Why I am still a priest

This baptismal call becomes more personalized as we begin to ask how specifically the Lord wants each of us to live that call

Bishop Edward B. Scharfenberger

A week or so ago I was pleasantly surprised by an email to my diocesan published address in which a student from one of our schools, after a brief introduction, posed the following question: why did you want to become a priest? I was delighted — then as always — to hear that question but, before responding, wanted to consider the best protocol for responding, after consulting with proper school authorities. They then informed me that the class was doing a unit of study on vocations and learning more about the Bishop. The teacher was unaware the student took the initiative but was understandably proud, as are we all. It now gives me an opportunity to respond in this forum not only to the student, but even to others who may have asked the same question. 

I cannot say what draws others to the priesthood but, speaking for myself, it started with a sense of the value and importance of who priests are, what they do, and a desire to be a part of that. From the time I was in second grade, I had wanted to be an altar server, to learn the Latin responses and especially to be closer to the Lord at Mass. It was not at once that I thought it might be Jesus calling me — which is really what goes on with any vocation — but it was my curiosity and desire to learn more that I thought was leading me. I did also have an idea of becoming an airline pilot but that gradually faded as I learned more about how priests also “lift” people up to ever higher places than planes fly. In fact, those “places” are not so much “up there” as in the depths of the human heart where, I have come to learn, God dwells, and life’s greatest adventures are enjoyed.

Every baptized person is, in the most fundamental sense, a priest! This is not something new since Vatican II or any recent time. The baptismal priesthood goes right back to the Great Commission (Mt 28:16-20) where Jesus sends all his disciples out into the world to announce the “Good News,” the Gospel of God’s love and forgiveness and what Jesus will do for all who trust him as our Lord and Savior. All of us are, in some way, charged to be “Good News” in a broken world needing so much healing and reconciliation. 

This baptismal call becomes more personalized as we begin to ask how specifically the Lord wants each of us to live that call.me, it began to gel into a sense that I was being singled out for the sacramental ministry of ordained clergy, that is, a kind of being set apart for a permanent life choice. It was not so much about taking a “step up,” but more of a step down, a very fundamental call to service to the Body of Christ, the Church, as a life commitment. As I was to learn, it all starts with diaconate (from the Greek, diakonia, which means service), as Jesus showed his Apostles, by way of example, at the Last Supper, when he himself bent down to wash their feet (Jn 13:1-17).

I often declare, “I am still a deacon!” And I am still a priest as well, even though I am also a bishop. All three stages of Holy Orders are rooted in service or diakonia. Of course, I am still a priest in another sense. “You are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek” (Heb 7:17), by which is meant that a priest does not inherit priesthood or get his power to sanctify by his own merits or the rituals he performs, but the timeless sacrifice of Jesus Christ who, in turn, sanctifies the priest and others through his participation in the one priesthood of Christ. 

On a personal level, however, another reason I am “still” a priest is because in it I find happiness and fulfillment, in what is primarily a ministry of prayer and presence. Yes, there are things that priests “do” and specific rites they must deliver, but what it all boils down to is prayerful presence. A priest does not just “read” Mass but celebrates it with immense joy and reverence. “Lord I am not worthy” (Mt 8:8) sums up well how I feel about the gift of my priesthood. I often find myself closing my eyes during Mass as I pray, lifting the congregation up to the cross around which we gather, represented by an altar which is a table on which a sacrifice takes place. Sacrifice means “making holy” or consecrating. What we do at Mass is what we are all called to do with our lives, allowing God to make of us instruments of Christ’s peace. It’s all about bringing others to the presence of Jesus.

Finally, however, it is a matter of love. The ways of loving can never be exhausted. As married life can show the depth of love, priestly life with its promise of celibacy can show the breadth of love. Not everyone who is married either has children generated by and through the marital relationship. Yet, like all Trinitarian relationships — that is, love relationships modeling on the Most Blessed Trinity — it is always about more than just two. I often think that preaching a homily is more than a lecture I deliver to a class. We are all listening to what the Holy Spirit seeks to communicate, not only what the preacher says, but what the people hear — and what God does in between. 

I pray for people all the time, yes, but it is not really me praying. When we pray we unite with Jesus, the eternal Pray-er, who is lifting us up to the Father, in the Holy Spirit, as we profess through the Sign of the Cross. It is this “lifting up” that, it seems to me, describes the essence of all priesthood. And “lifting up” means you have to go down and go deep. That is why, above all, the priest must enter into the depths of human suffering, to meet people where they are at their lowest, not only in material poverty but, as Mother Teresa would say, the spiritual poverty of loneliness and abandonment, with the poorest of the poor.

We just celebrated the Baptism of the Lord. Why did Jesus go into the water that symbolizes drowning, dying to sin, when he himself was sinless? In order to lift us up to the glorious heights of eternal life, he had to reach down as low as we have gone to pick us up and embrace us in his strong and loving arms. God does not wish to be seen as “far off” but near to our heart, where the ache and tears are felt, touching us at the core, freeing us from the fear of being lost. The parable of the lost sheep comes to mind (cf. Luke 15) in fact. As long as that wandering sheep remains out there, a priest must still be a priest.