A few years into my priesthood, I hit a wall. I had taken on too many commitments: Masses, meetings, ministries, projects. I couldn’t keep up. I was double-booking, forgetting things, running late, and letting people down. My boss at the time, a wise priest, and our shared secretary, noticed. For my birthday, the two gave me a stack of 100 flashcards, each with one word printed in a different language: “NO.” It was funny, but also painfully true. If I couldn’t say no, my yes was in danger.

I recently learned why zebras have stripes. Scientists used to think it was for camouflage, but new research suggests something more interesting: the stripes help zebras blend in with one another. When a predator looks at a herd, the overlapping stripes make it hard to single out one animal. But if a researcher spray-paints a dot on just one zebra, predators lock on it and eventually attack.

A priest I know was once falsely accused of a terrible crime. The claim was wild and easily disproved, but for a while, it didn’t matter. In the atmosphere shaped by the abuse crisis of the early 2000s, the public assumption was guilty until proven innocent. His name was dragged through the mud, and his ministry placed on hold. I had the privilege — and the burden — of walking closely with him during that time.

I was 22 years old, lying in bed one night while on a pilgrimage, when I suddenly sensed an idea in my mind: “Go to the seminary.” There was no voice, no vision, but a gentle and unmistakable clarity. I simply prayed, “Lord, if that’s from you, let me find great joy in it.” Three days later, my heart was bursting with joy. I dropped everything and entered the seminary.

It’s common to hear belief in Jesus and the Church mocked as blind faith and credulity. But in reality, it is deeply human and rational. Think about it: we rely on the testimony of others constantly. I trust chemists who certify the safety of toothpaste and cleaning products. I trust engineers when I use a microwave or drive over a bridge. Why?

Because they have studied and seen what I have not, and their testimony proves itself in daily life. That kind of trust is not irrational; it is how human knowledge works.

Apple ran a commercial not long ago called “Behind the Mac – Greatness.” It shows artists and creators, such as Kendrick Lamar, Billie Eilish, and Lady Gaga, working behind their MacBooks. The narration says, “There’s a certain kind of person who doesn’t wait for greatness. They make it.” It’s a compelling message.

When I was 22, I went on a pilgrimage to Rome for the Jubilee Year of 2000. I was traveling light with just a backpack, one blue shirt and black pants, little money, and no Italian. I had a few close friends and one goal: to reach the Eternal City. Despite the challenges and deprivations, I felt alive in a way I had never known before.