"Not a Lawyer, but Still Following God’s Call!"
by Father Jayme Mathias
(Republished from the quarterly newsletter of the American Catholic Church in the United States - November 7, 2015)
Fr. Jayme as a child (bottom left), with his parents & brothers.
For more than fifteen years, I’ve joked, “I come from the corn fields of Ohio, to the corn tortillas of Texas,” and, though my life currently resembles that of a city mouse, my roots are admittedly quite rural.
I was raised in Frenchtown—a Catholic, Luxembourger settlement so small that it doesn’t even appear on maps of Northwest Ohio—in the former rectory of the former St. Nicholas Catholic Church. Interestingly, both my parents, as children, also lived in the same house—at separate times and, yes, after it was no longer used as a rectory. Both my father and my mother trace their lineage to two Luxembourger brothers, Ludovicus & Jean Nicolas Mathaÿ, who immigrated to the United States in 1839.
My father, David, was trained as a draftsman and worked for various factories until 1990, when he announced that he was going into business for himself, first as the owner of the filling station in a nearby village, and later with his own hydraulics consultancy. My mother, Rose, spent two years with the Precious Blood Sisters in Dayton, Ohio, before earning her beautician’s license, marrying my father, and raising me and my three brothers: Jeffrey, Jeremy & Joey.
I was raised in Frenchtown—a Catholic, Luxembourger settlement so small that it doesn’t even appear on maps of Northwest Ohio—in the former rectory of the former St. Nicholas Catholic Church. Interestingly, both my parents, as children, also lived in the same house—at separate times and, yes, after it was no longer used as a rectory. Both my father and my mother trace their lineage to two Luxembourger brothers, Ludovicus & Jean Nicolas Mathaÿ, who immigrated to the United States in 1839.
My father, David, was trained as a draftsman and worked for various factories until 1990, when he announced that he was going into business for himself, first as the owner of the filling station in a nearby village, and later with his own hydraulics consultancy. My mother, Rose, spent two years with the Precious Blood Sisters in Dayton, Ohio, before earning her beautician’s license, marrying my father, and raising me and my three brothers: Jeffrey, Jeremy & Joey.
The young Fr. Jayme (right) as a senior in high school, with his parents and Fr. Herbert Graf, O.F.M.Conv., the longtime pastor of his family's parish.
I was raised in a very Catholic family, in the shadow, literally, of a Catholic church. My father trained the altar servers and led the Knights of Columbus. My mother was the director of religious education and made crafts for sale at the annual parish festival. My brothers and I assisted various ministries, like altar serving, changing the church’s missalettes, and raising & lowering the flag outside the church. My special ministry from age 12 to 18, though, consisted of playing the organ at the church for weekend Masses.
Despite these religious influences, from a young age I wanted to be something quite secular: I dreamed of being…a lawyer! Mike Kelbley, the village attorney of a nearby German settlement, spoke to my eighth-grade class, and I was determined from that day forward to “be like Mike.” This was during the era of “The People’s Court” with Judge Joseph Wapner, a television series that fueled my young imagination. As a freshman in high school, I ordered a class ring with the scales of justice etched into the side, reminding me of the career I thirsted to one day exercise. I was a very studious young man, determined to graduate as valedictorian of my high school class—which I eventually did—and to have the best possible education and curriculum vitae for one day applying to law school.
It is said: “If you want to make God laugh, tell God your plans!”
My path in life—or, my vocation, if you prefer— took a decisive turn during my sophomore year in high school. Because my older brother had previously attended a Teens Encounter Christ retreat, I was feeling some pressure to do the same. The week of the retreat, I reasoned that enduring the experience might not be so bad: I had an English exam on Friday, and attending this retreat would provide me an additional weekend to prepare for that exam.
When speaking of my vocation, I often refer to the words of Jeremiah (20:7): “Lord, you have duped me, and I allowed myself to be duped!” I went on this retreat, motivated by a desire for personal gain—having more time to study for an exam—and I left the retreat with an idea in my head and a feeling in my heart that I couldn’t shake!
Despite these religious influences, from a young age I wanted to be something quite secular: I dreamed of being…a lawyer! Mike Kelbley, the village attorney of a nearby German settlement, spoke to my eighth-grade class, and I was determined from that day forward to “be like Mike.” This was during the era of “The People’s Court” with Judge Joseph Wapner, a television series that fueled my young imagination. As a freshman in high school, I ordered a class ring with the scales of justice etched into the side, reminding me of the career I thirsted to one day exercise. I was a very studious young man, determined to graduate as valedictorian of my high school class—which I eventually did—and to have the best possible education and curriculum vitae for one day applying to law school.
