Apologia Pro Vita Sua

An explanation for why I decided to become a priest

11/13/2024

I want to share with you the reason I decided to become a priest. I like to joke it was because I could not find a beautiful Catholic girl to marry me and have ten children. But becoming a priest not only sounds radical, but even a little ridiculous. Why would any healthy, red-blooded, virile young man choose a life of celibacy,  church service, and a salary slightly above the poverty line?

In other words, I want to present what St. John Henry Newman titled his autobiography, an “apologia pro vita sua,” meaning a defense of one’s life.  Just like he took pains to justify his conversion from an Anglican to a Roman Catholic, so I want to take a minute to explain why I chose celibacy over marriage, poverty over affluence, taking orders instead of taking charge, in a word, the priesthood.

My final decision to be ordained happened in three major steps, each step marked by a blinding insight. I will present them as three Acts of a play. The first step or insight – or Act I – occurred when I was just seven years old, and it was a traumatic experience. Incidentally, I believe many people find their life purpose in some trauma, trial, or tribulation. Tragedy can pry open our eyes to our purpose in life.

When I was seven, my family left India and moved to the United States. That may sound like a dream-come-true for many immigrants, but not for me. I felt like overnight I had lost everything: my friends, my food, my music, my language, my neighborhood, in short, everything I loved as a little boy. It was “the end of the world as I knew it” to paraphrase the rock band, R.E.M.

But hidden within every trauma or tragedy lies a golden seed

of grace. And in my case this golden grace was the awareness that in the end we lose everything that we love, that is, when we die. Think about it: each one of you will experience what I did as a seven year-old at the moment of death – “the end of the world as we know it.” But there is one Thing we will never lose even after death, namely, God.

In other words, that childhood trauma taught me a profound truth – perhaps it is the most profound truth of all – that all things are passing and eventually expire. Nothing is self-sustaining forever. And there is only One who is always self-sustaining, that is, God. It is like that bumper-sticker I saw once that said, “There is a God, and you ain’t him.” Only One is eternal: everything else – and everyone else – has an expiration date.

Okay, so how did this insight about the Eternal versus the expiring help me choose the priesthood? In high school I began asking myself what I wanted to do when I grew up. Have you ever asked yourself that question? But even as a teenager, I noticed two surprising things. First, when I did something for others, I felt a deeper joy than when I received something for myself.

For instance, one Christmas while in eighth grade, I made straight A’s on my report card (no small miracle). I did not really care about grades, and I did that as a gift for my parents (who cared far more). I will never forget the beaming smiles on my parents’ faces, and I can still feel that joy today. That same Christmas I received a bike as a present. It was the fastest bike on the street so I named it “Flash”. I felt happy when I received that bike, too, but that happiness is long gone.

Now, even though both giving and receiving made me happy, the former (giving) was not only quantitatively better, it was qualitatively better. That is, giving caused not only more happiness; it produced happiness on another level, namely, enduring happiness. And I was far more interested in enduring happiness (indeed, Eternal happiness) than happiness with an expiration date.

Another low-hanging fruit of truth I picked in high school was that if “giving is more blessed than receiving” (Acts 20:35), then what was the best way to give, or to help others? I discovered that there are two ways to help people. You can give people food, shelter, and clothing and thereby care for their physical or material needs.

Or, you can provide for their spiritual needs, like helping them know God, teaching them how to read the Bible, praying for others, making sacrifices for them, etc. Now, let me ask you: which of these two needs lasts longer? Obviously, the spiritual needs far outweigh the material needs. And who takes care of those eternal needs? Bingo: priests do.

By the way, did you catch how I decided to become a priest? I was more interested in the Eternal than in the expiring. And priests deal with Eternity not with the earthly. You see, my heart and head had been pre-programed – traumatized back when I was 7! – to ask precisely these questions. My classmates, who had no such experiences, went about life as normal kids do, like most of you, chasing girls and guns and gold.

In other words, when I first heard God’s call when I was seven I discovered the difference between what is eternal and what expires. Years later I was able to take my first step toward the priesthood when I applied that insight to what I should do with my life. That is, God had called me to be a priest long before I even knew there was such things as priests. End of Act I.

***

My second step toward priesthood – Act II – came with a second blinding insight that may seem obvious at first, namely, seeking God’s will rather than our own will. Why is this second step so important? Well, think about how we make major life decisions: choose a career path, decide who to marry, pick where to raise a family, etc.

We usually try to figure out what we really want. And once I know what I want, end of story. What else is there? I tell young people who might be thinking about the priesthood: The worst question you can ask yourself is, “Do I want to be a priest?” Rather, ask yourself, “Does God want me to be a priest?” Can you hear the difference between those two questions?

How differently we might approach questions about marriage, career, where to raise a family if our first question was always: “Does God want me to marry this person, pursue this career, live in this community?” Hispanics use this great phrase that keeps God’s will primary and paramount, saying: “Primero Dios”, meaning, “God’s will first.” Or, as we say in the South: “God willing and the creek don’t rise.”

Even with a little thought, we can see how often God’s will and our wills clash and conflict. For example, God wants us to get up when the alarm rings the first time, but we want to be lazy and sleep in. God wants me to have only two olives in my martini, but I want to have three martinis. God wants us to go to Mass every Sunday, but we would rather watch football on Sundays. Yeah, my will and God’s will are not the same; they’re not even close.

C. S. Lewis dramatically described this stark contrast of wills in his book The Great Divorce. He wrote: “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God: ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says, ‘Thy will be done.’ All that are in Hell, choose it.” By the way, maybe that is why a baby is born with clenched fists – clutching tightly to his own will – while an old man, after a life-time of learning to let go, dies with his hands open.

