Fr. Frank Majka, SJ – The Bridge

Recollection

Ordination and After: A 25th Anniversary Reflection
(This was written in 1999, but 11 years later, I still think the same.)

Twenty-five years ago this March (though March was an unusual time for priesthood ordinations, things in the ‘70’s admitted some slippage) I found myself sitting in the last pew of St. Mary’s Cathedral in San Francisco, feeling nervous and overwhelmed in that massive church. I had put on my alb and would go downstairs in a moment to put on for the last time the deacon’s stole I had received just four months before, when I and my classmates had been made deacons. I said a prayer that this ordination wouldn’t be like that one, which had taken place in the Oakland Cathedral during a nighttime rainstorm so fierce that it made it necessary to close all the windows and doors. This sealing up of the church had cut off almost all air circulation, making me feel so faint that I had to leave the sanctuary just as the bishop was calling for our promise of celibacy. (Talk about poor timing!) Fortunately, thanks to some smelling salts and a glass of water, I got back to the altar, made up the missed promise, and was ordained a deacon.

Now, as I sat in the last pew at St. Mary’s, I felt a bit of that same light-headedness but was determined that, come hell or high water, this morning I was not going to walk off the altar. This, after all, was what I’d been preparing for the last 11 years of my life. So I went downstairs, finished vesting, and then took my place in the procession assembling outside in the bright sunshine. In a few minutes the line began to enter the cathedral from the back, and I walked in with my Jesuit classmates, my parents on either side. I didn’t faint or leave the altar. In fact, I relished the whole experience, every minute of it: not only the richness of the ceremony but especially looking at the faces of my mother and father, aunts, uncles, cousins, former students, and friends and seeing so much love and pride coming my way. Two hours later it was over and I walked out a priest.

But, of course, “it” wasn’t over at all; “it” (my life as a priest) was just beginning. Twenty-five years later, I went back to St. Mary’s Cathedral in March, during Marquette’s spring break. I purposely wanted to spend a few days in San Francisco because I wanted to go back to visit that church and revisit those memories. I was amazed. They were all there — all the people who’d been there then, including those who have died! They were not literally there, of course, but really they were. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though, not if the doctrine of the communion of saints means anything. They were there to remember and celebrate, too.

What have these twenty-five years of being a priest taught me? I’ve had lots of experiences, but don’t have the time I’d need to tell them all. I can say, though, that twenty-five years of priesthood have taught me that people (myself included) are more fragile and more resilient than I had suspected. I have also learned that theology is important, but kindness is more important. I have come to believe that God is much less serious than I had thought and pays far less attention to failings than I might. I have learned that I am more connected to the whole human family than I know how to express or live out. I have learned that Jesus is the only priest who can spell it with a capital “P” and that my priesthood is in apprenticeship to his, not in place of it. Most important of all, I’ve learned that even though I’m not holy enough or compassionate enough or courageous enough, I can still be a priest — as long as I remember where it all comes from (God) and who it’s all for (the people). Does being a priest teach one more than that? No doubt it does, but that’s what I’ve learned in twenty-five years; I’m sure I’ll know more after the next twenty-five. For now, though, this is enough to know and more than enough to be grateful for.