On Not Marching

This year was the fourth time that I've been charged with organizing a trip to the March for Life in Washington, DC. The first time was when I was a member of the student government in seminary, and these last three have been in my capacity as a high school chaplain.

Every trip I've taken to the March has had it's own unique … challenges. Being in charge of a group seems to amplify them.

When I was leading our group in seminary, we lost a couple guys just as the rest of us got on the bus to leave. That meant that me and another guy (an ex-marine who was taking strides twice as long as I could) had to go back out into the crowd to find him.

My first trip with our high school students involved a cold, rainy day that brought out a good bit of complaining, and last year our breaks froze and left us stranded in Breezewood, PA well into the early morning hours.

All that was in my head as I finished the last bit of preparation for this year's March. Everything was in place, but as the day came closer and as I watched the weather, I started to get more and more concerned.

On Tuesday morning, the day before the March, I started getting emails from parents: would we still go? What was the plan?
We intended to leave that night and arrive in DC in the morning to go to the Youth Rally and Mass; but, after talking to our principal and some other group leaders, I decided it might be too risky to make the trip.

So, Wednesday, January 22, 2014 found me here in Ohio. We prayed the rosary together at school - for the people at the March and for what the March is about, the end of abortion.

I'm sad that we didn't go. It's entirely possible that we would have got there, marched, and returned without incident, but as the person responsible for 30 high school students, I just couldn't take that risk.

But I did miss it.

I missed the camaraderie that comes with suffering - being awake all day, spending most of the day on your feet in the cold weather.

I missed seeing the massive crowds - especially participating in the gigantic Youth Mass.

I missed hearing confessions before that Mass - encountering total strangers who come to you because you are a priest; and, in you, encountering God.

I missed seeing our students witness the March for the first time.

I am disappointed that we didn't go, but we prayed. That should always be our first response to evil. 

And we will try again next year.