We are looking for a few good men

By: David Bailey, Diocese of Tyler

A few days ago, I took time to look at the class photos hanging on the wall in the Family Room. As I surveyed the images, I studied the men in their clerics as they prepared to transition from formation to ordination and the pastoral assignments that would follow. Several thoughts came to mind. I wondered where they each ended up, if they stayed in touch with each other, and where they are now. Another thought I had was of a slogan I remembered from my childhood. Growing up in the 70’s and 80’s, I remember seeing commercials on TV for the Marine Corps. At a time when the Army challenged recruits to “Be all you can be,” the Marine’s recruiting slogan was, “We are looking for a few good men.” As I looked over the pictures on display, photos of good men on the verge of the rest of their lives, that same slogan came to mind. Like the military, the Catholic Church is looking for a few good men to be all they can be. Those of us in seminary have each decided to answer that call, the challenge to surrender to formation and emerge born anew. Like the men in the photos, we seek to be good men.

Over the summer, I had a shocking revelation while driving through my diocese. I called my mother and asked her, “Do you want me to make you feel really old?” She replied, “I already feel really old, but go ahead.” I said, “Can you believe that this July, on the 8^th, it will be exactly twenty-five years since I left for Basic Training in the Navy?” She sounded as shocked as I was that it had been so long. It is still hard for me to believe it’s been a quarter of a century since joining the military. It seems like a life-time away.

Many times since I first came to seminary, I have found myself reflecting back to the days of Basic Training. Twenty-five years ago, I departed on what would be a truly life-changing experience. Twenty-five years later, I am in familiar territory with the realization that seminary formation is life altering. In the Navy, I joined other men to travel together to Recruit Training Command, Great Lakes, Illinois. You can imagine how we felt. To add to my anxiety, the movie “Full Metal Jacket” came on TV the night before we left. All of us were scared witless and few words were spoken between us as we journeyed by bus, plane, and automobile from the Military Enlistment Processing Station (MEPS) in Dallas, Texas, towards the frightening uncertainty (and the certainty of being frightened) waiting for us when we arrived on base. There are a lot of details in my life I have forgotten. There are dates I can’t remember. In fact, I’m so bad with dates I frequently have to ask what month it is. Every year for my birthday, someone will ask my age. I always have to stop and think about it. I have to do the math. A few times I’ve even had to call my mother and ask her how old I was about to become. One date I will never forget is the date I shipped out to Basic Training (July 8, 1991). I will never forget the number of the Company I was assigned to (205) and I will never for as long as I live forget the glorious day we graduated recruit training (September 5, 1991).

We began with 86 eighteen and nineteen year-old kids. Torturous months later, almost twenty people dropped-out or found themselves discharged for various reasons. Looking at our graduation photo then, it was hard to see the same boys who’d arrived there a few months before. Looking at that photo now, it’s hard to recognize the kid standing there in my dress blues after the completion of the hardest ordeal of my life until now. All these years later, I keep thinking, “Here I go again.” In many ways, seminary is a lot like Basic Training. The main difference is this: seminary is harder.

There are obvious differences. The food is better, there’s no yelling, no barked orders or demoralizing put-downs, no creative insults or sadistic turns of phrase. Physical fitness is highly recommended, but strictly voluntary. There is no threat of life-threatening scenarios involved in our training. We are not being trained to kill or be killed. No, what we’re being trained for is much more serious. More serious than temporal life or death, we are being trained for certain death with the goal of eternal life to follow. We are being taught to teach others to learn how to live more fully in keeping with God’s plan. For the flock we will one day pastor, we are being prepared for funerals, baptisms, happy occasions and times of grief.

Like the military, we are training for war. In this case, it isn’t a hypothetical war. We are not being trained in case we may, possibly, one day be called to go to war. We are training for a definite war that we will not be able to escape. Spiritual warfare is infinitely more serious than any other battlefield. In our case, it isn’t just ourselves who we have to worry about. We will be tasked like captains on the battlefield to lead parishioners through the spiritual combat we each have to face. The only way any of us can expect to do that is to be broken down and then built back up.

The most obvious comparison between seminary formation and military training is the process of surrendering who you were to make room for who you are to become. The very first day of basic, we were all exhausted, nearly traumatized, and badly disoriented. It was so bad that I thought lunch was dinner. I was heartbroken when I finally realized it was only noon and we still had another half a day ahead of us. Earlier that day, they paraded us like cattle into barber chairs where our heads were completely shaven within seconds. Our clothes were taken from us, our personal belongings were confiscated, uniforms were issued and, by the end of the day, there was nothing of our personal identity that remained to be seen. Each bald and awkward guy looked just like the next. Over the coming weeks and months our personal will and identity was systematically broken down. Afterwards, we were built back up again. This time, we would emerge as a team, thinking of others before ourselves. The best of each of us was brought out. In this regard, seminary is no different.

Ephesians 4:22-24: You should put away the old self of your former way of life, corrupted through deceitful desires, and be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and put on the new self, created in God’s way in righteousness and holiness of truth.”(NAB)

More than hair, clothes, or personal identity, we must submit to a formations process designed to help us die unto ourselves so that we may be born anew. Perhaps more than anything else, the most daunting and difficult challenge we face is in our willingness to undergo such a renovation. For me, I think this transformation is the most familiar comparison between the military and seminary. Looking at who we are now, in our various stages of seminary training, it’s interesting to consider who we were at the beginning. I can only imagine how much more different we will look, act, feel, think and be by the time our photo’s join those from years past. Will we recognize ourselves at all? I hope not. I hope we see new men. I hope, by the time we pose on the front steps to have our class pictures taken, that we see good men ready to answer God’s call. We are looking for a few good men. By the grace of God, that is exactly what each of are called to be.

About the Author: David Bailey, Diocese of Tyler

David Bailey is a Pre-Theology 2 seminarian studying for the Diocese of Tyler.