Father Jim Golka

Father Jim Golka

Jimmy Golka was just 12-years-old and starting his first day at Central Catholic. One of ten children and no stranger to a little rough housing, Jimmy was nonetheless terrified when a group of seniors - all of them his oldest brother Ron's friends - yelped loudly in the hallway, grabbed him by his feet, and dangled him head first over the second floor stairwell of the old school.

And that was the day he decided to become a priest.

No, not really. It was the day, however, that for one shining moment Jimmy Golka was the coolest kid in his entire class. Even abject terror was worth the heady feeling of being revered by his classmates.

He's still revered today as a parish pastor who ministers to his trusting flock at St. Mary's Cathedral, and those of us who have known him since he was a kid still think he's the coolest cat around.

The fourth of ten children, Jim remembers growing up under
the watchful care of his parents Bob and Patty Golka. Faith was the bedrock of the loving and sometimes chaotic Golka household, and Jimmy, a sweet and reliable boy, was given plenty of responsibility. On Friday nights when the family ventured out to Central Catholic football or basketball games to watch Jim's older brothers play, Patty ordered Jim to watch his sometimes adventuresome sisters Jean and Cindy.

Baby Jimmy Golka

"Why me?" Jim wailed.

"Because," his mother said. "That's who you are."

Even as a little boy, Jim was strongly affected by his parents' great faith. If a close relative or friend faced illness or tragedy, Bob and Pat loaded up all the Golkas in the family station wagon, drove to church, and prayed.

"Jesus was a friend to my mom," Jim says, "and I wanted that friendship, too."

Jimmy in grade school

Especially drawn to a children's Bible at home, Jim was fascinated by Jesus and wanted to know more about him and the Catholic faith. But he was also a shy boy, and making his First Confession made him nervous. To ease his anxiety, his mother instructed Jim's older brother John to explain the way he confessed his own sins. After that, it seemed easy.

"I went to Confession and confessed all my brother John's sins," Jim grins.

Jim with friends Jon Bartek, Stuart Zastrow.

By the time he was an eighth grader at Central Catholic, Jim was thinking about a vocation. He loved his religion teacher Mary Wiles and the way she'd gather her students in a relaxed circle on the floor to learn about their faith. He also admired and could talk easily to Father Chuck Kottas, a high school religion teacher at GICC. It was to Father Kottas that Jim first admitted his interest in the priesthood.

"Listen," the wise priest said to Jim. "You're in the eighth grade. Have fun, date some girls, and pray."

Playing football for the Crusaders

Jimmy took the advice to heart. With good GICC friends Jon Bartek, Steve Werkmeister, Gary Staab, Stuart Zastrow, Sam Daly and Mike Rohweder, he and his pals played cards, shot pool, listened to music and competed in sports. When Bartek was grounded, they sneaked him out of his house.

Occasionally they stayed out later than they should have and found a little trouble along the way. When Jimmy broke his nose in the gym and wore an unusual cast on his face, some of his girl classmates even stopped by his house to check on him.

11th grade

"So that was a good thing," Jim laughs.

Still, the nagging question of his vocation pursued him. In his senior year as a homecoming king candidate, he included his desire to be a priest in the introductory bio to be announced at the halftime ceremony. John Howard, Jim's history teacher and homecoming sponsor, removed that part from the bio.

"Why?" Jim asked later.

1985 graduation with parents Patty and Bob

"Son," Howard said, "you just don't joke about becoming a priest."

It was no joke to Jim.

The next year at Creighton University, he studied theology. Sometimes he thought about another life as a husband, father, high school teacher and coach. He craved a household of happy kids like the one he'd grown up in. But the idea of a priestly vocation was never out of mind, and the next year, Jim decided to live on the Pine Ridge reservation to drive an activities bus, tutor troubled kids and coach football, basketball and track. It was a critical year, and Jim loved the Lakota traditions. He earned a hundred bucks a month and bonded with the kids he taught and coached. But by Thanksgiving of that year, he knew it was time to leave to enter the seminary. This time there were no doubts.

Young Jim Golka was ready to embark on the journey of priesthood. His family and good friends supported him, and after a fruitful time at St. Paul Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota, he was ordained and prepared to serve.

His early years as a priest at St. James in Kearney, Holy Rosary in Alliance, and Our Lady of Guadalupe in Scottsbluff were  wonderful years in his eyes. In Scottsbluff he honed his Spanish speaking skills but to this day wishes he was more fluent.

"I can understand about 90% of the conversation with my Hispanic parishioners," he says. As a young priest, he didn't fully understand how important speaking a second language would become. Instead, he was becoming a compassionate, spiritual friend and mentor to his parishioners and friends. It was all exactly what he wanted. Until 2007 when Jim suffered a terrible accident. Biking in the Rockies with two of his seminary buddies, Jim slipped off a gravel road and landed on his neck. Miraculously, coming up the road behind them were three other bikers - all physicians. They stabilized Jim and called an ambulance.

