I’m back!

Whether it will be like General MacArthur or a bad penny, the bishop has asked me to return to the Cathedral and follow Fr. Alford as the next rector of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. 

I’m deeply honored.

Fr. Brian has done a fine job in his tenure and I hope I can continue in the goodness he and the Cathedral staff have maintained. I thank him for his excellent pastoral care as well as the fraternal charity he’s shown me over the years. We’ve known each other for almost twenty years, beginning in the Altiplano of Peru through the prairies of our diocese. He’s been a good friend, and his willingness to make my transition to the Cathedral as smooth as possible has been a godsend.

I say I’m back because, as some will recall, I was here from 2014-2016 as the parochial vicar. After ordination, the Cathedral was my first assignment under one of my people: Fr. Chris House. I have many wonderful memories from my first time here with him, Fr. Marty Smith, Deacon Larry, Bill Vogt, and all the rest. I know there are many more good memories to come with old friends and new. 

I thank the Bishop for his trust in me, the Cathedral staff for their generosity of spirit, and you, the parishioners and visitors of our mother church for your faith and support.

I’d also like to thank my former parishioners in Vandalia and Ramsey, and also my friends in New Berlin, Waverly, Franklin, and Alexander. 

In the Gospel of John, Chapter 17 verse 24, as Jesus finishes his Last Supper Discourse, He prays to His Father and says of his disciples (current and future), “Father, they are your gift to me. I wish that where I am they also may be with me.” 

Considering all the good souls I have met in all of my assignments, I know a little of the gift of which He speaks and how He feels. 

Please pray for me.

With gratitude and joy for the days ahead!

Fr. Seth

When I became a pastor for the first time in 2016, the thought of having to write a weekly bulletin article seemed a bit daunting.  How would I be able to write something new every week and not get bored of the process, or run out of things to say?  Thankfully, more than 500 bulletin articles later over these past ten years (six of which have been here at Cathedral), I have found the experience to be anything but daunting.  Rather, it has been an opportunity to speak to you, my parish family, about a variety of topics, sharing from my heart and mind to yours, hopefully helping you in feeling more loved by the Good Shepherd through my ministry as your shepherd.

In this final article, I take up the third recommendation of recent popes to embrace the future with hope.  Last year, as you may recall, I offered a full year’s worth of reflections on Pope Benedict’s encyclical on Christian hope, Spe salvi, to coincide with the Jubilee Year of Hope proclaimed by Pope Francis.  I can see the providence in the timing of this exercise, not just in my helping all of you to better understand this important virtue, but in letting it be more firmly rooted in my heart as well.  When I consider looking to the future through the lens of hope, those words of St. Paul in His letter to the Romans always help me to stay grounded in peace: “Hope does not disappoint.” (Rom 5:5)

As we have reflected in the past, the hope of which St. Paul writes is related ultimately to what awaits us in eternal life.  Whatever the journey in this life might present, good or bad, all can be borne when we fix our gaze on that final hope which we believe with firm faith will have no sadness or disappointment.  At the same time, I have been consoled with how these words connect with another line from this same letter from St. Paul, where he writes: “We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” (Rom 8:28) Though we may not always see it or understand it, whatever God is doing in our lives, and whatever He allows to happen in our lives, is working for our good.

The first time I was asked to move, I initially struggled.  I loved the parishes where I was serving, and I loved teaching in the Catholic high school each day.  People told me that it was going to be a “waste” for me to leave and to serve in a rather hidden role in my work with the bishop.  I was tempted to believe those things, but when I began that new assignment, I saw how the Lord was using those circumstances to make me a better priest, stretching me in ways that I would have not chosen, but in exactly the ways that I needed to be stretched, and I learned to find great joy and peace in where the Lord had placed me.  Every change since then has followed a similar pattern, but the same thing has happened every time – the Lord has used those changes for my good, and I believe ultimately for the good of those whom I had served, and to whom I was called to serve in the new assignment.  It is with that peace that I accept this next instance of God’s providence in my life, and it is my prayer for all of you to embrace the future of this parish, and your relationship with your new shepherd with that virtue of hope, trusting that we who love the Lord will not be disappointed.

