THE ROAD NOT TAKEN?
by Lawrence P. Percell, Ph.D., R'67
 
Forty years ago this Fall, I left my family home on Church Street in the Noe Valley District of San Francisco and began the journey to St. Joseph's College. My seminary experience began in the old system: six years of Latin, three years of Greek, two years of Spanish, visiting Sundays, walks to Loyola Corners only once a month, Ramblers, Trojans, Bears and Indians. But my years there, which coincide with the Council, also saw many changes in curriculum, freedom, and personal responsibility. In l967 my class was the last to graduate as Rhets because the following year (1968) would see the reorganization of the seminary system into separate high school, college, and theologate programs.
 
l968 would also see other changes in my life. I began to have serious doubts that I could live a happy celibate life. To explore this, I transferred to Cal Berkeley where I encountered National Guard on campus three of my five quarters there, light years away from the sleepy campuses in Mountain View and Menlo Park. During this time a seminary classmate asked me to be his best man. His bride-to-be asked a grammar school classmate of hers (Joan Herrmann of San Mateo) to be her maid of honor. Four months after their wedding, Joan and I were engaged. I had found my answer to the question about my ability to live a happy celibate life.
 
In August of 1970, Joan and I were married and moved immediately to Tucson, Arizona where I earned my doctorate in clinical psychology. Because we were both Bay Area snobs, we returned here as quickly as we could. I landed an internship at the Veterans Hospital in Menlo Park in the shadow of St. Pat's and later a job with the San Mateo County Mental Health in Redwood City where I worked for twenty-seven years.
 
In 1975 with a four-month-old daughter and a second child, a son, on the way, I was hired as an adjunct faculty member at St. Joseph's College. (By now I am sure you are getting the picture that what began in 1961 was to be a thread running through the rest of my life.) I taught mostly upper division psychology classes there for twelve years. In the mid 1980's with dwindling enrollment at St. Joe's I was kicked upstairs (so to speak) and began teaching pastoral counseling at St. Pat's, which has been a delight for me, because of the course itself, the many wonderful students, and the outstanding faculty.
 
Throughout all of these years, Joan and I were active in or parish in Sunnyvale. Joan had been a member of the Immaculate Heart Sisters in Los Angeles for a few years before we met. With our backgrounds we had a lot to offer the parish, and our leadership in lay ministry was warmly received. When our son was about nine years old, a parishioner asked him about his hobbies. He told the person that he played soccer and collected stamps; but then he added, "My dad's hobby is Church."
 
If you have the picture that our life was just sailing along, you are right. Joan and I and our children were very happy. Then in the summer of 1999 tragedy struck. With only minimal symptoms, Joan was diagnosed with cancer of unknown origin, which had metastasized to her liver. She lived for almost eight months. In God's providence, however, she died well, supported through her illness by family and friends who showered us with love and reminded her of what a remarkable person she was. She faced death as she had lived life-with faith, courage, humor, and love.
 
To fast forward to the present, this January I returned to St. Pat's as a student to prepare for ordination in the Diocese of San Jose. I believe this is the path God is laying out for me, and I know that I have gifts to share with God's People. Ministry was very much a part of our married life. When I spoke to my children about my plan, I did not surprise them; but they surprised me. They told me that Joan had spoken to both of them privately before she died and said to them, "Don't be surprised if your father decides to go back into the seminary." I feel this was Joan's way of giving me her blessing. It is not something she and I talked about directly during her illness although the thought was percolating within me during that time. But I never wanted her to feel for a moment that I was looking beyond our life together. We had promised each other and God that we would love one another in good times and in bad. We were totally committed to one another regardless of the circumstances.
 
In the current plan, my preparation for ordination is to take two and a half years. My courses this semester are very stimulating: John's Gospel, homiletics, sacramental theology, and spiritual theology. It feels like a sabbatical after working for thirty years. But as you can imagine, returning to the seminary has been an adjustment too. While it is familiar territory to me, the transition from faculty member to student will take time. (For one thing, I have to remember to turn left into the student dining room for dinner instead of turning right into the faculty dining room.) Of course, my continuation on to priesthood will happen, I believe, if it is what God wants from me and for me. In the meantime, I will try to enjoy the ride.
 
In his poem, The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost writes: "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." For reasons I do not fully understand, God has brought me to the fork in the road once again. I stand at this juncture with a mixture of sadness and hope. I miss Joan tremendously although I feel she remains my partner in life and in ministry. Because of her presence, I feel that I may have the charism of celibacy now.
 
Questions persist in my mind about how and why all this has happened. Many faith-filled friends have shared their reflections with me, which have helped me to partially understand. Recently, I have also found comfort in the words of Cardinal John Henry Newman: "God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another...I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught...Therefore, I will trust Him...If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about."
 
Please keep me in your prayers and remember all the seminarians at St. Patrick's as well. I hope to see you on Alumni Day.
 
Spring 2001 Newsletter