Right away you notice the hair, barely restrained, that seems to possess a life of its own.
The long, lanky man beneath the shaggy mane smiles nicely. He is young, I think. Too young to wear a collar. Is it too much to ask that a priest be older than my own children? I am an old teacher and cannot be expected to confess my sins to this wild-haired boy.
Father Scott Harter, however, our new Central Catholic chaplain, weaves his way seamlessly into the school community and charms us all. He is young, to be sure, but he is exceptionally smart, funny and passionate. And he gives a dynamite homily. With the skill of a stand-up comedian, he reels us in with big laughs. In an instant, though, he is fascinating young and old alike with the compelling idea that God loves us, is proud of us, and has big plans for each of us.
Except nobody delivers that message quite the way Scott Harter does.
Senior Bryce Sealock loves Wednesday morning Masses at GICC. He is not Catholic, but he considers Wednesday morning his "church" time. Father Scott, he says, has helped to give him a new perspective, especially during this difficult year after the death of Bryce's father. "None of his homilies are ever about judging," Bryce says. "Father Scott just has this great, positive energy. He's pretty cool."
Father Scott shrugs off any praise. "What do I do? I say Mass," he says. "And I show up."
He does more than show up. He runs with the cross country athletes, practices with the boys' tennis team, applauds the kids in their One Act performance, and even sits with the kids to cheer at athletic events.
Last December, as part of a Christmas Cheer fundraiser, he surprises kids in their classrooms bellowing out Christmas carols as he accompanies himself on the banjo. One cold morning, he arrives with a burst of energy to my fourth period English class to serenade senior Jackson Anderson.
"I'm tired of singing carols," Father Scott apologizes to Jackson. And no wonder. Kids have paid good money to send him and his banjo all over the school. "Instead," he grins, strumming a chord, "I'm singing 'The Ballad of William Bloat.' " It turns out to be a vociferous Irish ballad about a man who attempts to murder his wife but ends up committing suicide. Very Christmasy. We dissolve into laughter. The kind of laughter that makes your sides hurt.
Father Scott Harter's joy, zest and passion for his faith is more than contagious. It's life changing. One teacher, a lapsed Catholic, confides to me that he has begun to attend church again with his family. Father Scott's homilies, he says, have profoundly stirred him.
Scott Harter, though, will be the first to tell you he didn't always have a remarkable faith. Back in Elm Creek, Nebraska, he grows up as the youngest of five children -the only boy and a long way behind his four sisters.
"I always wanted a little brother named Kevin," he jokes with a straight face. But he had a few friends in high school, he says, who filled the brotherless gap.
I imagine him in high school and can see him sitting in my own classroom. He has more than a few friends, of course. "Legions" is more like it. I know he is a kind, earnest, outrageously funny kid who grows quickly absorbed with a good story, a basketball, and the thrill of a twanging banjo.
Scott Harter considers himself a model Catholic in high school and all the way into college. He attends Mass every Sunday. But he never examines his faith very deeply, he admits, and he's not even remotely aware of the mystery of the Eucharist.
At UNL, he earns a major in fisheries and wildlife.
"I took a class on dirt called SOILS 153," he cracks. "But don't ever call it 'dirt'. That's offensive."
In his junior year, during a trip to Ogallala to catch turtles, he strikes up a friendship with a fellow UNL student. The friendship will change his life.
"Ed was a cool guy," Scott recalls. A devout Catholic, Ed goes to Confession, reads the Bible and is extremely knowledgeable about his faith. "He was alive and very confident," Scott recalls. Ed wakes Scott up to all the Church has to offer and makes it abundantly clear that God has a special vocation for Scott Harter.
Back in Lincoln, Scott begins to attend a Bible study. He is invited by a friend to attend daily Mass. Scott stares at him, bewildered. "Did you not go on Sunday?" he asks. Surely, the friend is not aware that Mass once a week is all that is required. But in the brief space of two months, Scott's world is turned completely around. He is intently learning about his Catholic faith.
More than anything, Scott Harter is attracted to the idea that he is meant for something special - that God has a vocation for him. From that point on, he explains, everything about his faith turns from obligation to attraction. It is all about, he says, a relationship with Jesus.
Eventually, the vocation question is forceful. To be the person he is meant to be, Scott realizes, he has to be a priest. Just like that, the pieces fall into place. He feels nothing but joy and peace and a strange sense of freedom. Walking outside, he observes the world with wonder.
"Did somebody turn the colors up?" he thinks in awe.
After graduation from UNL with the coveted fisheries and wildlife degree, Scott enters St. Mary of the Lake Seminary just outside of Chicago. In May, 2014, he is ordained a priest.
As an associate pastor at Grand Island St. Mary's Cathedral, he is knee deep in parish life. He loves his life as a priest but understands only too well the necessity of praying. Prayer all throughout the day means survival, he says. And in spite of his busy parish demands, he is devoted to the kids at Central Catholic. And they are devoted to him.
If he wants GICC students to know anything about their faith, it's that it's really only about a relationship. "And a relationship," he says, "that makes all the difference. Jesus is saving us from being distant with God. The truth is, we're already God's kids - we always have been. And he loves us."
One day, my husband and I see Bishop Joe Hanefeldt at school.
"Listen," I plead with him, "you've got to leave Scott Harter with us for a while. We need him."
The bishop smiles. And I get it. After all, there's half a state in this diffuse diocese that needs the likes of Father Scott Harter. We can't be selfish. Dammit. So I will hope that for another year, or even two, Central Catholic kids will soak up Father Scott like sponges - that they will passionately grow in their relationships with Jesus and bask in the freedom of knowing, like Father Scott Harter knows, that they are all God's beloved children.
