In the diocesan seminaries where I have taught there are photos of each ordination class, or even of each individual priest in the class, hanging on the walls. It is a permanent record. The class photo remains there even if the priest dies, becomes a bishop, transfers to a religious order or leaves the active ministry. Like the indelible mark he receives at his priestly ordination, his photo stays in place. When visitors come, they invariably notice the photos, and then begin looking for “their” priests. If they come individually, they may be quite solemn and pensive. If they are in a parish group, they can be seen searching together. When they find the pastor, or the parochial vicar, there is often good-natured laughter. “Father was much thinner!” “And so young and good-looking!” Some visitors are relatives, who are looking for an uncle, or brother, or son or nephew. Some are recalling priests who have died. Invariably, there are smiles of recognition and an acknowledgement of the priest’s influence. Watching visitors look at the “rogues’ gallery” in the hallway is one way to discover how people love their priests. Various ties Although each priest as an individual has his own strengths and weaknesses, as a public person and member of the diocesan presbyterate, he is unavoidably tied to his brother priests and to the bishop. As a group, they are subject to all sorts of positive and negative evaluations: They are thought to be well-educated and urbane, enterprising and unselfish, good homilists and liturgists; or, “pastoral” to the point of being unorthodox, men of very low morale, guilty of high-handed “clericalism,” and so on. Diocesan priests have a corporate reputation; the esteem enjoyed by one spills over onto the others, and the disgrace suffered by one falls on the rest of them. Priests who visit the seminary also review the ordination photos. They, too, comment with pride, or sadness or a joke about an event from their shared past. As members of the priestly fraternity, they know each other and are likely to evaluate one another’s “success.” They are not necessarily hard on each other. In fact, very often they are wonderfully sympathetic and loyal. Not about them At the funeral of a diocesan priest, one comes to know how and why his friends and classmates valued him. But, apart from their funerals, periodic changes to a new parish or assignment and perhaps a jubilee celebration announced — with another photo — in the diocesan paper, diocesan priests may never come to the attention of the wider church or the general public. The rest of us tend to take for granted their lifelong service, with its moments of triumph and tragedy, its hidden sacrifices and consolations. If they are wise, those approaching ordination know that the life for which they are signing on will probably not bring them public acclaim. They accept the call to priesthood not to embark on a career path, but to follow Our Lord and become the ministers of his grace and mercy. They know that the priestly ministry is “not about them,” but about Jesus Christ. They are only his instruments. They put their lives at his service in order to carry out his ministry in the church. They desire, in fact, to efface themselves before the Lord, so that those who encounter them will be led to know him. Seminary mottos express this desire: “For to me, to live is Christ” (Phil 1:21) or “The love of Christ impels us” (2 Cor 5:14). Supposing every face in the ordination photos was replaced with an image of Our Lord, then we would know the burden and the dignity of the priestly vocation.