Thoughts for National Vocations Awareness Week

by Dan Masterton

I’ve heard from some folks that when they’ve heard vocation discussed in their Catholic faith lives, they hear it only in the context of vocations to the priesthood, in a largely single-minded way. I’m grateful to report that hasn’t been my experience.

In high school, I remember learning about the four states of life: single, married, religious, and ordained. In college, I enjoyed friendships and mentorships where the word “discernment” was used liberally for decisions of majors, career directions, internships, and states of life. I had the chance to work for a university summer program that strived to form visiting teenagers in earnest explorations of broader vocational discernment, focused on identifying one’s gifts and passions and putting them to the service of the needs of others and the world. And in adult life, knowing those who’ve gone in and out of religious life discernment, as well as those who’ve wrestled with remaining single or discerned marriage, it’s been a blessing to have many faithful partners for rich conversations of discernment.

All of this is a blessing to my faith life, and it has helped me discern all that I am today: a husband, a father, a professional pastoral minister, a mostly-stay-at-home dad, and more.

The exit door waiting after
the last full Kairos retreat I directed.

Part of that discernment was transitioning out of my dream career two and a half years ago. All college and my volunteer year, I wanted badly to become a high school campus minister. And for seven great years, I got to do just that. For the last two of those years, I worked part time, two-ish days a week on site with emails and phone calls to supplement, while I became mostly a stay-at-home dad with my daughters.

At the end of that second year, it was clear to me that it wasn’t sustainable. I felt like a weak link to my students, who needed consistent presence and constant availability. I felt like a weak link to my colleagues, who regularly exceeded their contracted responsibilities and went above and beyond for our kids. I wanted to draw firm limits on my work to be faithful to caring for my kids and wife and sustaining our home. When it was clear I’d have to exceed that to serve the community the way I thought it deserved, then I knew I needed to move on.

Part of the very good reason
I rarely direct major, lengthy
events anymore :)
(Lucy toasting with me
to my fellow Kairos adults
when we got home.)

What was waiting for me next was the chance to work with a men’s religious community near and dear to my heart. The Viatorians are professed brothers and priests, together with lay associates, who proclaim Jesus Christ and His Gospel and raise communities where faith is lived, deepened, and celebrated. This includes my alma mater (‘07), Saint Viator High School, which the community founded in the 1960s and has run ever since.

As a student, I had the chance to get to know a few of the brothers and priests and stayed in touch with some of them into adulthood -- I teen-edited Gospel reflections and later in college got beers and pub grub with Fr. Corey when he was traveling in Europe and I was studying in London; I met Br. John for dinner in southern California when I lived out there and he was traveling and hiking with a friend; I even had grad school class with Fr. Dan as he studied for priesthood.

My friend, Br. John, has been directing vocation ministry for a few years, and, about two and half years ago, he asked the community to create a part-time role with him. He wanted better, more specific resources, a systematic way to catalogue inquiries and ensure timely responses, wider, better communications and social media, posters and branded items to spread around, and more. The job was created with remote flexibility, so, even before the pandemic, this stay-at-home dad could work one day a week on site and fill in the rest by remote access and phone and video calls. That arrangement was a great fit for my family life and the sustenance of my ministerial desires.

What I didn’t realize was the ways it’d form and inform my ministerial mindset.

First, Br. John doesn’t dislike “call” language but worries it’s too reductive. He likes to challenge people to consider what God is inviting them to do right now, and to acknowledge that God’s invitations are ongoing. This uncorks a reframing of discernment that is intriguing and fresh.

Additionally, we try to challenge the brothers, priests, and associates, as well as lay staff catechists, and community members, to embrace their roles as vocation ministers. While Br. John may be the one who has the intentional conversations with serious discerners, they most often arise from faithful, intentional companionship in their faith communities. So when people on the local levels own this, it can influence their accompaniment to include questions and encouragements on vocation.

Finally, we have try to toe the line in the approach. On the one hand, we don’t want to revert to older ways of vocation ministry. I would describe those as recruitment, at least in the way I’ve heard about them -- higher pressure, less screening and formation, and a greater focus on just turning young men into priests. On the other hand, he knows we cannot become so hands off or so casual that no one ever discusses the need for religious and priests -- vocational discernment, of all states of life, cannot decrease to zero.

