Living the Gospel of Life by supporting those who are vulnerable and lonely

Two recent stories illustrating the vulnerabilities of priests have deeply saddened me.

In early July, Father Matteo Balzano, a young Italian priest, took his own life. Father Matteo’s suicide shocked his parishioners, as they had not realized he was facing such a dire mental health crisis.

The other story hit a little closer to home. A few weeks ago, our beloved parish priest collapsed just before Mass. No physical problems were found, and after much reflection, he decided to take a few months off to deal with some mental health issues. While he had previously discussed his experiences with anxiety, I don’t think many people understood the extent of his suffering, as he always wore a smile.

These stories should serve as our wake-up call to not only check on our parish priests but to check on everyone around us—especially the sick, the elderly, those who live alone, or anyone else who might be in a vulnerable situation. We do so because letting people know they are valued and that they matter is part of building a culture of life, and protecting and caring for those around us is an act of love in which pro-life people must partake on a daily basis.

As these stories show, mental health issues are more prevalent than we think, and they can affect anyone regardless of age, sex, or profession. In fact, in 2023, the surgeon general declared that America is facing an “epidemic of loneliness.” And a recent article by the American Psychiatric Association explained that “early in 2024, 30% of adults say they have experienced feelings of loneliness at least once a week over the past year, while 10% say they are lonely every day.”

Loneliness leads to sadness, to isolation, and sometimes to depression or worse.

Understanding this, we have a responsibility to our friends, acquaintances, and people within our communities to get to know them, to talk to them, to spend time with them, to ask pointed questions if we are concerned, to look for patterns, to watch body language, and to make ourselves a presence in their lives.

But we cannot forget that those vulnerable populations include our parish priests. Often we think that they are indestructible, like Superman, as they minister to the sick, to grieving families, to those with disabilities, and to those with their own mental health issues, and as they take care of the physical parish, say Mass, hear confessions, and so much more. When we take a step back and think about this enormous responsibility, we have to realize that all of these things affect them. They may seem like Superman, but they are just human, with human vulnerabilities.

In a Facebook post reflecting on Father Matteo’s suicide, a Peruvian priest named Omar Buenaventura discussed the reality of these vulnerabilities.

Father Omar wrote, “God is my strength. But I must admit that I too need to be hugged, heard, held, loved, forgiven and cared for. We need to be treated like men, not machines. Seriously sometimes the weight is huge and without God I would crush myself too.”

In the Book of Psalms, we read, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, saves those whose spirit is crushed.” And though we can intellectually know that God is there for us, our physical bodies need something tangible. We need human contact—a hug, companionship, and someone to spend time with and talk to. We need to know that we are loved and valued.

Even God Himself said, “It is not good for the man to be alone.” And so He created Eve from Adam’s rib.

Priests who take a vow of celibacy give up the path of matrimony, yet that does not mean they have to live in isolation. They, too, need friends, family, and people who care about them, people who check in and ask if they’re okay, and people who call just to say hi. Serving as a priest can lead to a solitary life, so it is our job to look out for these men of God, as they do so much for us. We have a unique opportunity to serve as a support system to our parish priests, not only because we want them to lead in an effective manner but because we genuinely care about their well-being.

If on a regular basis, everyone in the parish did just one thing—befriended the priest, made him a meal, invited him for dinner, provided positive feedback on an especially inspirational sermon, or something else entirely—imagine the uplifting effect this would have on him.

The sad reality is that our spiritual fathers will probably not ask for help until it’s too late, so we must pray for them and care for them as lovingly as we would care for our biological fathers. This is what it means to be a part of our Church family.

In the early 1900s, Pope Pius X did something that surprised the Catholic world. Until that time, popes dined alone, presumably to reflect and pray. But Pius X wanted company, so he began to invite friends and advisors to share his meals with him. People were shocked, but he understood the importance of friendships and of having others around for support and comfort.

Not everyone—priest or layperson—can articulate this need or have the means to rectify it. So let’s allow Pope Pius’ example to lead us to acts that draw people out of their isolation and that make them feel loved. Truly, the greatest gift we can give another person is our time and attention.

St. Paul taught that we should “bear one another’s burdens, and [we] will fulfill the law of Christ.” Indeed, and when we heed his words and help someone carry their burdens, we let them know that we value them and that they matter, and this could quite possibly save a life.