Happy Fourteenth Sunday! And a hearty welcome to our new parochial
vicar, Fr. Christian Salata! You may remember his name first echoing off
these walls over three months ago during Lent, when I announced his
future arrival. And now, with great joy, we finally have him—safe and
sound, settled into the rectory, church keys in hand, and even with his
own spot in the garage. How about that?

Fr. Christian and I know each other mainly from his summer seminarian
assignment several years ago at St. John the Evangelist in Jackson, where
I used to live. The man is an all-star, and I want you to know how truly
blessed I believe we are that our Bishop chose St. Robert and Good
Shepherd for Fr. Christian’s first priestly assignment.

I know you’ll welcome him as warmly as you did me and Fr. Ginu. Thank
you in advance for praying for this man of faith as he begins his first year
of priesthood.

I remember my first year well! It was hectic, eye-opening, tiring, filled
with lessons and grace—and wonderful overall. When I came around the
first lap and finally had time to reflect, a few clear “morals to the story”
rose to the top. I’d like to share two of them that brought me real help
and healing.

Lesson number one—and this isn’t a glamorous life lesson, but it is
essential—was simply: “Learn to survive.”

I don’t think I fully appreciated just how much my life would change in
my first year as a priest. I mean, how could I? You just don’t know what
you don’t know until you go through it.

What happened in my soul at ordination was an eternal change in
identity. I wasn’t a father—and then suddenly, I was a priest forever. But
psychologically, emotionally, spiritually… that reality didn’t catch up with
me right away. I had to grow into it, figuring things out as they hit me in
the face.

Heck, I’m still learning how to be a priest—how to be a better father,
teacher, and shepherd. I don’t have all the answers. But that first year
was a crash course in the grace of survival.

In other words, learning how to live with myself in peace when
everything changes. Learning that growth is the fruit of patience.
Learning how much there is to gain by standing still and waiting—letting
God mold and shape me at the standard pace of grace, which is about
one day at a time.

Lesson number two was: “Pray more, do less.”

This one was huge. To be honest, I was exhausted after my first year in
ministry, and I remember thinking I wouldn’t be alive in 25 years if I kept
going at that pace. God reminded me that the most important work I
would ever do as a priest would be simply to sit with Him in prayer.
I confront this lesson almost daily—it’s naturally difficult for me to slow
down and be still for any length of time. God exercises all kinds of
patience with me in this area of my life—that is for sure. But we have a
strong and gentle God.

Praying—more than a flurry of activity—teaches us the power of humbly
entrusting our needs and worries, our praise and thanksgiving, to Him.
Prayer places us on God’s timeline, for whom a day is like a thousand
years, and a thousand years like a day (2 Pt 3:8).

And it keeps us focused on the most important goal: that our names be written in heaven.

Fr. Brian