I haven’t posted since my extended stay in the hospital, more on that later. What I wanted to do today is share just one snippet of how God, in subtle ways, made himself known.
I had brought an icon that I had bought in Loretto. If you don’t know the miraculous story, you can look it up.
But nevertheless, I brought an icon to the normally devoid of religious hospital. I wanted something beautiful in a place of such pain, including my own.
The night before my surgery, which would definitively take away from my voice, I was quite emotional. Then the night nurse arrived. She immediately noticed the icon, and immediately identified herself as Greek Orthodox. She took the time to show me her home icons on her cell phone. She had the respect the orthodox have for priests. She treated me dignity, especially given my emotional state. She called me father when most doctors and nurses called me by my given name. I’ve certainty been called worse, but her pious gentility was a calm in the storm of my emotions.
As they wheeled me away to surgery next morning, she gave me the gift of reminding me just who I and what I was about in that moment. She said “I will probably get in trouble for this” and then commenced to kneel down, kissed my hand, and said “bless me father, and bless my family.”
What a reminder of who I was at that moment, a priest-warrior going into battle for the sake of Our Lady, and for the sake of the salvation of my soul the souls of all men.
Brother priests, monks, bishops, fight like the consecrated men you are. Otherwise hell awaits.
Memento mori