My Vocation  "...on holy ground."

"Take off your shoes – you are on holy ground." These words best express what God said to me the first time I entered a Catholic church – in Glasgow, Scotland. It was 1951 and I was twelve years old. As far as I am aware my ancestors had all been Scottish Presbyterians for many generations. My parents and I had been invited to the home of Catholic friends for Christmas dinner. The sleepy post-prandial mood changed to apprehension for me when an elderly relative wondered aloud if I might like to accompany him on a "visit" to the local Catholic church, and my mother expressed the opinion that she was sure that I would! It was with pulse racing apprehensively that half an hour later, I crossed the threshold into this alien Roman world.

Our visit consisted of five minutes kneeling before the crib in a flickering candle-light by which I could make out the shapes of statues and the outline of the High Altar. My senses took in the heady mixture of visual imagery, symbolism, and the smells of candle-wax and incense. My soul also was touched by the mystery of God and, in an inchoate way, by his rights over me. I was never quite the same after that. It had happened, and could not be denied.

In the ensuing years there were many more visits, studying of leaflets and books, attending Masses, Holy Hours and devotions. I learned to pray Our Lady’s rosary and became familiar with all the traditional Catholic practices and the sacramentals. I obtained a Missal and studied the Mass and the liturgy, and learned about the Church’s year. Eventually I entered medical school at Glasgow University. I made catholic friends, and finally received instructions from a priest, who was just the right man for me. I was nineteen when I finally knelt before the Lady Altar in that same church and was received, deeply happy, into the fullness of the Catholic Church. I cannot say I felt any sense of loss. As the priest who instructed me said, "You bring with you everything that is true, but in addition you have the inexhaustible richness of the Church." And that is how I experienced it.

I always believed that my infant baptism was "valid" though. Somehow coming home to the Catholic Church was like coming back to something that I had known as an infant and almost completely forgotten. "Heaven lies about us in our infancy," as Wordsworth said. As a teenager, the Mass had fascinated me and along with it the office of the priest. I had fantasies about being a priest. They seemed somehow more totally consecrated to God than the Presbyterian ministers. The latter only went to Church on Sundays after all – priests had to say the Office and celebrated Mass daily – and they couldn’t get married!

I settled down as a lay catholic man for a couple of years, then decided to visit Pluscarden Abbey - a Benedictine monastery in the Highlands of Scotland. I remember preparing for this pilgrimage by reading Thomas Merton’s "Seven-Storey Mountain" which opened up a whole monastic world to me. I remember being apprehensive when I first entered the monastery – but in a day or two I loved it. The eight hundred year-old building spoke to me, and I sensed a continuity with my own more remote Scottish ancestors - who of course must have been Catholic. I was absorbing a tradition that went back before the sad events of the sixteenth century, and which had moulded much of the history of Europe. I gloried in the unhurried Latin liturgy celebrated with dignity and solemnity. Soon I was an Oblate, and came every year for at least a week – sometimes more.

Many people seemed to be converting in those days – the late fifties and early sixties. This seemed to me to be happening all the time at Pluscarden. People who said they were agnostics were dropping to their knees and praying after three or four days. It was explained to me by a monk as "the power of the Liturgy." He told me that when the liturgy was celebrated it was the whole Christ praying. God heard his Son praising, atoning and interceding, and could not resist. It was far more powerful than individual prayer. As Oblates we said our "Little Office," and so we shared in this power too.

I remember as a young Resident Doctor finding out that a dying (Mormon!) patient had been raised Catholic. (Yes there are a few Mormons even in Scotland!) Armed with my knowledge of the power of the Liturgy, I started to go to daily Mass and communion and to pray the Little Office for him. I never spoke to him about religion – this would have been unprofessional in my role. I was not surprised when five days later he asked for the priest and in a day or two died a Catholic. I hasten to add that it is rare for me to get such tangible and quick results to my prayers! But it has always remained with me that the prayer of the Liturgy is the nuclear energy of the Church, and that the contemplatives are in the engine room turning it out!

After working as a doctor and psychiatrist for two years, the thought of a monastic vocation kept recurring. Eventually, I spoke to one of the monks who, though he did not discourage me, told me to spend the next year "looking for signposts." Soon after returning home, I talked to a priest in the parish in which I was living. He said, "There is an American psychiatric order (!) which has just opened a house in Britain. You should go and see them." I am not sure that Fr. Gerald would have liked to hear the congregation described as "psychiatric," but that is another matter.