Instead, vocation culture is perhaps best when all states of life are honored and featured -- in talks and discussions, in posters and videos -- and then, as part of that process, the specific question is asked, “Is God perhaps inviting you to religious life or priesthood?” It doesn’t need to be the first or only question asked in discernment, but does need to be a question that is asked.

This week is National Vocations Awareness Week. Because of my life of faith in a lot of exceptional faith communities, I feel very aware of my vocation and how I came to live it (and am coming to live it), very aware of the many vocations in the life of the Church, and aware of my place as a companion to others as they seek God’s invitation for them.

This week, I challenge you: pray for an increase in vocations to religious life and priesthood. Ask God for clarity to see and more deeply understand God’s ongoing invitations for you. Consider who around you in your circle of friends, family life, or faith community might be in need of discernment accompaniment, and if they’re single and humbly minded toward service, you might ask, “Could God be inviting you to religious life or priesthood?”

What There Is to Be Done: Chapters 8-13 (The End!)

by Dan Masterton

I have a much easier time moving efficiently and quickly than I do with pumping the brakes and really trying to do a slow, careful job. This quality does not come in handy when I am doing the dishes or mowing the lawn. It does come in handy when I write.

There are certainly times where I could stand to brainstorm and outline and draft and redraft more than I do, and there have been times when I've settled myself to that different pace. Most often, though, I usually have the ability to get thoughts and reflections to words pretty smoothly and efficiently. I rarely find myself at a loss for turning the ideas that pinball around into words. The blank page and flashing cursor can intimidate, but I can usually overwhelm the void in short order.

So when I decided to try out creative writing for the first time since school years, this again came in handy. I dug into the fine resources from National Novel Writing Month, picked out a couple great aids, and got to work sketching out some ideas. Following the old "write what you know" adage, the arc of a young adult discerning life while working in a Catholic high school took basic shape. Then I began a weeks-long, 50,000-word free write and the details and connections filled in.

I think, some day, I might be more inclined to chase down more of a masterpiece of writing. I've got handfuls of unfinished drafts, bullet-pointed lists of notes, and other stray ideas that I've never done anything with. For whatever reasons, since I started writing regularly in college, I'm just more inclined to put fingers to keyboard and get going.

Whatever its limitations or shortcomings, this impulse has kept me writing pretty consistently for twelve years. And while the quality or relevance of what I've done is certainly subjective and impossible to pin down fully, I hope the way I keep showing up matches me up with readers who are seeking something that might make them think or reflect.

This time, it's a fiction story in thirteen chapters and 55,000 words. It's a paperback and an audiobook podcast:

It's all done. It's faithful and earnest but imperfect. And like me, and my writing for years, it continues to show up. I'd say it probably won't win any awards, but it'd be worthy of purchase for your nightstand reading stack or as a podcast to download to your phone for your next travel day, road trip, or waiting room stint. Let me know what you think! I'll be here, like always.

What There Is to Be Done: Chapters 5-7

by Dan Masterton

I remember reaching out to a friend who I wanted to join this blog as a partner writer. She is a thoughtful, wise person, a committed Catholic, and a fabulous pastoral minister. I was hopeful she would say yes — and she did and wrote here for a while — but it was the way she said yes that has long stuck with me.

Her yes wasn’t conditional but did strike upon a different mindset for writing and sharing: 

“Having the space to write about whatever as well as the accountability actually to write it would cause me to be more conscientious about reflecting well. Then hopefully those articulations may help other people.”

She continued, “I think Restless Hearts works where it is, and if God wants to use it for something more, he'll make it happen, and I appreciate that you seem content with either.”

I loved the ideal she expressed here, and it put to words something I’ve always tried to hold closely when I write and post. While never totally immune to the glory of pageview counts, my hope was always that I could keep writing and sharing just to engage people, whether seen in shares and comments or on side texts or even never seen at all.

