High School Seminary
When I tell people I spent 6 years of my life as a seminarian, starting in high school, they often look at me in disbelief— their faces betraying a "why tf would you do that". Now might be a time to share some experiences.
The Legionaries (LC's) were a militant, Catholic religious order known for loving the Pope and making loads of money from benefactors. All of us seminarians spent an hour a week writing to people we knew or barely knew asking for financial assistance. I can't speak to who the LC's are now, and I've heard they are a chill group of people now.
We survived off of food donations when I was an LC. One time, the groceries we received from donors included chocolate ice cream bars that wouldn't melt in direct sunlight. Center Harbor, New Hampshire, where I spent my time as a high school seminarian, can get surprisingly hot and humid in Summer; but even NH's summer could do nothing against this strong, chocolaty boi. As I ate my bar, I noticed that it was unappetizing. I threw it away. Someone ratted me out to my superior since one of our rules was finish everything you put on your plate. My superior told me, "out of obedience, you need to finish that ice cream bar."
I looked at him in disbelief, expecting this to be a joke. When I saw no change in his facial expression, I scooped that bar out of the trash and finished it. It was unfortunate that the meal had been mashed potatoes. Those are not easy to scrape off.
I was fine for about the first half a year being there without my family, but at some point I started to get homesick. One night, after we had finished evening prayer, I went upstairs to ask the vice rector if I could call home. We were allowed to call home once a week, and I had already called my parents once that week. He reminded me it was not God's will that I call them that night, and I cried the whole way up to the dormitory. My family and I are close, so this was a burden for all of us. Even now, every second I spend with my family feels like I'm making up for lost time.
Hiking days were by far my favorite part of seminary. We would get in the bus and sing songs the whole way to whatever nearby mountain we were hiking. Sometimes it was the highest mountain in NH, Mount Washington. Other times it would be my personal favorite, The Basin, which was a short hike with a lake resting on top of the mountain. I loved when we would get to the top and get that magnificent view that only someone who's hiked a mountain can appreciate: all that effort to see the glory of mother earth. Our stomach's would be empty by the time we reached the summit, and only a sandwich, chips, and a drink were our reward. I remember we would sometimes pray as we hiked. We were encouraged to make "spiritual communions". I can still remember the prayer now, and I remember annoying my hiking team whenever I suggested we pray it.
I mostly have joyful memories of my time there. There was lots of prayer, sports, spiritual direction, talks, studies, and great food. The fact that we had seminarians from around the world meant that I got to try all kinds of stuff: pho, churrasco, lamb, the best french toast, and chilaquiles. Plus I was in freaking NH where we went skiing three times a year and had a view to die for. I could easily imagine retiring there just for the Fall season. The changing of the leaves and the view of that change from mountain tops is incomparable. My dad driving me around is another favorite memory as we blasted Plus One with the rental car top down and drove through those old streets.
The studies were fun. I remember one teacher well, not his name, but everything that matters: his mannerisms, his obsession with theology and geometry, his laugh. I devoured Euclid's geometrical proofs. I drank in the 5 proofs for God's existence that would stick with me for years after— indeed to this very day. I developed a love for Aristotle and his explanation of substance, and that all things are accidents to this mysterious substance. But most of all, annoyingly to my friends, I fell in love with Plato. I would kiss Plato if he came to greet me today. His story of emerging from a cave and finding the sun to be the true cause of everything was so relatable, perhaps because I often felt trapped in my own mind (and still do sometimes).
High school seminary would not suit me now, and I wouldn't recommend it. Going through puberty in a repressed environment like that isn't for everyone. I would find it stifling to live under so many rules that would keep me from being authentic. I would dislike the ritualistic prayer and forced effort to smile all the time. But at the time, it was what I needed. I left home as a shitty/typical older brother and came home gentler. That change has been good. It was necessary.
The Legionaries (LC's) were a militant, Catholic religious order known for loving the Pope and making loads of money from benefactors. All of us seminarians spent an hour a week writing to people we knew or barely knew asking for financial assistance. I can't speak to who the LC's are now, and I've heard they are a chill group of people now.
We survived off of food donations when I was an LC. One time, the groceries we received from donors included chocolate ice cream bars that wouldn't melt in direct sunlight. Center Harbor, New Hampshire, where I spent my time as a high school seminarian, can get surprisingly hot and humid in Summer; but even NH's summer could do nothing against this strong, chocolaty boi. As I ate my bar, I noticed that it was unappetizing. I threw it away. Someone ratted me out to my superior since one of our rules was finish everything you put on your plate. My superior told me, "out of obedience, you need to finish that ice cream bar."
I looked at him in disbelief, expecting this to be a joke. When I saw no change in his facial expression, I scooped that bar out of the trash and finished it. It was unfortunate that the meal had been mashed potatoes. Those are not easy to scrape off.
I was fine for about the first half a year being there without my family, but at some point I started to get homesick. One night, after we had finished evening prayer, I went upstairs to ask the vice rector if I could call home. We were allowed to call home once a week, and I had already called my parents once that week. He reminded me it was not God's will that I call them that night, and I cried the whole way up to the dormitory. My family and I are close, so this was a burden for all of us. Even now, every second I spend with my family feels like I'm making up for lost time.
Hiking days were by far my favorite part of seminary. We would get in the bus and sing songs the whole way to whatever nearby mountain we were hiking. Sometimes it was the highest mountain in NH, Mount Washington. Other times it would be my personal favorite, The Basin, which was a short hike with a lake resting on top of the mountain. I loved when we would get to the top and get that magnificent view that only someone who's hiked a mountain can appreciate: all that effort to see the glory of mother earth. Our stomach's would be empty by the time we reached the summit, and only a sandwich, chips, and a drink were our reward. I remember we would sometimes pray as we hiked. We were encouraged to make "spiritual communions". I can still remember the prayer now, and I remember annoying my hiking team whenever I suggested we pray it.
I mostly have joyful memories of my time there. There was lots of prayer, sports, spiritual direction, talks, studies, and great food. The fact that we had seminarians from around the world meant that I got to try all kinds of stuff: pho, churrasco, lamb, the best french toast, and chilaquiles. Plus I was in freaking NH where we went skiing three times a year and had a view to die for. I could easily imagine retiring there just for the Fall season. The changing of the leaves and the view of that change from mountain tops is incomparable. My dad driving me around is another favorite memory as we blasted Plus One with the rental car top down and drove through those old streets.
The studies were fun. I remember one teacher well, not his name, but everything that matters: his mannerisms, his obsession with theology and geometry, his laugh. I devoured Euclid's geometrical proofs. I drank in the 5 proofs for God's existence that would stick with me for years after— indeed to this very day. I developed a love for Aristotle and his explanation of substance, and that all things are accidents to this mysterious substance. But most of all, annoyingly to my friends, I fell in love with Plato. I would kiss Plato if he came to greet me today. His story of emerging from a cave and finding the sun to be the true cause of everything was so relatable, perhaps because I often felt trapped in my own mind (and still do sometimes).
High school seminary would not suit me now, and I wouldn't recommend it. Going through puberty in a repressed environment like that isn't for everyone. I would find it stifling to live under so many rules that would keep me from being authentic. I would dislike the ritualistic prayer and forced effort to smile all the time. But at the time, it was what I needed. I left home as a shitty/typical older brother and came home gentler. That change has been good. It was necessary.
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