What does all this have to do with being a priest? A few years before ordination I attended a retreat in Braintree, Massachusetts given by priests of Opus Dei. One elderly priest, who only gave one brief talk, made a passing remark that I have never forgotten. He explained that during seminary formation a young man tries to hear God’s voice calling him. At best, though, he is only guessing. Maybe he’s only hearing his own voice in his head.

On the day of his ordination, however, he hears God’s voice with his own ears. How so? Well, the old priest said that the ordaining bishop solemnly states: “Relying on the help of God and our Savior Jesus Christ, we choose these, our brothers, for the Order of Priesthood.” In other words, when he uses that plural pronoun “we” (even though he’s a single man), he speaks not on his own behalf but as a successor of the Apostles. And the Apostles speak for Christ.

That is, a man is becoming a priest not because he thinks it’s a good idea, but because God thinks it’s a good idea. A young man has finally heard with his own ears what he had hoped and believed for years. God has chosen him for the “Order of Priesthood.” Primero Dios, indeed. From that marvelous moment onward, all doubts, fears, anxieties, uncertainties, insecurities, etc. are laid to rest in a priest’s heart because knows he is doing God’s will, and not his own will. End of Act II.

***

The third and last step of my discernment – Act III – came with the stunning insight called hindsight. Maybe you have heard the old adage “hindsight is twenty-twenty.” That is, after we go through an experience – say high school or college – and reflect back on it, we see with crystal clarity what we should have done at the time. I always wanted to play football in high school, but my parents said, “We don’t need any more medical bills.”

Stephen Covey, believed hindsight was one of his seven habits of highly effective people. He explained: “To begin with the end in mind means to start with a clear understanding of your destination. It means to know where you are going so that you can better understand where you are now and so the steps you take are always in the right direction…if the ladder is not leaning against the right wall, every step we take just gets us to the wrong place faster.”

In my third step I will take Covey’s ladder of life and lean it against two walls. That is, I will try to see myself as two different eighty year-old men. In one scenario, I will be a business man; in the other scenario, I will be a priest. After picturing myself as these two octogenarians, I will ask myself: “If you had the chance to live your life over again, John, is this is the way you would have lived it?”

Now, how will I know if my life ladder is leaning against the right 80-year-old wall? My heart will tell me. That is, either my eighty year-old heart will beat with peace and joy because I had lived my best life. Or, my heart will feel a twinge of regret or sadness because my life ladder was leaning against the wrong wall. I will wish I could live my life over and do something different. Think of Ebenezer Scrooge in the movie “A Christmas Carol.”

My first wall, therefore, will be Mr. John Antony the businessman. I picture a future Thanksgiving supper with my large family (10 kids!). Everyone saunters to the front yard after dinner to enjoy the evening. Meanwhile I sit on the front porch swing and I reach over to hold the hand of my wife of fifty years, Sandra Bullock. Hey, my wall, my bricks.

As Sandra and I swing slowly, I muse over my life. I recall how I changed college majors from philosophy to finance. I remember landing my first job in the corporate office of an international retailer. I climbed the company ladder and became CEO. I remember that blessed business trip to California and meeting Sandra at a restaurant.

Naturally, she fell head-over-heels in love with me. Images of marriage, children, vacations, new homes, graduations, walking daughters down the aisle, teaching grandchildren to fish, all flash before my eyes now moistening with tears. Then, suddenly I realize I am still swinging on the front porch with Sandra at my side.

Then I question my octogenarian self: “If you could live this life over again, John, is this what you would do?” And now I can feel in my heart what St. Augustine called “restlessness.” That is, in spite of how wonderful this life had been, I still feel sadness and regret. That is, I can tell the ladder of my life is leaning against the wrong wall.

Now I take my ladder and lean it against the wall of “Fr. John Antony”. Oh, why don’t we say “Monsignor”? Heck, why not “Bishop”? Let’s just make it “Archbishop”! My wall, my bricks. Now, I see myself as an 80-year-old archbishop serving as a chaplain for a monastery of Carmelite nuns. One warm afternoon I step outside to walk and pray the rosary, the Joyful, Luminous, Sorrowful and Glorious mysteries.

But beautifully the rosary can also help me reflect on my own life. For example, I recall the luminous days of seminary studies full of philosophy and theology, studying saints and scholars of the past. I remember the joyful day of my ordination. And I affectionately recall the parishes I served, the babies I baptized, the couples I married, the first Communions I distributed.

How can I forget the sorrowful moments? Counseling struggling couples, comforting grieving families at a funeral, anointing the sick in the hospital or in hospice. And then of course, the glorious event of the call to become a bishop, a successor of the Apostles. St. Paul taught his protégé, St. Timothy: “This saying is sure: If anyone aspires to bishop, he desires a noble task” (1 Tm 3:1).

Then I ask this pious prelate: “If you had a chance to live your life over, John, is this the life you would choose?” Now if I have successfully slipped my feet into the shoes of this old archbishop, I can feel my heart responding with what St. Augustine called “rest”, that is, contentment, peace, joy rather than restlessness or regret. My life ladder is leaning against the right 80-year-old-wall.

I began this three Act play with the joke that I decided to become a priest because I could not find some beautiful girl to marry me and have ten kids. Well, in my imagination (and in my heart) I did meet a beautiful woman (Sandra Bullock), I married her, and we also had ten kids together. And what did I learn? I would still choose the priesthood. End of Act III.