My friend here highlights the potential nature that writing and sharing has to be simply gift, and it’s something I’ve always held on to in order to help keep myself grounded (and partly because I’m a terrible promoter and marketer!).

So on I go, doing my thing, for my own spiritual rumination, as a hobbyist outlet, and hopefully and perhaps as a bit of an engager for some readers (and listeners!). 

If you want to read What There Is to Be Done, you can order a paperback! Visit my LinkTree for the order form. Or for the audiobook podcast, check out Hear Here! on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, and Google Podcasts.

+ + +

Chapter 5: Theresa sits down for her annual job review, and attempts to keep calm while wondering if a new offer for next year is coming from here principal, Frances.

Chapter 6: Theresa spends a Sunday morning talking discernment with her husband, John, and then bringing that conversation to Mass at their parish.

Chapter 7: Theresa is flustered because she wants to accept the job but hasn't had the chance, so she hits the pub for a Friday drink with Mike. She resettles into some fresh peace and pulls on a thread to unravel a happy discovery. (Warning: some mild language in this chapter.)

What There Is to Be Done: Chapters 1-4

by Dan Masterton

Most afternoons, around 3pm, my 4-year-old daughter, Lucy, and I usually sit down to read for a good while. My 1-year-old, Cecilia, has been down to nap for about an hour; Lucy and I have tended to a few household chores (Lucy is a great kitchen helper who helps set the cold brew pitcher, mix meat marinades, and prepare batters and doughs with me); then, when we have some quiet time to ourselves, she almost always wants to read.

There's an elite canon of books and stories I could probably read without looking. There's a few that require fresh attention each time, especially the Dr. Seuss ones with made-up words. Either way, the opportunity to read aloud is a special treat — and something I hadn't personally done much since I was in elementary school, that is until my kids were born.

So, sitting down to record a read-aloud of this story I wrote has been an unusual treat, another way to bring reading further forward in my life, and hopefully yours, too. It's definitely different to sit in an empty room and read aloud for recording after everyone has gone to bed, versus nestling into a sofa with my daughter in the afternoon. But the joy of reading aloud is distinct.

If you want to read What There Is to Be Done, you can order a paperback! Visit my LinkTree for the order form.

The first four chapters are also now out as audiobook podcast episodes.

In chapter 1, get acquainted with Theresa, or as the kids call her, Mrs. Acutis, as she begins a new year teaching at Mary, Mother of God High School and reckons with an intriguing faith formation session.

In chapter 2, walk with Theresa and her husband, John, as they work through a conversation around Theresa's discernment of perhaps pursuing a different role at her school.

In chapter 3, Theresa makes a visit to her spiritual director, Duke, and explores continuing to teach versus perhaps making a switch, and learns to look out for "screwtaping" herself.

And, in Chapter 4, the time is nearing for Theresa to decide if she wants to pursue a new role, and to figure out how to do it. Meanwhile, some affirmations come flying in but are overshadowed by others' teardowns.

You could also try a little taste of What There Is to Be Done by listening to the teasers, including this passage that was my favorite segment to write:

Check out Hear Here! on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, and Google Podcasts.

What There Is to Be Done: An Invitation to Read and Listen Along

by Dan Masterton

As we get older, we often feel more and more driven to refine our understanding of ourselves and God’s ongoing invitations for us, to find more fully those places where our gifts and passions meet some need or hunger in the community and world.

For me, I’ve found conviction and clarity in my life as a husband, a father, and a stay-at-home dad, feeling deeply and wholly myself in rich ways, even amid regular fits of frustration and impatience. Within and around that, there are also streaks and strains of things that both define the backbone of these core vocations and also branch neatly into other areas of my life and of who I am.

I’ve always felt drawn to writing, but not such that I wanted to hustle it into a living. I’ve consistently wanted to write for fun, and taken the engagement or modest earnings as they come. I write to externalize, to share, to process. And the lasting motivation is to offer it as gift, mostly (I’m only human) resisting urges to alter my content or delivery from my honest reflections. (And frankly, I don’t feel like my hustle or my skill is that of a full-time writer anyways.)

