There is an Irish missionary priest in a nearly empty seminary in the Mbarara archdiocese about two and a half hours from me. He takes me in, remembers what is happening in my life, allows me to interrupt his solitude with endless new ideas and projects-- even though he must have seen it all over these last 20 years in Uganda. He doesn't push religion on anyone, but in the chapel, in the gardens, and in the solitude-- he does what a priest should-- provides us with a place to connect with our Creator. In his quiet, caring, daily tasks, he is a true priest-- a shepherd.
Past the uniformed, shouting children.
Beyond the big aid buildings and the white land rovers,
Where the trees grow tall
And cool breeze is free
Brick fortress, paradise,
Monastery
Seeds carried over land, sea
Tended, protected, and free
Bloom, unafraid of
beauty
He will greet you,
Remembering your brother’s wedding,
Your friend’s illness,
Your last idea
Before he runs off,
Organizing, writing, grocery shopping.
Every day, mass for the schools
Letters of recommendation,
Grants, prayers for exams,
Blessing calculators
How is the baby?
Shepherd of the lost one,
The pilgrim,
The ignorant.
Saint
No comments:
Post a Comment