It’s Not about What You Do

Born and raised in Framingham, Massachusetts, I hail from an all but ordinary family; my father being the quintessential Irish Catholic Bostonian and my mother, a Dominican immigrant who came to Boston at the age of 17. It was always my parents’ priority to instill in us, their six children, the Catholic faith as the most important element of our lives. With all of their involvement in our local parish, from the choir to teaching confirmation classes, my mother and father began to see that whatever their efforts to raise us in the faith, it was not working.

Being the middle boy, I found myself to be the black sheep in an extremely religious family. I also felt kind of lost in the mix of four brothers and a sister – and, I felt neither entirely American nor entirely Hispanic. I often remember feeling eclipsed by my other siblings most especially by my older brother whose confidence, looks and outgoingness made me envious and further highlighted my sensitivity and insecurity.  Because I was lacking a sense of identity and had an intense desire to be loved, I began to create myself based on my hobbies. I developed a few talents that were worthy of impressing those around me, as if to say, “Here I am, love me!”

Already in elementary school I would fill sketchbooks with my artwork and endlessly compete with my brothers in basketball. In middle school I began to skateboard for hours on end and I would carry around a deck of cards through the halls of my school, always ready to perform a magic trick to wow my peers. When I made it to High School, I was diligently playing guitar, singing, and sneaking out of my house to do graffiti art. Although my hobbies would win me a bit of gratification, I could never hold onto that sense of satisfaction for too long because it would soon be swallowed up by my insecurity. I was continuously brought back to square one, questioning whether I was actually appreciated. At the same time, High School opened the door to parties, alcohol, drugs and chasing after girls; these became new avenues for me to escape from my self‑loathing and sense of inadequacy. Unfortunately, after every high and hangover, I would find myself right where I left off.

What changed everything was the arrival of a group of missionaries from the Neocatechumenal Way who started a series of talks at my home parish. Although my parents brought me kicking and screaming, what the missionaries were saying intrigued me. They told me that Christianity was ultimately rooted in having an experience with God; it was about receiving the news that God loves me as I am and that the characteristics that I despised in myself were the place for God to display his grace and reveal his glory. It all sounded so new to me, because up until then I had thought that Christianity was about piling up as many good deeds as possible so as to build my way to heaven.

This good news that these missionaries announced to me lifted the veil that kept me blind. I remember that a priest once told me that, “One of the greatest lies of the devil is to make a man believe that he is only worth what he can do.” This was exactly my dilemma; I believed this lie. Both inside and out of the Church, my identity was totally tied to my actions and talents. The problem, however, goes even deeper, because with my hobbies I also had my sins; so, if I was only worth what I could do, there was no room for me to be forgiven. Thankfully, these missionaries told me that none of this was true and, in fact, that through Jesus Christ I could discover that I have a father in heaven – that is to say that my identity has nothing to do with what I can do for God or how much I have loved Him. Instead, it is God who has loved me first, and my identity is that I am a child who belongs to Him.

This discovery of the love of God is the precious pearl that I carry on my journey toward the priesthood. Having left my family, my desire for a career in fine arts, and my hopes to have a wife and children, I am the happiest I have ever been. I lack nothing, because my father in heaven knows best and even the trials that I endure are graces that are given to me so that my gratitude may flow over to those who were lost like me.