One of the crosscurrents beneath that passion for writing, and my work in pastoral ministry which I continue to do part-time, is the desire to explore our faith, largely through faith-sharing discussions and witness talks. Whether working with a discussion group of young adults or a veteran adult preparing a retreat talk or a small group of teenagers on a retreat, I find myself listening more closely, processing more incisively—striving to offer the perfect follow-up question or the most careful summary—so as to help another person refine their faith as it seeks understanding. I want badly in these moments for the other person to strike upon that perhaps elusive word or phrase in their mind. I want them to be able to voice an insight that can fan away some of the fog of uncertainty and sharpen the reflection in their mind and heart.

This is something that has driven me to embrace and enjoy Christian leadership formation and especially discussion facilitation. It’s led me to get more involved in social media and communications in the Church, to help us identify and share a mission and image more clearly (which is really hard! and something I don’t feel particularly good at, at least not yet). It’s even prompted some very specific writing in my current work in vocation ministry, as we seek to resource young men exploring religious life and other discerners, striving to provide maximum relevance and accessibility and they seek God’s invitation.

Last year, that desire for articulation got splashed around with my curiosity about giving creative writing a fresh try. I wasn't sure how well it might go, so I decided to try writing quite narrowly, drawing on experiences I’ve had in pastoral ministry, serving the Church, and working in a few various school communities. Using some of the resources of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writers’ Month)—though I shudder to call my writing a “novel” or myself a “novelist”—I planned and wrote a story about a young adult working in a high school.

After a one-month draft, three passes of edits, and some lite design work, I decided I wanted to offer What There Is to Be Done, in the same vein as I’ve always offered my writing: simply by sharing it. A story of discernment and vocation, faith and prayer, community and relationship, humble service and honest ambition, I tried to create a portrait of educational ministry and real discernment. I do readily admit it’s a relatively idealized narrative, colored by my obsession with nuance, and also weighed down by my penchant for excessively long sentences.

Leaning in to the growing desire many of us have to listen rather than just read, I’m going to record the book sort of like an audiobook, but I’m going to release it one chapter at a time as a weekly podcast, called Hear Here. Alongside the podcast, I also self-published a paperback that I’d love to send out to interested readers. You can order your copy here.

To perhaps whet your appetites, I want to first share a couple excerpts from the book. First, here’s a preview of how the book starts. The story follows our main character, Ms. Theresa Acutis, a younger veteran social studies teacher with a heart for student activities and an eye on what’s next for her at work and in her family:



Finally, I wanted to share my favorite passage in the book. One of the arcs of the story follows Theresa’s discernment about her job: she loves teaching social studies, and now teaches AP US History, but she also has dreams about directing student life for the school and believes she has some big ideas that could really work. In this passage, Theresa drifts away from a faculty meeting to visualize just what student life could become when she is able to build out the house system for the school:



Starting Monday, a new chapter of Hear Here: Dan's Audiobook Podcast will be available each week via the podcast feeds on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher, and Google Podcasts. I hope you'll follow along and listen and/or order a copy of the book to read in your hands!

A Ministry and a Book 17 Years in the Making

by Dan Masterton

Anytime you have an opportunity to talk about something you love, something you know well, something you're itching to share about and engage in with others, it's exciting. Sometimes, it's a casual, spontaneous conversation; sometimes, it's a speaking engagement to share thoughts with others in your area of interest; sometimes, it's the chance to write an article, or even a book.

From my own freshmen retreat at the start of high school, I've long had a passion for retreats. It's a passion that propelled me to attend or lead a dozen retreats in high school. It primed me to savor and delight in the monastic experience of two long weekend retreats at the Cistercian Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky during college. It was part of the motivation to hike the Camino de Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage, first with friends and then leading young people.

As a teenager, retreats are where I felt I could be my honest self, and in doing so, share myself, get to know others authentically, and set an attractive example of faith for others. As an adult and a professional pastoral minister, retreats are where my gifts and passions took strongest root and blossomed most fully, from planning retreats to forming student leaders to directing retreats. For all the beauty of prayer and liturgy, for all the truth in accompanying people on the margins, for all the growth found in justice ministry and service-learning, I have found my greatest professional vocational passion in directing retreats.

