Artwork provided by Rev. Ronald P. Raab, C.S.C.
I remember my father’s chair in our living room when I was young, an orange leather wingback chair with a matching ottoman. Even empty, the chair held his authority as a father and business owner. On the ottoman, an old dark green ledger held his ideas about the family business and numbers about an upcoming sale or receipts from a recent purchase. A rubber band held together the worn, hardbound book. Silence shrouded the chair even in daylight because he spent time their dreaming about the future and silently asking God to help him in this support of the family grocery store.
My mother’s chair was covered in floral chinch located near our fireplace. Around the chair were newspapers and recipe clippings. Her chair was also a place of dreams where she brainstormed food preparation for family holiday meals and special parties. My mom’s chair, especially in late evening, housed her soul that longed to serve our family and the people she advised in the aisles of our grocery store. Her chair was a place of comfort and leadership, of routine and the unexpected daily work of being a mother.
My grandparents presided in old, stuffed chairs in the dining room of their home. A doily was pinned to the headrest of each chair, one that had been crocheted by my grandmother’s aging hands. I recall magazines, books, and religious articles on her side table, and under the lamp a rosary seemed to glow. The light helped her page through books of prayer and pamphlets of devotion and recent obituaries. Her chair held the tradition of family prayer and her silent hope that everything would be good and right. Even as a child, I could feel the prayers that had been raised to God from that same chair during several wars. The worn upholstery told the story of many years of asking God for miracles, mercy, and peace.
I found my chair, my place, on the end of our couch. My life did not settle into that seat for long because I was young and needed to explore many other chairs that might fit my early life. I recall sitting in the same seat on the bus that drove me to school each day. In junior high, a classmate and I alternated first chair in the clarinet section in our school band. I held the chair of president of the National Honor Society as a senior, and I was seated as editor of the yearbook for two years before graduation.
I occupied many chairs that formed me for the future; chairing committees and non-profit boards, random airplane seats, and various car seats have led me to many adventures. My ancestors’ chairs seemed much more stable and reliable, exuding the personalities of my loved ones in ways I could not explain.
I am still discovering my place in the chair of my vocation. The presider’s chair in the sanctuary has changed my life for nearly forty-five years. That solitary seat under a spotlight and microphone has humbled me for all these years, and I do not take the chair for granted. The chair is bigger than my body, and I realize I will never grow into its expectations and challenges. The chair claims my soul, and I continue to learn from my vantage point of the people. The chair gives me the opportunity to stop, listen, and rest in the place of Christ’s redeeming love. The chair enables me to breathe into the mystery of faith.
The chair in any church sanctuary is only a shadow of the Chair of Peter in Rome, the chair in which our Pope presides. The chair holds centuries of tradition and worship in the sacred liturgies of the Church. I have pastored among people in several states, and I am never used to the healing mercy I discover in the chair and the imposing challenges that form my ministry well beyond my expertise. I am a child of God in the sanctuary chair as well as an adult priest whose eyes are open to the faith, talents, and gifts of the people.
The true authority from the presider’s chair is to view the heartache and anguish of people and the world. From the chair in the sanctuary, I see the beauty and love of people’s faces celebrating the miracle of the sacraments. I view people who come to rest in the back pews who have no home and no chair to support them. I understand the stories of people who are addicted and beg God for a day of sobriety. I view the folks who now struggle to enter the church because of illness and disease, and yet they desire to sit in the same pew that has held their prayers for a generation.
The presider’s chair is a culmination of the chairs any priest has experienced in life. The chair is a symbol of Christ Jesus and the tradition passed on in the Church. The chair holds the years of tradition believing in the Real Presence of Christ Jesus. Yet, for my own life, it also holds the wisdom of my father’s longing to support his children, and it holds motherly qualities of caring for the details of community life. It holds my grandmother’s longing for forgiveness among nations and the caring of God in times of war and violence. It holds a vision of authority that I have practiced among councils and committees, and it challenges me to become a priest who prays without hesitation.
As priests in the Congregation of Holy Cross, we have all had a chair in our sanctuaries in all the countries we have served. We have all held a place, a seat of authority in the center of our worship spaces. We know the chair comes with great responsibility. It is a place not only of tradition, but a place where we must keep the mystery of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection alive. We do not own or personally possess the chair. We cannot control the challenges that authority thrusts upon us. The chair continues in its place even when we move to a new assignment or come to the end of life. The presider’s chair remains sturdy and visible before every generation. Our posture in the presider’s chair is important because it gives us a view to gaze into the eyes of those who pray with us, those who ache for the basics of life and miracles of grace from God.
At Holy Cross House, our retirement center, I have a special chair in the back of the chapel. It is a place of viewpoint, of seeing our aging men. I can view how people are aging in grace. I see more than our men imagine because of my responsibility. I am also a presider at Mass, where my viewpoint changes; I can see their aging faces, I can look into their eyes and capture a glimpse of their faith, their struggles and grief, and the beauty of how prayer accompanies them along the way. How blessed I am to have a seat among our retired religious. I treasure my chair because I see Jesus at work among us who are vulnerable and aging.
The chair in the sanctuary is more than comfort for the priest. The chair is a sturdy reminder of our surrender to Christ Jesus and is positioned to help us view the people of God with love and integrity. The chair is a place not of personal honor or power, but a place to humbly rest for the benefit of people who have no place to rest their bodies or souls on earth. We derive meaning for the presider from the recliners and wheelchairs from aging and disease to all the chairs we have noticed or rested upon in our lifetime. This is the authority of the presider’s chair, to stand up and serve the needs of people after our prayers have echoed in our churches and are lifted to heaven.
For all who hold authority in the Church. May God humble our leaders of faith. May they see with a new vision of faith and justice. May they witness the poor and work to ease their burdens. May love and hope be born from the chairs of our sanctuaries. We humbly pray, O God.
For our deepening of faith in the celebration of the Eucharist. May we treasure the gift of Divine Love in our celebrations of the Eucharist. May God reveal hope among us who pray for reconciliation, peace and harmony. May we learn to feed those who are starving for justice and the basics of life. May our faith be lived well beyond the confines of our churches. We humbly pray, O God.
For all seminarians preparing for priesthood in the Congregation of Holy Cross. May God reveal to every generation a new and vital perspective to view the world and those who ache for God. May we all be humbled in our faith and offered hope to serve people searching for faith and meaning. May our seminarians anticipate the day when they will rest in the chair in our sanctuaries and may faith offer them the zeal for God’s compassion and forgiveness. We humbly pray, O God.
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About:
Rev. Ronald Patrick Raab, C.S.C., serves as religious superior of Holy Cross House, our retirement and medical facility at Notre Dame, Indiana. He is an award-winning author, blogger, and visual artist. Learn more: ronaldraab.com
Artwork:
Fr. Ron created this colorful collage of a presider’s chair a few months ago for this article. Fr. Ron’s artwork has been published in parishes, dioceses, and ecumenical settings around the world.
Provided by Rev. Ronald P. Raab, C.S.C., July 2026
