The Promised Land

Thanks be to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, for Teaching Parish Weekends. For some of us from dioceses nearby, we travel out to the Teaching Parish not weekly for an afternoon or evening but rather monthly for a weekend. This I did this last weekend. No offense to those of you from the cities or other urban areas, but allow me to explain part of my love for the Teaching Parish weekends.

Unbeknownst to me, not having lived in the cities for some time (my last time living in the cities was my freshman year of college at the University of Minnesota, six years ago--my goodnesss, it's been six years!) I had forgotten what the steel, concrete and, ultimately, the whole urban experience does to me. As I drove south to my teaching parish in Rochester, MN, for the first time in Theology I after the first couple months of seminary, I finally reached the edge of the cities such that there was no industrial building in sight. Rather, what broke through was the horizon--the reality in which my vision and perception couldn't perceive anything farther. The limitation was finally not something obstructing my view but rather that my power of seeing is limited. And suddenly the majesty of God's creation began to melt my heart, tears rolled down my face and I prayed, "Oh, thank you, Lord."

I know. It is only the horizon. It is only the countryside. Yet, as I travel out to the parish month after month and leave the city behind, I cannot cease to appreciate--at least for a moment--the fact that I am returning to the land which is far less cluttered with man's doing but rather flourishing in the simplicity of God's natural order. Each time I return home to my diocese it truly is for me, a return to the promised land.