So far, working in several faith communities, alongside countless colleagues, I have been able to dig deep into retreat ministry, to dialogue and learn, and to see the impact and benefit of thoughtfully envisioned and carefully implemented retreat programming. With gratitude to so many colleagues, student leaders, and participants (both the earnest and the indifferent!), I was excited to plug into an opportunity with the National Catholic Educational Association (NCEA) to synthesize my experience into a guide on retreat ministry with young people.

My second book, Exploring Faith, is available now through NCEA. I had the chance to present a live session at the national conference, NCEA 2021, in April, where we first publicized the book, and now orders have begun shipping.

A second volume on retreats, exploring the history and academic underpinnings of retreat ministry is in the works, and will hopefully follow in the next year or two. (My solo book is sort of a follow-up to my book with Cari White on Campus Ministry, also available through NCEA entitled Cultivating Faith.)

The book is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive, for no two retreats or retreat programs are identical, no two faith communities have identical contexts or needs. The book is an earnest guide, a good-faith, thoughtful, experience-driven effort to cover most of the important bases, talk through crucial areas, and identify many of the major ideals that ought to anchor faithful retreat ministry.

The dedication and acknowledgements tip my ministerial cap to many of my closest teammates. But here, in an extension of that gratitude, I want to shout out the many, many, many people with whom I've partnered in retreat ministry over the last 17 years:

• to Mr. Paul McMahon, who as one of my campus ministers at Saint Viator High School in Arlington Heights, IL, was the first person to take me on and form me as a retreat leader, for Quest XII in Fall 2004 -- his advice to the student leaders to "go on a retreat for yourself next" spurred me to love retreats as a participant as well as to pursue further leadership
• to Ms. Betsy Fons and Ms. Lara Denise Lynch for having me as a freshmen retreat leader and student retreat director
• to Br. John Eustice, CSV, who selected me and formed me as a Kairos leader, the basis for my future as an adult and/or director on 11 (so far) subsequent Kairos retreats
• to Steve Warner, Karen Kirner, Michele Warner, and Folk Choir Interns Joe Nava and Jessica Mannen Kimmet, who brought me to a Cistercian abbey and, with the monks, taught me the power of routine, structured prayer, communal chant, and building community while retreated far from everyday society
• to Lenny DeLorenzo, Megan Shepherd, Aimee Shelide Mayer, Tim O'Malley, and my Vision 2010 & 2011 peers, who grew my seeds of call to retreat ministry from mild high school ponderings to real skills and joyful practice
• to Jessica, Molly Mattingly, and Kurt Nowak who tolerated my retreat antsiness, welcomed my disruptions, and encouraged me to try my hand, even and especially with Irish pre-teens
• to Jimmy Tricco, who with prophetic trust and/or desperate need, invited my critical thinking, empowered my desire, and lovingly propelled me into vocation
• to Steph DePrez, Erin Conway, and Dave Gregory, who forced me to dig past eye-rolls at Ignatian Spirituality and strive to emulate their ideal examples as educators of the whole persons of our students, as well as always spoiling for a fight via a good argument
• to Melissa Cedillo, whose receptivity to my faith-sharing and mentorship showed me I could do this ministry well, and whose growth and dialogue has made her one of my most needed teachers
• to Fr. Kevin Scalf, C.PP.S., the interlocutor who my heart of faith always wanted and needed, the model of strict expectations and theological substance as well as indefatigable humor and joy
• to Kim McMillan, Maggie Deady, and Megan Hersey Evans, the ones who welcomed the order I offered amid previous vestiges of chaos, who showed me how to meet students with different needs and still bring them what I thought they needed and what God wanted to show them
• to Paul Bubash, the model of meeting young people where they are, and bringing to the office a whiplash-inducing mix of productive work binges and unbelievably funny and informative tangents (and to Rex and Dennis for their companionship and partnership)
• to the dozens of student leaders who have stepped forward, invited formation, dedicated their time and their selves, and offered themselves to their peers
• and again to Br. John, who over the last 15 years has become a close friend, welcomed me as a peer, and challenged me to be inclusive, collaborative, and growth-minded
• finally, to my family -- my parents who first formed my heart and faith and made space for me to learn and grow in faith communities and through expensive but integral Catholic education, and Katherine, my wife and best friend, who affirms and encourages me (and covers me in my temporary familial absences) in this ministry

If these are tributes of the first few years, I can only imagine what else may be waiting in years ahead... All of my teammates and colleagues make their own mark on me, marks which can be seen in the way I strive to serve and lead and marks that can be seen in the book as well!

