A Vocation to Freedom

“Holy Father, when do you get some free time?” a reporter asked St. John Paul II, as told by Jason Evert’s biography on the saint. It was a fair question. The pope’s routine included near-ceaseless prayer, writing, meetings, and reading. His reply? “All my time is free.”
 
My time feels constrained. I desire the freedom of our seminary’s patron, but a question lurks: Can I trust God with my desire for greatness? A part of me—as foolish as it is ambitious and impatient—answers “no.” It is the part that guards my time as the crucial ingredient for making myself a success; the part annoyed by a friend talking to me when I am writing a paper; the part convinced that I need ten more minutes to cram for an exam rather than open my breviary for Daytime Prayer. My visible achievements, talents, the way I’m perceived by others—how can I succeed if I do not protect these possessions? In this part of me the future is the focus, and in the future there is no freedom.  

The life of St. John Paul II, whose feast we celebrated yesterday, upended this fear-fueled desire to make myself great.  He strived to abandon himself to the will of God at each moment of his life, and he knew this surrender was the complete fulfillment of human freedom. His encyclical Veritatis Splendor challenged the belief that human freedom is merely choosing what we want. Authentic happiness, rather, “demands that maturity in self-giving to which human freedom is called,” he writes. As our Holy Father, he made his life a gift to the world and became the freest man in it.
 
His abandonment to Our Lady, in particular, forged a road of freedom through a wilderness of slavery. His papal motto Totus Tuus—“entirely yours”—is simple and absolute. In imitation of Mary’s fiat the saint set no condition on his surrender, and there was no ceiling on his sanctity.  
 
I am tempted to think that St. John Paul II’s surrender was somehow easier than my own.  Who wouldn’t do the will of God if they knew it would work out so well? He helped topple communism, published 14 encyclicals, and was loved by millions of people. But he didn’t know where God would lead him. We are called to follow St. John Paul II not in his external achievements but in his internal acceptance. His trust in the Lord's goodness defanged all fears of the unknown.
 
Seminary life invites young men to this freedom. No seminarian here knows if he will be ordained a priest, but we all know we are called to the freedom of our patron. Everywhere you can see its fruits: the freedom to fire off another joke at the dinner table not five minutes after a disastrous attempt; to sprint through a workout with your brothers an hour before a philosophy exam; to laugh with a formator who gave you a stern correction just minutes before. This infectious joy comes from the freedom of the present.
 
May we all heed this call to freedom that a young man from Poland so nobly answered.

Mr. Gayou is a 2nd pre-theology seminarian for the Archdiocese of Washington.