God will provide. That was my motto and my constant prayer as I boarded the flight to Rome; the only flight in the entire country headed to Italy that day.
It was August 2020, and the Pontifical North American College had decided to welcome a new class of seminarians after closing down for a few months at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. (The only other time the college has closed during its 165-year history was during World War II.)
As a third-year seminarian, I was grateful for the opportunity to study theology in Rome, but at the same time, I was carrying an emotional cross that felt heavier than my luggage. My mother, Judy, had told me on Good Friday of that year that she had pancreatic cancer.
Mom was the business manager at our parish and had a big heart for the Church. Her love for God and for me was evident when she told me, “I believe in God’s plan for your life, and so I want you to get on that plane. You are going to be a great priest, Scotty, and I know that, one way or another, I will be at your ordination.”
Anyone who has had a loved one diagnosed with cancer knows how painful and scary it is. Yet, in that moment and throughout my four years in Rome, the Holy Spirit placed a resounding message in my heart: God will provide.
And so he has.
True brotherhood
My first year at the college was full of new experiences. From trying to learn Italian to trying not to get hit by a Vespa while crossing the street on the way to school, life in the Eternal City had its challenges. It also had its blessings, my brother seminarians being the first among them. We prayed for each other in both our most difficult and happiest moments, challenged each other to grow in holiness, and helped each other on the way to priesthood — and on the way to heaven.
A man does not become a priest on his own, nor is his formation ever just about him. I really mean it when I call these friends my brothers, and I am excited to serve as a priest alongside them.
In addition to sharing many plates of pasta and cups of gelato in Rome, my brothers and I traveled together throughout Italy and beyond. We celebrated Holy Week in Seville, joined a procession on St. Thérèse’s feast day in Lisieux, served Mass in Munich, and volunteered at a Christmas party for North Korean refugees in Seoul. The grace of encountering the universal Church is something I will carry in my heart forever.
Courage to persevere
During my first summer overseas (American seminarians in Rome typically don’t go home for at least two years), I was blessed to serve at Santo Cristo de la Misericordia, a parish in Boadilla del Monte, Spain. When asked by my Spanish friends if it was difficult to be so far from home, I immediately thought of my mom. My heart was pierced, but it was also full, as I responded, “Wherever the Eucharist is, that’s my home. Wherever my fellow Catholics are, that’s my family.” Indeed, like my brother seminarians, my Spanish friends have become family to me. By the time this is published, I will have baptized one of their daughters, Teresa.
Amid oral exams, practice Masses, Holy Hours and pilgrimages to saints’ tombs, the cloud of my mom’s illness remained. I was joyful and grateful for my days in the Eternal City, but I also knew the day that my mom would be welcomed home into eternal life would eventually arrive. I was fortunate to go on a pastoral year back to the Diocese of Austin after two years in Rome; the days off I spent at my parents’ house were a real gift. However, Mom was still suffering, and when I got on the plane to Rome once again for my third year, I didn’t know that I would be hugging her for the last time on this side of heaven.
When my dad called me in the early morning of March 7, 2024, to tell me she had passed — in the midst of Lent and just two months before my diaconate ordination — it felt like the worst day of my life. However — as I would later say in a homily to our entire community — the next day when I came to Mass, looked at the apse mosaic of the Blessed Mother in the seminary chapel, witnessed the faith of my brothers, and received Jesus Christ in the Eucharist, I knew the truth: God will provide. That message gave me courage to persevere, hope amid uncertainty, and joy in following God’s plan for my life. I pray it does the same for you.
