Saying goodbye to our favorite priest

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Scott Warden (new)I’ve written about this before, but I didn’t grow up Catholic. I was baptized in the Faith, but after my parents’ divorce, we kids bounced around a little bit, as far as religion went. I don’t remember receiving a first Communion of any sort (at least until I converted), and when I was in middle school, I was confirmed Lutheran, but it clearly didn’t stick.

I wasn’t at all acquainted with the Catholic Church until I started dating the woman who would become my wife. She was raised Catholic — really Catholic. Not only did she never miss a Sunday Mass, she actually liked going.

While we were dating, I went to Mass fairly regularly with her, and there were things I understood and things I didn’t. One thing that was foreign to me was the high regard in which she held the clergy. Our Lutheran pastor was a close friend of the family, and while she preached on Sundays, the rest of the week she seemed like any other of my friends’ moms. But for my wife, it seemed like there was an unusually high level of respect. Frankly, I didn’t understand the reverence.

It wasn’t until years later that I finally understood the special role the priest can play in the life of the parish.

Father Sullivan
Father Sullivan

Father William Patrick Sullivan was the first priest I got to know on a personal level. He became our parish’s pastor — our family’s pastor — eight years ago. Before he was assigned to St. John the Baptist in New Haven, Indiana, I was hoping — many parishioners, I think, were hoping — that the church would finally get a young priest to come in and bring some sorely needed enthusiasm to the parish. Instead, we got Father Bill, who was not at all young, nor did he seem particularly enthusiastic.

He seemed like a gruff old Irishman — grouchy, even. But over those first few months, he’d stop us in the back of church after Mass, and we’d chat awhile. He’d give high-fives to the kids on the way out; most weekends, he’d stop what he was doing and challenge the boys to thumb-wrestling contests, and he always managed to lose more times than he’d win. One Saturday night after Mass, when he was still new and we were still a little suspicious, he asked if we had dinner plans; we didn’t, and he invited us all out for pizza — “my treat,” he said. It was Father Bill’s first act of generosity toward our family, but it was far from the last. I’d be happy to write about the others, but he never wanted credit for his good deeds. 

Through the years, we grew closer. My wife taught at the parish school. I served with him on the school board. He treats our oldest like the granddaughter he never had, and he could always count on our sons to be servers on Saturday nights. He baptized our youngest three children. We laughed together more times than I can count. 

Over the years, the tough exterior faded, and we only saw an easy smile and a heart of gold. As Pope Francis urges priests to be, Father Bill is “a shepherd with the smell of the sheep.” He loves his flock, and his flock loves him.

A few weekends ago, Father Bill celebrated his last Mass at St. John’s. He’s been ready to retire for a while — his knees have betrayed him, and his feet aren’t much better. Hundreds came to a reception in the school cafeteria to say their goodbyes. After a long line of well-wishers subsided, we sat and chatted with him at a table in the back. I asked him how many parishes he’d been assigned to in his nearly five decades as a priest. He rattled them off quickly, and I counted seven or eight.

“And the last was your favorite,” I joked. “They were all my favorite,” he said, laughing his big Irish laugh.

While he might not have a favorite parish, he’ll always be our favorite priest. God bless you in your retirement, Father Bill. 

Scott Warden is managing editor of Our Sunday Visitor.