I know my pastor well, for a parishioner. My husband and I were friends with him years before he came to our church. Father Anthony’s sense of humor is clever; he keeps a clean house and an even cleaner office; he’s grounded and compassionate; and he’s a movie buff with strong opinions on plot and characters. So, Andrew and I have come to know him well as a person, but I recently saw Father Anthony the priest in a brand new light.

I confess that even as an adult I’m distractible; my mind strays easily from praising the Lord for the gift of the Eucharist to admiring a woman’s shoes. As I knelt on this day, praying in the first pew after receiving Holy Communion, my eyes drifted to Father Anthony distributing the Eucharist to the faithful, and my gaze and attention remained fixed. While normal in every respect—Father repeated the same declaration to each person, “The Body of Christ. The Body of Christ…”—the Lord opened my eyes to how extraordinary it was.

With near-terrifying clarity, I realized that this dear friend of ours holds responsibility for work that is far more spiritual than earthly. His task is to lovingly invite every person to Christ, while also imitating Christ and praying for the grace to do so. The Lord brought to light the terrific weight of my pastor’s burdens, and the bravery and holiness necessary to endure them. I understood, too, that Mary looks at him with the same maternal affection she has for her Son. The whole revelation was a lightning strike, fast and powerful, and my eyes immediately filled with tears. There is so much strength required of Father Anthony’s soul, which is as fragile as everyone else’s.

I already knew that the priesthood is a big undertaking—a supernatural vocation with an endless and weighty to-do list. This experience, however, graced me with a deeper understanding that became an urgent call to double down on prayers, not only for priests, but specifically for our pastor.

So, I invited six women to join me in the Seven Sisters Apostolate, a widespread effort now present at many parishes across the map, wherein each member prays one holy hour on a different day of the week to cover our pastor or a parish priest (Father Anthony for us) in prayer. Each of us experienced a light bulb moment after we started. “I never thought of what it took to be a priest before now,” my friend Lauren told me. “Father Anthony’s priesthood is sacred,” Erin texted me, “Thank you so much for asking me to do this.”

During my holy hour for Fr. Anthony, I pray through Tina Jost’s One Hour for My Priest: A Prayer Companion and might pray a Rosary or ponder the Mass readings as I ask the Lord to give Father graces from those particular scriptures. I pray for an increase in his devotion to Mary, for an increase in his righteousness and humility, and that he will live as an unmistakable imitation of Christ. The time passes as profoundly as it does easily; each time, I’m struck by the magnitude of Father’s ministry and how each priest’s vocation has a ripple effect on his community.

The laity have an irreplaceable role in supporting our shepherds through prayer. Priests carry immense spiritual responsibility, guiding their communities, administering the sacraments, and offering counsel. Their vocation’s demands are challenging, and like any other person, they may face moments of doubt, fatigue, or spiritual dryness. In praying for priests, we can help strengthen them in their life’s work. Prayer for them also builds a deeper connection between the faithful, clergy, and Holy Trinity, ultimately fostering unity within the Church. Begin now, whether you gather fellow parishioners to each commit a holy hour one day of the week or you pray on your own, the Lord will bless and multiply the prayers offered for the men who serve us.

Katie Sciba is a national speaker and Catholic Press Award-winning columnist. She and her husband Andrew were married in 2008 and are blessed with seven children.

This article appeared in the May 2025 edition of The Catholic Telegraph Magazine. For your complimentary subscription, click here.