Seminarian Update from Joseph Babcock
I hope you’ve been well at the parish.
I was quite happy to hear that we are now 4 seminarians from the St. John XXIII parish! Alex Becker, Peter Danner, myself, and now a certain Finnegan Ritter. Vocations continue to increase in the Archdiocese of Milwaukee. All great news. Your prayers, as well as all the fervent prayers of the Knights in the Archdiocese must certainly have something to do with it. Gosh we need lots of holy priests!! On that note, at the bottom of my email, I’ll send an old Irish poem I found quite touching. It’s about an old man from the parish who wants to “get the blessin’ first” from the local boy-turned-priest.
Well Jim, we’re a long way from Port! I miss home. But studies have been going well at the Catholic University of Paris. The studies here are quite demanding, and we have some hefty exams and orals in December and May. Pray please ! On of my consolations is that I have a wonderful, dynamic teaching parish on the north side of the city. I’m in my final year of “the seminary”. Though I’ll still have two more years of school, probably in Rome but possibly in Paris, to get an S.T.L. degree which will permit me to teach in seminaries.
As for ordination, I will be ordained a deacon at the end of this school year or thereabouts, and a priest one year afterwards. Personally, the diaconate ordination weighs a lot more, because at that moment I both make the lifelong engagement and receive my country of mission. We don’t know the country of mission until the diaconate ordination, it’s announced at the end of that very Mass, and then it’s a “one shot go” for life.
Here’s my scattered thoughts :
Personally, these days I just think about that diaconate ordination every day. Praying the rosary is the first thing I do just about every day. I pray on this upcoming ordination, and I think about all the others praying the rosary everyday with me (my Grandma first of all, and you Knights and some others!).
I entered the seminary at 17 years old. Now I’m 26 and almost out the other end. I think a lot on the whole journey, on the man I’m becoming, the joys and the pains of it all. Sometimes, I take a nice cigar break with some fellow M.E.P. seminarians, or an old wise priest here. I take time for myself to exercise rather often. I’ve even taken a “last-minute pilgrimage” to Lisieux by myself to just spend a whole day sitting in front of St. Thérèse‘s beautiful resting place and confide everything to the Lord.
In a word, I’m treating myself well and savoring every second as we’re getting nearer and nearer to that special day!
God bless you all and thanks for reaching out! Sorry if I’ve written a whole essay!
As for the photos : the sending-off of two young missionary priests to Madagascar and Cambodia. School life. A day view from my room, and a night view from the cigar lounge! The Catholic University in the morning. Saint Therese’s resting place at Lisieux. A beautiful Latin Mass. That altar is the birthplace of a missionary priest who was martyred in Vietnam…it was beautiful to see the little French village he came from.
The Priesting of Father John
They’ll be priesting him tomorrow,
Sure it’s an odd thing too,
For I mind the rascal he was,
And the things he used to do.
Many’s the time I chased him, when the strawberries were ripe,
Though I admit I never caught him, he was faster than a snipe.
He hit me with a snowball once, and that same very hand,
Will be blessing me the morrow, though it’s hard to understand.
Long Richard from Kircubbin, who’s a sort of far out friend,
Is struttin’ round this fortnight back just like a hatchen hen
And McAlester from Cargie, whose no more to him than me,
Why you’d think to hear the talk of him he’d raised him on his knee.
Tom the tailor is nearly beat for hurrin’ on new suits,
And there’s powerful heavy buying on the caps and yella boots,
The Square is thick with buntin’ man dear twill be a sight,
When the late bus from Downpatrick get in the morra night.
Ould Cannon Dan, God bless him, will be fussin’ fit to burst,
And the women beatin’ t’other to get the blessin’ first.
But Cannon, or no Cannon, and I’d say it to his face,
For all his bit of purple on he’ll take the second place.
And shure even if the Bishop come, with yon big mitre on
He’ll never get the welcome, that we’ll give to Fr. John.
Ah, the pains are at me constant now, I seldom cross the floor,
But I’m crossin’ it the morra, should I never cross it more.
Quit your scoldin’ Julia, and saying I’m not wise,
Sure the sight of him will ease me heart and gladden me auld eyes.
It won’t be easy bendin’, the auld knees will hurt,
But I’ll get down there before him, even in the mud and dirt,
And if I get a chance at all, I’ll whisper in his ear,
Och, I’ll do it nice and easy like, so no-one else will hear.
“If anything should happen to me, before you go away,
There’s no-one but yourself I want to shrive me for the clay.
The Cannon might like it, for he’s still hail and strong,
And I’m sure if he anointed me he wouldn’t do it wrong.
But I’d just feel more contented, if the hand that helped me go,
Was the hand that threw the snowball, twenty years ago.
Joseph
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