How Grant Desme lost his name and gained his purpose
By Benjy Egel
Having traded in his usual white habit for grey gym shorts, a blue cap and a Cal Poly baseball athletic shirt, Frater Matthew Desme seemed to fit right in at the Pitch N’ Hit Sports batting cages on a recent spring day in Laguna Hills. Sitting on a metal folding chair next to a bucket of baseballs, Desme flipped pitch after pitch to 17-year-old Michael Gates, who cranked the monk’s offerings into the protective net.
“Keep your knees bent. Stay smooth.” Another line drive back into the screen. “Nice.”
Envy is one of the seven deadly sins, but envy is what plenty must have felt when they saw what Desme had going for him just a few years ago — back when he went by Grant.
He seemed to have everything: supernatural physical gifts, a realistic shot at fulfilling millions of American boys’ dreams and a loving girlfriend. But one day the former Cal Poly superstar walked away from it all, giving up a possible family, a chance to play for the Oakland Athletics and even his name.
He traded them all for a life of poverty, chastity and obedience at St. Michael’s Abbey of the Norbertine Fathers in Silverado, Calif, a half-hour drive from the Los Angeles Angels’ stadium.
Desme, who last played baseball in 2009, is in the sixth year of his decade-long journey toward priesthood. This is his apostolic year. For this year only, he is allowed to serve as an assistant coach for the abbey’s adjoined high school in addition to his duties as a monk.
Frater Matthew is a difficult man to contact.
Seminary policies prohibited him from speaking to media for more than a year during the beginning of his juniorate period, which typically lasts from a frater’s third year in the abbey through his seventh. His phone conversations are infrequent and hinge on the approval of St. Michael’s Fathers.
He is a man of God. He is also a human, albeit a human with the courage to follow his heart despite common reason telling him to do otherwise.
To understand how Desme got where he is — and where he was going — one must start in Bakersfield, Calif. A vast, dry city on the border of Southern California and the San Joaquin Valley, its main industries are oil and agriculture, and many of its citizens are unsurprisingly blue-collar. Though 350,000 men, women and children call Bakersfield home, the city’s 2,442 people per mile is on par with smaller towns like Chino and Hemet, giving it a communal feeling.
It’s here that Gregory Grant Desme was born on April 4, 1986, three days before the Opening Day of a baseball season which famously ended with the Boston Red Sox choking away the last two games of the World Series. His parents, Greg and Janis, chose the name Grant because it sounded strong and popped up repeatedly in Biblical phrases like “May He grant you your heart’s desire and fulfill all your plans” (Psalm 20:4).
From the age of two, Grant was set on being a pro ballplayer like his grandfather Vince Gallagy, a former minor leaguer. Incessant begging eventually convinced his parents, Greg and Janis — a mortgage broker and a stay-at-home mom—to seek out a Tee Ball league which would take four-year-olds.
By both Matthew and Greg’s accounts, Grant was an average ballplayer in Little League with dreams that initially outstripped his abilities. He was rarely the best player on his teams growing up, perhaps in part because his parents wouldn’t let him play out-of-town tournaments until his junior year of high school.
“It wasn’t exceptional,” Greg said of Grant’s talent as a youngster. “He was a good athlete, he had the skills, but it wasn’t like he was blessed with all this raw talent. He had to develop and work very hard at the game.”
Catholicism was also weaved into Desme’s upbringing from the get-go. Greg and Janis were devout churchgoers and took Grant and his two younger siblings to Mass every Sunday.
He and his brother Jake grew up as altar boys at San Clemente Mission Parish, though the family, in keeping with the Latin Rite, always placed more of an emphasis on the pastor than the specific church they attended and switched their place of worship multiple times. The boys and their sister Katie, now a second-grade teacher at a Kansas City parish school, completed all the necessary sacraments for confirmation — baptism, penance and eucharist.
Grant’s parents supported his baseball dreams by paying for weekly lessons with a private instructor. But as much as Grant loved the game, he initially lacked the discipline to be a great player. Hitting off a tee and taking ground balls for hours were less fun than playing home run derby or Wiffle Ball in the backyard, not to mention video games with his friends. By the time he got to ninth grade, Greg and Janis weren’t seeing the outside work to make the lessons worthwhile.
“We think you can (play at the next level), but you’re going to have to step up your work,” they told him. “We’ll invest in the lessons and that stuff to bring you along, but if you just want to do this for fun, that’s fine too.”
