“Behind each priest, there is a demon fighting for his fall. If we have the language to criticize them, we must have twice as much to pray for them.” – St. Teresa of Avila

I was the new kid in fifth grade. My family had just moved to a small Nebraska town, and school was rough. If you’ve ever tried to elbow your way into social circles among kids whose great-grands were born and raised locals, you know it’s tough. My classmates’ tight-knit friendships went back to the womb! I was different—thus bullied relentlessly. It took the entire year for my class to realize their heckling wouldn’t shoo me outside the city limits. So, when they finally accepted me, it was a relief and complete joy.

Father Michael was my pastor then, a steady presence in the backdrop of this drama. On my hardest days, I plopped into the chair opposite his desk and cried. He nodded in understanding and gave advice when I needed it. We had a delightful rapport. Decades after my family moved away, I ran into Father Michael at a different parish. We both beamed with joy, so grateful to see each other again. I thanked him for the hours of pastoral care he gave me as a child and introduced him to my own family.

Father Aiden was a young priest at my parish when I was a teenager, and the parish took to him immediately. On fire with love for Christ and his priesthood, he inspired many of us in the youth group to consider religious life. He helped us see so clearly that this world’s things are passing, and the thrill worth seeking is life with Jesus. I woke happily on Sunday mornings, anticipating the 9 a.m. Mass and what was sure to be another fantastic homily from Father Aiden.

Father Tom was a retired priest who said daily Mass at the parish near my house. His homilies might have meandered a bit as he got on in years but, without fail, his face turned red and his eyes welled with tears during every Consecration. That man’s faith in the Eucharist was contagious, and the pews filled when Father Tom was the celebrant.

Father Dan, Father Ian, Father Scott—I can continue with an endless list of beloved clergy, who through their own personalities, devotion and expressions of faith pointed me directly to Christ. The Lord used them to draw me closer to Himself, and to this day, my faith stands on their shoulders.

The work of priesthood itself, though profoundly good, is dangerous. St. Alphonsus Ligouri said, “The devil tempts one priest more than one hundred seculars because to take away the shepherd scatters the flock.”

If you’ve been blessed to personally know any priest, you know that they’re ordinary men called to an extraordinary mission. From the second they’re ordained, the enemy changes course to tempt them more aggressively. In the ordination Mass, they lay prostrate in entire submission to God, and, in the laying on of hands, they become living sacrifices. “Behold,” the Lord said to His disciples, “I am sending you like sheep among wolves” (Mt. 10:16). When becoming our shepherds, in imitation of the Good Shepherd, each priest is tasked with guiding whole bodies of people; each soul with his or her own challenges, spiritual battles and questions. Not only must he face down his own demons, but also aid us to heaven. Consider how precious each priest is to the Sacred Heart. Jesus loves their brave commitment to imitate Him and aches to shower them with every grace they need. My friends, they need our prayers.

In my kitchen there’s a chalkboard with the word serviam across the center, a Latin word meaning I will serve. Surrounding the word is a list of priests our family has known. Every morning we pray for their spiritual protection and that they become stronger imitations of Christ. If we the laity commit ourselves to prayerfully supporting our priests, there will be a mightier faith among the Church.

Katie Sciba is a national speaker and Catholic Press Award- winning columnist. Katie has been married for 15 years and is blessed with six children.

This article appeared in the October 2024 edition of The Catholic Telegraph Magazine. For your complimentary subscription, click here.