into village or hamlet or town, they laid the sick in the market places, and entreated Him to let them touch but the tassel of His cloak; and as many as touched Him were saved.

-Mark 6:47-56

In our comfort, when something big enters into our sphere and creates a shock, we focus directly on that rather than if it is a good thing or a bad thing. It’s a change, and it’s in the way of our comfort, and that’s all there is to it! We don’t see the bigger picture for our fear. It’s not until we take a breath and assess the actual change in front of us that we see it for what it is. A great wave, or a ghost, ends up being something significantly better! Not just for us, but for others who end up encountering it later.

And often, as the reading tells us, these changes sometimes would go unnoticed if we weren’t looking out for them.

Which means we choose to keep watch for the threat, or what we perceive to be the threat.

We don’t see the big picture this way. It’s not easy to open our minds, especially if we are fixed in our comforts!

Lent calls us to break from our comforts, break from the barriers that keep us safe, and see the opportunity for growth beyond our limitations. It seems somewhat counter intuitive seeing that we are giving up, fasting, denying ourselves.

Denying ourselves the indulgence of panic allows us to see the beauty of change. It’s difficult! But it gets easier every time we do it.

At that time, when Jesus had entered Capharnaum, there came to Him a centurion, who entreated Him, saying, Lord, my servant is lying sick in the house, paralyzed, and is grievously afflicted. Jesus said to him, I will come and cure him. But in answer the centurion said, Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof; but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I too am a man subject to authority, and have soldiers subject to me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes; and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it. And when Jesus heard this, He marveled, and said to those who were following Him, Amen I say to you, I have not found such great faith in Israel. And I tell you that many will come from the east and from the west, and will feast with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, but the children of the kingdom will be put forth into the darkness outside; there will be the weeping, and the gnashing of teeth. Then Jesus said to the centurion, Go your way; as you have believed, so be it done to you. And the servant was healed in that hour.

-Mathew 8:5-13

Whenever I read this passage, I often wonder what tone the centurion spoke to Our Lord in. Rather than panicked, there’s almost a sense of calm about them, alongside a sense of humility. Scholars now are thinking that this man, rather than a servant, was the centurion’s lover. For context, see here.

In this passage, we are not witnesses to the servant, or the lover. We are told he was healed, that is all. We are told that the centurion’s faith was great. “I believe, Lord, that You can heal him. I believe You can do this by will alone.

The centurion kneels by the side of the bed of the servant, his lover. He is afraid because he knows the illness is serious; the love this man feels is strong enough that he approaches one he’s heard has worked miracles among the Jews.

Recognize that this was faith that allowed the centurion to step from one world into another. To approach Jesus in this way required not only faith, but humility and courage.

Do we have that kind of courage, that kind of humility, that kind of faith?

How often do we enter the Mass, and only accept a piece of bread and perhaps a sip of wine? That requires no courage at all. But not only that, in just taking a piece of bread and a sip of wine, we are not stepping out of our world into the world the centurion stepped into, the Liturgical World, the Liturgical Time.

The Eucharist is a doorway for us to enter into direct connection with the Divine: unlike prayer, the Eucharist is a physical touch, a Hand that heals, a Breath on our forehead.

Approach the Eucharist, therefore, with the same courage as the centurion: have faith, that, although you are not worthy for Him to enter into your house, simply let the Word be said that you may be healed, that you may be touched.

Lent is again upon us.

Social media has been a challenging thing for me over the past few weeks, so part of my lent fast will be to remove myself from social media.

Before I disappear for the next 40 days, I wanted to let you know I still intend on writing a post for each day of lent. This has been a transformative experience for me in the past, and I’m looking forward to it again this year.

I hope you’ll join me in this journey! Check hermitgardener.com daily.

God love you!

Why does it matter what someone else thinks?

More to the point, why do some of us put so much value in the opinions of others? Is it healthy or reasonable?

People are allowed to have their opinions. One of the things that I’m low key always aware about is that being a priest and queer–engaged to be married this summer queer–raises some eyebrows with some people. There are words which are like post-it notes that stick in my brain.

“That’s not Catholic.”

