Each day my spiritual director would come up for a conference. Each afternoon I would walk down to Madonna House for Mass and then a quiet supper with one or two—one evening with Catherine Doherty, another with Fr. Paul Bechard, etc.

On May 13, I was nearing the end of my retreat. Soon family would be arriving, and I would have to attend to all the last-minute details of the ordination. Another whirlwind of activity was about to begin.

At some point that day I was moved to kneel down and to ask the Lord what he wanted to tell me about becoming a priest. I felt strongly at that moment that an answer would indeed be forthcoming.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door! Fr. Pelton, my spiritual director, came in and said, "David, I have terrible news. The pope has just been shot!"

I don’t remember exactly what happened next, what we talked about, or how we prayed. Over the next few days the whole world would be waiting, watching, praying, as Pope John Paul’s life hung in the balance.

Inside of me, meanwhile, something was shifting in the light of that strange and painful answer to my prayer.

The Gospel passage I had chosen for the ordination Mass was taken from John 15:9–17, As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Remain in my love….I had spent long, loving hours writing a paper on those verses for a course on St. John’s Gospel.

A couple of years earlier, those same lines had pierced my soul day after day during a summer spent in Marian Centre, our house in Edmonton—especially the words without me, you can do nothing (Jn 15:5).

Now another line was coming forth: A man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends (Jn 15:13).

At the ordination Mass, our bishop, Joseph Windle of Pembroke, Ontario, ordained me. He had just made it back the night before from Rome. He had been in St. Peter’s Square when the gunshot rang out.

After Communion, the bishop spoke for some time about the events of recent days. He noted that the pope had lost nearly 70% of his blood, and that he was an example of courage and dedication to any young man called to the priesthood in our day.

Several hours later, during a quiet few moments in the late afternoon, I was sitting in the main house in MH, in what we call "the little library." Perhaps I was just gazing out the window at the Madawaska River flowing by. (On days with a high degree of social interaction, we introverts tend to seize such moments!).

Anyway, Catherine Doherty walked through the room and made one of her "significant, passing, think-about-this-one" comments: "Huh! He’s been ordained for the age of martyrs!" She continued on without elaboration!

Looking back today over the ensuing 25 years, I might ask myself, what did those words really mean in my life? What difference did they actually make?

With the exception of some time between 1996 and 1999, when I was assigned to our house in England, the vast majority of my time has been spent right here in Combermere.

It has been the mostly hidden life somewhat typical of how the priesthood is lived in Madonna House. Lots of hours in spiritual direction or writing letters; time given to the needs of the community according to what I was able to give and what was asked at a given time.

There has been, thank God, nothing quite as dramatic as what transpired in St. Peter’s Square on May 13, 1981.

And the only newspaper that might wish to take note of what happened to me then would be Restoration—especially if I write the article myself!

One truth that a person is acutely aware of after a significant number of years "going at it" is how much one has failed to live up to the ideals one held at the beginning.

Not that I have ceased to hold on to those ideals! They are still very much a part of my makeup. But the awareness of the million compromises, especially the interior ones that nobody sees but God—that is like a fire that sears and sears.

And yet I know that the whole atmosphere of these 25 years has been colored by those words of Catherine and the bishop and the events of the time of my ordination. They are like a center of light to which I return for orientation and perspective on the daily challenges of life.

The news these days are not easy to take. Iraq is a nightmare of violence. Who knows which direction Israel and Palestine will go now that Hamas has come to power? There is drought again in the Horn of Africa, and millions of people are in danger of death.

In one diocese where we have a Madonna House, Mass attendance seems to be in free fall: the diocese there has experienced a 30% drop in the last ten years. This is not atypical of many places, particularly in the Western world.

On the other hand, on a recent visit to our house in Ghana, I was greeted upon entry by an immigration official who shared a Christian name with me (Francis) and who smilingly acknowledged his (and my) favorite saint: St. Francis of Assisi. "Welcome to Ghana!" he exclaimed.

When I was leaving, another official showed me what she was reading between processing travelers out of the country: a Divine Mercy pamphlet!

And in between these two encounters, I noticed once again how Ghanaian culture is so different from our own. Whereas we tend to complain about life’s difficulties, folks in Ghana continue to thank and bless God in the most crushing of circumstances, which few seem to escape.

All of which is to say that there are both discouraging and encouraging signs around us, but that as a general rule, the spiritual battle today is extremely intense.

The outcome in this place or that is far from clear, even if we know by faith that Christ has indeed won the victory and that, in the end, the Church will prevail against the forces of hell.

Twenty-five years later, I would like to imitate our friends in Ghana and thank God for the many blessings of life that have been mine as a priest of Jesus Christ.

It is still my prayer that he might pour himself out through me in whatever ways he wishes.

In any vocation, there can be no greater joy than this: that Christ be allowed to live in us—to serve, to speak, to suffer, to die, to rise, so that my brother or my sister might know the truth that God is love and that Love has conquered.

My prayer for all our readers is that Jesus Christ, the King of martyrs, who gave all for his friends, might be the lodestar who illumines and purifies, to set you on fire with love for your neighbor. I have told you this so that my joy might be in you and your joy might be complete (Jn 15:11).