By Archbishop Thomas Wenski - The Archdiocese of Miami

Homily by Archbishop Wenski at Mass celebrating the 50th Anniversary of his Priestly Ordination. St. Mary Cathedral, May 15, 2026.

A few days ago, someone asked me: Who is preaching at your anniversary Mass?  I answered that I am – because I told them, I became a priest so that I would not have listen to another priest preach. I’d rather inflict, that be inflicted upon.

Of course, I joke – and I do recall Msgr. Dever’s homily at his 60th anniversary Mass last summer (so I do listen to other priests preach). He began his homily by grabbing the ambo solemnly and after a long pause said: I feel like a mosquito in a nudist colony, I don’t know where to begin.

Indeed, where to begin?  First, let me begin with gratitude to Almighty God who called me in spite of my flaws, my fears and my failures; Then, with gratitude to those priests and religious who inspired me –and who continue to inspire me by their commitment, zeal and integrity; and also with deep gratitude to you, the People of God, for your support of me over these 50 years, for your patience with me over these 50 years, and for your prayers for me over these 50 years.

Where to begin, indeed?  I remember when I was 7 or 8 years old, the pastor of my parish, Sacred Heart in Lake Worth died. He was the priest who had baptized me, Msgr. Cann. My parents took my sister and me to the wake at the church. I still remember seeing him in the coffin, dressed in his chasuble as if to celebrate Mass, with his head towards the altar and feet towards the congregation. My mother explained why he was dressed in that way and why at a wake the body position is different from that of a lay person.

Well, it must have made an impression on me. Soon after I was pestering my parents to let me be an altar boy and was telling everybody that I wanted to be a priest when I grew up. And I began to play Mass at home with my sister, Mary, as my server.

The rest, they say, is history: Going to the High School seminary at 13 years of age, and 12 years later after graduating from St. Vincent de Paul Seminary, Archbishop Coleman Carroll who had confirmed me back in the 6th grade ordained me a priest forever. I was 25 years old.

The seminary didn’t necessarily shelter me from the real world; in fact, what I was learning helped me to engage with that world – which in the 60’s and 70’s was a world in turmoil (Much like today). I spent four summers in the inner city, in Overtown, at St Francis Xavier. During that time, I also helped out with a Puerto Rican youth group in Wynwood (a much different place than now), I drove school buses to pick migrant kids for religion classes in Palm Beach County. I learned Cuban Spanish in the seminary and on Calle Ocho well enough to be thrown out of the Spanish class (they used the bell curve for grading, and I was messing up the grades of the other students). I did three summers in Hialeah, one at Immaculate and then two years at St. Benedict’s where in my second year there I served as deacon through the summer and on weekends. I celebrated my first Masses there one in English and one in Spanish (which Sister Carmen who read the first reading prepared for me).

As a seminarian I had the reputation of being a social justice warrior (but my experience with the pain of the Cuba exile cured me of any leftist leanings). Also, I had become sort of the poster child for bilingualism in the Seminary.  So much so, one priest told me when I would be ordained, the powers that be would probably send me to a rich parish with no Spanish Mass just to see if I could work with Anglos. They sent me to Corpus Christi in Allapattah. Well, I did work with Anglos there but there weren’t too many.  I usually said the English Masses on Sundays but everything else – even my arguments with the other priests – were in Spanish. After a few weeks in the parish, I remember a Salvadorean couple came to the rectory – the wife was crying, the husband seemed angry. They were in their forties, and I was 25. In Spanish the husband told me “tell my wife she cannot return to El Salvador”; and she said, “but my mother is dying of cancer”.  “Tell her father”, the husband said, “If she goes, she can’t come back because we don’t have papers; and if she goes, her mother will die of starvation before cancer kills her, because it’s the money we send home that keeps her alive.” My Polish father was an immigrant - and perhaps because of that I develop an empathy for immigrants, but I would also say that the opening lines of Vatican II’s Gaudium et Spes gave direction and shape to my ministry: "The joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the men of this age, especially those who are poor or in any way afflicted, these are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ".

I guess I’m still at the beginning. At Corpus Christi there was a small group of Haitians – in 1976 maybe 100 or less. Their choir practiced next to my office and I began to help them -mimeographing their song sheets and learning few words in Creole and later I discovered a Creole language class which I took – and when Archbishop McCarthy found out that I was learning Creole, I was assigned to the Haitian ministry in 1979 which I worked at for 18 years.  It involved a circuit riding ministry from Homestead to Fort Pierre, Fort Lauderdale to Immokalee, besides Notre-Dame d’Haïti until becoming auxiliary bishop of Miami in September 1997.  Those 18 years were not easy but perhaps they were the best years of my life.  I know that because today I still dream in Haitian Creole.

Archbishop Favalora assigned to Catholic Charities when Msgr. Bryan Walsh – a great mentor and role model – retired- while remaining at Notre Dame d’Haiti. But soon after I became an auxiliary bishop.  As Archdiocesan director of Catholic Charities I organized a relief effort for victims of hurricane Lili in Cuba in cooperation with Caritas Cuba working closely then with Piro Suarez, a lawyer working with Cuban bishops’ conference. That was 30 years ago.

After six years as an auxiliary bishop, I was sent to Orlando as its bishop for seven years returning as your Archbishop in June 2010.  I could go on but it’s not easy to pack 50 years into what should be a short homily. In September 2027, I’ll celebrate 30 years as a bishop – so what I leave out today I can add then.

Several years ago, the then Pope, Benedict XVI, at the closing of the Year for Priests, reminded us that the priest is not a mere officeholder. Instead, he does something which no human being can do of his own power. He forgives sins; he turns mere bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. He makes Christ present in the world. He acts ”in persona Cristi”, in the person of Jesus Christ.

Forgiving sins, turning bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Jesus, making Christ present in the world.  And I have been privileged to do this for five decades. That I have been doing this for 50 years inspires in me a sense of awe and a holy fear; it is the same sense of awe and fear that struck me when I first heard the call to priesthood, or when I laid prostrate in front of the altar and listened to the Litany of the Saints moments before my ordination. 

As I reflect back on these 50 years, I also acknowledge my sins in what I have done or in what I have failed to do as a Christian or as a priest. If I had to do it again, I would; but I would try to do it better. At the beginning of every Mass there is a plea for mercy, Kyrie Eleison, and a prayer for healing before we take Holy Communion,  Domine, non sum dignus. God chooses the weak to confound the proud; he calls nobodies to bewilder those who think themselves to be somebodies. Aware that we priests carry an immense treasure in vessels of clay, every day I am more keenly conscious of the fact of how your prayers, and the collaboration of so many grace-filled people, have made it possible for the Lord to work through me, helping me - often times in spite of myself - to teach, lead and sanctify that portion of the Lord’s flock entrusted to my care. These past 50 years have been years of incredible grace and blessing for me. And I pray that through my ministry I have brought grace and blessing to you, to the people God place in my way.

Let me end with the famous French novel, “The Diary of a Country Priest”, it tells story of a priest working in a poor rural parish, dealing with difficult situations and his own sense of inadequacy.  The novel ends with the priest on his death bed saying, “Grace is everywhere.”

Thus, we priests can count on the extraordinary graces of the Lord Jesus who remains ever close to us.

Oremus pro invicem.Let us pray for one another.