Reflections on 37 Years as a Priest
June 2, 2002

Last Wednesday I celebrated the thirty-seventh anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. In the evening I met with six of the seven members of my class still active as priests in the Archdiocese of Milwaukee. The food and fellowship was great. But I cannot say we had a great time because the same topics came to the fore all evening. As I drove home I reflected on what had happened to us over these years.

To recap for you, seventeen of us were ordained for service to the Archdiocese of Milwaukee that sunny, cool Saturday, May 29, 1965. I can remember vaguely some of the conversations the week before ordination. We wanted to save the world for Jesus. We promised each other we would work to put our faith into the market place, especially in the burgeoning civil rights movement at the time. We wanted to put the Vatican II reforms into place as soon as possible. We entered the daily life of the church with years of study behind us and felt well prepared. (An interesting sidelight: four of us at dinner had been together since freshman year of high school. We had been a class of around 116 back in 1953.)

While eating we shared what we knew about the eleven not with us for our dinner. Four of these would be or still are active. The one still active who could not be with us is chaplain at Methodist Hospital at Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. One retired early because of severe illness. Another moved to another diocese and is now retired. One is deceased, a wonderful man who contracted severe diabetes, went blind, and who died while working as a hospital chaplain.

That leaves eight who left the priesthood. After marrying, one became an Episcopalian priest. The rest either married or remain single and work in other areas of life. And yes, one of these was caught up in the abuse scandal.

Looking back at the ministries of the seven of us still around, I am proud of this little group. The chaplain at Mayo’s enjoys a wonderful reputation, as I hear from my brother-in-law. The rest of us here presently are pastors, mostly of rather large parishes. Looking back we did many things. Two of us have been deans. One of us was rector of the seminary for many years after spending time in Washington, D.C., working for the bishops’ conference. One was director of the Family Life Office for the Archdiocese and later was head of the placement board for priests. I worked in Rome. Yes, we did make a difference. I believe we can continue to do so!

On my drive home, knowing all these great things about us, I also felt depressed. We talked about how each of us received tremendous affirmation from the people in our parishes. On the local level we felt fine. I suspect we are indicative of the trend that has become apparent in recent months: for the most part, people love and respect their local pastors but no longer have the same respect for those in higher places. I admit that I was close to tears at the Masses last weekend when I shared with you my take on all that happened with Archbishop Weakland and with your responses as a group and individually. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

But we, for the life of us, could not solve what we saw as the lack of leadership in the Church. We wondered how things had gotten so far out of hand that Church authorities, especially on the east coast, did not learn from the experience of other dioceses fifteen years ago in dealing with sexual abusers in the clergy. We wondered why hush money was spent instead of facing the issue squarely and dealing with past relationships. Stories were shared about other priests that put on end what little hair I have left. We wondered why the press is having a field day and we don’t defend ourselves for fear of appearing defensive.

I, for one, detest this situation. I know I am not alone. When I went to work in Rome fifteen years ago this summer I was told that the two virtues I needed above all others were courage and patience. I used those in dealing with the upper echelons of the hierarchy to great effect. I discovered that patience enabled me to stick to my guns through thick and through thin. I also found that if I kept quiet and wimpy nothing happened. So I took some of that courage and spoke up. I discovered that courage brought respect in response.

I want to find someone in the Catholic Church today who loves the Church wholeheartedly (in the old days we would say a “Churchman”) and who is a person of courage and patience. Such a person would have to take the bull by the horns and challenge the status quo, the good ole’ boys approach, the usual way of doing things. Such a person cannot be a “yes” man worried about keeping his job or position. Such a person must realize that rank or position held is not the same as leadership.

There are all kinds of people with personal agendas waiting to take the place of leadership. This must not be allowed to happen. As one of my classmates said, the Holy Spirit must be allowed to lead us. We should not impose our shortsighted wills and desires on what God wants of His Church. The holiness of the Church depends on Jesus, as does the ultimate direction in which we should move. I. for one, want to follow Him—just as I promised thirty-seven years ago. At least nothing has changed on that score!

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