The Divine Vocation Strategy

by Fr. Roger Landry - August 7, 2009

Sacred Scripture abounds in examples of how God has repeatedly taken the least and made them great in salvation history. Abraham was a childless octogenarian who became the father of many nations. Moses was an abandoned baby and wanted murderer whom God exalted as the great liberator of his people. Gideon was the weakest family member of the weakest clan in his region and God chose him to topple the mighty Midianites. David, the least son in his shepherding family, overcame the fearsome Goliath with a simple slingshot and rose to become the triumphant King of Israel and progenitor of the Lord.

There are so many other examples: Amos was a dresser of Sycamore trees, Jeremiah an insecure boy, Esther a powerless exile, Peter a sinful and often unsuccessful fisherman, Matthew a detested tax-collector, Paul a Christian persecutor, Mary a girl from a village from which people doubted whether any good could ever come, and Christ Jesus, a crucified criminal born in a stranger's cave, buried in a stranger's grave, who is Son of God and Savior of the world.

These are just a sampling of the many throughout Sacred Scripture who are living examples of the perennial principle St. Paul wrote about to the first Christians in Corinth. "The foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men. For consider your call, brethren; not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth; but God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong" (1 Cor 1:25-27).

It's unsurprising that if God routinely chose prophets and judges, and Christ selected apostles, from among those with ridiculously unqualified resumés, he would continue to choose the weak as priests and make them strong in bearing witness to him. Perhaps no one is a greater witness of this principle than the saint whose 150th anniversary the Church celebrated on Tuesday, St. John Vianney, the famous Curé or pastor of Ars, France.

If 200 years ago we had taken a poll of those preparing with Vianney to be priests, few would have ventured that, with his "mauvaise tête" that just couldn't grasp Latin no matter how hard he tried, he would ever get ordained. It's certain that no one would have guessed that the likable but struggling older student would one day go on just not to become a priest but be exalted by the Church as the patron saint and model of every priest to come after him.

Every saint's life is a commentary on the Gospel, an illustration of the heroic virtues and love to which every Christian is called to aspire and acquire through God's grace. St. John Vianney's life is a lesson for all of us in the virtue of perseverance. It's also a powerful witness of the miracle of grace that God can work in someone who generously gives the Lord whatever meager five fish and two loaves he has.

I alluded to some of John Vianney's struggles on the road to the priesthood in the last column, which was dedicated to his holy mentor, Fr. Charles Balley, who sustained him and interceded for him through all of them. It's worthwhile to recall these trials in greater detail, however, not just because they are a testimony to how one should never lose hope even in the midst of insurmountable odds, but also because Vianney's perseverance is precisely the means by which most priests initially come to relate to him.

Most priests read the life of the Curé of Ars for the first time when we're discerning a vocation to the priesthood or when we're in our first years of seminary. His chronicle of perseverance through so many obstacles often serves as a powerful inspiration to us when we're struggling through academic, formational or other challenges. The fact that the future patron saint of priests was once kicked out of the seminary is, after all, a witness that occasionally priests on faculty can make spectacularly wrong judgment calls!

Having received very little formal schooling, Vianney began his formal studies to the priesthood at the age of 19 in the presbytery school of Fr. Balley. He was not unintelligent, just uneducated, but most of his fellow students didn't know the difference. All they knew was that they, though many years his junior, learned things far more easily. No matter how hard Vianney labored, and he did so diligently for months, he couldn't master Latin. He eventually thought it better for him to return home than continue to frustrate both his teachers and fellow students.

This was the first time he thought it could be over. Fr. Balley, however, persuaded him not to give up. He made a 120-mile round-trip pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Francis Regis, begging for his intercession that he might learn enough Latin to do theology. He returned no longer dismayed.

As he began to apply himself once again, his studies were interrupted when he drafted into the Napoleonic army, an 18-month odyssey that was the second time his vocation was almost ended.

After he had returned, Fr. Balley was impatient to see this much older candidate move formally to the seminary, to do the one year of philosophy and two years of theology that were required at the time. When he arrived in Verrières to begin his philosophy studies, Vianney found that he couldn't even understand the Latin queries posed by the priest professor who was younger than he was. With a few others, he was separated for classes in French, but despite his increased comprehension, he still received on his report card the overall grade of "a weak student to the extreme." This was the third major temptation. He persevered through it, however, and was assigned to the Major Seminary in Lyons to do his theology.

There again the problem of his weak Latin comprehension got him into trouble. He was so hopeless in responding to the professors' questions in class that they stopped calling on him altogether. He was assigned a tutor, to review the lessons with him in French. After six months, however, the faculty came to the conclusion that there was no hope that he would ever know enough Latin to become a priest, so they dismissed the future patron saint of the clergy from the seminary. The fourth major obstacle.

After he began, reluctantly, to think of becoming a religious brother, Fr. Balley again intervened, tutoring him in Latin and in French and preparing him outside of the seminary for the canonical examinations. Fr. Balley was faithfully gambling on his own reputation and the hopes that an exception might be made, or a miracle given. The exams were another total failure; Vianney did not even know what questions were being asked of him. This was the fifth crisis.

Even though Vianney saw no path forward, Fr. Balley spoke to the examiners and used his reputation to secure that two of them come to examine Vianney in French the following day at the rectory. In his native tongue, he did well, but it would be an uphill battle to find a bishop who would ordain a man with so little knowledge of the language of the Church.

Fr. Balley arranged an interview with the vicar general of Lyons, Msgr. Courbon, who was administering the Archdiocese during the archbishop's exile. He informed him of Vianney's history and asked him to call him to holy orders. The Vicar General, doubtless inspired by God, asked, "Is he pious? Does he have a devotion to our Lady? Does he know how to say the Rosary?" Upon being told by Fr. Balley that young Vianney was exemplary in his piety, Msgr. Courbon prophetically replied, ""Very well, I summon him to come up for ordination. The grace of God will do the rest."

The grace of God, which had helped John Vianney persevere until then, did in fact do the rest.

Father Roger J. Landry is pastor of St. Anthony of Padua in New Bedford, MA and Executive Editor of The Anchor, the weekly newspaper of the Diocese of Fall River.