It is said: “If you want to make God laugh, tell God your plans!”
My path in life—or, my vocation, if you prefer— took a decisive turn during my sophomore year in high school. Because my older brother had previously attended a Teens Encounter Christ retreat, I was feeling some pressure to do the same. The week of the retreat, I reasoned that enduring the experience might not be so bad: I had an English exam on Friday, and attending this retreat would provide me an additional weekend to prepare for that exam.
When speaking of my vocation, I often refer to the words of Jeremiah (20:7): “Lord, you have duped me, and I allowed myself to be duped!” I went on this retreat, motivated by a desire for personal gain—having more time to study for an exam—and I left the retreat with an idea in my head and a feeling in my heart that I couldn’t shake!
Father Jayme (2nd to right) with his minister provincial & novitiate classmates, after professing simple vows with the Conventual Franciscan Friars in 1993.
At the conclusion of the retreat, Fr. Kevin Przybylski—a Conventual Franciscan Friar at the time, and now an independent Catholic priest—pulled me aside and asked whether I had ever considered the priesthood or religious life. I told him that I had no intention of being a priest, but, instead, that my dream was to be a lawyer. His reply was simple: “You can be a priest and a lawyer. We have priests who do all sorts of things: priests who are lawyers, priests who are doctors, priests who work in churches and hospitals….You name it, and there’s probably a priest doing it!” Then, he concluded: “If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.”
As I mowed lawns that summer, the thought of being both a priest and a lawyer was irresistible: It brought together the best of both worlds: my ambitions in this world and the Catholic culture in which I was deeply steeped. Eventually, I summoned the courage to visit Fr. Kevin and continue the conversation. Needless to say, I was “sold.” Yes, “hook, line and sinker.”
At age 18, I joined the Conventual Franciscan Friars. I earned my undergraduate degrees—in philosophy and in classical humanities—from St. Louis University, which is why I often joke that “I have a Franciscan heart and a Jesuit mind.” During those years, I was surrounded by some outstanding priests, who were tremendous mentors and examples for me, and who solidified in my mind my own calling to the priesthood.
As I mowed lawns that summer, the thought of being both a priest and a lawyer was irresistible: It brought together the best of both worlds: my ambitions in this world and the Catholic culture in which I was deeply steeped. Eventually, I summoned the courage to visit Fr. Kevin and continue the conversation. Needless to say, I was “sold.” Yes, “hook, line and sinker.”
At age 18, I joined the Conventual Franciscan Friars. I earned my undergraduate degrees—in philosophy and in classical humanities—from St. Louis University, which is why I often joke that “I have a Franciscan heart and a Jesuit mind.” During those years, I was surrounded by some outstanding priests, who were tremendous mentors and examples for me, and who solidified in my mind my own calling to the priesthood.
Father Jayme at his ordination to the priesthood by the Most Rev. Gregory Aymond, Archbishop of New Orleans, on March 10, 2001.
At age 27, I was ordained to the priesthood by Bishop Gregory Aymond—the current Archbishop of New Orleans—at the Basilica of Our Lady of Consolation, a place that has always held a special place in my heart: The basilica is staffed by the Conventual Franciscan Friars, contains an image of Mary brought from Luxembourg by my ancestors and their friends, and was the site of the retreat where my vocational “itch” had begun twelve years before.
After two years as an associate pastor at a Hispanic parish in Austin, my minister provincial encouraged me to apply to various law schools. You can imagine my excitement: My dream of being both a priest and a lawyer was coming to fruition! I took the LSAT and was accepted into five law schools. My pastor was supportive and invited me to continue my ministry at the parish if I chose to attend law school in San Antonio rather than accept invitations to other cities, like St. Louis or Washington, D.C.
Then, as I’m fond of saying, “the Spirit threw me a curveball”: Our Conventual Franciscan community was struck with an $18 million lawsuit as part of the child sex abuse scandal that rocked our nation at that time, and my minister provincial balked when confronted by questions from the advisors of his definitory concerning his encouragement of my study of law. You can imagine the disappointment I felt at having finally been accepted into five law schools—and now sensing the apparent impossibility of realizing my dream of studying law.
After two years as an associate pastor at a Hispanic parish in Austin, my minister provincial encouraged me to apply to various law schools. You can imagine my excitement: My dream of being both a priest and a lawyer was coming to fruition! I took the LSAT and was accepted into five law schools. My pastor was supportive and invited me to continue my ministry at the parish if I chose to attend law school in San Antonio rather than accept invitations to other cities, like St. Louis or Washington, D.C.
