As the Year for Priests ends today, on this feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, I think the best thing we can do is to tell one another a good priest story. Surely, in these past months enough bad priest stories have been told, and our beloved Pope Benedict XVI has once again publicly apologized on behalf of the Church and vowed vigilance in the cases of priests who have abused young people.
But now is the time for good priest stories, and here is the one I like best:
Father Bill Shelley was an assistant priest at St. Agnes Church in midtown Manhattan, one of the most-visited churches in the city, a block from Grand Central Terminal. About 15 years ago, I was helping him conduct inquirer classes, bringing business people from the area into the Catholic Church or back to the Church. He called me at work one afternoon to tell me that he might not be at the class that evening because was due to have a growth removed from his chest, and the doctor wanted to check if it was cancerous or benign. I told him he should rest, and that I would handle the class myself in his absence.
Well, when I got to the church hall after work, there was Father Shelley arranging the chairs for the class, as though nothing had happened. A large white bandage protruded from an open button of his cassock. Anxiously, I asked, "Well, what did the doctor say? Is it cancer?"
"Um," he had to think. "He said it was negative. So that’s bad. But he didn’t mention anything about a treatment, so I’ll just keep going."
"Negative," I pressed. "What was negative?"
"Oh, yes," he stood up straight as though a light bulb had gone on. "It was negative, which means it’s not cancerous. That’s probably what he meant. Well, that’s good news." He went back to arranging chairs.
I shook my head at the level of detachment Father Shelley showed that day. Cancer or no cancer. Sickness or health. It was all in God’s hands. His job was to build up the kingdom until God called him from this world.
Let us thank God for Father Shelley, and the countless priests who are like him, more concerned about the salvation of souls than for their own physical condition.
Where do I begin? As a teenager, I did not have a particulary strong connection with any priest but I somewhat longed for one because both of my parents often talked about the great times they had growing up, helping priests and serving in Catholic movements (including the "Columbine Family" as the KofC is often referred to in Mexico).
As a young adult, I got lukewarm -if not cold!- about our Faith but our Lord kept calling me through friends, some of whom went to Mass every day at 7 AM near our university. There, I befriended the Parish priest, who became my spiritual advisor for several years. He is now the Rector (President/Principal?) at the Monterrey (Mexico) seminar after several years working in other parishes. He officiated Mass when my wife and I exchanged marital vows.
Wherever we've gone in our 14 years of marriage, we have been blessed by the local priests, and I am hoping that my children will also feel the same blessings my parents, my wife and I have had...
Thanks for this neat question, Brian!!
Posted by: Miguel Olivas-Lujan | June 12, 2010 at 08:54 PM
My Good Priest was a Fr. John Von Schnellenberg. When I was in grammar school and thinking about becoming a priest, I was able to talk with him. He would take me on drives and we would talk about my vocation and his and it led me to go to the Seminary. I did not become a priest, but his openess and willing to listen and tell his story as well was a great inspiration.
Posted by: Timoth L. Carvalho | June 11, 2010 at 05:35 PM
Father Larry Paolicelli is the best priest I know. He is so solid and pastoral, and has a great love for the Blessed Mother. May all our priests be men of Mary!
Posted by: Maria | June 11, 2010 at 03:47 PM
Someone should gather all these stories and publish a book "The Good Priest Stories".
Posted by: Angela | June 11, 2010 at 03:42 PM
Last year at the age of 31, I "elected" to have surgery to repair my aortic aneurysm. I say elected because technically I could have waited and watched, but the problem with an aneurysm is that the first symptom is often the last.
The night before surgery our good friend Fr. David Toups came to pray with us and hear my confession. I was, as you can imagine, worked up. Even though this surgery is routine for the surgeons -- I heard it likened to a plan taking off and landing -- it wasn't routine for me. At daily Mass, the day before surgery I had broken down. And I was still pretty anxious that night. But God is so good. Fr. Toups, a man of incredibly deep prayer, charity and cheerfulness, heard my confession and gave me the simple, but beautiful penance of saying, "Jesus, I trust in you," three times: before going to bed, when waking up, and just as the mask with anesthesia was placed over me. Then we went inside and he prayed with me and my family and prayed specifically over me. He has special gifts of the Spirit and those two moments -- Confession and his prayers -- gave me such peace. It was truly Christ's peace because it was nothing I could create. I am anxious by nature, but I went to bed and woke up feeling totally at peace. It wasn't a confidence that the surgery would go fine; it was a cosmic confidence in Christ. No matter what happened during the surgery, I was loved and held in the palm of God's hand.
The other story involves a young priest of the Archdiocese of Washington whom I don't know well. His name is Fr. Andrew Royals, and he has had three aortic surgeries himself, the first by the same man who operated on me. Fr. Drew was very helpful in talking to me as I faced this surgery. Post-surgery I was intubated which is bad enough, but then the nurses force you to stay awake so they can work to extubate you. I finished surgery at 5 pm and woke up at 8 pm. My family left sometime shortly after I woke up. At about 10 or 10:30, I saw this figure in black gently sweep into the ICU. It was Fr. Drew. He just sat there next to me and said night prayer and was a presence. It gave me such peace during the most difficult period post-surgery. After extubation at 6 am, things really became better. One of the nurses who was British and I imagine grew up Anglican or Protestant, said, "If I'd had a minister like that growing up, I might still be going to church." Just Fr. Drew's peaceful, gentle presence was enough to spark that and to put me at peace.
The final story is of my friend Fr. Brendan Buckley, O.F.M. Cap., who despite being a pastor of a parish in Boston, flew down to Baltimore and spent parts of two days with me visiting and just being present.
These men are like so many other priests I know, good, holy, selfless, and loving. When people talk about the scandals, I return to these men who have shown me the face of Christ.
Posted by: Conordugan | June 11, 2010 at 03:33 PM