I am tasked with sharing a little bit about myself and some thoughts on priestly formation at St. Mary’s Seminary. By way of personal narrative and reflection, here goes. 

The story of my priestly vocation is incomplete without retelling the stories of the many people who have shaped my life over the years.  They are family members, friends, past and present co-workers and people in authority over me, clergymen, and laypersons.  The figure that looms largest in the landscape of my vocation is the man who was my parish priest during my growing up years, the late Monsignor Fred Bomar (SMS, ‘60) of the Diocese of Austin.  

Like me, Monsignor Bomar was a Central Texas native, one of two sons in a family of four, baptized in the Roman Catholic faith, educated by the Church, formed at St. Mary’s Seminary, and ordained a priest. He was born in Luling, Texas on June 15, 1935, during one of the worst flash floods the region had known. Further north, the rains that day caused the Colorado River to breach its banks, inundating downtown Austin and the area around the Texas Capitol. 

Monsignor recalled his childhood fondly, but he referred to his experience of the Great Depression as the “unsentimental years,” since the days were marked by very hard work and few comforts. Like other children in rural Texas, Monsignor and his older brother picked bean pods from mesquite trees to be bagged and sold to ranchers for stockfeed. The family needed the money. 

He occasionally repeated to me what his mother often told him during those tough times: “The shoemaker’s wife goes barefoot.” Which is to say that no matter who you are, you must sacrifice in order to do what needs doing. It was the rigors of his upbringing that instilled in Monsignor a drive, determination, and resilience that coalesced into a personal quality that I call grit. 

Despite his father’s strenuous objections, Monsignor Bomar entered St. Mary’s Seminary for the Diocese of Austin in the fall of 1953, and he never looked back. He had a goal; he knew what he wanted. He wanted to be a diocesan priest, so he undertook the Seminary’s program of formation and conformed himself to the challenging work set before him. He was ordained a priest by Bishop Louis Reicher at St. Mary’s Cathedral in Austin on May 28, 1960, and the rest, as they say, is history.  

The seminarian must be a man of grit, or to use the language of the Church, a man of fortitude. The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that fortitude is “a moral virtue that ensures firmness in difficulties and constancy in the pursuit of the good” (no. 1808).  If priestly formation can be likened to a journey, then the path the seminarian walks will sometimes be filled with uneven terrain, unexpected turns, and unforeseen obstacles to be overcome. 

The same can be said of the priest. The same can be said of any man or woman in pursuit of goodness, holiness, and their vocation in Christ. This reality is not necessarily an indication that something has gone wrong; it is simply part of the human condition. 
 
One of my hopes for the men in priestly formation at St. Mary’s Seminary is that they cooperate with God’s grace to cultivate within themselves the virtue of fortitude as they engage fully in all dimensions of priestly formation. 

In this age of social media and gleaming promotional campaigns for priestly vocations, it can be easy to view the life of the diocesan priest as one prolonged “mountaintop experience.” Being a priest is not a drudgery, but like any vocation, in addition to the joys and highpoints, the life of a parish priest entails entering into some difficult situations, facing challenges, making tough decisions, and having crucial conversations. 

The task of the formation faculty is to prepare our seminarians for the totality of the priestly life. A lively sense of fortitude will keep them from wilting in the heat that they will encounter from time to time. To quote the hook of a popular country music song from the 1970s, “I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden. Along with the sunshine, there’s got to be a little rain sometime.” 

I am a diocesan priest today because the good example of Monsignor Fred Bomar lit within me the fire of aspiration. Like my father, he showed me what it is to be a man of God, a man of the Church, and a man of Christian charity.  The church of St. Peter the Apostle Parish along Highway 71 in southeast Austin continues to be a small, humble, out-of-the-way place, but it was the place where I came to love the Lord Jesus, and his Church, and his liturgy. 

Monsignor Bomar was a fine preacher, an astute administrator, an effective leader, a man of prayer, and the kind of guy you just wanted to be around. Yet, for thirty-nine years, with all his gifts, he was the pastor of a bunch of blue-collar families and retirees, and he loved us, and we loved him. 

Monsignor was not well known outside our parish, except to the priests of the diocese. He once told me that he had been asked a few times to take on a larger parish, a more well-off parish, but he said no. He said he wanted to stay with us. That made me love him all the more.  

When the men of St. Mary’s Seminary are priests, I also hope that their parishioners aspire to be like them. Not for any fame, reputation, or skills that they might possess as priests, but for the depth and ardor of their love for the Lord Jesus, which makes itself evident in the quiet, unassuming, untiring way they carry out their ministry. 

I hope they too will be men of grit.