Nativity Catholic Church
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Leaving a Mark
A "FIRESTARTER" Spiritual Essay by Rev.
Dr. Benjamin
Berinti, C.Pp.S. After traveling to Ohio over a week ago, I was brutally reminded why I vowed, when I moved to Orlando over 10 years ago, never to leave the State of Florida between the months of November and May—the weather is miserable! Three days without sun, cold and damp, rain and flurries, biting winds sailing unimpeded across the barren farm fields, and a steady, steel gray, low hanging sky—all conspired to say, “See, vows aren’t meant to be broken!” The subject matter of the gathering that drew me to make this great sacrifice for travel was also disturbing and “gray” as well—trying to determine how to best serve and minister in the Church with a declining number of priests and brothers. Not unlike many religious communities and dioceses throughout the country, the Missionaries of the Most Precious Blood are facing shriveling personnel and too many commitments. Indeed, “the harvest is rich…but the laborers are few” when it comes to the ordained and vowed religious. Yet in spite of the dreary sky and the foreboding atmosphere of retrenchment, I found myself finding warmth under a different kind of sun, one that radiated power and energy and thanksgiving. It was the “sun” of an old relationship, too long lying fallow, as I reconnected with one of my graced mentors in my religious community. As we talked and shared about our divergent, although common future, I was constantly drawn to our common past—a past that served as a foundation for helping me grow and develop as a person and priest. The shivers brought on by howling winds working their way through the poorly sealed windows of the retreat center, as well as the shivers brought on by impending losses and grief—were gently dissipated by memories of advice, encouragement, prayer, and affirmation that came back to me as though the past was fully here and now. I had no been with Larry (who, by the way, shared the homily at my First Mass as a priest) since the last gathering we had of Precious Blood priests working in parish ministry exactly six years ago these same days. Not only had we not seen each other, but also we’ve shared no other communication either. But true and trusted soul friends rarely suffer the fate of most relationships that crumble under the weight of time, distance, or outright neglect. The barest of sparks seem to have the power to ignite these deep and meaningful relationships. As he spoke of his early retirement around the corner in July, and I wondered about whether I will ever be able to retire in a Church that now pushes its priests to serve “until death do us part” (although, those words aren’t part of our “vows” at ordination)—I became aware not so much of our present struggles and decisions, but more of our common commitments to serving the Lord, and how those commitments have been shaped by the affirmations we have given to each other over the years. It may have been November in the world outside our window, but inside, where life is lived most intimately and deeply, it was May or June—filled with sun, and hope, and rest, and rejuvenation. As I became more aware of my gratitude for who Larry has been to me in my life, I also began to confront a small, perhaps selfish hope and desire. I wondered if someday, someone else would think of me; experience my relationship with him or her in this same way. Larry clearly has left an indelible (although oftentimes obscured) mark on the slate of my life and ministry—and although not always conscious of this desire—I hope I can do the same for someone else. The poet Mary Karr, in her most recently published collection, Sinners Welcome, offers a movingly lyrical account of one of her mentors entitled, Requiem: Professor Walt Mink (1927-1996). As Karr speaks in the poem about who she was during her encounters with Professor Mink, she then turns her attention to who she became because of his mentoring. Finally, she ends with a sentiment I now share with her as I recall one of my significant mentors:
Thinking of him
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