Most of earth's inhabitants work to get by. They didn't pick this or that kind of job out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them. Loveless work, boring work, work valued only because others haven't got even that much—this is one of the harshest human miseries.

–Wislawa Szmborska, 1996 Nobel Prize acceptance speech

Before I began training for public ministry as a Jesuit, I lived in the hungry villages of sub-Saharan Africa, the flimsy slums of Guatemala and in cramped inner city homeless shelters. Most of the people knew that at day's end or when my service ended, I would leave their world for one with prettier views and better plumbing. Despite our differences, though, what seemed most important to the people with whom I worked was whether I was rested, whether I could take a joke and whether we could look each other in the eyes when we spoke.

In these obscure places, under desolate circumstances and among the poorest classes, it became clear to me that this world is oozing with holiness. Working and living with these people, I saw how rare a gift it is to even imagine the idea of being called to a vocation. Only the circumstances of their lives called for them. Journeying with their grief and anguish, I found it it became tough to hang on to any pretense that life is tidy and fair.

Yet I found it easy to understand the idea of incarnation in very human terms, for against the backdrop of violence and hunger, a mighty and embracing spirit refuses to die. It lives when people insist on planting their crops even when last year's drought wiped out all savings. It is born again when parents of children slaughtered in civil wars move on from grieving to forgive the killers. It flourishes in the explosive spirit of tired folk who insist on celebrating Christmas, even when there are no presents, no family and no tender memories. Through these sacred encounters, I feltstubbornly in love with this self-giving spirit and was awakened to the desire to serve as a Jesuit priest.

In my training for ministry, I continued to discover an incarnate God in unlikely places: in the fears of rebellious and withdrawn adolescents, in the hopes of tired parishioners, in the deadening outlook of many in western culture. It is in plugging through these sacred moments, usually not gracefully or boldly, that the presence of Christ seems close, certain and calming.

Among nomadic tribes in Mali, Africa, fire serves as a locus for celebrations, deliberations, and sustenance. As these groups travel, a few members of the community, "fire-keepers," ensure that an ember stays lit. The fire-keepers keep before the people what is sacred, enduring and life-giving, and in doing so draw the community together in warmth, light and beauty. In Christian language, I hope to keep alive the spark of the paschal mystery (life-through-dying) with a mix of festivity, glory and gratitude.

To be a minister in a post-modern, post-predictable age is to be a public, insistent and uncompromising advocate of the "real presence" of God and carry that closeness in a world weary of hypocrisy and nihilism. We need people in our lives to illuminate just how earthy, life giving and explosive faith can be. What motivates me to serve as a minister is a hope to kindle in others the idea that they may consecrate this world, that they can experience the magis of things. I have never been more convinced of the unlimited capacity of people to be generous, forgiving, and hopeful. We are limited only by doubting God's constant embrace.

Waking up to that intimacy triggers a passion that dwells within all, waiting to burst out and be shared with the earth's weary inhabitants. If we are among the lucky ones who get to choose their passions and jobs, then the least we can do is remember how fortunate we are. From there it becomes easier to see that our vocations do not belong to us. They belong to God, and our task is simply to relax and let God take over. For all the confusion over the identity, relevance, and viability of ministry, it remains a channel to discover the world's sacredness, to help keep hearts and embers on fire, and to invite the Incarnation to be born again and again.