Nameless

It has been eleven weeks since I last blogged. A lot has happened, it seems. I will go for an interview in August for a traditional pastoral appointment. I have heard fron the Melkite patriarch, he wishes me well. Some of the bad publications about me have received retractions. I have lost ten pounds.
Which of these is the most significant? I guess that remains to be seen.
My day consists of prayer/contemplation and the Red Sox games. Is this a lifestyle for a priest? Where is the interaction with the people of God? How do I justify myself?
Like most of us I look to others for guidelines. I try to pick the "holiest" persons in my life as examples of Christian living. Three living persons come to mind. One is a friend who pastors three Catholic parishes in New Hampshire. Two is a man who left the priesthood to marry. Three is a man whom all say would be an ideal priest but who has put aside that opportunity to live an often lonely life of Christian service.
My own priesthood consists of five years as a parish pastor. Three years of hellish turmoil followed by twelve years of hospice experiences.
During the transition from parish priest to the gates of Hell and back I had the blessed oportunity to attend a priest in Boston who was in his last weeks on Earth. His name was Father Joseph Dagher, BSO. Fr. Joe was a living icon of the priesthood. He was a scholar with a heart like Jesus. He refused church promotions to titles he believed that none deserved. He had a marvelous sense of humor. He also could be easily "spooked" by things in this world that seemed out of control. He was not shy about sharing those fears. He was what I wanted to be.
I visited him in his last days at Mass. General Hospital. He was a gracious host. He asked for my blessing. He then looked me straight in the eye and said "I wish I could have lived my priesthood like you." I was stunned and I still am.
All this occured just weeks before all Hell broke loose for me in the parish and with my religious order. During the turmoil Fr. Joe's funeral was held. I went to the service but did not participate. I stood in the back as my brothers prayed. I felt nameless and alone. I do not believe that my brothers have ever forgiven me for this affront. I still feel nameless and alone but now I see it as a precious way of living in God. Maybe this is the gift of which Fr. Joe was envious?
I wonder if I can live again with a name?