Public People

A great dictum was hammered into me (and my brothers who attended Immaculate Heart of Mary Seminary in Winona during the glorious reign of Fr. David Kunz) while in the minor seminary: "You are a public person." This statement was repeated over and over again when the rector, vice rector, and spiritual director would variously address the community during Wednesday evening formation conferences. "People are watching you. They see you. They know you are a seminarian," they would tell us. It was true. Time and again, I would be sharing a meal out with friends and someone would invariably wander to our table and ask if we were seminarians. We would sheepishly respond that we were while quickly recalling what we had recently been saying. Were we gossiping or griping? How did these people know we were seminarians? Had we said anything to embarrass ourselves, the seminary, or the Church?

That was college. We were men in the first days of our formation, and as Mother Church has predicted, the process of formation works. One gradually begins to see oneself more and more as a public person, a person whom others will recognize and from whom others will and should expect a certain type of behavior. One grows used to it, and by the time one receives one's collar, he is prepared to step into a new dimension of this public personhood - when you wear the Roman collar in public, everyone notices.

While it becomes second nature, sometimes it is hard to live life in the public eye. As a public person, there can be an almost constant sense of scrutiny. It becomes easy to believe that someone is always evaluating how I behave, and basing their opinion of not just me, but of the Church, my superiors, and the seminary, on their perceptions of my behavior (anyone who has ever been asked about the so called "bad popes" can tell you that this is true).

I had to take pause a day or so ago, though, and realize that I have it all comparatively easy. One of our fine priests was in the refectory, and had placed something in the microwave. After closing the door and starting the machine, he bent over and stared intently at his food through the small window. It was a rather comical sight. I was put in mind of my own childhood experiments with marshmallows in the microwave. Several of us were sitting at table eating our own lunches and noticed Father's behavior. We all chuckled, and several commented to him about the negative consequences to one's health associated with standing so close to the microwave while it was running. Likewise, at breakfast this morning, one of the other priests wandered by the window. He was enjoying the fall morning, eating a bagel and looking at the birds. Again, we chuckled knowing this particular priest's penchant for bird watching.

As I consider these two vignettes, I realize that while I am certainly a public person, I am under far less scrutiny than the priests who have been charged with my formation. The Church tells us that the best priests a diocese has to offer should be placed in seminaries; I believe this to be the case here at SPS. However, oftentimes, seminarians expect more than simply the best from our formators. We want something akin to perfection. We look to these men to show us how to be good priests, and we have some rather rigorous expectations of what such an example ought to look like. It must be incredibly hard to serve the Church as a seminary faculty member.

And so, as I pray Compline before going to sleep tonight, I will be offering it for them - the men that God has placed over me to guide me and to form me.