A Priest

I am a priest.

Hands laid upon my head, pressing gently downwards, the pressure of solemnity and significance. Oil dripped from my crossed forehead, blessings running down my face along with the tears.

I am a priest.

Seven years since that first wondering conviction, the astonished realisation of my call and deepest self. And after so long looking forwards, it seems strangely marvellous that in the blink of a trembling moment, on my knees, hemmed in with love, I arrived at who I am with such simplicity.

I am a priest.

The consecration prayer flowed past me as I tried to keep up, and I was aware of the difference in inhabiting the place so often observed. But my pause came in distribution. Giving the wafer, broken and blessed, received with humble hands by those who have gently nurtured me, I felt myself also to be broken and blessed, held with grace, surrounded with homecoming.

I am a priest.

God has called me, sustained me, walked with

me, surprised me, kept me. Carried me through

the rainbow filled skies when my soul was heavy,

lifted my spirit with song when all seemed dark,

been present, persistent, most tangible in those

I love.

I am a priest.

What wonder! This gift, this call, this weaving

of my soul in the very depths of the secret

place. Known before all knowledge. Such

beauty ordained for me before it even

came to be.

I am a priest.