Grant didn’t want to do it for fun. He wanted to be a major leaguer. He buckled down on fundamentals, and the results showed it. Desme made the all-area team twice while at Stockdale High School, was named the Southwest Yosemite League’s co-MVP and earned a scholarship to play for Hall of Famer Tony Gwynn at San Diego State.
But Desme struggled in his first season with San Diego State, posting a .687 OPS and being relegated to a backup role behind incumbent James Guerrero. He felt he should have been doing better in the Mountain West Conference, which had weaker teams than what Cal Poly was facing in the Big West Conference. What’s more, Desme felt out of place among the 35,000 students and sprawling San Diego metropolis.
“I don’t think (San Diego State) was a good fit for Grant because it’s such a large school,” Greg said.
The awe of playing for Gwynn had worn off. It was time for a change.
Most baseball players at St. Michael’s Preparatory School will not play competitively after graduation. Like St. Michael’s basketball and football teams, they play in Division VII against small Christian and Jewish schools from around the area. A JV team is a luxury reserved to schools with more than 70 students.
The team’s nickname? The Archangels.
St. Michael’s boasts some talented players, such as Gates and sophomore center fielder D.J. Mason, but has a thin bench. Five players quit within the first week when they figured out “they don’t like baseball,” according to sophomore right fielder Matthew Rosales, leaving the Archangels with 11 on the roster.
For the most part, the players know Desme’s story. Gates read it in a newspaper before coming to St. Michael’s. Rosales heard it from classmates.
Multiple boys said Desme’s expertise far outstrips the other coaches’, even head coach Father Alan, who played under the name Vince Benander at Division III John Carroll University until he graduated in 1999. Little tips like how to drive an outside pitch to the opposite field have paid dividends for the boys, whose coaches are quick with an encouraging word yet sometimes lack the knowledge to give nuanced instruction.
Monks in their apostolic year are expected to do some sort of work at St. Michael’s Preparatory School or another apostle in lieu of their own studies. Frater Matthew teaches Latin 1 to freshmen, making him eligible to coach the baseball team for the 2016 season.
Father Alan originally comes from Cleveland, and spent four of his 10 seminarian years in Rome. He heard sermons in both cities about the baseball player who passed up a shot at stardom for a life of humbly serving God.
“For me, it’s kind of a bittersweet year. It’s sweet because I have him, and he’s a great man, a great friend, a great not only player, but coach. But it’s bitter in the sense that it’s only one year. I wish we could establish a more continuous thing,” the priest said.
In his workout attire, Desme still looks like a ballplayer. The 30-year-old simultaneously seems both 20 and 40, his boyish good looks complemented by the calm confidence of a father figure. A forest of dark hair covers his forearms, though grey ones have started to pop out from under his blue St. Michael’s baseball cap.
Desme has clearly lost muscle off the 210-pound frame he kept during his playing days, but his jawline is sharp as a knife and he has maintained a look of lean athleticism. Though he occasionally visits the weight room in the back of St. Michael’s, his mind is far more active than his body nowadays, even in his free time. He has experimented with painting, calligraphy and sculpting, determined to see the beauty in art as well as in God. Studying French is his new recreational joy.
It is a far cry from Grant Desme’s days at Cal Poly, when his roommates had to drag him to class in the mornings — though not practice in the afternoon. Business administration classes were a formality. He was majoring in baseball.
With Gwynn’s blessing, Desme began looking for other schools that could further his major league dream and also supply the small-town feel he loved. As luck would have it, one of his former travel ball managers was a good friend of Cal Poly head coach Larry Lee.
The move from San Diego State to Cal Poly brought Desme back into a small-town atmosphere, where he found a more comfortable, slow-paced community on par with what he left behind in Bakersfield. It also gave him the opportunity to be in the starting lineup against future MLB pitchers like Vance Worley, Marc Rzepczynski and Joe Kelly.
Lee had recruited Desme out of high school as a shortstop, but fall practices showed that he lacked the hands to play middle infield in college. Coaches moved him to right field, where his strong arm could cover for him when he took bad routes and misjudged fly balls.
At the plate, Desme was much more comfortable — a 180-degree reversal from when Lee monitored him as a glove-first shortstop in high school. He solidified himself as a middle-of-the-order threat with a .287 batting average, .349 on-base percentage and .482 slugging percentage, not to mention eight home runs and eight stolen bases in 52 games.
Something changed between Desme’s sophomore and junior years. It could have been getting more comfortable in San Luis Obispo, or maybe the 20 pounds of muscle he had slowly accumulated since his freshman year. Lee called it a “natural progression” comprised of video review, muscle memory and having a summer to relax after making the leap to a more competitive level.
