By Fr. Glenn Jones:

We had an ordination yesterday of a couple of guys to priesthood—always a joy-filled day, and a reflective occasion for priests who ponder their own priesthood and the privilege and duty that it entails. The stories of individual discernment in pursuing such a vocation are as varied as there are priests—from cradle Catholics to converts from other Christian faiths all the way to former atheists having their own epiphanies. But, in the end, they pretty much end up at the same crossroads: what is real, and what is really important? What really matters?

So many persons are completely absorbed by the things of the world—money, fame, power, etc. I was watching a young man in the congregation during the ordination Mass yesterday … obviously bored, apparently dragged to the event by someone else, laying his head on the pew in front during the homily/sermon in seeming silent aggressive protest. I was wondering: is he itching to get back to all the entertaining distractions of the world? Even the beautiful soaring voices of the choir and the grandeur of the liturgy seemed to have no effect. Was he, as I was guessing, pining for the petty and discarding the divine … that of lasting—indeed, of eternal—importance? After all, finding God can take time and effort. But anything worthwhile does as well.

If caught up in the world’s attractions, he is hardly alone. The media reports regularly on decline in religious belief over the last several decades. Society is increasingly depending only upon physical observation and mathematical calculation for all proof of reality, discarding ideas of that which cannot be seen, touched, heard, or measured, not even considering that even in our modernity that our senses—though enhanced by modern technology—perceives of barely a small part of all that exists. We theorize and calculate mathematically alternate universes and multiple dimensions though we are absolutely unable to observe them physically. But what if our senses are simply incapable of discerning that which is beyond our narrow limitations? Is such so really beyond belief?

In thinking about the paths to priesthood, or more broadly, of religious belief, some are blessed to have a “feel” for the divine, realizing the truth of it rather directly. Others, however, take a roundabout and longer path—sometimes coming by an indirect way.

My travels took me up through Los Alamos yesterday, and those who frequent that beautiful area know that there are two ways up: the more direct main hill road, and the truck route which bypasses downtown and comes to the backside of the city. Traveling up the main hill road, especially for the uninitiated, is an awe- (and possibly fear!) inspiring sight as the road winds up the edge of the canyon side. Yet, as one climbs higher, the beauty of it becomes more intense.

This seems an apt analogy for those who are able to come to faith directly—their belief in God firm in their hearts, and the beauty of Him and of His Way ever increasing as the journeyer approaches ever closer … ever higher.

However, many may come to God—to the heights—by the “truck route”, bypassing the more direct though more immediately striking route, ascending by the longer, steadier, more windy, “safer” but still lovely, bypass. These are those who discover ever-increasingly the beauty of compassion, charity, graciousness, truth, love, and in all that is good and beneficial … eventually coming to the realization of the source—of God. When they do so, they’ll no longer use the bypass, but will thenceforth come up more directly—up the main road, which never loses the inspiring beauty no matter how often traveled. And while in the heights, one finds many paths to explore—each showing new and theretofore undiscovered facets of beauty and serenity.

But, alas, the world and its physical necessities and temporal duties call us to descend … temporarily. But the thing is, when you leave Los Alamos just before the sun hides behind the western mountains, the sun illuminates the Rio Grande Valley in all its desert-colored magnificence, calling us to return soon to revel again in its beauty. Likewise, when we come down from the heights of contemplation and prayer, the longing to return … the imprint and remembrance of the beauty and contentment—calls us to return at earliest opportunity.

But … to go to Los Alamos, you have to want to go to Los Alamos; it’s not on the beaten paths, and few rarely just “happen” upon the city by accident. That requires a drive to explore … to take the road less taken. Many have been there in the past … many go up in the present … and yet relatively few make the journey, thereby depriving themselves of its beauty because of other distractions … because of other easier and quicker, though lesser, destinations.

My niece visited me once when I was the Catholic pastor at IHM in Los Alamos, marveling at the beauty of the many scenic spots—the White Rock overlook, Barranca Mesa, Graduation Point, Pajarito Ski Hill, Camp May, etc. Posting on Facebook she wrote: “You just have to point and shoot and have amazing photos! How is this a real place?!!” But … it is.

Just as is the way to God … by the main hill road, or maybe even by the truck route.

Editor’s note: Rev. Glenn Jones is the Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe and former pastor of Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church in Los Alamos.