The Prayer of a Priest

Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper

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When I was stationed at St. Stephen’s in Streator, there was a fellow in the parish whom I guess you’d describe as the “macho type.” I first met him in the hospital. I had stopped at his room for a visit and to bring the Sacraments.

“Oh, no, Father,” he said. “I can’t take communion without going to confession, and I won’t go to confession because I did some bad stuff that I’m not sorry for.”

I tried to tell him about the mercy of God, but he insisted that whatever it was that he did, he would do again—so he didn’t feel he could confess.

Since then, I saw this man a number of times, and it almost became a little ritual between us: I’d try to cajole him into confession, and he’d smile and shake his head “no.”

Until the last time.

I don’t know what changed his mind, but he finally agreed. I whispered a little prayer of thanksgiving as I quickly slipped my purple stole around my neck before he could back down.

When his confession was over—and it was a beautiful, holy confession—I said, “I’m going to give you holy communion now.” He nodded solemnly.

I placed Our Lord on his tongue, and this macho fellow started to sob quietly, without the least embarrassment. The tears flowed down his face from both eyes as he sat on his hospital bed. It was one of the most moving communions I have ever witnessed. He closed his eyes to enjoy Christ’s presence, and I slipped out of the room quietly, leaving the two of them—human and divine—to share this very graced moment.

As an ordained priest, I am incredibly blessed to see the amazing and varied and frequent ways that God Almighty reaches into the lives of his people—usually when they least expect it. No matter how much you think you have insulated yourself or wrapped yourself in sin, God’s love can penetrate to the heart faster than the most powerful laser beam. He can leave the toughest atheist quivering and overflowing with faithful love. Yes, if and when God comes to call on you, you’ll be forever changed.

On this very holy night, we once again memorialize the Lord’s Last Supper. This is the night that Jesus Christ instituted the Holy Eucharist. This is the night that Our Savior ordained the first bishops of the Church and established the Holy Priesthood.

One the apostles sitting around the Passover table in the upper room that night ordained another bishop… and he ordained his successor… and that one in turn ordained another… and so on, down the line, through the centuries, in an unbroken line to Bishop Daniel R. Jenky, our own shepherd. And his predecessor, John Myers, imposed his hands and called down the same Holy Spirit on me ten years ago, marking my soul with an indelible character making me forever an alter Christus, another Christ, and entrusting to me the supernatural power to forgive sins, to heal the sick, to turn bread and wine into Christ’s Body and Blood, and in general to be a go-between between God and man. Yes, I still get goose bumps when I consider the reality of the gift I have been given—a gift that is partially for me, but much more for you.

God wants only one thing. He wants you to be his. But since human beings have free choice, it’s up to us to decide whether we’re willing to accept God’s offer for salvation.

We priests are charged with planting the seeds to make this happen. Sometimes we botch things up, because we’re human and sinful, too. I shudder to think that when my earthly days are over I will have to stand before God and give an accounting for the souls I may have driven away through my own sinfulness.

But every day, my brother priests and I weep for those we are aching to reach, but we cannot. We pray and we sacrifice, usually too poorly, for so many who have pushed God away: the parents who ignore their kids or let them be filled with all the backward values of the world… those who are furious with God because of some tragedy or loss in their lives… people who are trapped in a full-Nelson headlock of sin or despair or addiction… folks so wrapped up in themselves and their own wants and needs and cravings that they are blind to the damage they are inflicting upon themselves.

When Jesus celebrated the Last Supper two thousand years ago, he pictured you—and he also pictured me, the priest he chose to establish for these days in one small fold of his Church. Yes, this was his vision from all eternity, or else it would not have come to be!

In my various priestly assignments, I’ve found that most of the time, the flock is wonderful to us priests, and we feel blessed to be so esteemed. The gospels show us that most of the time, the people were good to Jesus, too.

But then there are the times that we are reviled. Sometimes, people who are angry or upset about something attack us, condemn us, accuse us of evil, privately and publicly. Other parishioners complain and speak ill of us for things we have done or failed to do or have done badly.

Well, that kind of thing happened to Jesus, too—although he was totally innocent, of course. He showed his love the best way he could, but it obviously wasn’t good enough in some people’s minds. The events of tomorrow—Good Friday—prove that. But Our Lord knew that he would take the sin and evil that put him on the cross and turn it into even greater love—the love of resurrection and salvation.

Likewise, your priests try mightily to take their own sufferings at the hands of the flock and join them with Christ’s own on the sacred cross. This makes the love purer, sweeter and more efficacious.

Your priests, established this very night by Jesus, are priests forever—just for you. Whether you treat us royally or like criminals, it doesn’t change our mission to love you and do our part to guide you to salvation. Praise God for that.

And when the journey gets rough and lonely, God never fails to offer a special consolation—like a chance to meet the macho fellow with the hard heart who finally accepted God’s love and melted in tears at communion. Occasions like that help us priests remember, “Yes, my Jesus, that’s why I became a priest.”

And we keep praying, if only the next time this happens it could be you…