Raised in a small town, the sixth of nine children, seven boys and two girls, Msgr. Chester Borski is an avid hunter, a world traveler, and a surrogate father/grandfather to many of his past and present parishioners. He was a man of great stature; beyond his near 6’ 5” frame, he held court as Rector at St. Mary’s Seminary in Houston, Texas for nineteen years.
Msgr. Borski hired me to work in the youth ministry program in his first year at St. Martha, Mary, and Lazarus – Friends of Jesus Parish (St. Martha’s for short) when I was twenty-nine years old. One day I came into his office, with the intent of resigning due to my self-diagnosis of insanity. He leaned forward in his chair, with a wide grin on his face, slapped the desk and said, ‘Tell me, what’s going on in that head of yours.’ Soon the experiences that had been hiding deep inside, spilled out of me like the kernels of deer corn from a ripped 40lb bag – dusty, messy, and all over the place.
Spiritual warfare is real. My first experience of understanding the reality of good and evil was at eight years old, living in El Paso, TX. I was walking home from a friend’s house after school, and a young man who knew me by name, used a knife to keep me quiet, letting me know the ‘devil wanted me’. What ensued was nothing less than miraculous as I was saved by a stranger and my own mother. Later, we found out my family had been targeted, and I was to be this young man’s initiation killing to join a gang out of Juarez, Mexico. As a result, my dad demoted himself within his company to move us from the chaos to his hometown in Texas.
All of it kept rushing out of me as Msgr. Borski calmly listened, sitting back in his leather chair. I revealed traumatic events, not as demonic or spiritual in nature, but closer to reality and closer to home in the form of horrible abuse. In all of these and other experiences, I could know and see very visible aspects of this battle of good and evil. I’d been in therapy for many years for my life experiences, but this was a spiritual component that I had never been able to speak about because it made me feel crazy.
When I was done, it was quiet for a moment. I asked Msgr. Borski, “Do you think I’m crazy? Do you think I need to be locked away?”
I was ready at that very moment to go into a mental institution. To leave my family and the ministry behind. I was convinced the atrocities that I had encountered perpetuated these unexplainable visions and spiritual moments, as an effect of the abuse.
The most beautiful sound erupted from him, a fit of laughter and, to my amazement, a showing of love, “No, no, you’re not crazy. It’s a gift. We all have the gifts of the Holy Spirit; some are more pronounced in each one of us. It’s the gift of discernment of spirits. Now, it is a special gift and one that needs a lot of care. I want you to get a spiritual advisor, preferably a priest and he can help you work through these moments.”
The love and gentle care he gave me was its own gift, one that set forth my path and opened the doors to, what I believe, is God’s will in my life. I had a newfound strength in wisdom and knowledge of the Holy Spirit, and I could speak boldly on the reality of the seen and unseen battles we face daily.
For eight years I worked under Msgr. Borski’s guidance. I witnessed multiple accounts of his gift in pastoral care. His ability to listen with sincere concern and reprimand with love and guidance when necessary. He was strong in his conviction, and at the same time, he treated each person like a child of God, children that would make mistakes but deserved the gift of God’s mercy and forgiveness. Instead of judgment they received second chances and because of this grace the respect for Msgr. Borski overflowed at this parish.
Often our pastor was referred to as the Gentle Giant. I am not certain Msgr. Borski ever knew this but many agreed. He is a magnanimous force to be reckoned with who exudes the light of Christ to all. He has seen me through many hardships and joys within the last twenty years, and because of his shepherding my faith has never waned. It is no coincidence God had put him in a place to teach our shepherds and though I know I am one of thousands at the parish he called home for nearly twenty years, I know I am one of the many who felt found and heard when he called my name.