Then, as I’m fond of saying, “the Spirit threw me a curveball”: Our Conventual Franciscan community was struck with an $18 million lawsuit as part of the child sex abuse scandal that rocked our nation at that time, and my minister provincial balked when confronted by questions from the advisors of his definitory concerning his encouragement of my study of law. You can imagine the disappointment I felt at having finally been accepted into five law schools—and now sensing the apparent impossibility of realizing my dream of studying law.
Beginning at age 33, Father Jayme served for four years as President of San Juan Diego Catholic High School in Austin, Texas.
We’ve all heard it said: “When the Spirit closes one door, it opens another.” That same week, in which I was crushed with disappointment, I was scheduled to celebrate Mass for a Catholic, college-preparatory school for minority and low-income students in Austin. It was now two days before the start of the school year, and I was meeting in the school’s chapel with the nun who was responsible for the details of the liturgy. During our meeting, the school’s president walked in and shared the news he had just received: With classes beginning in two days, the school’s Spanish teacher had quit!
At the time, I had been writing a weekly column on spirituality for a local Spanish-language newspaper. I was serving a primarily Spanish-speaking community. I loved teaching and had already co-founded one learning center. Trusting that the Spirit could be working in this, I offered my services to the school, taught Spanish and theology, and, within two years, was asked to lead the school community as its president.
Those were glorious years: being asked at age 33 to lead and grow a school community, taking charge at a time when the school was unable to make payroll the following week, managing diverse personalities, and fundraising the necessary $1.2 million each year to keep open the school’s doors. It was also during those years that I was in the process of incardinating into the Roman Catholic Diocese of Austin, since the Conventual Franciscan Friars met in chapter the week after I was named president of the high school and decided to withdraw from ministry in Austin, Texas.
Unfortunately, though, during ten years of ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, I was becoming increasingly pessimistic about the church with which I had once fallen in love. One very conservative pope, John Paul II, was replaced by an even more conservative man, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, who was no friend of the theologians I most admired, and who seemed to search for all ways to undo the reforms of our last ecumenical council. As priests, we were asked to send all sacred vessels that were not made of precious metals to our diocesan offices, so that they could be properly destroyed. The tabernacle, repository of the Blessed Sacrament, was to be returned to the space where we celebrated our unity as the Body of Christ and where the Second Vatican Council drew our attention to the presence of Christ not in a golden box, but in the people, the presider, the Word proclaimed, and the sacrament celebrated. U.S. bishops of the Roman church obeyed the Vatican mandate to produce a more “faithful” translation of the Latin Roman Missal (“And with your spirit,” really?)—which was rejected by the Vatican—and we, as priests, were now being “sold” on the supposed beauty of a stilted, wooden translation. When would the craziness end?
In Austin, Papa Ratzinger named a conservative successor for Bishop Aymond. Shortly after arriving in office, the newly-minted bishop went into orbit when a local Roman Catholic pastor opened his church’s doors for worship by a Jewish community when its synagogue burned. The reason for the bishop’s ire: the rabbi was on the board of a local organization that supported women’s reproductive health services.
At the time, I had been writing a weekly column on spirituality for a local Spanish-language newspaper. I was serving a primarily Spanish-speaking community. I loved teaching and had already co-founded one learning center. Trusting that the Spirit could be working in this, I offered my services to the school, taught Spanish and theology, and, within two years, was asked to lead the school community as its president.
Those were glorious years: being asked at age 33 to lead and grow a school community, taking charge at a time when the school was unable to make payroll the following week, managing diverse personalities, and fundraising the necessary $1.2 million each year to keep open the school’s doors. It was also during those years that I was in the process of incardinating into the Roman Catholic Diocese of Austin, since the Conventual Franciscan Friars met in chapter the week after I was named president of the high school and decided to withdraw from ministry in Austin, Texas.
Unfortunately, though, during ten years of ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, I was becoming increasingly pessimistic about the church with which I had once fallen in love. One very conservative pope, John Paul II, was replaced by an even more conservative man, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, who was no friend of the theologians I most admired, and who seemed to search for all ways to undo the reforms of our last ecumenical council. As priests, we were asked to send all sacred vessels that were not made of precious metals to our diocesan offices, so that they could be properly destroyed. The tabernacle, repository of the Blessed Sacrament, was to be returned to the space where we celebrated our unity as the Body of Christ and where the Second Vatican Council drew our attention to the presence of Christ not in a golden box, but in the people, the presider, the Word proclaimed, and the sacrament celebrated. U.S. bishops of the Roman church obeyed the Vatican mandate to produce a more “faithful” translation of the Latin Roman Missal (“And with your spirit,” really?)—which was rejected by the Vatican—and we, as priests, were now being “sold” on the supposed beauty of a stilted, wooden translation. When would the craziness end?