A couple of days ago, I had a wild dream in which someone dressed as a priest came into my chapel and attempted to break into the tabernacle to look at what was there. I defended the space, saying that it was the Eucharist. He continued to fight, breaking open the door. I was able to grab the ciborium from him and protect it, but he came back at me that what I was doing was no different than the worship of santa muerte.

When I woke up, I was bothered.

Follow up to yesterday, and man who is on my Facebook feed has posted a second video, attempting to poke holes in the Christian faith. And I’m hurt, and the immediate reaction is to defend my beliefs, to justify Christian belief.

And that is the mistake that I think a lot of us, including me, make.

It is very easy to get into an argument about belief, or why it is either rational or irrational to believe something. It’s not so easy to argue with actions if those actions are charitable, loving, compassionate, and kind.

The mistake I’ve been making is getting involved with an invitation to a narrative that is just a waste of time.

Writing this, I’m remembering all the times that I said people should be less concerned about validity of orders–the validity of belief, and more concerned with that belief in action.

Specifically, knowing we are Christian by what we do, not by our verbal professions. Arguments like the one I was invited to take part in are designed to be distractions from charity, distractions from love, distractions from acts of kindness and compassion. These are the strikes that we should turn the other cheek for.

Let them argue.

I’ll continue to strive to see God in everyone I encounter, especially those who are beyond the margins of society. I will continue to let them teach me, to let them show me my vulnerabilities and weaknesses. I will continue to serve.

You continue to argue about if the tomb was empty or not.

I’ve moved past the need for that argument. There are more important things to do. Like sharing love.

The last few days, praying the chapel, I’ve had the overwhelming urge to lay on the floor prostrate in front of the altar.

There has been so much death. The last four months I’ve prayed the Office of the Dead more than in the last few years. A friend in Sierra Leone, a friend’s relatives that died one after the other, the anniversary of one of my godmother’s death.

I come home from work and rest my head on the altar, so happy to be back in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament; its as if I’ve been away from home for weeks, and suddenly I find myself able to rest on the doorstep of my home.

Saying Mass is a relieving moment–I’ve never felt liturgical time take control more than since Christmas Eve moving forward.

But I am aware of pain around me, within me.

I am aware of those who reach out in suffering, in sadness, in grief, in confusion.

Throwing the pandemic on top of it makes it simply more complicated. It’s low grade exhaustion (or just exhaustion).

In the mix of all this, getting a guest list ready for the upcoming wedding, the potential of spring and new plans for the yard, the beauty of a chapel–being lucky enough to have a chapel, a dedicated space for the Blessed Sacrament–and the very near reality of regular broadcasts of Mass from this space.

In the midst of the suffering, that blessing has helped to carry me through. Having a sacred hour at the end of each day, being able to say Mass free of interruptions, to have silence.

Quiet.

Peace.

Have you ever done something, and then in that immediate moment afterwards, realized you’d put your foot in your mouth, or you’d committed a social faux pas that, at least in your mind (if you’re lucky), brought a monster amount of negative attention your way?

Three weeks ago now, I went out to a local retreat house for Mass. It’s a more modern form of the Mass, and the community is smaller but very progressive. It’s a community I like being a part of because we share our faith, regardless of where that faith draws from in the Christian spectrum.

I hadn’t been there since my ordination, which was about five weeks. It felt good to be back, and I felt like I’d come home. I also was carrying a little bit of ego around now that I’d been ordained. Big mistake.

During the liturgy, as is the custom, I went up to the altar and took communion, then returned to my seat. Only to realize after I’d sat down that there were still two prayers that needed to be said before communion was actually taken. I went purple. I was so embarrassed! Beyond embarrassed. I was ashamed. It came crushing down on my like a mine shaft collapsing on me. At the end of Mass, I apologized to the community, explaining that I’d gone up to the altar with ego and had made a mistake that I was deeply regretful for. I admitted that I’d gone up with my ego rather than humility and that I needed to be reminded that with the vocation of priesthood there needs to be humility rather than hubris; I asked the community to pray that I would continue to be knocked off my chair in moments of ego. I went home. Likely everyone forgot about it by the end of Mass and just went on.

I’m still thinking about it, still cringing about it, all these weeks later.

