Vocation Story
My vocation story begins some 4,000 miles away from here, in a small town in southwestern Russia. The first year of my life was spent living in that town’s hospital, located directly across the street from the apartment complex where I was found.
Just after my first birthday, by the Lord's Providence, I was adopted into a large Irish Catholic family; this is the first real turning point of my story, as it was the reason I was able to receive a Catholic education, a important means by which the Lord has called me in so many ways. Sixth grade, in particular, was a powerful one, because it was when I first felt an explicit call to the priesthood: In January of that year, in preparation for the diocese’s annual Catholic Schools Week Mass, my teacher announced that she would be choosing our class' representatives for the Mass from among volunteers. I remember feeling like I should raise my hand, even though I didn't really want to go — yet, I must admit I inherited the characteristic Irish-Catholic guilt from my family, and it was especially showing in that instance. So, I ended up raising my hand and was chosen to go, a move that would ultimately change my life.
I remember the Mass and everything afterward that day with perfect clarity. I was seated on the end of the pew, on the aisle. I vividly remember watching the priests process in — and, although I have struggled throughout the years to verbalize accurately how my heart moved as I saw this happening, I can say that I undeniably felt an attraction that was from outside myself. This increased all the more as Bishop Hurley passed by; I noticed that the gaze gaze that I had come to know from the portraits of him hanging in our school — one that I had, truthfully, always found a bit intimidating — had given way to a countenance that radiated a joy I had never encountered before, an expression possible only from a man who was giving himself entirely to God.
However, by the time the introductory rites began, I had all but forgotten this little episode. Bishop Hurley began his homily, “I remember when I was about your age, in fifth or sixth grade, I came to our cathedral for a very similar event as this. From the moment I saw our bishop, along with so many priests, process in at the beginning of Mass, I knew that one day I would join them.” Hearing this, I knew exactly what he meant, because he had put into words the attraction I had felt only moments before. The simple act of the presbyteral procession had illustrated to me the mysteriousness particular of these holy men in their vocation. I could not, of course, quite articulate this at the time, but I had been profoundly moved. My belief that this was the Lord calling me to his priesthood was so strong that, on the car ride home from school that afternoon, I announced, “Mom, I think I'm going to be a priest.”
Since March of 2017, when Bishop Walkowiak accepted me as a seminarian for the Diocese on my 18th birthday, this story has increasingly become one defined by my own decrease as I have delved into the great adventure of life lived in, with, and through Christ. I am greatly indebted to many, but with gratitude above all to God for all the blessings he has bestowed on me along the way and throughout my entire life: from infancy in a Russian hospital, to the family that brought me to “the land of the free”.
I am deeply grateful and with a full heart, I can acclaim him: praised be Jesus Christ! — now and forever.