I hope anyone who ministers with young people, from middle schools to high schools to colleges to parishes, might consider grabbing a copy, if not for themselves then for the bookshelf in their community library room or departmental office. You can always start by borrowing a copy from me!

A Fairly Mundane Participation in the Paschal Feast

by Dan Masterton

Yesterday, for Easter, I asked my wife if she wouldn’t mind hanging home with our belligerently hyperactive 18-month-old so that I could attempt to take our 4-year-old to our parish parking lot for Mass. They were offering radio broadcast into church parking lot from the capped-capacity nave, along with a chance to come to the church doors for communion. I packed my daughter’s bible, magnetic Mass kit, and some snacks and saddled up.

We snagged a spot along the outside, second from the end so that we could put some folding chairs on the concrete and listen to the Mass through the open windows with the engine off. Swarms of springtime flies hovering around us quickly torpedoed that idea.

So we got back into the car, windows up, starting to get toasty on a sunny April morning, with the temperature climbing into the 70s. The radio signal broke through the silence two minutes after Mass starting, looping us in just before the Gloria began. Spoken, not sung, it was still refreshing to hear the congregational murmuring.

The readings delivered the Easter joy, at least as best I could follow them on my hastily pulled up USCCB.com link — the ambo microphone made the lector’s words sound more like heavy rain than human English. Lucy restlessly hung in there, bouncing between fascination with unfamiliar and alluring car gadgets in the front seat and passing questions about audio transmission and Mass mechanics.

During the homily, we were realistic and turned down the radio volume — that way Lucy and I could read her abridged version of the Gospel and talk about some of the things from Jesus’ life, including the empty tomb and Easter morning.

We were glad to be able to hear the Eucharistic Prayer a bit clearer. As we chatted over one of her side questions, we missed the directions. We could all hop out of our cars now and slowly and socially-distanced-ly make our way to the north door to sanitize our hands, receive Communion, and consume the host after stepping away from the line.

Lucy and I masked up, climbed out, and headed forward. From beside and behind us, the young and old, the parents and children, the able-bodied and the handicapped all made our way to funnel toward the Eucharist.

We watched an elderly woman in need of a wheelchair wait for her assistance. Her family member got out of the driver side, walked around toward her door, and staged her chair safely. Another family member jogged over from a different car and opened her door to assist her in climbing out. They got her seated and helped push her onward. In some way, I saw glimmers of Mark 2, echoes of the faithful friends who want their paralyzed loved one to meet Christ so badly that they climb the roof where Jesus is, break through the ceiling, and lower him down into the crowded room with Christ. Yet in another way, it was beautifully mundane — just a family caring for one another and participating in Mass.

Seeing the throng of communicants emerge from all directions of a spread-out array of cars projected a beautiful image, too. In a way, it called to mind the gathering of the elect, the joining of the communion of Saints and their marching with candlelight toward the Lord. Yet, it was also wonderfully simple, just another version of the pews and chairs emptying into a respectful line. 

John August Swanson, JohnAugustSwanson.com

Entering the vestibule, and knowing we’d go no further inside, was an odd feeling. As was receiving the Eucharist there, almost a la a drive-through. But that was just fine! There was no particularly visceral burst of luminous grace to my perhaps fatigued heart and mind — just a pang of peace and relief, a rest in familiarity. What more acutely warmed my soul was once again being in the midst of a tender older person showing love for a young one: the sweet woman ministering Communion leaned down to my daughter and said, “I’m not going to touch you, but know that God loves you and cares about you today and every day.”

I’m not sure how or when our family can start going to Mass the old-fashioned way. And these varied and unconventional adjustments certainly can challenge and strain. But this Easter, all of this was a welcome gift.