‘Rapping Priest’ not the norm in any way,
but Father Norman has ‘em shouting ‘Amen!’

By Terri McLean
KyForward News Editor

It’s safe to say that Norman Fischer is not your typical Catholic priest.

For one thing, he doesn’t much look the part. At 38 years old, he’s younger than many of his more senior counterparts. And, as the son of an African-American father and Filipino mother, he is one of a relatively few priests of color in the United States.

But the most atypical characteristic about Fischer belies his appearance and confounds even the stereotypes. The beloved “Father Norm” just loves to have a good time.

Whether he’s rapping the homily for high school students, jumping up and down during mass at his church, or dancing the night away after performing a wedding ceremony, Fischer’s penchant for fun and celebratory spirit are evident in nearly everything he does.

He’s the priest who loves to perform skits and recite poetry; the one who is comfortable leaving the confines of the podium and running up and down the aisles to preach the Gospel.

He’s the priest who recently convinced parishioners to have an old-fashioned revival service, as well as the one who encourages them to shout ‘Amen!’ when they hear something they like.

And, yes, he’s the priest with the tambourine. “It’s right there by my chair at the church,” he confesses.

“I really believe there’s a great synergy with faith and fun,” said Fischer, the chaplain at Lexington Catholic High School and pastor at St. Peter Claver Catholic Church in Lexington. After all, Fischer says, “Jesus had good times,” why shouldn’t his followers?

“In the spirit of love, anything is possible.”

* * * * *

Norman Fischer may be atypical in the ranks of Catholic priests, but by most standards, his upbringing in a devout Catholic family was fairly routine. He attended church regularly, served as an altar boy and, with his parents’ encouragement, regularly helped those less fortunate.

Often, Fischer and his older siblings would also “play” church, especially on days when inclement weather kept them from playing and working outside on the family’s farm in Perryville. Fischer, wearing a bathrobe and dispensing vanilla wafers and red Kool-aid as communion, would naturally play the priest.

Still, Fischer never thought he would one day take on the role of a real-life priest. Not even when, at about age 9, a well-respected priest and soon-to-be mentor named Bill Spalding pulled him aside and told him otherwise.

“He told me that I was going to become a priest and would take his place one day. Point blank,” Fischer said. “I thought that was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. I just giggled.”

As he got older, little changed to convince Fischer that Father Spalding’s prophesy would one day come true. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in and love God. “There was no doubt I knew there was a God and that that God was a God of love as bright as the sun. I’d stare at the sun just to get an idea of how bright,” he said, adding, “The sun would always win, of course.”

And it wasn’t that he didn’t believe that people should devote their lives to service, not only to God but to others.

“My dad was the one who taught us to help others, to give your time and not expect any payment,” he said. “My mother was the one. If there’s somebody poor, do something about it cause no one should be left out without anything”

Rather, Fischer could never envision himself as a priest “because I didn’t see anyone doing this that looked like me.”

“They were all over 40 and white. I just didn’t see how that part of the Catholic Church would be something that I would feel invited to participate in,” he explained.

In high school, Fischer continued to strengthen his faith and commitment to service. He took on roles of spiritual leadership among his peers and socialized with others who shared his faith. But one question was still looming: “Would you love me enough to give your life in service and become a priest.”

“I could say on my knees and in my bed that, yes, I loved the Lord and whatever you want me to do I’ll do,” he said. “The only thing is that I still couldn’t see myself being a priest because there were no role models.”

Things changed fairly dramatically when, as a freshman at Centre College, Fischer was invited to be a youth delegate to the National Black Catholic Congress. As a result, he not only began to interact with other black Catholics, he saw firsthand that there were, indeed, other black priests.

“It was a whole other powerful experience of what it means to be Catholic,” he said. “I felt at home. I felt alive. I felt that what Father Bill Spalding prophesied could be realized.”

More importantly, Fischer said, he finally realized that “when you have faith, you’re never underrepresented.”

Fresh out of Centre College in 1995 and now accepting his “calling,” Fischer applied to study for the priesthood with the Diocese of Lexington. He entered University of St. Mary of the Lake seminary in Chicago, where he would go on to receive a master’s of divinity in 2000.

Shortly after graduating from seminary, he was assigned positions by the Diocese of Lexington – one in Winchester and one in Mt. Sterling. Then, in 2005, he was reassigned to two new positions: He was asked to rebuild the historically black St. Peter Claver church and to “take care of the youth and spiritual needs” at Lexington Catholic High School. He is in his seventh year in both.

The secret to Fischer’s success? Aside from spiritual guidance from God, he attributes his success as a priest to an ability to relate to people – no matter their age, no matter their background, no matter their race.

“I can’t see myself not relating to everyone,” he said.

And relating to people means “I meet them where they are.”

At Lexington Catholic, Fischer might break into a rap song or “infuse dramatization” in the mass to help students relate to faith. At St. Peter Claver, he might walk up to a parishioner in the middle of mass and ask him or her a pointed question. Once, to illustrate the concept of “walking in Jesus’ footsteps,” he had two people take off their shoes in church. Such actions, he said, are “very Father Norm.”

“I think that was a concern when I was first ordained,” Fischer added. “But they needed to know my leash was longer. It was working.”

Photos from Fischer