“Let me see your hands,” I said to my three-year-old son after he had finished a large piece of orange chiffon birthday cake.
I took his chubby little fingers in my hands and with a warm cloth wiped away the sticky mess between each finger. When I was close to completing my task, he impatiently squirmed and before I was satisfied that all the icing had been wiped away he was on the escape and rushing to play ball with his older cousins and younger brothers. It was just a fleeting moment in time, but a moment that I cherished and held onto. I knew how quickly time would fly by and just as he had escaped my motherly gestures in that moment he would soon be escaping into the world to find his own way in school, in work, in life.
“Hold your hands tighter on the bat,” the baseball coach yelled to my now 12-year-old son. Sitting beside my husband in the small stands, we, along with all the other parents, called out encouragement to our young, energetic ball players. I watched my almost-teenage boy grip the bat as he swung and connected with the ball that had been pitched to him. The stands erupted into cheers as he slid safely into first base. Just like baseball’s first base, he would soon be sliding into high school.
“Wake up, they’re not home yet,” I would sometimes say to my husband, nudging him awake. During the busy years of four teenagers, we had a hard and fast rule in our home; it didn’t matter what time of the night each of the kids came home, but they had to come into our bedroom and let us know they were okay. My husband is a deep sleeper, and my side of the bed was closest to the door, so the kids would always come and talk to me, sometimes just to say they were home before slipping down to their bedroom and other times sitting on the side of the bed talking for hours about things happening in their lives. On one of these nights, our now 19-year-old son stared down at his trembling hands and shared with me his desire to enter into the seminary and, if God willing, become a priest.
This had not been on my radar at all. Our son was in his first year of business administration at university, and I knew he had been thinking of applying to larger universities in Vancouver. This meant he would soon be moving away. But this news sucked all the breath out of my lungs. I never thought about any of our children going into religious life, it had never really been a topic of conversation in our home.
As our children were maturing and finding their own voices, I was also growing alongside them and accepting the changes that were happening in our lives. This acceptance on my part only came with the help and grace of God. My heavenly Father has always been my best friend, my constant, unchanging One that I can cling onto, but in that moment I felt a gut-wrenching betrayal. My God, my best friend from my earliest memories, was now going to take my son! I honestly do not remember what I said that night, but I know I cried. And for many nights after I cried. Nothing was ever going to be the same. God was taking my son.
God did will that our son enter the priesthood. One month before his 26th birthday the palms of his hands were anointed with the sacred Oil of Chrism, symbolizing his hands working in participation with Christ who has offered the one and unique sacrifice.
My hands are raised in grateful praise. God is so good. Life did and has changed, but for the better. Our son became and continues to strive to be the person God has always called him to be. Isn’t that what we are all called to?
When was the last time you looked at a priest’s hands? Those hands tenderly hold our dear Lord during the consecration. Just as tenderly, they hold the elderly person’s hand and offer comfort while visiting the hospital and administering the anointing of the sick. You may see those hands giving a lively high five to an energetic three-year-old, or officiating and blessing a newly married couple. His hands joyfully pour the waters of baptism, and may within the same day bid farewell to a longtime parishioner and dear friend who has made their journey to heaven. They are hands that absolve and welcome all who enter the church.
His hands may be rough and calloused, they may be smooth and young, or wrinkled and full of wisdom, but they are human hands. They do God’s work, but they are human. They also could be – we need them to be – the hands of your sons, grandsons, brothers, nephews, and friends.
When was the last time you looked at someone you loved and encouraged them to have the hands of a priest?
Nancy Simms is the mother of Father Paul Simms of the Diocese of Kamloops.
If you are interested in discussing a vocation to the priesthood, call (604) 443-3254 ext. 429, email vocations@rcav.org, or visit our website rcav.org/vocations-office. For women, visit rcav.org/womens-vocations.
The stories of parents of priests that we’ve shared remind us of the profound influence of parents on our lives, particularly in matters of faith. With Mother’s Day and Father’s Day approaching, we invite you to reflect on and share how your parents’ religious faith has influenced your own faith life through the traditions, values, teaching, and spiritual guidance they provided. By sharing these stories, we can show others the powerful ways faith is passed from one generation to the next. Send your letters and stories to editor@rcav.org with the subject line Faith of our Parents and we’ll publish a selection of them.