April 6, 2018 at 1:53 p.m.
TO BE ORDAINED FOR DIOCESE
Four new priests all surprised by vocations
Four new priests all surprised by vocations
As their ordination by Bishop Edward B. Scharfenberger approached -- it's scheduled for June 18, 11 a.m., at Albany's Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception -- each of the four shared with The Evangelist what brought him to this point. (Next week's issue will include photos of the ordination ceremony.)
DEACON BRIAN KELLY
"You don't even like to go [to church] on Sundays," said Brian Kelly's surprised friends when he told them he was going to study for the priesthood.
Soon-to-be Father Kelly, 35, cheerfully looks back now on his years as a self-described "bratty teenager" who had no interest in going to Mass, but "had no problem taking money from the Church."
He wasn't stealing: His godfather was Rev. Arthur Becker, pastor (now deceased) of Deacon Kelly's home parish of Holy Trinity in Cohoes, and the cranky teen had landed a job as the parish groundskeeper.
Earning a degree in accounting from Siena College in Loudonville helped him advance to a combined position as business manager for Holy Trinity, bookkeeper for three other Cohoes parishes (now closed) and administrator of a nearby Catholic cemetery.
"I was making decent money and using my accounting degree," he recalled. Considering any other career path seemed to him like taking a year off to tour Europe: a nice idea, but not practical.
Meanwhile, