This weekend our parish had our first priestly ordination. A young man I have known for almost a decade was ordained to the priesthood right there in our little parish. The Maronite Bishop, Chor-Bishop, the Roman Catholic Bishop, and dozens of priests, deacons, subdeacons, and seminarians from the Maronite, Latin, and Byzantine Churches were there. It was glorious beyond words. I cried so much as my heart was really quite overcome with gratitude that God calls these men to such a life. They pray, they love, they serve. They give us the Sacraments. They look after our very souls. And what do we give them in return? Probably a lot of grief. But you wouldn’t know it from how they lay down their lives for us.
And so I reflected on the good and holy priests I’ve experienced in my about 13 years of practicing Catholicism. This list is by no means exhaustive, but it is just a highlight.
Father Philip from the Discalced Carmelites in California is the first priest I encountered in a person way. I was going weekly to Mass and several times a week to Adoration, but I would just sit in the back and cry. My heart was longing so deeply for the Eucharist. There were definitely times that I almost despaired and I was tempted to give up. But then the Holy Spirit would whisper to me the words from John 6:68, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.” One day, Fr. Philip stopped me on the way out of Mass. “Who are you and where have you come from?” he asked as my then 8 children filed out with me. I told him, “I’m a protestant trying to stumble my way into the Church.” He took me immediately under his wing. That day he gave us a tour of the parish, gave me a Catechism and the book Rediscovering Catholicism by Matthew Kelly. This good man answered so many of my questions, checked in on me, heard my first confession. He was the first to utter to me the words of absolution that completely changed my life. Before he could receive me into the Church officially, we moved to Maine. We lost touch, but I will never stop being grateful for him.
The first priest to become my friend was Father Paul. It began by me cooking for his parish events and working for his parish as a catechist and has endured as a friendship I cherish deeply. In the years when my marriage was the most volatile and dangerous he found a spiritual director for me (a Franciscan hermit with the patience and humor of a saint) and arranged for a safe house for me and my kids, crafting a plan for my escape from abuse. He has always been so prayerful and so honest with me–even when I complained to him about him in the confessional. I would trust him with my life.
When my marriage was at its worst Father Dominic saved my life. He would text me almost daily asking how I was and he crafted his question in the most pastoral and cunning of ways. He would say, “Sister, have you eaten today?” Nine times out of ten I had not. He would tell me what he was cooking, sometimes send me a picture and then say, “Please go eat. Text me what you’re making.” It was so subtle and inspiring, because as a chef, I was genuinely interested in what he was cooking. His care for the very simple act of nourishment was a corporal work of mercy in the truest sense. I think I survived that year because someone cared if I lived.
Father Patrick saved my family. In the days after my first husband left my children’s world’s were truly rocked–but not because I had made their dad leave. They were terrified that I would forgive him and let him back in the house. Because of that they were little fragile ticking time bombs. Father Patrick offered each one who needed it a listening ear. He found us all therapists. He sat many times around my table listening, praying, blessing things. Of all the priests I know, he has the most infectious laughter. He brought joy back to my family. When the time came several years later he helped me work through the paperwork to have my marriage annulled. He concelebrated my wedding last year.
My spiritual father in the truest sense is Abouna James. When I first came to his parish I made an appointment, because I wanted him to know what my family was about. I sat across from him in his office and poured out my life story. I held nothing back. He told me that day, “All things can be healed.” And somehow I believed him–even though at that point my life was a broken pile of rubble. Perhaps his most important piece of advice for me was to foster a deep devotion to the Sacred Heart and to enthrone the Sacred Heart in my home. So we did. And I can say without a hint of hesitation that the Sacred Heart has held us all together, healed our hearts, and brought us to a green pastures and still waters. He was reassigned two years ago, but that hasn’t ended our relationship. He is still my father. I got to see him this past weekend at the ordination and I could not help but run to him, squealing, “My dad is here!”
Orphans
Our culture is starving for fathers. I don’t say that simply because the nuclear family is largely in shambles, because that’s only part of it. The elephant in the room is that Protestantism has robbed people of fathers. The movement that forbids adherents to call anyone on earth father (but somehow teacher and instructor get a pass, even though they are mentioned in the same passage) has created millions of spiritual orphans. The burden is on each individual to interpret their faith and invent themselves and reinvent themselves constantly, an exercise that is futile and exhausting. Just as no child can raise himself from infancy to successful adulthood, so no Christian can raise themselves to sainthood. We need fathers.
(For a full breakdown of that scripture, click here.)
When I see my friends or family members go through tremendously difficult things (death, grief, divorce, terminal illness, mental health struggles, etc.) and negotiate it on their own or relying solely on human wisdom, I’m so brokenhearted. Perhaps I am weaker than they, but I cannot imagine navigating this life with all its hills and valleys, twists and turns without fathers. They guide me. They give me the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus. They hear my confessions and offer spiritual direction. It is not hyperbole to say that I would absolutely be incapable of reaching sanctity without their fatherhood.
When people bewail the fact that my children were being raised without a father, my oldest would very quickly set things straight. She would say they are not fatherless and have never been. They have the Church and through the Church many fathers. They are not orphans. I believe that being Catholic is what allowed my family not to fall prey to being another statistic of a fatherless home and wayward lost children.
“For though you might have ten thousand guardians in Christ, you do not have many fathers. Indeed, in Christ Jesus I became your father through the gospel.” (St. Paul to St. Timothy)
Knowing this about myself, the world, and the Church and having experienced the beautiful grace of God through Fathers, this past weekend’s ordination moved me so deeply. I ached with joy.
Pray for vocations. We need more fathers, because the world is quite literally filled with spiritual orphans. Pray that God would call more men into his service and the men would respond generously. The world needs them. At the very least, I need them.
reconciling things 