Desme credits Lee and his staff for letting him do what he wanted — just freakin’ play. Coaches were seemingly always at Baggett Stadium to throw Desme batting practice or hit him fly balls. Free from the practice limitations imposed at San Diego State, he could obsess over his love of the game.
Whatever the cause, Desme transformed from a decent hitter to one of the best players in the country and a legitimate five-tool threat. Games like his 5–5, two-home-run onslaught against rival UC Davis almost stopped being surprising. He hit an absurd .405/.494/.733, became the first Mustang to be named a first-team All-American and won the Big West Conference Triple Crown with 15 home runs and 53 RBI despite missing the last six games of the season with a broken wrist.
If that wasn’t enough, Desme also stole a team-high 12 bases and committed just two errors all season in right field. His diverse skill set caught the eye of major league scouts, and his power and timely hitting set him apart from the rest of his draft class.
On one particular March afternoon, the Mustangs were losing to Rice, a team that went on to play in College World Series that year.
Desme stepped up to the plate with his team down 4–1 in the eighth inning, the bases loaded and harsh winds blowing in toward home plate. Cal Poly needed a hit. He delivered with a towering home run over the left field fence, winds be damned. Cal Poly eventually lost, but that game remains etched in Lee’s mind.
“He’s maybe the best hitter that I’ve had since I’ve been here,” said Lee, who took over before the 2003 season. “He hit for average, power. He had a little bit of swing-and-miss in him … but he hit when it counted. When the game was on the line, he came through more times than not.”
Leading by example was always more Desme’s style than yapping away. To get inside his quiet exterior, players sometimes needed to come by 27 N. Tassajara Drive, just down the street from the Foothill Plaza shopping center.
It would be hard to find a more talented house in Cal Poly baseball history. Desme lived with outfielder Logan Schafer, third baseman Brent Morel, backup catcher Quentin Cate and Tom Arnold — not an official member of the team, but a devoted heckler of Cal Poly’s opponents.
The house became a go-to location for other teammates as well, who would come over after games to break down their performances and unwind with card games, Halo and food eaten over the fire pit in the backyard.
“We had a lot of fun cooking breakfast for each other, making big meals, barbecuing, having guys over, hanging out,” Desme said. “I mean, we lived and breathed (baseball), so it was always talking about it or just poking at each other, having fun.”
Desme last stopped by San Luis Obispo in 2012 or 2013 — he can’t remember. Aside from seeing Lee and his aunt and uncle who live in Arroyo Grande, the main purpose of the trip was to dig into a sandwich at Firestone Grill, his favorite restaurant while in college.
Two of Desme’s housemates, Morel and Schafer, continued on with their major league dreams. Morel was the Chicago White Sox’s starting third baseman in 2011 and currently plays in Japan; Schafer has been up and down between the Milwaukee Brewers and their Triple-A team over the last five seasons and is now a free agent. Of the three, Desme was considered the most talented.
“Oh, he would have been an All-Star at the major league level. Definitely. Definitely,” Schafer said. “Desme, 100 percent, was the best player between us three. We were all very talented. We all could play … but head and shoulders above Brent and I, Desme was the better player.”
Lee recommended that Schafer, who transferred from Cuesta College before the 2006–07 academic year, live with Desme because of their similar personalities. The roommates navigated through the stress and scheduling of college baseball together and carried Cal Poly on the field.
Morel, Schafer and Desme all hit over .330 in 2007 as the Mustangs went 32–24 and 13–8 within the Big West Conference. In Schafer’s mind, though, early mornings in the weight room and rides to practice with Grant were just as memorable as game days.
“He’d always like ‘Heart of a Champion’ by Nelly. He’d always be in the car, and he is just a terrible dancer … (but) he loved dancing to that song,” Schafer said. “We had so much fun on a daily basis. It was kind of the daily grind that we really enjoyed.”
Where Desme was a hulking behemoth capable of driving a ball 450 feet, Schafer was a left-handed slap hitter with a knack for making difficult plays look easy. For Desme, who was still trying to figure out right field after moving from shortstop, the friendship doubled as a mentorship.
“I was terrible in the outfield, but Logan — even now, he’s a really good defensive outfielder. He really taught me a lot,” Desme said. “I wouldn’t have been the player I was if it wasn’t for him.”
