At the end of four years' time, at graduation, we were down to

Hear, O listener, the solemn and reflective words of Peter Jurasik, who once walked among men devoted to a sacred calling: “At the end of four years’ time, at graduation, we were down to 12. At our reunion that we had several years ago, only 1 out of the 52 actually made it to ordination and priesthood. So there you go, there’s your numbers.” Though simple and measured in tone, these words carry the gravity of a life examined — a quiet meditation on perseverance, calling, and the frailty of human purpose. Beneath them lies not mere arithmetic, but the ancient truth that the path of vocation is narrow, and few are those who endure to its end.

The meaning of this quote unfolds slowly, like a confession whispered in the cloisters of memory. Jurasik speaks of a time of training, of a fellowship of fifty-two who began with devotion and hope, each believing himself called to the priesthood — a life of service, sacrifice, and sanctity. Yet as the years passed, the fires that burned in many hearts dimmed, until at graduation, only twelve remained. And in the fullness of time, even among those twelve, only one completed the journey. The numbers, as he says, tell the tale. They speak of how rare it is to fulfill a calling once chosen, how the path of spiritual endurance demands not only faith, but fortitude of body and soul.

The origin of this reflection lies in a man’s remembrance of youth — of an age when ideals are pure and aspirations untouched by the slow erosion of reality. To begin such a journey is easy; to persist through doubt, failure, loneliness, and the testing of conviction is the true crucible. For the path of the priesthood, like any sacred pursuit, is a mirror of the greater struggle of life itself: many are called, but few persevere. This pattern repeats through all endeavors — in art, in science, in love, in virtue — where beginnings are crowded, but the summit is lonely. Jurasik’s tone is not bitter, but contemplative, as though he gazes not at the loss, but at the truth of human frailty, and the preciousness of those who see their calling to its end.

Consider, O reader, the story of Gautama Siddhartha, who left his palace to seek enlightenment. Many followed him at first, eager for wisdom and glory. Yet as the path grew harder — through hunger, meditation, and silence — his companions fell away, one by one. Only he remained steadfast, and from his perseverance arose the light of the Buddha, which has guided countless souls through the ages. The numbers that Jurasik recites — fifty-two, twelve, one — echo this same ancient rhythm: that the path of truth begins in company but ends in solitude, and that greatness, whether spiritual or worldly, often demands the endurance to stand alone.

Peter Jurasik’s reflection also reminds us of the shifting tides of purpose. Not all who left the seminary failed; perhaps they discovered other ways to serve, other vocations more true to their nature. This too is wisdom. The human journey is not one of rigid destiny, but of unfolding discovery. Sometimes the path that narrows into one forges another hundred that spread into the world, each carrying a spark of what was first kindled together. Thus, even if only one reached ordination, all may have carried some fragment of holiness into the lives they touched beyond the walls of faith.

And yet, the lesson remains: constancy is rare, and perseverance the truest measure of devotion. Whether one’s calling is spiritual or earthly, the beginning is always bright, filled with excitement and companionship. But when the trials come — when doubt rises, when the heart grows weary, when the world tempts one to turn back — then the soul is tested. Only those who hold fast, who endure in silence when applause fades and reward seems far, will complete their journey. The numbers Jurasik gives are not a lament; they are a warning and a charge: that to live with purpose demands endurance beyond comfort.

So let this teaching be written upon your heart, O listener: do not despair when others fall away from your side, nor when the path narrows and your steps echo alone. The worth of a calling is proven not by how many begin it, but by how truly it is lived. Take courage from the one who endured among fifty-two, and remember that the smallest remnant can still bear the weight of grace. Whether your own path leads to priesthood or another form of purpose, walk it with steadfastness. For the divine — whatever name you give it — honors not the multitude, but the faithful few who keep walking when the rest have turned away.