He walked into the general administrative office, his black duffle bag secured by the thick gray strap that dug into his aching shoulder. He reached for the bag's handles with his cold, white fingers and lifted the bag to relieve some of the weight.
'Yes, m'dear? How can I help you?' The antique voice came from an ancient diminutive woman sitting atop a stool most likely carved around the time Jesus was born.
The young man clutched the handles and strap together, which caused a chain reaction in his overly full bag that jolted him forward as if pushed from behind. The old woman half wheezed, half chuckled; she had witnessed such displays many times before.
'I think... I mean... well... I have a meeting with the rector?'
'Is that a question or a statement, young man?' She stared into his scared blue eyes until he turned away. She always enjoyed watching the young men grow from cowering little wretches to confident young men.
'Statement,' he blurted, unwilling to make eye contact again.
'Have a seat, m'dear, I'll let the rector know you're here.'
She hopped deftly from the stool and scurried into the inner sanctum. She preferred announcing the rector's guests directly as opposed to using the intercom - that 'confounded contraption' - that would allow her to perch atop the stool indefinitely.
She hurried back and climbed atop the stool with some effort. As soon as she caught her breath, she announced that the young man could enter. With that, he stood and trudged to the entrance of the inner sanctum, convinced that he had done something wrong. The young man stood in the doorway, his overly large black shoes daring not to invade any of the rector's office space.
'Raymond,' the rector announced, 'please come in. Have a seat. Can I get you anything?'
The young man obeyed and took the seat in front of the rector's desk. He hugged the book-filled bag to his chest, as if it was his last remaining treasure on a desolate earth.
'Raymond. How are you? We haven't chatted since you first visited with your parents.'
'Fine,' the young man answered more tersely than he intended.
'Do you know why I've asked you to visit with me today, Raymond?'
Raymond glanced into the rector's face and saw compassion. Still, he had concerns. 'No.'
'You've now been at the seminary for six months. And though it isn't a long time - though believe me, I can sympathize if you think it is - I've had some feedback about you from both your peers and instructors.'
The word 'feedback' made Raymond shift awkwardly in the wooden seat. He readied himself for a barrage.
'They say you're quiet. I can't see how they might think that.' The old man chuckled at his own joke but noticed that his audience didn't have the same response. 'Your peers also say that you work hard even to the point of aiding them when they don't understand a concept. Is this true?'
'I just try to help them,' the young man replied.
'And help them, you do. But the most interesting feedback comes from Father Donaldson.' The priest paused for effect, the way he did when giving a rousing homily. 'He says that you are an intelligent young man, a leader by example, a future leader. And, he added, a rare find. What do you think he means by that last statement?'
Raymond, feeling altogether uncomfortable, shrugged. 'Not sure,' he murmured.
'I'll go out on a limb and say that he sees a lot of potential in you. And he's not the only one. There's only one small issue. You're too perfect.'
The last sentence caught Raymond by surprise. And the priest knew he had hit his mark.
The rector continued, 'You have talent, Raymond. I think you know that. But talent can be limiting. It makes a person comfortable. Gives him false hope that things will remain comfortable and scheduled. But that's not the way of things. Change is an inevitability.'
Raymond stared at a small scar on the rector's desk; he refused to make eye contact.
'Long story, short. If you are to become the leader that your instructors and peers think you can become, you must learn discomfort. You must flex those muscles that you don't normally use to strengthen them. Whether you become a priest or not, I don't personally care; that is a conversation you must have with God. But I do care about you making the right decisions for yourself because I think those decisions will positively affect all of the souls around you. Remember what is essential for you to save your soul. And rRemember that the sin of omission is infinitely worse than the sin of commission.'
Raymond sat, stunned by the rector's words. And the rector couldn't tell when he had 'lost' the young man. But that wasn't important. At the very least, the old priest hoped he had planted seeds that might someday grow.
'Raymond,' the priest said in a more gentle tone. 'You are a good man. Stay that way.'
The young man, understanding that was his queue to leave, stood and quickly turned towards the door. He secured the black bag at his side and tried - but failed - not to hasten out the rector's door, out the administrative office, and back into the main hall where he awkwardly greeted an acquaintance.
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