It’s up to us to tell the stories now

By Lindsay Steele
Guest Column

I was working from home on Oct. 31 when my husband walked in with shocking news. “Mom just texted me. Father Guillermo Treviño died.”

I jumped up from the couch. “WHAT??!!” I screamed. “But… I just messaged him a couple days ago! I was supposed to interview him this week about his trip to the Vatican!” I stared blankly into space for a long time, unable to fully process the news. Thirty-nine just seemed too young. I, like most people, assumed he still had another 30-plus years of ministry ahead of him.

Sadly, it wasn’t a Halloween prank. My mother-in-law, who worked with “Father G.” at his first priestly assignment and remained good friends with him, was telling the truth. I wouldn’t be writing about his trip to Rome. I’d be writing about his life and trying to put his unique legacy into words.

I was fortunate to connect with Father Treviño through my work at The Catholic Messenger, and the public diary he kept via Facebook made me feel as if I knew him. At the time of his death, he had more than 6,500 followers, but his impact was more than viral — it was personal. He used his priestly platform as a way to connect with people, whether in the church, in front of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) facilities, at Escucha Mi Voz prayer vigils, pro-wrestling events, movie theaters or comic-cons. Social media was just another way for him to reach out and share God’s love with others.

He made time for people and challenged their misconceptions about priesthood and the Church by simply being present to them. If he was the only person in clerics waiting to meet Hulk Hogan in a crowded convention center, so be it. If the priest’s presence started conversations and helped people feel comfortable asking tough questions, even better.

Father Treviño  wasn’t afraid to stand up for what he believed was right. He was known on an international level for his immigrant advocacy and, according to friends, his desire to reach out to the marginalized started at a young age. In junior high school, he noticed someone sitting alone in the lunch room. The future priest walked over and joined his fellow student, sparking a years-long friendship.

Being there for people meant more to Father Treviño than being admired by them, though the two often went hand-in-hand. Sacred Heart Cathedral in Davenport was packed for Father Treviño’s funeral on Nov. 7, and countless others whose lives he touched watched from home via livestream. His life’s story has drawn national attention.

My heart is broken, not so much for myself, but for the countless people he’ll never have the chance to connect with or accompany. Father Treviño’s absence will be felt on personnel level, as well. The Diocese of Davenport has lost several priests recently due to illness, death, retirement and Vatican appointments. Father Treviño was one of a handful of priests who could speak Spanish fluently and communicate with the diocese’s growing Hispanic population. My hope is that young men will hear Father Treviño’s story and see that priests aren’t confined to a single mold or image. Perhaps they will see themselves in Father Treviño and believe that they, too, are worthy of the vocation.

It makes me sad to know that, as Father Treviño embarks on his biggest adventure of all, he will not be able to share photos and captions with us. During the funeral, Father Rudolph Juarez joked that he was waiting for the late priest to send a “selfie” from Heaven.

But, as Father Juarez said during the homily, it’s not up to us to ask why. Instead, we should be asking how we can love God and be present to others the way Father Treviño was.

It’s now up to us to share his stories and inspire new ones.

(Lindsay Steele is the diocesan reporter for The Catholic Messenger.)