In Austin, Papa Ratzinger named a conservative successor for Bishop Aymond. Shortly after arriving in office, the newly-minted bishop went into orbit when a local Roman Catholic pastor opened his church’s doors for worship by a Jewish community when its synagogue burned. The reason for the bishop’s ire: the rabbi was on the board of a local organization that supported women’s reproductive health services.
As pastor, Father Jayme grew Cristo Rey Catholic Church to over 5,000 people gathering to worship at nine Sunday Masses, only one of which was in English.
By then, I had completed four years of service as president of the high school and two years as pastor of what I had grown to be Austin’s largest Spanish-speaking Roman Catholic parish, a community of over 4,000 people who weekly gathered for nine Sunday liturgies, only one of which was in English.
It was April 2011, and immigration reform was the topic de jour. As pastor of a large, immigrant community, I worked with a group of local leaders who had invited U.S. Congressman Luis Gutiérrez of Chicago to come and speak at our parish on immigration reform. For the immigrant community, Congressman Gutiérrez was a hero: He had been imprisoned over the issue of comprehensive immigration reform, he was Hispanic and Roman Catholic, and we were now looking forward to hearing his update on comprehensive immigration reform!
Three days before the Congressman’s arrival in Austin, the bishop’s office called, insisting that I disinvite him because he was not “pro-life.” I knew that the phrase “pro-life,” in this instance, was really nothing more than a euphemism for “anti-abortion,” a rallying cry for the very conservative agenda that had hijacked the hierarchy of the Roman church in the U.S.
It was April 2011, and immigration reform was the topic de jour. As pastor of a large, immigrant community, I worked with a group of local leaders who had invited U.S. Congressman Luis Gutiérrez of Chicago to come and speak at our parish on immigration reform. For the immigrant community, Congressman Gutiérrez was a hero: He had been imprisoned over the issue of comprehensive immigration reform, he was Hispanic and Roman Catholic, and we were now looking forward to hearing his update on comprehensive immigration reform!
Three days before the Congressman’s arrival in Austin, the bishop’s office called, insisting that I disinvite him because he was not “pro-life.” I knew that the phrase “pro-life,” in this instance, was really nothing more than a euphemism for “anti-abortion,” a rallying cry for the very conservative agenda that had hijacked the hierarchy of the Roman church in the U.S.
For years, Father Jayme shared the Fiestas Patrias stage with U.S. Congressman Lloyd Doggett (D-Austin) and provided the "grito de independencia": ¡Viva México!
“To be pro-immigrant is to be pro-life,” I argued, to no avail.
The bishop’s vicar curtly responded, “The bishop has asked that you disinvite the Congressman, and I am simply being obedient to my bishop.”
His words continue to ring in my ears. They sounded a moment of epiphany for me, and I knew on that day that I could no longer continue to serve the Roman church in good faith. A seminary professor had once warned, “If you want to be part of the Mickey Mouse Club, you have to sing the Mickey Mouse song.” I was no longer willing to sing the Roman church’s song.
I am a firm believer that divorce is sometimes the most faithful response to a broken relationship. My relationship with the conservative bishop to whom I now reported was a bad marriage, and I needed out. I’m sure he felt the same—though he never had any direct communication with me.
Not yet knowing how the Spirit could be at work in all this, I took a sabbatical to finish my doctorate and my fourth graduate degree. I was walking within the Cloud of Unknowing, with no idea where this journey might be leading me.
Nine months later, while I was laboring night-and-day to finish my doctoral dissertation, I came up for air and enjoyed breakfast with a local attorney who had taken more than 120,000 photos for the parish newspaper I published at my previous parish. Out of nowhere, it seemed, he asked: “Have you ever heard of the American Catholic Church in the United States?”
“The what?”
Admittedly, I had never heard of this before.
He continued, “[My wife] found this church online—the American Catholic Church in the United States—and we think you need to bring it here to Austin!”
I was skeptical.
The bishop’s vicar curtly responded, “The bishop has asked that you disinvite the Congressman, and I am simply being obedient to my bishop.”