Yesterday during a meeting, I made a comment which I realize wasn’t appropriate for the nature of the meeting. It wasn’t off colour, it was just not appropriate. It was personal rather than business.

I suspect that there are many of us who live with this kind of over-abundance of shame. The causes are multi-faceted. They can be trauma based, for example. In my case, I believe that choices in my life led me to experience situations which required me to be shamed to be compliant. Relationships, employment, even in prayer, these shame beliefs create natural outcomes that are catastrophic to our self image, and subsequent behaviors.

I also suspect that in the reality that many of us live with it, there are many ways of overcoming it. Consistently, when I re-live that moment at the retreat house in my mind, I remind myself that I’m likely the only one still thinking about it and not to worry. I’m making a point of going back to the community and continuing to celebrate Mass there. The first time back will be anxiety filled, and it will get easier every subsequent time.

There’s also the way it affects how we interact with others. One example is a person I keep meeting in my life. They are very outgoing, very friendly, and then out of the blue start questioning choices I’ve made. They’re not in line with their own ideas of what things should be. A part of me throws up the white flag, waves it, and wants to immediately concede that they’re right to avoid the conflict. What I’ve noticed is that lately, I’ve been trying to challenge that white flag waving part of myself, and stand up for what I think is right regardless of what someone might think. It’s a challenge because in a way, it pushes us to a place of potential conflict. Who likes conflict?

Conflict is necessary. The kind of conflict is an option.

Yesterday, in conversation with this person, I explained the choices that had been made would have outcomes, and those outcomes would provide learning experiences, and those experiences were valuable life lessons that needed to happen for the people in this situation. My role was merely in offering guidance to the individuals in question, and allowing the outcomes of their choices to occur.

When I was in Toronto for my ordination, I was really taken with how my bishop, Roger, set up his oratory. He converted a large closet, placing the altar inside, and painting the walls of it Marian blue.

Saturday, I decided I needed to pain the chapel blue as well. Dan and I went out, got the paint and supplies, and decided to wait until Sunday when we could get some more items and some guidance from Dan’s dad.

Sunday came, and I couldn’t wait. The chapel space is now entirely painted a Marian blue and feels so much more like a warm, den-like place to work, pray, and say Mass.

On the wall over the chapel hangs three icons: one of Christ as Priest, one of Our Lady, and one of St. Augustine. He’s one of my patron saints, and his life is an inspiration to me–something I can relate to.

Augustine was indulgent. He spent the early part of his life drinking, going to plays, parties, had a girlfriend and a child, and was a strong, outspoken, and talented debater. He knew it, and he was proud of it. He acted out of his pride and didn’t worry much about what he said or did because he was good at what he did.

The problem began when as a Malakian, someone who actively debated against the validity of the Christian faith, he met and was disappointed in a Malakian master. It sent him into a tail spin. He eventually met St. Ambrose, a bishop with a talent for speaking himself, who guided him in his early journey of faith. Augustine eventually became bishop of Hippo, a prolific writer and defender of Catholic faith.

When we study the saint’s life, we are confronted with the challenge of our egos. Do our egos get in the way of what it is we do, is our charity driven to feed our egos?

One of my hardest challenges is keeping my ego in check. Without doing this, we can become vicious towards those who remind us of our own shortcomings, or those who endanger the consistency of the attention given to us. I have, in my ego, made some mistakes that have caused me some shame. I’ve owned them, made amends, and tried to move forward. But it is a difficult thing for us to do, especially if we have to admit that our actions may, in fact, may not be driven by charity but rather by ego.

Giving is so very, very hard, especially since most of us have come from a place of hurt, trauma, and stress. How easy it is for us to forget this, and to lash out in what we may disguise as camp, but what is in fact bullying. Where so many of us have been on the receiving end of prejudice and suffering, it seems far to easy for us to revert to the kinds of things, the kinds of harms that were inflicted on us to protect our shattered and bruised spirits.

Augustine’s life was a transition through this, a realization of something greater, and a transformation to a defender of those who were, by their very beliefs, in a position of great threat from those around them. How easily we forget those who we, as activists in our own community, have forsaken because it was easier, more comfortable, than embracing. How much easier to turn away from the siblings we have forgotten: our siblings that every day face prejudice, pain, harm from the greater community, only to in turn receive the same shunning from their own 2SLGBTQ+ community.

