Notes from a Priest on His Way to Holidays

Dearest Parishioners,

After almost four years, I am taking some holidays. In truth, I am forcing myself to take them, for one simple reason: I love what I do. My mission is not a job, and so, even when my body and my mind are tired, my heart is always on fire.

Søren Kierkegaard, the Danish philosopher, says that the purpose of life is to find something or someone worth living and dying for. For me, that reason is the enlargement of the Kingdom of God.

I love reading that some Saints died of tiredness. Well, I have failed to become a saint, but I would truly love to reach at least this goal: to die tired for God’s Kingdom.

What does a priest do on holidays? Well, I don’t know about other priests; I can only tell you what I am looking forward to, besides long hours of sleep and playing with Samson out in the open.

I bring two questions with me.

Who am I?

This question is a kind of obsession for me. I really want to be authentic; to understand better and better with which ingredients the Creator of the world has made me. Only by answering this question can I be an authentic human being.

A priest who hides his humanity behind a role, or rules, or procedures is just a sad priest.

Am I a good Shepherd for my people?

But what does it mean to be a good Shepherd? There are two possible answers to this question. Not the only possible ones, but the ones I love.

A good shepherd has a good heart.

Christianity is the religion of the heart. A community where the heart is not at the centre, where people do not feel wanted and embraced despite their limits, becomes only a lake of honking ducks.

I must confess that I find it very hard to accept that the debate in the Catholic Church today is often absorbed by which language we should speak during the liturgy and which vestments we should wear. I do not deny their importance, but what about the heart? Do our liturgies set our hearts on fire for the Lord and for each other?

A good shepherd works hard in order to disappear.

What do I mean by this?

First of all, I mean that I serve this parish; I do not own it. I am here today, and one day I will be gone. Poverty for a priest is not only living with simplicity and sobriety. It also means not being attached. It means remembering that the parish does not belong to me.

I am here for a defined time, and during this time I truly want my people to learn how to carry the parish, each one with their own gifts and skills.

If, during these weeks of holidays, the parish becomes a "mess", and I am sure it will not, then it means that I have not worked properly. It would mean that I have not helped my people become responsible for their own community.

In this sense, the work of a priest is very close to the work of a parent. A good parent prepares the children for the day when they will no longer be there. A good priest does the same: he prepares the community to stand, to serve, and to walk even without him.

This is not because he does not love the parish. It is exactly because he loves it.

It is time to leave now, with my Samson and the Lord, from whom I implore a blessing upon each one of you.

With love,

Fr Mirko Integlia

A simple pencil in God's hands.