Let my final words to you be from the very depths of my heart, having had the privilege of serving you these past six years:  I love you, and I am so thankful for the love you have given to me.  At the end of our journey when we are all gathered together in His Kingdom, we will be reunited once again in the love of God, rejoicing without ceasing as we enjoy the fulfillment of the hope we held throughout life, and which will be our peace together for eternity.

On June 22, 2026, just this past Monday, I finished a real project of a book: the classic The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Not that my judgment in this regard matters in the grand scheme of literary criticism, but I would rate it as an excellent book. The characters came to life, the philosophical questions and musings made me think, and I was drawn into the drama of the story. I might even say I was too much drawn in, based on how I felt when I finished the book.

As I finished that last page, I felt the emotion that I assume most people who read this book feel: Utter disappointment, as though something is unfinished. That might sound alarming or surprising, based on my “excellent” rating of this great work of literature. And truly, I am not disappointed in the book itself, I am disappointed in the fact that Dostoyevsky was not. actually. finished. with the story! He planned to write another, even better, book based on the future life of the main character, and all the indications of an imminent great adventure are present there at the end of the book.

Unfortunately, however, Dostoyevsky died very soon after finishing only the first installment, which we know as the great novel, The Brothers Karamazov. Now, I know death is never convenient, or timely, or in any way in accord with our hopeful expectations. A case such as this unfinished story only brings out the pain of death even more. Anyone could think of a future life for that main character, but no one can think of precisely the future life that Dostoyevsky would have written. No one has his mind, his experiences, his personality, his insight into the human condition!

I wonder if, more than anything, I and those other readers of this novel feel “robbed” – robbed by death. Maybe that’s a silly feeling, but I think it is the truth. 

And this experience, I believe, points to a reality that we hold dearly as Christians: we live for another world. Yes, we love this world and the gifts God has given us in it, but we hold it lightly. It is temporary, and we await a future life that is not temporary. Through hope, we hold tightly even now to a future life that will last for all eternity, in joy and peace and an utter lack of that disappointing feeling of robbery. Nothing will be robbed from us in that life; in fact, everything will be given and received in joy, with a sense of fullness that only grows and grows. 

I am still very grateful I read the book and peered into the mind of Fyodor Dostoyevsky for a time. If I still care by the time I reach my heavenly goal, I’ll ask him about that next novel!

With all this in mind, I have to also share that I’m signing off of writing bulletin articles for now. Fortunately, this is by my choice, not by death (God-willing!). Although I remain living at the Cathedral for the next two months, my assignment here is ending and I want to devote more of my time to studying Italian and finishing up other loose ends before I leave the country.  I hope you don’t feel “robbed” or disappointed that I am leaving my series unfinished. I assume even St. Francis would say, “Good, focus less on me, more on Jesus!” 🙂

Before I take off in September, I’ll write an actual “Goodbye” article here. 

I do still encourage you to read the Life of St. Francis by St. Bonaventure. It contains some wonderfully rich spiritual fruit, perfect for this year of St. Francis. And, if you happen to be disappointed, let this transition too be a reminder of the deep desire for Heaven that rests at the core of your heart. We await a future life where there will be no more death, decay, or disappointment. May we always seek to follow the will of the Father, to enter into his rest forever!

Having spent last Sunday’s bulletin on remembering the past with gratitude, I now take up the second recommendation from Pope St. John Paul II and Pope Francis to consider what it means to live the present with passion.

Whenever a major transition is about to take place, it can be tempting to take the foot of the proverbial gas pedal and coast to the conclusion of our current circumstances.  This happens in a variety of situations.  Take for example in school as seniors are getting close to the end of their high school or college career.  They get “infected” with senioritis, a condition in which they tend to take fewer difficult classes, not work so hard on assignments, etc.  In seminary formation, we would call this deaconitis, as it affected the transitional deacons who had been in seminary for so many years and the goal of ordination to the priesthood was so close, thus becoming their primary focus  with their seminary duties taking a less significant place.  To that temptation, I would encourage our men as their vocation director to remember the words of St. Paul to St. Timothy: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Tm 4:7) 

Wherever we find ourselves in our lives, it is there where the Lord is calling us to love Him and serve Him.  To the extent that we get stuck in the good or bad from the past, or daydream about what the future might be, we are depriving ourselves of the grace of living in the present moment.  It is in this present moment where we can offer the Lord the best of ourselves, our love for Him, and our service to His Church.  I tell the men in formation in their final months of formation that the people of God whom they will serve deserve their very best, and the best indicator of how well they will serve their future parishioners is by their commitment to serving faithfully and totally where they are right now.  I invite them to see it as a sign of their love for the Lord here and now, and their love for whatever and whoever He will have them serve in the future.