Though Desme was not involved with a Christian organization while at Cal Poly, save for an occasional appearance at the Newman Catholic Center, his faith remained the cornerstone of his decisions. Fireside talks with teammates occasionally delved into God and man’s place on His earth, and Schafer said he routinely prayed for his roommates. Desme became known around campus before he even took the field for the first time when he penned a letter titled “Jesus Loves Everyone” to the Mustang Daily.
In his letter, Desme admonishes a previous student for writing negatively about the church’s stance on homosexuality. His letter ends, “A point of advice: next time you write a column to express your hate towards something as great as the Catholic Church, please do some research to understand what is truly going on.
Peace be with you.
Grant Desme”
Desme’s performance in 2007 earned him a second-round MLB draft selection by the Oakland Athletics and a $300,000 signing bonus. Cal Poly relief pitcher Evan Reed, who made his MLB debut in 2013, was drafted one round later by the Texas Rangers.
The start of Desme’s professional career was not promising. His broken wrist, which was supposed to keep him sidelined for six weeks, hampered him and cost him all but 12 games of his first season.
While rehabbing his wrist during the offseason, Desme separated his shoulder. That required more physical therapy, though he thought both were healthy by the time he reported to the A’s minor league spring training camp.
His shoulder gave out on him again at the end of spring training, and with another few months of healing ahead, he elected to have wrist surgery. The plan worked for two games before Desme separated his shoulder for the third time, ending his season with three at-bats and one home run.
Finally healthy in 2009, Desme feasted on a full meal of professional pitching for the first time. He captured the attention of Athletics general manager Billy Beane by smashing 31 home runs and stealing 40 bases between Low A and High A, becoming the only minor leaguer to have more than 30 of both that year. His defense had progressed to the point where he played most of the season in center field, which is considered more challenging than right.
“He had all five tools and he was just so incredible,” Schafer said. “He had a cannon for an arm, he was fast enough to steal bases and obviously had ridiculous power and could hit for average.”
Desme became more comfortable as the season went on, even after moving up to a higher level. He hit .304/.398/.656 with the Stockton Ports in A+ and .274/.334/.490 in A-, and socked 20 of his home runs in High A despite playing seven fewer games with the Ports than the Kane County Cougars.
All the while, though, seeds of doubt were sprouting in Desme’s mind. His success felt hollow at times, knowing that hitting home runs didn’t really have a deep purpose besides making fans momentarily happy.
A list of goals used to rest next to Desme’s bed. All-American. First-round draft pick. Hall of Famer. A life fulfilled by numbers and praise from others. It just didn’t make sense sometimes.
However, he wasn’t done receiving awards just yet. Following his first full pro season, Desme was invited to compete with the Glendale Desert Dogs of the Arizona Fall League (AFL), where teams were composed of each organization’s four best prospects from any minor league level. Whenever Desme stepped up to bat, he looked out at a handful of future major leaguers. Thirteen of his team’s 17 position players alone went on to play in the bigs.
The AFL is a famously hitter-friendly league, but Desme’s performance in 2009 was on another level. For a stretch, playing against the best young talent as his team’s only Single-A representative, the 23-year-old was unstoppable.
10 games. 10 home runs. 22 hits. 19 runs scored. 22 RBI.
“I felt like I was playing a video game,” Desme said. “I’ve never been that hot in my life. I don’t know, (I) just had unbelievable confidence and ease in doing it against the best pitching I had ever faced.”
Desme won the league MVP trophy over future All-Stars like Giancarlo (then Mike) Stanton, Freddie Freeman, Jason Heyward and Buster Posey with a .315/.413/.667 batting line and 11 home runs in the monthlong season. Two players tied for second place with six. He would start 2010 with the A’s major league spring training camp and a permanent spot on Beane’s radar.
“He was probably going to start out in Double-A with the A’s, probably get called up in September to the big league club,” said Lee, who has seen six Mustangs make it to the majors since taking over as head coach. “And that’s when he made the decision, before spring training started.”
“The thing that separates the men from the boys is the pitches they don’t swing at.”
When he said it, Desme was talking to a cluster of adolescent boys about the importance of plate discipline. In reality, it was a life lesson from a man who had the opportunity to rip a meatball thrown down the heart of the plate — and resisted.
The church had been a constant presence in Desme’s life since birth. At the age of 21, it finally beckoned him.
Rehabbing from his wrist surgery gave Desme an abundance of time off, something he had gone without since he became serious about baseball. It gave him time to start what he now calls an “internal transformation or reevaluation of life.”