Quite soon, I gave them a call and had some visits. I think I had taken the advice about signposts quite simply. Now there seemed to be one in front of my face saying, "Go this way to follow your vocation." I valued in the Servants the emphasis on prayer – in particular the Holy Hour. I wanted a prayer life, and because of my weaknesses, knew I would need community support for this. I was told that this was a "sine qua non" of Paraclete life.

I entered the novitiate in Scotland in 1967. I was blessed with having our Father Founder give my retreat and conduct the clothing ceremony. When he gave the conferences, he was gentle and often spoke with his eyes closed as though gazing on the reality of what he was talking about. He returned to Scotland to give part of my profession retreat and I met him again - I think twice - during my first year in Rome. I remember he was very warm with me and often called me, "dear doctor." He seemed to affirm my vocation – which since he was the Founder, one had to take seriously! In those days there was less talk of discernment. In fact, I was told, "Work on the assumption that you have the vocation and don’t keep questioning yourself. If God wants you out, he’ll get you out." This seemed to work for me, although it is probably not what programs for Vocation Directors would recommend nowadays.

I think I have always seen myself as a religious first and a priest second. The particular ministry of the Servants probably only came third, if I am honest. I did not at first feel a huge urge to serve Priests, but rather joined an order where my background, aptitudes and training could probably be of use. I have probably moved out from the spirituality to the ministry as the years have gone on. A key theme of our spirituality is "totality." For Fr. Gerald, the Priest had to offer not only the Mass but himself in the Eucharist. The Servant of the Paraclete had to offer himself , hand himself over, for Priests – especially those in the house, and those who have been through our houses, but also for all priests throughout the Church. Like all vocations, it has elements of deep joy and elements of the Cross.

Of the several scriptural images given to us by Fr. Gerald to sum up our work, I think the Cenacle would by my number one. I have often been "Father Servant" - in particular, I have several terms in this office at Our Lady of Victory in England. My model (and I do not say I come near to living up to it!) would be the words of Jesus at the Last Supper, "Behold, I am in your midst as one who serves." We have to lead by serving in our houses. We have to lead in such a way that we are often not noticed – except perhaps when we are absent. We have to lead in a way which brings out the gifts of others, rejoices in them and allows them to enrich the community.

In the Cenacle, during the Last Supper, Jesus washed his disciples’ feet in an act of humble, respectful and reverent service. The Servant vocation is to make this gentle, healing and loving Jesus present to our brother Priests. The community is formed by the Eucharist and returns to it. The Eucharist creates a healing and renewing fraternity: "ubi caritas et amor ibi Deus est." Fr. Gerald taught that we must never "extinguish the smoking flax!" but where necessary seek to re-kindle the spark of love in the soul of the guest. This would be presumption without a recognition that this is utterly beyond our capacities and is a work of the Holy Spirit.

The Cenacle is also seen as the place of persevering prayer, "with the apostles and the Mother of Jesus." It is rare that I have witnessed a guest leaving after completing his time in one of our houses without being moved and humbled at the change I have seen. I believe this is because of a climate of prayer which permeates our houses when the life is being lived authentically. It is also because we are being held in prayer by a large number of priests, brothers, sisters and lay-people out there. We are "surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses" and of prayer, and from this comes a hidden but very real power which we see daily. It is this power which lifts me up on the days when I feel like walking away from the Cross. It is this power, more importantly, which over the years has given countless Priests and Brothers the humility to confront themselves and to face Christ with their complexity and pain. It is this power which has enabled them to be given back their vocation.

As well as being Father Servant, I have had two other main ministries in my history with the Servants – one as Treasurer General, and the other, Director of Novices – I have had two periods in the latter role. I always felt I had a great responsibility in that position. It entails so many roles and functions. It is a challenging dialog between the director, the Congregation and the man himself. For me, being in formation was, I hope, a mutually enriching "I-Thou" relationship with each person I encountered. It was a privilege for me to get to know new members so well and so intimately, and I found it a cause of hope to see the Charism of the Servants being planted by God in the souls of new members. I was only sad that there were not a few more of them, because our way of life is very beautiful, and because we could do a lot more with more people.

When I look back over my faith journey, the same life has been working itself out whether in work with priests on our programs, in formation, or in silent prayer and petition in the chapel. It is the same Life which touched my life during a visit to a Scottish church in 1951, and which said then and says now, "Take off your shoes, for you stand on holy ground."

In Christ,

Fr. Benedict Livingstone, s.P.