On March 21, 1996, I wrote in my journal, “… after Mass [at St. John Vianney Seminary] I was introduced to Father Sirba. There have been several occasions in my life where I have felt God has attracted me to someone I didn’t know or barely knew. I get a strong feeling that this person is going to play a major role in my life. This is how I felt the first time I saw Father Sirba. Before I even knew who he was, I knew I had to get to know him.”
I wrote Father Sirba a note shortly after learning he was a spiritual director at the undergraduate seminary affiliated with the university I was attending and asked if we could talk. I had seminarian friends at the time who had introduced me to the concept of spiritual direction, which, as a college student in love with God but trying to figure things out on her own, seemed like a very good idea. I decided to ask Father Paul, thinking, I wrote, it was “maybe the reason why I felt I had to get to know him." I wrote that "I was extremely nervous, but Father Paul was very easy to talk to. He felt very privileged that I asked and said he’d pray about it and he had to ask [the rector] because seminarians were his first obligation…. He said if he couldn’t do it he would help me find someone else. It’s not easy for me to talk to a lot of people, but it’s very easy to talk to Father Paul, so I hope God wills it,” I wrote. God did will it. And so began a relationship that would turn into a beautiful friendship and one of the most influential and meaningful relationships of my life.
Father Paul Sirba was my spiritual director through college and beyond. He was a good listener. He was obviously a man of prayer. He had a deep inner joy and often got me to laugh at myself, teaching me not to take myself or my faults too seriously. In fact, I don't know if I can remember a single time we were together when there was not laughter. He was also my husband’s spiritual director while he was in the seminary. He was the priest who helped us figure out our friendship when, as a seminarian, my husband began to have deeper feelings for me. He was the first person to whom I admitted I loved my soon-to-be husband back. He witnessed our marriage vows.
When he was no longer our spiritual director, Father Sirba became a closer friend. He often joined us for dinner. On one of these occasions, shortly before he was consecrated the ninth bishop of the Diocese of Duluth, we had him over to share with us the story of the day he got “the call,” and I learned that we had been praying together in the adoration chapel at Nativity parish in Saint Paul on the day the nuncio telephoned and it was a comfort to him to be praying with a friend — even though I had no idea. We were blessed to attend his consecration and reception on a very cold winter day in Duluth. (Go here to read more about that day.)
Bishop Sirba moved to Duluth; we moved to Bismarck, ND. But still our friendship endured. He visited North Dakota for a meeting with the bishops of the province and stopped to have a meal with us and bless our new home. When The Athlete and I visited Duluth for a mother-daughter weekend, he made time to meet us for dinner. When our family vacationed in his diocese, he drove two hours one way to celebrate Mass with us in our little cabin and join us for a pontoon ride on the lake. On another trip through northern Minnesota, he hosted us at his residence for a late night pizza party. When we moved to Michigan, we drove through Duluth and The Bookworm received her first Holy Communion in the chapel at his residence on the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God. Through the years, he answered every text I sent him and returned every phone call, despite his new role and busy schedule.
The last time I saw my friend was this past September. I was driving The Artist to college in California and we decided to go through the Upper Peninsula and northern Minnesota rather than going through Chicago and the Twin Cities. I will be forever grateful that we did. We were able to make a quick stop in Duluth where Bishop Sirba celebrated Mass for the two of us and then took us out for brunch before we got back on the road again. It was during this final conversation with him that I caught my only glimpse of the burden of his love for our Lord and for His Church. We were discussing the scandals in the Church and I expressed my sympathy for how difficult it must be to be a bishop and my appreciation for him. As he looked down to pay the bill, I saw his eyes fill with tears. Later that day I received a text: "It was so good to be with you! As you said, friends are able to pick up where they left off—we do have a lot to catch up on. Give my love to Matt. Enjoy the adventure!"
I had often lifted my friend up in prayer, but beginning that day, I began in an intentional way to daily pray for his consolation and peace. On December 1, the First Sunday of Advent, my prayers were answered. Our Heavenly Father suddenly called Bishop Sirba home.
In the days since Bishop Sirba’s death, I have heard many times, “He was one of the good ones.” This pains me — that a “good” bishop is an anomaly in the minds of many of the faithful. I am certainly not naive — I have worked for the Church for more than twenty years — but I know many, many good and holy priests. Unfortunately, a good and holy bishop, shepherding his people and quietly leading his diocese, does not make the news headlines. I mentioned that I could see the burden Bishop Sirba’s faithfulness had to have been only once — as a mutual bishop friend commented, “He made being a bishop look easy.” But there is no way it could have been, or can be — our bishops need our prayers.
We drove to Duluth for the funeral and arrived the evening before in time for a rosary and Evening Prayer. We were so blessed to be able to spend a holy hour in the early morning in the dark Cathedral before saying our final good-byes, without lines of people waiting behind us. The funeral was beautiful. The love of a people for their shepherd was clear, as was the affection of his priests and fellow bishops —I will never forget the lines of deacons, priests, and bishops, young and old, processing out of the Church, many openly weeping.
After getting over the shock, I quickly realized Bishop Sirba’s death was indeed an answer to my prayers for his peace and consolation because he was freed from another fifteen or so years of service as a bishop. In the days surrounding his death, it was made clear to me again and again how difficult it must be to be a bishop in the Church right now. One of my bishop friends reflected that Bishop Sirba was lucky; another knew precisely the number of years he had left before he could retire. I reflected on a dinner shared with a third bishop friend some years ago -- I had asked him how it was being a bishop; he replied, “I meet a lot of people … but that's it.” He obviously missed the relationships he had formed as a pastor. I recall thinking how lonely being a bishop must be, especially if a priest has to leave his home diocese and his brother priests when he's called, and I resolved to invite him over for dinner more often — which he always gratefully accepted. Another bishop friend told us whenever he’s asked if he likes being a bishop he replies, “I like doing God’s will.” These men are true servants of God — they did not seek to be bishops, they do not necessarily enjoy being bishops, but they are trying their best to do God’s will.
Bishop Sirba’s life was such a gift to me — he inspired me, and continues to inspire me, to live the joy that is the mark of a true Christian. And his death has been a gift to me, too — the Advent hymns this year filled me with a longing for Jesus’ birth in my life and in our world in a way that they never have before. His death also inspired me to be more intentional about praying for our bishops. Won’t you join me?
