“Here, James. This is something else you should know about.”
It was a magazine, opened to a particular article. James glanced at it and put it in his desk.
Some of the other boys at the seminary had begun giving him magazines and books that they said would help him understand the Church better. At first, James had been eager to read what they were giving him. But they didn’t help him understand the Church any better; instead, those magazines and books confused him. They attacked the Church and James didn’t know what to believe. Yet, he kept accepting the books and magazines. He hoped to read something that would clear up his confusion.
How can I know what’s true? James wondered. How can I know what’s right?
Among the books the other boys had given him were some novels. At first, James had left those aside. But as he grew more disturbed, he started to read the novels—just to get his mind off his confusion. He began to enjoy the stories and to spend more time reading novels than studying. He realized that he didn’t care much about school anymore.
He felt tired all the time. His grades began to sink. He even felt like he couldn’t pray.
The priests on the staff saw that something was wrong. They tried to encourage James to study better, and he made some effort—but only a little.
“Your mother’s here,” a staff member told James one day. “She’s waiting for you in the parlor.”
Mamma Teresa was the last person James wanted to see right then. Dragging his feet, he walked to the parlor.
His mother lost no time in small talk. “What are you doing?” she asked, waving an envelope in the air. “We just received this letter about you. They say you’re not studying. Your father isn’t well and we have medical bills. Your brothers are working hard to pay Papa’s expenses as well as yours, and you don’t seem to care about anything. You don’t seem to care about studying at all. What’s the matter with you?”
All James could say was, “I don’t know either, Mamma. I’ll try to do better.”
When Mamma Teresa left, James felt really discouraged. His mother had always understood him, but this time he knew she didn’t. On the other hand, did he understand himself anymore?
On a Saturday morning in April, three days after James’s sixteenth birthday, one of the priests called him into his office. “We’re sorry, James,” Father said. “You don’t seem to want to be a priest anymore. You aren’t giving a good example to the other boys, either. We’ve decided to send you home. Your father will come to pick you up this afternoon. Go pack your belongings.”
James nodded and went to pack his things. He wasn’t completely surprised. I’ve really lost interest in everything, he thought. I feel like I’ve been climbing an icy hill in the winter and sliding back. Now, I’m not even sure I want to climb that hill at all.
He was sure about one thing, though. Going home would not be pleasant.
How can I face Papa? he wondered. Mamma? My brothers?
Then he thought of Father John, who had helped him enter the seminary. How can I face him?
James suddenly wished that God would snatch him out of this confusing world and take him straight to heaven!
But he couldn’t stand there thinking. His father was on the way. James packed up his belongings and brought them to the front door. Then he went back to his empty room and waited. He didn’t go to lunch. He wasn’t hungry at all.
Papa Michael greeted him with, “Well? Now you’ll take up the hoe!” They loaded the ox cart, which the family always used to bring James to and from vacation. Then they rode home in silence.
At home, James kissed Mamma Teresa, who looked both hurt and angry. “Take your things up to your room,” she said.
When his brothers came in for supper, they barely said hello, and during the meal everyone except Thomas ignored James.
After supper he went up to his lonely room on the second floor. At least I still have a room of my own, he thought. He had brought many books with him—mostly novels—and would be able to read until he fell asleep.
That night, though, James stayed awake for hours. Tomorrow was Sunday. He would have to see Father John. Mary, my Mother, he silently prayed, help me get through that!
Morning came much too soon for James. Much too soon also was the boys’ departure for Mass with Papa Michael. As usual, Mamma Teresa had gone to an early Mass so she could prepare dinner.
During the two-mile walk, James lagged behind with Thomas. He watched his older brothers walking ahead with their father. Until now, he had hardly noticed that Juvenal, John, and even Francis were grown men.
They’re strong, young farmers, James thought, and what am I? I’m short and skinny, and I like to read. Where do I fit into this family? Where do I fit in anywhere?