Within the Church, we are still celebrating “The Year for Priests”. On this most important subject, we have had interesting discussions – within our Pastoral Council – on the best way to help parishioners be more aware of their own vocation, that of the ‘laity’ in the Church, on the vocation of the ‘Royal Priesthood’, and also concerning the vocations of an ordained priest and a person in religious life. Priests and those in religious life are, themselves, essentially part of the ‘Family of the Church’, and so we cannot really grasp the ‘calling’ to become a priest or a religious, without understanding our own ‘calling’ as ‘baptised people’ within the Church – the underlying, basic vocation. Fundamentally, our ideas have turned on the question of how best to help our parishioners, and to do that we must first listen to them. Hence we propose to air two questions along the following lines:               

“What do you expect, or hope for, from your priests?”

“Why do you come to Church?”

Following on from parishioners’ answers, we will discuss and plan what to do next, and this has caused me to ask of myself: “If I were a lay person, what would I expect, or hope for, from a priest?”

Over the years, I have known many priests. I suppose this experience began within my own family, when priests would come and join us for meals: my parents very much enjoyed asking priests to come to us for meals. From my earliest recollections to my years as teen-ager, my dad was in the army and so the majority of these visiting priests were Catholic army chaplains, and I still remember, as a young boy, how much I enjoyed their company. In those days, it would have been difficult for me to have answered the two questions posed above, but certainly, I used to love their good humour, their stories and their jokes – sometimes it seemed like never-ending jokes – all of which left me with a good feeling towards priests.

“What do you expect, or hope for, from your priests?”

“Why do you come to Church?”

Returning to the questions – from an adult, lay person’s point of view, and among other things – I would like my priest to be reliable: to be a person I could trust, to help me, when I needed help: a person who knew God, and so could help me to know God.  In my view, he must, preferably, be someone with a good ‘friendly feel’ about him – somebody I could talk to, and somebody of whom I could never be afraid.   Underlying all of this, I suppose, there should be that certain ‘love’ – generated out of kindliness, integrity and truth.  But, is this reaching for perfection?  I do not think so!  

In my adult life, as priest and monk, I have also come to know many priests. Here, I choose just three from their number –  a small selection from so many – and as I reflect on them and their impact on me, I wonder what kind of challenges and opportunities they faced in their lives as they made their “holy journey to God?” In the context of today’s ‘bad press’ concerning ordained Catholic priests, maybe all of us might ponder in our hearts, and reflect, whilst praying, I hope, for all priests; within the body of the Church, ordained priests are essential – a vital part of our Catholic Communion of Faith.

But, to return to my selected ‘fathers’, there was one diocesan priest, in a previous diocese, who used to come to deanery meetings; he was an ordinary man from Manchester – nothing special about him –but he was known to be very popular in his parish. One day, the priests were talking – as they do – and he said something rather strange, for a seemingly contented man. He expressed, frankly, how much he disliked the people, the place where he was and the Parish Priest: all he wanted, was to return to Manchester. This ‘outburst’ appeared so odd, because he was such a ‘good’ priest and so popular with the people.  At this, I asked him why he thought he was so popular. In reply, he said: “Because I do whatever they want me to do!”  – a reply that has remained with me down the years.  On the whole, it strikes me as being a wise way to act. After all, in behaving that way, he was not ‘pushing his ideas’, his own ego, to the exclusion of other peoples’ wants and needs; instead, he was serving the people, and as long as they were not making demands that went against – contradicted – faith or morals, then isn’t that a pretty fair way to behave?

The first parish in which I served was St. Mary’s, Warrington, a town centre parish, with an old-fashioned Edwardian-type presbytery and, I remember, in each room, there was a gas fire that one had to light with a match. I had come straight out from the monastery, where life was pretty austere; heating in the monastery rooms had come from large 9″ water pipes  – invariably lukewarm and not subject to one’s control – so the gas fire in my Warrington room was a great luxury. But, to make things even more ‘wonderful’, the Parish Priest, Fr. Gabriel Gilbey, one of my fellow monks I had never ‘really’ met before, and with all the courtesy of the great man that he was, led me outside into the yard at the rear, where he showed me the garages and dangled a set of car keys in front of my eyes. Handing them to me, he said: “That little Renault is for you to use: just be careful as it has a gear stick you push in, and out, at the side of the steering wheel, but you should have no difficulty”. That was January, 1973, and there I was, a young monk, ordained just 18 months, and with a car to drive – something quite impossible within the monastery – and a huge room with its own gas fire, making everything feel so homely. Cars were – still are! – essential to do our work, as we were chaplains to the Warrington Borough General, a hospital to which we were called out, at any hour, of the day or night – a journey of some 10 minutes to drive there. What I loved about Fr. Gabriel was the way he placed his trust in me – a young and very inexperienced monk, ordained only 18 months previously, and completely un-trained in parish life. I soon got to love that parish – its Parish Priest – and trust and feelings of ‘love’ were very quickly to become mutual. He died over 20 years ago and is one of the few monks buried in Warrington – among the people he loved – and for whom he spent his life, as best he could.

The third of my chosen three, was another man who died only in the last 12 months.  He was Fr. Dan Cadogan, a diocesan priest and an Irishman, born and bred on Clear Island, County Cork. He was Parish Priest of Euxton, St. Mary’s, and though I never worked with him, we did, indeed, belong to the same Deanery. He, too, I found to be such a ‘good’ man – a person I could not only trust, and admire for his evident prayerful, priestly life, his innocence and charm – but also because of his real interest in me.  He trusted me as a fellow priest – young it is true  – and again not very experienced.

The synthesis of the effect these three priests had on me, as a fellow priest, leads me to appreciate the gift of “Godliness, loving care and good humour” in my fellow priests. …. And prayers for priests will never go amiss!

“What do you expect, or hope for, from your priests?”

“Why do you come to Church?”

Having digressed a little, I now return to the questions posed and the answers that the people will give, we hope, concerning these very important matters.  I think it will be good – essential , unless I am widely mistaken – to listen to what our lay people think, and, at the same time, we hope it will be helpful to our Parish Pastoral Council!   We wait, in eager anticipation, your considered views.