St. Augustine reminds me that in the transition into my faith, in recognizing and coming out in my truth, I am called to a greater onus of responsible, respectful, and loving behavior–including owning my mistakes, owning my ego. This does not mean not becoming angry, or recognizing when someone has a right to anger. It means looking at where my belief contributes to someone’s suffering. It demands that, if I am an advocate for those who are the least of my community, my words must always reflect this.

I’m finding that every time I get into the vestments in my chapel to say Mass, it’s getting not only easier, but more familiar–like I’m meeting an old friend. Today, I celebrated the feast of St. Michael, one of my two patron saints, and the patron of the hermitage. And I’m happy to say that the doubts I was having about being a priest seem to have faded into the background.

During the prayers today, I lifted many. I lifted a grandmother who’d passed in the last day or so, I lifted up the family; I thought about the people in my life that helped my on my journey, specifically those within the Autocephalous Catholic movements that mentored, inspired, taught, and encouragement.

I thought about something my mother asked me while we were in Toronto: what now?

All of us in this movement have different skill sets, gifts, and talents. When I first began with my vocation, I strived to try and bring together everyone out there, feeling that it would be amazing to unite everyone under one common roof. As I studied, as I went into the world and practiced my faith in interactions with people, with prayer, with God, a stillness came upon me that slowed me down, gave me pause, encouraged silence.

We express our gifts differently, but the important focus is always the Eucharist. Without that, we are just social workers with fancy clothes.

Beginning to head towards the Christmas season, I can’t wait to bring the colors and songs into the chapel.

Toronto was a busy place. I enjoyed everything about it–even with the tight schedule. But, I’m very glad to be home. Home in my own chapel.

Yesterday with friends and family present both in person and online, I was ordained a Catholic Priest in a small Presbyterian church that gave us the use of their sanctuary here in Toronto. I didn’t really know how I was going to feel. There were butterflies in my tummy most of the time, and I sweat. A lot.

I’m cursed that way I suppose that on the paternal side of the family, there’s hyper sweating. To say I was drenched by the end of the service was an understatement. But I was glad that after four years, and after waiting through almost a year of pandemic restrictions, I can finally say that I have realized my vocation fully. I am a priest.

I am a priest.

I was numb to that for almost a full day. I didn’t feel different per say, just exhausted.

When I was four years old, my parents let me watch “The Sound of Music”, and after that I knew what I wanted to be: a nun. I asked my mom, she told me I couldn’t because they were women, and besides, they were actresses.

Of course, I want to be an actress.

Instead, I tried over the last year to learn the nuances of Ecclesiastical Latin, the rubrics of the Roman Missal of the Tridentine Mass, prayed, cried, laughed, worried, and at last, celebrated today my first Mass at the same Presbyterian church that I was ordained in yesterday.

Today, even with the nerves, it felt like I was doing what I’d been called to do. After I gave my first homily, I stood in front of the altar. My hands began to tremble as I recited the creed. I made mistakes–but what priest on their first mass didn’t make mistakes? They were small mistakes. They were forgivable mistakes. When I consecrated the bread, the wine, when I prayed to the act of communion, and finally took bread that I had consecrated, I cried. In many ways, it was the same emotional connection I’d experienced in doing the practice Masses prior to coming here.

The reality of what had happened sunk in. That, in consecrating bread and wine the first time, I now have access to the Eucharist. As a Catholic, this is one of the most important parts of our spiritual lives–as a Eucharistic Catholic, this is an essential part of my spiritual life.

I go back to Regina with my fiancé and my mom on Tuesday afternoon, back to life. We still have some visits to make, some places to explore. I’m hoping that I get a chance to go to Our Lady of Lourdes Parish to light a candle and spend some time in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.

I feel tired. Fulfilled and tired.

There are a lot of people to acknowledge and thank, so many that I need to do it after a good night’s rest so I make sure not to miss anyone. But one person that must be thanked now is Julie Andrews. If it weren’t for the Sound of Music, I wouldn’t have known at age 4 that I was destined to be a person in religious life. Corny, I know. But you have to accept where the beginnings come from, and love them as part of your story.