And maybe, one more time, we could all hear the banjo ballad about the guy who tried to kill his wife.
 |
| Father Scott Harter with GICC students Mallory Woods, Molly Magana and Laura Lowry. |
Father Scott Harter, however, our new Central Catholic chaplain, weaves his way seamlessly into the school community and charms us all. He is young, to be sure, but he is exceptionally smart, funny and passionate. And he gives a dynamite homily. With the skill of a stand-up comedian, he reels us in with big laughs. In an instant, though, he is fascinating young and old alike with the compelling idea that God loves us, is proud of us, and has big plans for each of us.
Except nobody delivers that message quite the way Scott Harter does.
Senior Bryce Sealock loves Wednesday morning Masses at GICC. He is not Catholic, but he considers Wednesday morning his "church" time. Father Scott, he says, has helped to give him a new perspective, especially during this difficult year after the death of Bryce's father. "None of his homilies are ever about judging," Bryce says. "Father Scott just has this great, positive energy. He's pretty cool."
Father Scott shrugs off any praise. "What do I do? I say Mass," he says. "And I show up."
He does more than show up. He runs with the cross country athletes, practices with the boys' tennis team, applauds the kids in their One Act performance, and even sits with the kids to cheer at athletic events.
 |
| Clowning in college - fake senior picture. |
"I'm tired of singing carols," Father Scott apologizes to Jackson. And no wonder. Kids have paid good money to send him and his banjo all over the school. "Instead," he grins, strumming a chord, "I'm singing 'The Ballad of William Bloat.' " It turns out to be a vociferous Irish ballad about a man who attempts to murder his wife but ends up committing suicide. Very Christmasy. We dissolve into laughter. The kind of laughter that makes your sides hurt.
Father Scott Harter's joy, zest and passion for his faith is more than contagious. It's life changing. One teacher, a lapsed Catholic, confides to me that he has begun to attend church again with his family. Father Scott's homilies, he says, have profoundly stirred him.
Scott Harter, though, will be the first to tell you he didn't always have a remarkable faith. Back in Elm Creek, Nebraska, he grows up as the youngest of five children -the only boy and a long way behind his four sisters.
"I always wanted a little brother named Kevin," he jokes with a straight face. But he had a few friends in high school, he says, who filled the brotherless gap.
I imagine him in high school and can see him sitting in my own classroom. He has more than a few friends, of course. "Legions" is more like it. I know he is a kind, earnest, outrageously funny kid who grows quickly absorbed with a good story, a basketball, and the thrill of a twanging banjo.
Scott Harter considers himself a model Catholic in high school and all the way into college. He attends Mass every Sunday. But he never examines his faith very deeply, he admits, and he's not even remotely aware of the mystery of the Eucharist.
At UNL, he earns a major in fisheries and wildlife.
"I took a class on dirt called SOILS 153," he cracks. "But don't ever call it 'dirt'. That's offensive."
In his junior year, during a trip to Ogallala to catch turtles, he strikes up a friendship with a fellow UNL student. The friendship will change his life.
"Ed was a cool guy," Scott recalls. A devout Catholic, Ed goes to Confession, reads the Bible and is extremely knowledgeable about his faith. "He was alive and very confident," Scott recalls. Ed wakes Scott up to all the Church has to offer and makes it abundantly clear that God has a special vocation for Scott Harter.
Back in Lincoln, Scott begins to attend a Bible study. He is invited by a friend to attend daily Mass. Scott stares at him, bewildered. "Did you not go on Sunday?" he asks. Surely, the friend is not aware that Mass once a week is all that is required. But in the brief space of two months, Scott's world is turned completely around. He is intently learning about his Catholic faith.
More than anything, Scott Harter is attracted to the idea that he is meant for something special - that God has a vocation for him. From that point on, he explains, everything about his faith turns from obligation to attraction. It is all about, he says, a relationship with Jesus.
Eventually, the vocation question is forceful. To be the person he is meant to be, Scott realizes, he has to be a priest. Just like that, the pieces fall into place. He feels nothing but joy and peace and a strange sense of freedom. Walking outside, he observes the world with wonder.
"Did somebody turn the colors up?" he thinks in awe.
After graduation from UNL with the coveted fisheries and wildlife degree, Scott enters St. Mary of the Lake Seminary just outside of Chicago. In May, 2014, he is ordained a priest.
As an associate pastor at Grand Island St. Mary's Cathedral, he is knee deep in parish life. He loves his life as a priest but understands only too well the necessity of praying. Prayer all throughout the day means survival, he says. And in spite of his busy parish demands, he is devoted to the kids at Central Catholic. And they are devoted to him.
If he wants GICC students to know anything about their faith, it's that it's really only about a relationship. "And a relationship," he says, "that makes all the difference. Jesus is saving us from being distant with God. The truth is, we're already God's kids - we always have been. And he loves us."
One day, my husband and I see Bishop Joe Hanefeldt at school.
"Listen," I plead with him, "you've got to leave Scott Harter with us for a while. We need him."
The bishop smiles. And I get it. After all, there's half a state in this diffuse diocese that needs the likes of Father Scott Harter. We can't be selfish. Dammit. So I will hope that for another year, or even two, Central Catholic kids will soak up Father Scott like sponges - that they will passionately grow in their relationships with Jesus and bask in the freedom of knowing, like Father Scott Harter knows, that they are all God's beloved children.
And maybe, one more time, we could all hear the banjo ballad about the guy who tried to kill his wife.