Thoughts about joining the priesthood began oozing into his mind. He had always been a practicing Catholic, sometimes more ardently than others. But now, after a season and a half away from the diamond, he began wondering: Why do I want to get back out there, anyway?
Being forced off the field left Desme dismayed at what his immaculate body—crafted over so many hours in the weight room and batting cage—could not do. The slow rehabilitation process was “extremely maddening and frustrating at first.” If he had put in so much work to get to a certain point and it could all be taken away by circumstances outside his control, was being a baseball player really the best thing he could do with his life?
Even when he played well in 2009, things just weren’t quite clicking upstairs. He would hit a home run and round the bases, then be even happier when he returned to the dugout and got a chance to speak with his closest teammates about life.
“There was something kind of unsettling about it all, like I didn’t have a peace in the midst of it,” he said.
Desme loved baseball. He just didn’t love every part of it. Playing in the MLB inherently means being a celebrity, which did not appeal a humble young man from Bakersfield. Neither did the crass banter that often echoed throughout locker rooms.
“We all know that he would have made it to the big leagues, we all know that he would have been an All-Star … but I don’t really think that Des would have enjoyed the other part of it, you know, the outside part of it,” Schafer said. “The people on Twitter, and on the Internet and Instagram. They’re judging you, left and right and left and right. And Des, he’ll take constructive criticism, but to have people that he doesn’t even know judging him, that wouldn’t be fair to him — it’s not really fair to any athlete.”
With God, everything was about love. It was the word Desme chose when asked to sum up all the teachings of Catholicism.
“That’s what it all flows from,” he said. “Christians believe that God is love, the inner life of the Trinity is love, the motivation for the incarnation, for God becoming man, is love. And the life of a Christian is to be a response to the love of God, poured out through baptism.”
The idea of becoming a priest first popped into Desme’s head while recovering from first wrist surgery in 2007, and lingered throughout the next two years. When it refused to go away, he began visiting monasteries, seeking a deeper purpose than what lay between the foul lines.
Tearing up the AFL was the final straw. If his heart wasn’t fully invested in baseball when he was the best in the league, it would never be there. Heart unchanged, Desme retired from baseball in January 2010.
The first conversation was with his parents. They had always told Grant and his siblings that if they felt the call of God, they should follow it. But now, they questioned Grant’s thinking. He was so close to achieving his dream. The priesthood would always be there. Baseball careers have a short window.
Grant had a tendency to dive into things without thinking them all the way through, Greg said. Before he gave up baseball for good, they wanted to be sure he was really serious about becoming a priest.
“He was pretty adamant and got almost upset, saying, ‘The only reason I played this last year was to find out for sure. And I had a phenomenal year, and it still was not enough. The calling is still very strong,’” Greg said. “And we said, ‘Great, we support you 100 percent.’”
Desme called Schafer shortly after speaking to Greg and Janis. His former roommate had been drafted in 2008 and was making his way up the minor league ladder as well, reaching Double-A in his second professional season.
Though Schafer is a Christian and says he has been getting more religious in recent years, he wasn’t especially devout while attending Cal Poly. Hearing Schafer’s enthusiastic support for his decision felt great because Schafer didn’t have a vested interest in the church, Desme said.
“When you’re right out of college and you’re in your early 20s, you’re thinking possible fame, you’re thinking money, the sport that you love so much, but there (had) just been something pulling at him for a couple years. That wasn’t what was going to make him happy. That wasn’t where he needed to go,” Schafer said.
“Not one ounce of me wanted to try to talk him out of it. You could just tell, the conviction in his voice, he believed.”
Finally, Desme called Beane to make it official. He was done with baseball, he told his boss.
The GM was understanding. There was nothing he would have been able to say or do to change Desme’s mind. Beane understood that his decision was not made lightly, Desme said, and respected his choice despite its ramifications for the A’s future.
Desme retired without a specific abbey in mind, and continued his tours. He spent a week at St. Michael’s on a “come-and-see” visit, living the lifestyle of a monk during that time.
The Norbertines had everything he wanted. Compelling studies, where he could learn about historic philosophers and how their ideas relate to God. An emphasis on the Eucharist. And a feeling of overarching community.
“This life … is the true kind of communion or unity that I was searching for, yearning for in baseball,” Desme said. “I knew I wanted a monastic life, a community, because it was much more natural for me coming from baseball, always being in a team atmosphere.”
Being closer to God has come with its earthly sacrifices as well. Desme missed Schafer’s wedding last summer and rarely went home during his first two years. He now receives three weeks of personal time during the summer, and Greg and Janis talk to him on the phone once a month.
