On the day after commencement when I was a young priest many years ago, I took a walk around Franciscan University with an elderly friar. I shared with him how weird it felt without the students.
“It’s crazy,” I said. “We spend four years with the goal of preparing them to leave, yet it’s kind of sad when they do. I’ll miss them.”
I’ve never forgotten his reply. “We can’t even hold on to the students or to the people in our parishes. Our vow of poverty demands that we let them go.”
I recalled those wise words this May after our celebrations for the Class of 2025. The Sunday after graduation, I again went out for a walk. The previous 48 hours were so busy with the Baccalaureate Mass and commencement ceremonies, but Sunday? It was quiet and serene. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, I passed a brother friar, who gave me an awkward wave. Later, he confessed he hadn’t recognized me. He thought I was a student’s father. We had a good chuckle over this case of mistaken identity.
But was it a mistake? Though I am no student’s biological father, I am the spiritual father to all our students. I feel deeply connected to our students in a fatherly way. I think it has to do with what our commencement speaker Mary Rice Hasson said: “We humans are made for relationship, for giving of ourselves, first to God and then to others.”
I also think that’s why, for me, being president of Franciscan means more than overseeing the day-to-day operations of a thriving Catholic university. It means walking with the students, listening to and praying with them, and sharing in their joys and sorrows.
Some of the most profound experiences of my priesthood have come from these simple conversations—students asking for prayers, seeking guidance, or just wanting someone to see them. Those moments show me the profound grace that comes with spiritual fatherhood. I get to encourage, challenge, and walk with them as they navigate the turbulent waters of young adulthood. Truly, it is one of the greatest blessings of my life.
I also thought of the importance of spiritual fatherhood following Pope Francis’ passing in April. So many of us experienced an ache and sense of longing that came with not having a Holy Father, even for a short time. The Chair of Peter was empty, and we were all waiting and praying to see who God would call to the role of spiritual father for the entire Church.
The pope carries enormous responsibility. We expect him to teach, govern, and guide the Church but, at the heart of it, what we really long for is a father. We want someone who loves the Lord deeply, who loves his Church, and who loves and sees us. We want him to be a father to us, to lead us, to protect us, and to guide us closer to Jesus. That’s why we call him the Holy Father. It’s not just a title; it’s ultimately a relationship.
Then, we learned our new Holy Father would be Pope Leo XIV—the first American pope. I did not see that coming!
I’m grateful we are no longer fatherless. And I’m reminded, in my own smaller way, of what a gift it is to be a father to the Franciscan community. Whether I’m walking across campus, praying with students, or sharing a meal in the dining hall, I am blessed to participate in the mystery of fatherhood—a fatherhood that reflects the love and guidance of our Holy Father and, ultimately, of our Father in heaven.
May we continue to pray for Pope Leo XIV, that he might lead us with wisdom, courage, and a father’s heart.
And may we all strive to be fathers and mothers, in our own way, to those God has entrusted to our care, reflecting our Heavenly Father’s love and mercy to a world so deeply in need of it.
Peace,
Father Dave, TOR
