From "For" to "With"

On Saturday morning June 8, 1985, I sat for ten quiet minutes in the airy vastness of San Francisco’s St. Mary’s Cathedral just before I was ordained a priest. I tried to compose myself for what was to come, whatever that might be. Looking out over a sea of faces, I found myself praying for them, praying for all the people there. I thought “Not a bad way to start.” That’s part of priest’s job after all, praying for people, leading them in prayer too. 

Now, precisely forty years later, this Pentecost weekend, I realize that my understanding has shifted ever so slightly. Not just praying for you, but with you. 

Like it or not, over the forty years I’ve become an elder in our community. That’s presbyter, the original Greek word for priest, means: an elder. I’ve been reflecting this past week on what I’ve learned over the long biblical arc of forty years. I’ve found a crucial learning in the simple shift from “for” to “with.”

That day so long ago, Archbishop John Quinn (may he rest in peace) imposed his hands on our heads, invoked the Holy Spirit over us, anointed our hands and presented us with chalice and paten saying, “Receive from the people of God the gifts to be offered at his altar. Know what you are doing and imitate the mystery that you celebrate. Model your life on the mystery of the Lord’s cross.” What he didn’t tell us is that the deepest mystery is that the Lord’s cross is your cross and my cross, the one I’m privileged, as well as burdened, to carry with you, not for you. 

At Pentecost, at Baptism, Confirmation, and Ordination, we believe that seven gifts of the Holy Spirit are offered and bestowed. Fear of the Lord, better defined as awe, has never been hard for me: staring into the starry night (creation’s or Van Gogh’s), listening to Bach or the wind in the trees, looking out through and past the chalice and the host at all of you Sunday after Sunday opens me up again and again to the greatness of God’s mercy and compassion. A little wisdom, some understanding and even a bit of piety have ripened in my heart over these years. I’ve learned that my best homilies are the words I need to say aloud to myself, and I let you listen in. Hard knowledge of human frailty—the mystery of the Cross— acquired in the confessional and at deathbeds and through my own personal struggles and prayer has grown and become, at least occasionally, good counsel to bolster the wavering and console the desperate. The gift I continue to pray for most of all is fortitude, strength for the journey ahead, courage to keep believing, keep hoping, keep loving. 

“Receive from the people the God the gifts to be offered at his altar.” I have, over and again, received untold gifts from you, my parishioners, from my students and colleagues, from my family and friends, and especially from my community of Jesuit brothers. Thank you all for allowing me to pray not just for you, but with you. And thank you for sharing with me at the Table of Grace.