A Personal Farewell
This is my home.
Nearly a year ago, I wrote a draft of this Father’s Focus. Now, I re-present it to you in a whole new light: I am being called away to a new mission, a new ministry—and my heart is torn.
I don’t say that figuratively. I say it from the depths of a priestly heart that has been intertwined with West Wichita nearly my whole life. I grew up just three miles away from here. My childhood, my family, my education, and most of my adult ministry have been shaped by the neighborhoods, churches, and relationships that surround this parish.
Of my fifty-one years of life, I have lived forty-one of them in West Sedgwick County. Of my twenty-four years of priestly ministry, eighteen of them have been within an eighth of a mile—between St. Francis of Assisi and Bishop Carroll Catholic High School. This is my home.
My grandfather lived across from Christ the King. I graduated from school at St. Peter in Schulte. I served at Bishop Carroll. I was Pastor of Clonmel for seven years. As a teenager, I was formed through confessions and Masses at St. Francis—long before I would ever be assigned here. And for the past ten years, I have been blessed to serve as Pastor of the very parish that lies at the epicenter of my life’s geography. That’s why when I say, “this is my home,” I mean it in every sense of the word.
The web of interconnection here is profound. I serve classmates I graduated with, their children, and now even their grandchildren. I minister to the parents of students I once taught at Bishop Carroll, and to the students themselves—now grown and leading families of their own. My own parents, my brother’s family, cousins, and family friends are parishioners. And the school, the staff, and faculty—they’re not just colleagues but coworkers-in-the-vineyard. They are my fellow disciples and ministers of the Gospel.
One of the deepest truths of my priesthood is this: a priest is called to be a story-bearer. Early in my priesthood, I had a spiritual awakening while celebrating Mass at Our Lady of Lourdes in Pittsburg, KS. During that Mass, I stood in the orans position and looked up at the statue of the Sacred Heart behind the congregation. Suddenly, I felt as though I had been transposed with the image—my heart pounding outside my chest. I saw each face not just as a person, but as a story. I saw sorrow and joy, sin and redemption. I realized the full depth of what it means to be a story-bearer: not merely a preacher or celebrant, but one who carries the stories and sorrows of the people of God and places them on the altar of Christ.
That spiritual event shaped my entire identity as a priest. And over the past ten years, that awakening has only deepened here at St. Francis. I know your stories—not just from the confessional or the counseling room, but through the very fabric of our shared lives. From the sacraments of childhood to the funerals of elders, from casual waves of parishioners in the foyer to the deep burdens carried silently in broken hearts, I have been privileged to be your priest, your companion, and your shepherd.
I’ve often joked that the Church foyer is like balls of mercury being drawn together—people slowly discovering their surprising interconnections. That’s how this parish feels. We are bound by shared memory, shared mission, and, most importantly, shared love in Christ.
For fifteen years, I’ve lived in the St. Francis rectory—five years as chaplain at Bishop Carroll and ten as your pastor. It’s the second-longest home I’ve ever lived in. But the truth is, I’ve been “at home” here far longer—because you have welcomed me into your lives and your stories. I am not merely your pastor. I am one of you. This is my home.
All of this—the relationships, the shared sacramental life, the tears and the laughter, the long journey of faith—has been animated by a singular desire I long ago formed as my personal mission statement: To preach and teach the Eucharistic person of Jesus Christ, so as to inspire and enliven hearts to the love of God the Father, in the fire of the Holy Spirit, unto the salvation of souls. That mission has guided my homilies, my pastoral visits, my formation plans, and the quiet prayers I’ve offered each day in this parish. It articulates the unspoken motive of my heart—the call that has nudged me out of bed for twenty-four years of priestly ministry.
And so, as I am now preparing to step into a new role as Vicar for Evangelization, Stewardship, and Dicispleship for the Diocese of Wichita, I do so with a heart full of love, gratitude, and yes, grief. Leaving home is never easy, even if I’m simply moving to the east side of Wichita. But I do not leave empty-handed. I carry with me your stories. Your faith. Your quiet acts of generosity. Your wounds and your triumphs. I carry your names in my heart and your hopes in my prayers.
Thank you for letting me be a part of your lives. Thank you for trusting me with your stories. Thank you for making this—truly—my home.
I will miss you all.
Father Jarrod Lies, Pastor