Beginnings

I had never seen so much snow. I struggled to avoid the drip of hot candle wax on my hands as we processed around the seminary grounds, re-living Mary and Joseph's search for an inn. I held a candle in one hand and the "Pidiendo Posada" song sheet in the other so I could join the choir singing verses like,

Don’t be inhuman;

Have mercy on us.

The God of the heavens

will reward you for it.

As the song ended, we entered the seminary, lit only by candles. We said a prayer. A priest said, "Christ our King." Everyone responded, "Thy Kingdom Come." And the dining room burst with life. Waiters poured into the dining hall with platters stacked high with rack-of-lamb and pitchers brimming with strange, delicious drinks. 

My dad sat across from me. We had flown in together for the "Christmas Program" where Middle School students could test out seminary life. After our flight landed, we had driven the rest of the way in a top-down Mustang, singing every Plus One song from the Exodus album. Cold leaves blew through our hair in the chill while the Mustang's heater worked double-time to keep us warm.

We had arrived late but made it in time for pre-posada adoration. The bad incense stuffed our noses as, in unison, the seminarians prayed. They prayed their hearts out with loud voices. 

I bit into a lamb chunk and noticed all the little oddities that would become my life for the next few years. The strange hand gesture that (to them and no one else I've since met) meant "thank you," the over-apologizing, the use of a fork and knife to eat apples. It was quirky—like me. I loved it. 

Someone broke a giant slab of ice over my back at some point on our way to the dormitory later that night. I am not sure where that guy is now or what he does. A brother, the very one who had invited me to the Christmas Program, is now a married man. 

A priest who I will always think of as an "Alter Christus" eventually fell into despair when the news about Maciel came out, and no one really knows what he is up to now. 

And I am living the best life I can in Houston now with my dog and my family and friends. Life could be a lot worse and somewhat better, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. My beginnings in seminary are a beautiful time to reminisce about; and though the future would be painful for the next few years, I would make some dear friends and learn exactly how I would never treat someone else.

Don't be inhuman. Have mercy on us. The God of the heavens will reward you for it.