by Dan Masterton
Have you ever been to a Catholic wedding where it’s all too obvious that the celebrant doesn’t really know the couple? Often, the giveaway is the one-size-fits-all homily, where the Good News is preached, sure, but the pastorally sound thing of connecting explicitly to the couple is flimsy, if attempted at all.
Sure, it’s tempting to blame the priest. Did he even try to get to know them? Does he care about the couple? Is he burnt out and phoning it in? Maybe some of that is true; maybe he’s having an off day; maybe he was a last minute substitute celebrant.
But, have you ever thought — does the couple know the celebrant? Did they try to get to know him? Do they care about him? Are they lukewarm about the Sacrament or about their faith, and phoning it in?
I say this not to take sides but to reframe an oft-lobbed criticism. Have you tried to get to know a priest, religious sister, religious brother, or deacon?
Swings and Misses
Adult parish life is tricky, man.
At my first big boy parish, I tried volunteering to be a Eucharistic Minister and had a rough experience. The folks who did it were insular, cold, and weirdly mistrusting, or at least seemed that way to a 23-year-old me. (They wore albs, processed in with the priest, and sat together in the front pews; when I asked to sit with my girlfriend and then put on a robe and join them at the altar later in Mass, they didn’t want to let me.) And the way they and the rolled-in-two-minutes-before-Mass-and-threw-on-the-vestments pastor conversed in the sacristy was alienating to me. I realized this just as I had decided I was moving away soon, so I just let it slide.
At my second parish, my then-girlfriend and I belonged to an enormous city parish. The church was always packed, and we had a handful or more different priests rotating through as weekend celebrants all the time. In short, I didn’t try to get to know these priests, but I always appreciated that our pre-Mass announcements reintroduced to the celebrant and his ministry placements each time he celebrated Mass!
At my fourth parish, our elderly pastor rarely said more than two words, even when he was glad-handing before or after Mass. Our associate pastor was an energetic, charismatic fellow — nice enough but the kind of fellow who started each conversation with you as if you were meeting for a first time. We connected through the parish council on an idea for a parents-and-kids group, but after his initial word of support, I never heard back on anything again.
This is all to say that even when you take a step toward them, it doesn’t always work out to be besties with priests, for various reasons. But you might wonder — why do I expect that in any way at all?
Home Runs
For one, I grew up in a parish that spoiled me. Our long-serving pastor had essentially been left in place extra-long so that he could take newly-ordained priests under his wing, mentor them, and send them off to become pastors. Additionally, my mom was a second-grade teacher in our parish school, so between the pastor’s being her boss and her preparing half the parish for First Communion, I always felt like I had a strong sense of our priests.
Even more, though, I have had the privilege of being close with Viatorian brothers and priests. The Clerics of St. Viatorare a religious congregation that founded and still run St. Viator High School, my alma mater. Together with lay women and men associates, we strive to walk closely with youth and people who go underserved — I say “we” because I will be one of them after my commitment as a lay associate this fall.
In high school, some of them were my teachers, campus ministers, Sacramental celebrants, and service companions. I think what cemented our connection was the way they very unpretentiously made space for young people to lead and be heard. In high school, I was constantly invited to opportunities that, even now, still seem like major things for a teen, from editing a priest’s book of Gospel reflections to directing a one-day freshmen retreat.
Young people often describe our men as “serious yet relatable.” They set an example of being committed to a life of faith, rich in prayer and service, while remaining “normal” guys who aren’t much different from your other friends. For example, my friend Br. John and I have served side by side at a men’s shelter as well as gone to a concert, a live music bar, and plenty of breweries.
I think this healthy connection with the Viatorians is a big part of why my faith is so steady and strong. It’s a natural part of my life in a way that is neither repressed nor overwrought. It’s organically a part of life as a whole. (And honestly, it’s part of why, while I respect and revere the Holy Cross men I’ve known from Notre Dame, from Fr. Jim to Fr. Peter to my classmates, I didn’t latch on to them quite so strongly!)
The Next Wave
I now work part-time with the Viatorians in a small pastoral and clerical role that they flexibly allow me to sculpt around primarily being a stay-at-home parent. One time, when I referred to Br. John, who was then my supervisor, too, my then 4-year-old daughter, Lucy said, “Do you mean brother like how Uncle Tim and Uncle Mike are your brothers?”
Here’s a recent episode of the podcast I produce where John and I discuss his nearly 20 years of religious life as a brother and his formation for priesthood. He’ll be ordained a priest June 8. We mostly behaved ourselves for this recording, and we probably could’ve made a director’s cut for our Patreon subscribers.
It kind of stopped me in my tracks. My instinctive answer? “Yeah… pretty much, buddy.” I briefly explained that he promised to live his life as a model of faith to everyone, in a way trying to be a good sibling or “brother” to everyone. But she wasn’t wrong! And I think it’s largely because she had been around me with the Viatorian guys, she had heard me talk about them and about our work, and she had developed an initial sense of what religious life maybe-kind-of-sort-of is.
In my seven-plus years as a parent, I’ve enjoyed the small but natural ways these positive relationships have suffused into our family life. Once or twice a year, I have a cookout at the house for my Viatorian friends, and priests and brothers are gathered around the same table as my kids. I bring my family to Viatorian Community events, like our Holy Thursday liturgy and dinner. And then there’s the wild card days, like when Br. John brings his table saw over so that he and I can work with my friend to put new baseboards in our bedrooms.
So What?
I often think about how our faith isn’t just meant to be a balm or crutch when things go sideways; in reality, our faith can feel insufficient if we only turn to it in crisis. I value — and try to model — a faith that is steady, that lives everyday, that animates most everything, during ups and downs and, most of all, everything in between
I think incorporating these relationships into one’s broader social life is a big boost to that suffusive, sustainable, solid-borne faith. So, if you didn’t go to Catholic school or you didn’t like Catholic school or you don’t have an in with a religious community of men or women or you have never connected with a priest or religious… where do you start?
Do you have any friends with priest/religious friends? Could you crash a meal or coffee with them?
Do you have any old teachers or youth/campus ministers who you liked? It’s almost a slam dunk that they’d be delightedto hear from you if you reached out.
If not — and this might seem like a wild one — invite your pastor over for dinner.
It might seem crazy, but… I did it once! At our third parish, I wanted to get to know our pastor, and he encouraged us to reach out to introduce ourselves so he wasn’t missing anyone. So I did! And he responded! And we planned a dinner at our place! And we made manicotti! And he brought wine! And he played with our 1-year-old, and she spit up on his shoes! It was lovely. And the subsequent, although often brief, interactions we had every time after felt much less superficial and feigned, especially for an introverted couple like Katherine and me.
It’s a neat thing to give a shot. It’s good for you and your faith life. It’s good for the heart and pastoral sense of a priest, sister, brother, or deacon.
And maybe, if you’re lucky, your new priest-friend will outlive you and preach a non-generic homily at your memorial Mass!
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