In the end, walking away from a major league career wasn’t even the hardest part about dedicating his life to the church. It was leaving his girlfriend, a woman he had seriously considered marrying.
See, Desme had always viewed being a father and a husband more important than what he could do on the diamond. Joining the Norbertines would mean living the rest of his life in celibacy. Breaking up with her was confirmation that he would devote the rest of his life to the church.
“When I decided to really pursue this life, I didn’t want to lead her on. And then also from my side of it, I didn’t want to keep my feet on both sides of the fence,” he said.
Desme hasn’t spoken to the woman since he left for the seminary. She married another man.
And he entered a different sort of lifelong commitment.
Today, Desme’s day-to-day routine is pretty set. Rising in time for office of matins and readings, the first of his 13 scheduled prayers, at 5:45 a.m. — an easy task now, despite his former sleep habits. Mass at 7 a.m., followed by a breakfast eaten in silence. Latin class and prayers throughout the day, then baseball practice from 2:30–4:45 p.m. A half hour of recreation following dinner’s conclusion at 6:30 p.m. Benediction, Eucharistic adoration and closing rite at 9 p.m., then bed.
Beginning his Noviceship with St. Michael’s meant taking on a new identity, and a new name as well. Grant asked for Paul, Louis or Moses, all of which were denied by the abbey’s leaders for one reason or another. Next up were Bonaventure, Frederick and Matthew — a saint who gave up riches to live a simple lifestyle helping others. That one stuck.
Virtually everything at St. Michael’s Abbey is done with the Creator in mind. In addition to the set prayers, monks spend time meditating in solitude, trying to become closer to God. Lunch is silent as well, save for the table reading of a priest at a podium. Even casual interactions between seminarians or priests carry an overlying understanding that love for one’s fellow man is holy.
They play sports, too. Desme enjoys playing pickup basketball or Ultimate Frisbee games with other seminarians, now for different reasons than when he was striving for the majors.
“Before, it was very gung-ho. I wanted to be the best player there was,” Desme said. “I was very goal-driven, where now I see much the value of sports to help people to enter back into life with more skills that make them live better. So learning how to work together, how to work hard, be disciplined (and) in a sense face yourself also, because there’s a fear aspect in sports.”
Seeing the value in sports, albeit for different reasons than when he was an athlete, convinced Desme to volunteer as the Archangels’ assistant coach. Otherwise, he doesn’t care much about baseball. Greg and Janis would like to see their son coach a game if he invites them, but only to watch him help the boys develop into adults with proper values. The score won’t matter.
Most students at the high school are not considering becoming priests in the future. They pray many times a day as well, and spend their down time doing things like playing guitar or card games at the weekday boarding school. And some of them play baseball.
The Archangels’ practice is winding down. At a visitor’s request, Desme picks up a bat and heads into an empty cage to face the pitching machine. It’s instantly clear: This monk can still hit the hell out of the ball.
It’s all still there. The double-tap with his front foot as he strides toward the machine. His weight leaning slightly forward on his front leg, the same tic which gave him prodigious power during his playing days at the cost of a few strikeouts. His hands tucked tightly by his shoulder, ready to cut through the strike zone to greet the dimpled yellow balls firing out of the machine.
His shoulder and wrist no longer ache. He says he feels 22, eight years younger than his actual age. God has blessed him with physical health, he says.
When Desme prays amongst the other monks, he blends in seamlessly. The Norbertines’ previous lives do not matter much once they don their habits. It is on rare occasions, like when Desme and former Kansas City Royals slugger Mike Sweeney squared off in a home run derby for children attending the church’s summer camp a couple years ago, that people see glimpses of what could have been.
As one might expect, Desme is at peace with his decision. Occasionally, he’ll experience a pang of jealousy at the sight a former teammate like Stephen Strasburg or Drew Storen starring for their respective big league clubs. But their path was not his.
“It wasn’t so much that he was giving up baseball. He had a calling. He had to go,” Schafer said. “He was not a baseball player that went and became a priest. He was a man of God that went into the priesthood.”
Envy is one of the seven deadly sins. Despite his best efforts, it reaches Desme from time to time in the monastery. Every day, he says, is a fight against sin, the world of flesh and the devil that surrounds him.
“I don’t have it all figured out. I mean, it’s a daily struggle and I’m not perfect,” he said. “Just because someone enters a monastery or enters a marriage or whatever for their life doesn’t mean that it’s done.”
“In a way, it’s just beginning.”