In these final weeks of my time here at Cathedral, I need to heed that very advice in how I approach these days.  On my holy card for my ordination to the priesthood, I used the following words from St. Paul: “I will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls.” (2 Cor 12:15) I pray that I have the grace to live that out faithfully, all as an expression of my love for you, and in preparation for the men I will serve in my new assignment at the seminary.

In the past two months, two individuals whom I know quite well have lost their parents very suddenly.  Those experiences have been a sobering reminder of what Jesus says in the Gospel regarding when He will return, which also applies to the uncertainty of when our earthly journey may end: “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” (Mt 25:13) As Christians, we need to take these words seriously and not put off to later what needs to be done today.  It may be granting forgiveness to somebody or asking it of somebody – including the Lord in confession.  It might mean telling somebody you love them.  There are countless things that we tell ourselves we will get around to, but let us heed to invitation to live the present with passion and to do what we need to do here and now to love the Lord and our neighbor, spending ourselves so that when that final moment comes, we can say that we have given our all to Him.

At some funerals I have celebrated, I have been struck by the thought of how little I know about the person who I am praying for. I may know only what I was told by a family member. Even if I had met them, or were friends with them, or even knew them as a family member, I could still say, “I knew so little about him.” 

There is a significance to the fact that I and many others have thoughts like these most often around the time of someone’s death. I think this may be because during our lives, we give off the illusion of full self-revelation. People encounter us and think they know us or we think we know them just because we’ve shared a part of ourselves with them.

The amazing thing about a person, however, is just how deep he or she truly is. Human beings are like icebergs – there is far more under the surface than is apparent. No matter how deeply we come to know someone this side of eternity, we will still in so many ways be scratching the surface to a reality that is truly a mystery. There are depths we are unaware of. 

One of those beautifully hidden elements of a life is generally a person’s prayer life. Yes, we may be able to see a person daily go to Mass, pray the rosary, or do some devotions, but what is happening at the depths of the soul is hidden to us. What intimate conversations with God went on as he mowed the grass, as she walked through the grocery store, as he played with his kids, or as she drove the car, as he sat in adoration – these things we will never know.

But they are known to God.

So, at a funeral, I listen to the memories shared, and I wonder – I wonder with a sense of awe at the depth of relationality with God over the course of a life that we will never know. I find this reality incredibly humbling and incredibly hopeful. 

St. Francis was very much a man with such a hidden depth of soul. He was seen often by his brothers as someone wrapt up in prayer, even so deeply as to lose touch with his surroundings. He loved to experience the love of God through prayer, and would gratefully accept the consolations given him by God. 

St. Bonaventure shares, “[Francis] had learned in prayer that the presence of the Holy Spirit for which he longed was granted more intimately to those who invoke him, the more the Holy Spirit found them withdrawn from the noise of worldly affairs. Therefore seeking out lonely places, he used to go to deserted areas and abandoned churches to pray at night” (The Life of St. Francis, 10.3). These hidden experiences of the life of the saint are a rich source of meditation – as are the night vigils of our Lord in the Gospels. What went on in their hearts in their communication with the Holy Trinity?

Each of us is called to a contemplative life. The degree of this call may not be to the same as that of a cloistered monk or nun, but it is a necessary part of our Christian life. We cannot content ourselves to simply rote prayers or to simply acts of charity. While both of those are good and necessary too, they will lose their fire and may be nearly lifeless unless they are grounded in a deep, intimate, personal prayer life. 

May St. Francis’ prayers help us to give time in our lives to silence, resting in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, and sharing our hearts deeply with God. These moments may be known by no one but God, and may never be shared at a funeral, but they will be some of the most important moments of our lives.