His words continue to ring in my ears. They sounded a moment of epiphany for me, and I knew on that day that I could no longer continue to serve the Roman church in good faith. A seminary professor had once warned, “If you want to be part of the Mickey Mouse Club, you have to sing the Mickey Mouse song.” I was no longer willing to sing the Roman church’s song.
I am a firm believer that divorce is sometimes the most faithful response to a broken relationship. My relationship with the conservative bishop to whom I now reported was a bad marriage, and I needed out. I’m sure he felt the same—though he never had any direct communication with me.
Not yet knowing how the Spirit could be at work in all this, I took a sabbatical to finish my doctorate and my fourth graduate degree. I was walking within the Cloud of Unknowing, with no idea where this journey might be leading me.
Nine months later, while I was laboring night-and-day to finish my doctoral dissertation, I came up for air and enjoyed breakfast with a local attorney who had taken more than 120,000 photos for the parish newspaper I published at my previous parish. Out of nowhere, it seemed, he asked: “Have you ever heard of the American Catholic Church in the United States?”
“The what?”
Admittedly, I had never heard of this before.
He continued, “[My wife] found this church online—the American Catholic Church in the United States—and we think you need to bring it here to Austin!”
I was skeptical.
Father Jayme (right) and Fr. Michael Zocholl, O.F.M.Conv. enjoying dinner in Arroyo Grande, California in 1992, twenty years before they would be united again as fellow-priests in the American Catholic Church in the U.S.!
He took out his iPad and pulled up the ACCUS website.
Nothing about the website’s design assuaged my skepticism, but then I began seeing the photos: the church was served by Conventual Franciscan Friars—like Fr. Christopher Bisett and Fr. Michael Zocholl—whom I had met nearly twenty years earlier. If they were part of this organization, I reasoned, it was certainly worth my time to investigate!
And, as they say, “the rest is history.”
I called Archbishop Lawrence Harms. We spoke about my life, formation and ministry. Forty minutes later, he concluded: “It sounds like you’re more American Catholic than Roman Catholic.” Truer words were never spoken. He said that his secretary, Fr. Vincent Robinson, would email me an application that same evening, and, in my thirst to begin anew, I had completed it by the next day.
Nothing about the website’s design assuaged my skepticism, but then I began seeing the photos: the church was served by Conventual Franciscan Friars—like Fr. Christopher Bisett and Fr. Michael Zocholl—whom I had met nearly twenty years earlier. If they were part of this organization, I reasoned, it was certainly worth my time to investigate!
And, as they say, “the rest is history.”
I called Archbishop Lawrence Harms. We spoke about my life, formation and ministry. Forty minutes later, he concluded: “It sounds like you’re more American Catholic than Roman Catholic.” Truer words were never spoken. He said that his secretary, Fr. Vincent Robinson, would email me an application that same evening, and, in my thirst to begin anew, I had completed it by the next day.
Father Jayme celebrating the Easter Vigil at Holy Family American Catholic Church in Austin, Texas.
That weekend, for the first time in over nine months, I celebrated Mass at my home with (now-Deacon) Roy Gomez and 18 others. After eight weeks of home Masses, we moved to our present facility where, with two priests and three deacons, we now celebrate six Sunday Masses for the members of Holy Family Catholic Church.
I trust that God has led me to where I need to be at this stage in my life.
I am happily married to my husband, Anthony—something I could never have done as a priest in the Roman church.
I serve as an elected official here in Austin, overseeing the 84,000 students and 12,000 employees of 130 public schools—something I could never have realized as a priest in the Roman church.
And I am now free to serve all of God’s People without the politics and pressure of parroting a song I can no longer sing.
As I reflect on my life and journey, I’m confident that the Spirit of God continues to lead and guide us—despite our foibles as human beings and despite the institutions we create for ourselves. No, I’m not a lawyer today, but I’m still following God’s call for my life and ministry…to all God’s People!
I trust that God has led me to where I need to be at this stage in my life.
I am happily married to my husband, Anthony—something I could never have done as a priest in the Roman church.
I serve as an elected official here in Austin, overseeing the 84,000 students and 12,000 employees of 130 public schools—something I could never have realized as a priest in the Roman church.
And I am now free to serve all of God’s People without the politics and pressure of parroting a song I can no longer sing.
As I reflect on my life and journey, I’m confident that the Spirit of God continues to lead and guide us—despite our foibles as human beings and despite the institutions we create for ourselves. No, I’m not a lawyer today, but I’m still following God’s call for my life and ministry…to all God’s People!
