Brudda Bob

Seminarian is a tough word. Way too many syllables, if you ask me. The people of the parish think so too, evidenced by their fondness of calling me “Brudda Bob.” I visited one of the local primary schools recently and they too picked up on this new moniker. The second grade class swarmed me in a cloud of laughter and handshakes when they realized I would not bite them. One girl compared her skin pigment to mine, another giggled at how strange my hair felt. A third girl inquisitively stared into my soul and asked, “Brudda Bob, will you come back to us when you are Fadda Bob?”

My heart sank. My time here so far has been both blessed and trying. My endurance of body, mind, and spirit is being pushed to its limits. There are some moments where all I can think of is leaving Africa to return to my homeland and its creature comforts. And yet this girl’s question challenged me—would I come back? Even more significant, would I come back as a priest? It scared me. I gave her the kindest “We’ll see what God wants” I could muster, and looked in earnest for another child to change the subject. I’m so slick.

You may be thinking, “Bob, you’re in seminary. Obviously you’re on the track for priesthood.” Yes, loyal reader. This I know. By the grace of God, I have even somehow been accepted to the St. Vincent de Paul Major Seminary for the upcoming fall semester. Doors have long been opening with a noticeable trajectory towards priesthood. The question often falls back to my courage (or lack thereof) to walk in faith. Abram tried compromising with God and Moses made many excuses before setting forth. Like Thomas, I tend to demand certainty from the Lord, and will likely ask for such certainty up until the moment a Bishop may rest his hands on my head.

To steal a sentence from a friend, no matter how my journey to the altar turns out, this summer is proving to be the greatest test of self I will likely ever have. I am digging out past memories and old demons, and realizing just how deep into my soul this seed of priesthood may be. Perhaps I hesitated in answering my 8-year old inquisitor because I truly don’t know the answer…God’s ways are not my ways. I have been welcomed with open arms by these Sierra Leoneans and they are indeed stealing a piece of my heart. Sunday Mass has become the highlight of my week because of its centrality in the life of the people and how I, a foreigner from a strange land, am allowed to partake in such celebration (and it is a celebration. You had better dance).

Can’t thank you all enough for the thoughts and prayers. Chik-fil-A is on me when I get home.

…I’m just joking. You can all meet me there, though.

-Brudda Bob
written 06/22/11