Rev. Robert Ketcham 

You must pray for priests.  It is your obligation; it is a command that comes from Jesus himself (cf. Mt 9:38).  And yet, pray not only for more priests, but, in the spirit of the Year of the Priest, also for the ones that you have, not that we become a certain type of priest, but that we be faithful to the promise we made to the Bishop to pray without ceasing.  Everything else, everything you are looking for and more, will flow from this fidelity. 

You want charitable priests.  Charity overflows from the fulfillment of obligation; the two are inseparable.  You want zealous and generous priests.  Zeal and generosity overflow from the fulfillment of obligation.  You want holy priests.  Pray for us.     

Pity those in the world who have accepted no obligations and have made no promises, for theirs is a life of boredom and absurdity.  However, rejoice with all others in the Church when pressed under the yoke of commitment and fidelity, for in this crucible life becomes for us meaningful and fun.     

You know the passage: There are many people gathered in body around a large table drinking and sharing their minds with one another, but it is Jesus and Mary who gain their hearts.  It has become a most popular scene, the miracle of the Wedding Feastat Cana, where Jesus, after the wine runs out, turns water into wine.    

I am sure there are times for you – as I myself am visited by the same unwelcome hour on occasion – when it seems as though the wine is running out.  The joyful intoxication we experienced while making our promises and commitments fades, leaving us with the dry jar of a fickle and fallen human heart.  Where there once was the wine of passion there is only cracking clay. 

What should we do?  What can we do?  We desire wine, but we cannot produce it of our own volition.  It’s not that the supply was depleted in some unfortunate way; it has been rightly exhausted.  We have not sinned in running out of wine.  On the contrary, our wine is meant for consumption.  And yet, its having been consumed, we desire its replenishment.  We long for this wine of joy to be restored.

There is the voice of Mary: “Do whatever he tells you” (Jn 2:5).  And then the words of her son: “Fill the jars with water” (Jn 2:7).  We hesitate.  It seems ridiculous, really.  What could lessen our likelihood of having wine in the jars again than putting something else in them?  And yet, there is such influence in his voice.  We look again to Mary, feeling unworthy of returning her gaze, who with her eyes repeats her words to us.

She renews our hope, and so we do the unimaginable; we fill the jars with water.  Then, we wait.  Minutes feel like hours as Jesus prays.  And then, “Draw some out now” (Jn 2:8). 

Such joy!  We had no wine, but Jesus has given us wine!  We had only water, but Jesus has turned that water into wine!  We gave him what we had, and he gave us what we needed!  And to think, we almost refused him the water.

What is this water that Jesus asks of us?  It is the fulfillment of our obligations.  Obligations are not useless; they are not arbitrary.  They are the stuff of which holiness is made.  They are the means of sanctification.  Charity and love overflow from our first having fulfilled our obligations.  They are a means, not an end: “Give me what you have, even if you have only water, even if you have only five loaves and two fish, and I will give you what you need.” 

For the faithful this means going to Mass every Sunday, and for the priest it means praying the Breviary every day.  Burdens for them both?  When tired.  Mere obligations?  Admittedly.  Paths to holiness?  Absolutely. 

Heaven is within the grasp of us all, because we all have obligations.  They are like so many bricks on our back that weigh upon us now, in this life, but which can serve to free us.  To grow old with them is to feel crushed under their burden, and to die with them is to have laid no path to Heaven and to be unable to fly under their weight.  But, as we fulfill our obligations we place them, brick by brick, on the ground before us.  They become for us a sure way, and each step gets easier as the load gets lighter. 

May our paths cross one day. 

in Jesus and Mary,
Father Robert