In the Valley of Dry Bones: A Letter from New Zealand
When I was training for priesthood and close to ordination, I spent some time in Napier with an older priest who was preparing to leave ministry as I was preparing to enter it. Tim Hannigan, one of the last Irish priests in NZ had become a firm friend and mentor to me. Well after he had departed this life, I remember returning to his grave for a chat – to ask him what was to become of me. I was struggling and I asked for his help, his prayers. I felt lost, I was depressed, racked with anxiety, I guessed I had probably misread my priestly calling – I didn’t realize it was so crushing. There I was in a cemetery; I was in Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones. At a loss for what could be done in a parish, I figured that life in a monastery might be my best option to run to.
Parish life was doing me in.
And then, one day, I heard a message that was to change my priestly ministry and give me hope.
