The sexual scandals that the media say are “rocking and roiling” the Church have had remarkably little effect on the parishes I know.

Yes, people are shocked by the revelations of unspeakable clerical conduct and we parents would think twice before leaving our children with a priest we do not know well. But parish life and Sunday Mass have little of the turbulence that you would expect from a “Church in crisis.” Nationwide surveys support my observations: Catholics are generally happy with their priests and parishes, and few outside of the dioceses where notorious actions have occurred are leaving the Church or even cutting back on their donations.

I think these positive surveys show the good work and excellent example of the average parish priest. If Catholics by and large did not trust and even love their pastors and priests, the media saturation over the scandals of the few would have sparked a mass exodus. The fact is, though, that when most of us think of priests, we don't think of the scandals or the bishops who covered up. We think of Father Bob who baptized our children or visited our mother in the hospital. We think of good men of good humor and intelligence who made algebra or chemistry fun if not always understandable in high school or helped with life-defining decisions in college.

Sure, we all have bad priest stories of harsh confessors or a pastor with whiskey on his breath, but for most of us they pale in comparison to the good ones. The majority of Catholics have no direct experience with the “roiling” scandals, and we should not be shy in s t a t i n g that fact. Now is the time for good priest stories. Here are two of my own.

Father Shelley, a priest of more than 50 years, called me at work one morning to ask if I could teach the lesson for him at the adult catechism class that evening. His doctor had found a growth on his chest and wanted to do a biopsy, Father explained. I left work early and rushed to the church to prepare the lesson, but arrived to find Father Shelley in the classroom arranging the chairs. A white bandage bulged through the chest buttons of his cassock.

“I tried to rest, but I was never good at napping,” he said after I urged him to sit down. Gently, I asked about the biopsy.

“It's cancer,” he said with stoic finality while writing on the blackboard. “The doctor said the result was negative.”

“But doesn't negative mean good in this case?” I said.

“Wait, you're right,” he replied, pausing a second. “Negative means it's not cancerous!” He continued to write on the board. Never had I seen such detachment from self.

On another occasion, a young priest, Father McCarthy, received a call at 5 in the morning from my friend whose wife had died at home after a long battle with cancer. Father McCarthy arrived 15 minutes later with Roman collar in place and prayer book in hand. He had anointed my friend's wife the day before, while she was in a coma, so he said the prayers for the dead at the bedside. After a few words about how the faith of this young mother had inspired him, he offered consoling handshakes and headed for the door. No long speech, no excessive display. He let Christ and the prayers of the Church do the talking.

At the door, he told my friend, “Call me any time.”

Think of your own good priest stories, and tell them to a friend whose faith may be wavering.

Brian Caulfield writes from West Haven, Connecticut.