His injuries were serious - a broken vertebrae in his neck. After undergoing surgery the next day, Jim was out of commission for a while, and as he recovered he realized he was in terrible pain due to the misalignment of his neck and the long screws that scraped his vertebrae. There was nothing to be done about his crooked neck, but the pain from the screws was almost unbearable. Enter another wonderful friend from Grand Island Central Catholic, Steve Doran - an Omaha neurosurgeon.

"Two days later, he removed the screws," Jim says. "It changed my life." Although he could no longer participate in the activities he loved - softball, running, basketball and biking - he could still perform his ministry, and for that he was supremely grateful.

The accident taught him to trust Jesus even more. "I used to think I could do anything," he says, "but my life belongs to God. I'm living his dream, not mine."

Now, as pastor of St. Mary's Cathedral, he's knee deep in the Sacraments. St. Mary's performs one out of four baptisms in the Diocese, one of five confirmations and one of six weddings. Jim averages 52 funerals a year and countless Quinceaneras. As busy and exhausted as he sometimes becomes, he experiences immense joy in ministering to the different cultures of his parish, especially the Hispanic culture.

Father Jim clowns around

"It's magic," he says. "My Hispanic members have such respect for family and their elders and prayer in the evening."

But before he came to St. Mary's, Jim dreaded the very idea of taking care of the church. At the time, he would have much preferred to pastor another parish. St. Mary's was in debt up to its eyeballs, and he knew the work load, with diminishing numbers of priests, would be exhausting. He recalls praying for guidance at a retreat just before he came to St. Mary's.

"I was praying about all the options that might be available and felt only a cold, lifeless feeling. But when I prayed about St. Mary's," he smiles, "in five minutes I felt the most life giving, trusting feeling. I could even imagine my first homily," he recalls. "And I was pissed," he laughs now.

Now, of course, he feels only blessed and has learned to trust God even more - even for financial concerns. To help with the rising debt of the parish, St. Mary's always collected an extra dollar in a second collection basket every Mass. Jim didn't like it.

"It was inhospitable," he said, "and I felt we needed to get rid of that practice and trust God to take care of the debt."

Then he learned the parish collected 100,000 dollars a year from that little dollar collection basket. It gave him pause before he pushed "send" to inform his parishioners in an email that the church would be dropping the practice. In fact, he delayed sending the email until later in the day.

"No sooner had I pushed that 'send' button than I received a phone call from a former parishioner who was a rancher and had come into an expected windfall. He wanted to donate it to St. Mary's Cathedral."

It was exactly 100,000 dollars.

"I felt God telling me, 'If only you'd pushed the send button ealier!' " Jim laughs.

This last summer, more than any other time, has been difficult. The first Covid death was a St. Mary's parishioner. Jim conducted her funeral and has buried eleven other parishioners who died from the virus. He's anointed 20 people, and every time, he's entered the hospital room in spite of grave warnings from hospital nurses.

"But this is what we do," Jim says, "and I've always felt confidence in the nurses and the way they dress me in protective gear."

Nevertheless, Jim was quarantined for two weeks after his first parishioner's death, and he believes he may have had Covid even though he was never tested. As soon as he felt well, he began another Covid ministry - Walks with Jesus. Covered from head to toe, Jim carried a Monstrance carrying the consecrated Eucharist around various neighborhoods in Grand Island. For so many Catholics who could not attend Mass and receive Holy Communion, the site of Father Jim Golka was a gift.

The Holy Spirit shines during Fr. Jim's 
Coronavirus Walk with Jesus

"I felt as if I was in the presence of Jesus," said Grand Island Central Catholic Development Director Jolene Wojcik. "It was such a powerful moment."

Jim even remembered to call on his old religion teacher Mary Wiles who now uses a walker and is confined to her home with decreased mobility.

"When I saw Jim coming down my street with the Monstrance," she said, "I was thrilled beyond belief."

On one of his routes, a young woman would run out of the house to give Jim updates on her father who was ailing with Covid. One day she told him in desperation that her father was on a ventilator and expected to die. Would Jim anoint him, she begged?

In the hospital, Jim recalls, the man's eyes were fluttering. Jim anointed his palms and gently spoke to him even though the man seemed unresponsive. Miraculously, later that day, the daughter reported that her father was remarkably better and expected to live.

When he was on the road to recovery, the father called Jim and explained in tears what had happened as Jim anointed him.  He was in a dark place of death, he told Jim.

"But when you anointed my palms," he said, "I knew Jesus was there. He told me I was going to be okay, that my sins were forgiven, and that I was going to live."

Together, they cried on the phone.

"Jesus does all of it," Jim says. "I absolutely believe in the Sacraments."

Some of us have been around long enough at Central Catholic to have taught Jim Golka and always understood he's made of fine stuff. His good parents taught all their children to follow the path of Christ and to do everything in their power to help their fellowmen.

Jim Golka is doing just that. If he ever regrets not being able to have a happy household full of kids like his own parents did, he reminds himself that God has rewarded him in other ways.

"I have many, many spiritual kids," he smiles.

We're all lucky to have Jim Golka in our lives and to call him Father. Even us tremendously old children.

God has blessed us. And with, of all people, the kid who used to sneak his buddy Jon Bartek out of the house after dark to find a little trouble.

Father Jim Golka would be the first to say that nothing is impossible with God.