When Life Feels Like it Has No More Need of You
... and the truth behind the most important life lesson!
Dear friends,
This is going to be a little more personal than what I usually share, but that’s okay. This is what happens when you are writing at 12:45 AM and reflecting on your life in the rare quiet moments of the day.
In recent months, there have been many conversations about the decline in vocations to the priesthood and religious life. The numbers are often presented with concern, sometimes even with a sense of urgency.
I have been asked more than once if I could ever see myself as a priest.
My answer has always been simple.
Yes.
But that answer has often been followed by the recognition that my life has taken a different path. Not because I rejected the possibility, but because the road in front of me unfolded in ways I did not expect. There were experiences I needed to live through first. There were lessons I had not yet learned.
Looking back now, I can see that those experiences were not distractions from a calling. They were part of the preparation for something deeper. Whether that path leads to the priesthood, to monastic life, or to something lived quietly in the world, I am beginning to understand that the lesson itself may be more important than the setting in which it is lived.
The Question That Comes Later in Life
There comes a moment in life, often after years of effort, success, failure, and change, when a quieter question begins to rise:
What if the world no longer has a place for me?
It does not come all at once. It grows slowly. It takes shape through closed doors, missed opportunities, and the lingering weight of past mistakes.
And then another thought follows close behind:
Have I been disqualified?
Not only from a profession or a role, but from something more fundamental. From purpose. From belonging. From the sense that our life still matters in the world around us.
For some, this thought leads to discouragement. For others, it becomes the beginning of a deeper search.
The Illusion of Disqualification
There is a voice that tells us our past defines our future. That what we have done or failed to do has closed the door on what could still be.
It sounds convincing. It often feels justified.
But it is not the voice of God.
God does not discard what He has created. He does not abandon what He has formed. He does not look at a human life and declare it finished before its time.
What He does instead is something far more mysterious.
He reshapes.
A Life That Was Full
There was a time when life felt full.
There were roles we carried with purpose. Work we did with energy. Moments when we felt capable, even strong.
Teacher.
Leader.
Protector.
Guide.
These were not illusions. They were real. They were gifts. They were opportunities we asked for and were given.
And yet, even in the midst of those roles, something deeper was unfolding.
Because none of those things, as meaningful as they were, were the final answer to the question of purpose.
They were part of the journey. They were not the destination.
When Everything Changes
Sometimes life changes gradually.
Other times, it breaks.
When it does, we find ourselves standing in a place we never expected to be, looking at what remains and trying to understand what it all means.
It is in this place, stripped of titles and accomplishments, that a deeper realization can begin to take shape.
If all of that is gone, then what is my life actually for?
The Discovery Beneath the Loss
For some, the answer begins to emerge with quiet clarity.
Not all at once. Not without struggle. But honestly.
My purpose is not what I did.
My purpose is what I am learning.
And at the center of that learning is something both simple and profound.
Love.
Not the version shaped by desire or control. Not the version that grasps or demands.
But the kind of love that Christ revealed.
The kind that gives.
The kind that remains.
The kind that is willing to sacrifice for the good of the other.
The Cross does not simply tell us that love requires sacrifice. It shows us what love truly is.
A Different Kind of Calling
When a person begins to see this, a new question naturally follows.
If this is what my life is really about, then how should I live now?
For some, the thought arises of stepping away from the world entirely. A monastery. A life hidden from view. A rhythm of prayer, silence, and simplicity.
Sometimes, that is a real and beautiful calling.
But the deeper call is not first about where we live.
It is about how we live.
A life can be hidden within monastery walls, or it can be lived quietly in the middle of the world. In both places, the invitation is the same.
To live more simply.
To pray more deeply.
To love more truthfully.
Not Discarded, But Re-shaped
It is easy to believe that the closing of doors means the end of usefulness.
But what if it means something else?
What if the life that once moved outward, toward achievement and recognition, is now being drawn inward toward something more lasting?
What if the experiences, the wounds, the failures, and even the regrets are not disqualifications, but the very material God is using to form something new?
Something quieter.
Something deeper.
Something more aligned with the purpose that was always there.
A Final Reflection
There is a line that has stayed with me over the years:
God does not call the qualified. He qualifies the called.
There was a time when I read those words and wondered if they could possibly apply to me.
Now I understand something I could not see then.
But because it was true then
and it’s true now.
You’re not being discarded.
You’re being re-shaped.
And whether that happens in a monastery or in the middle of the world, the deeper call underneath it is the same:
Learn to love rightly.
Receive love fully.
And become, quietly, a reflection of it.
Where will my life take me next? That’s not really the right question. The reason is because life has never actually gone off course. In fact, it has always, even during periods of trial, pain, discomfort, and confusion, been leading me to where God wants me to find Him.
Perhaps the better question is this:
Will I recognize Him when I get there?
Because the destination has never simply been a place, a role, or a title. It has always been an encounter.
An encounter with the One who never left.
The One who patiently waited.
The One who allowed the journey to unfold, not to lose me, but to lead me back.
And if that is true, then the path ahead does not need to be feared.
It only needs to be followed.
I wish all of you a journey well lived. May you recognize God wherever he leads you, beginning right where you are, right now.
God bless you!
Semper ad Lucem,
John