Scottish Catholic Observer

Like many of you, I was saddened to read of the—hopefully temporary—departure of Fr John Bollan from the pages of the Scottish Catholic Observer. I know from the rave reviews from my own parishioners that I wasn’t alone in looking forward to his entertaining and often thought-provoking accounts of the life of a priest in Scotland today. His articles inspired, in equal measure, chuckles of recognition and fresh insights into our shared vocation. I look forward to his return.

In the meantime, I have no intention of attempting to fill his shoes. But precisely because I enjoyed his column so much, when the editor asked me if I’d consider writing the occasional article on what it’s like to be a priest in Scotland today, I was happy to agree.

At a time when there’s so much bad news about the priesthood—abuse, scandals, hypocrisy and falling numbers—I’d like to follow Fr John’s example in speaking up for the vast majority of priests in Scotland: priests who love being priests. Priests who, in spite of their own weakness, are journeying alongside their people on the path to holiness. Priests who, regardless of the difficulties, find joy in sharing the Good News of Jesus with our modern world. Theirs—ours—is the story I’d like to tell in these articles.

I became a priest on June 24, 2016, when I was ordained by Archbishop Leo Cushley for St Andrews & Edinburgh Archdiocese. I spent a very happy 18 months in the Catholic parishes of Falkirk before being assigned as assistant priest at St Mary’s Cathedral, Edinburgh and St Andrew’s parish, Ravelston this summer.

These past two years have been incredible: in many ways harder than I expected, but with literally countless reasons to be very grateful to God for calling me to follow him in this way.

At my first Mass in my home parish, the preacher concluded his excellent homily by quoting the prayer of the 19th century French preacher, Henri-Dominique Lacordaire, titled simply Priest:

To live in the midst of the world without wishing its pleasures;

To be a member of each family, yet belonging to none;

To share all sufferings;

To penetrate all secrets;

To heal all wounds;

To go from men to God and offer him their prayers;

To return from God to men to bring pardon and hope;

To have a heart of fire for charity and a heart of bronze for chastity;

To teach and to pardon, console and bless always:

My God, what a life! And it is yours O Priest of Jesus Christ!

The truth of these words has survived the centuries since they were written. They describe with beautiful accuracy the experience of many priests at the altar and in the confessional; in the school dining hall and by the hospital bed; in the home of the young family, full of children, and in the nursing home with the lonely and forgotten. They offer a timeless reflection of what is most essential to the priestly vocation.

Yet every priest could add to Lacordaire’s litany, drawing from his own priestly life and updating it to our own time. He might reflect that he is called to live out the Mass he celebrates every day, offering himself—blessed and broken—to a world hungry for Jesus. To allow himself, every day, to be challenged, formed and inspired by God’s Word so as to proclaim it to others. To strive for holiness in his own vocation, while equipping the faithful People of God to live out theirs. To wait patiently in the confessional, praying that those who most need God’s forgiveness will have the courage to come. To go to bed at night with the phone beside his bed and the ringer at full volume, so as to be ready to bring the Sacraments to someone’s deathbed.

And the more ordinary things too! To remember the names of the altar-servers, and the cleaners and the ladies who do the flowers. To ‘waste time’ in the playground when there’s a hundred more pressing things to be done in the office. To roll up his sleeves to help mop up a flooded sacristy. To make a cup of tea for the homeless man at the door. To talk to the check-out girl in Tesco’s who would like her little boy Baptised. To respond to e-mails (eventually!), to answer the telephone (‘Mass times are at…’) and to run down the stairs, two at a time, to get to the doorbell, not knowing who might be waiting on the other side.

Lacordaire was absolutely right. What a life! What a wonderful, challenging, fulfilling, tiring, abundantly blessed life of a priest of Jesus Christ! I look forward to sharing it with you.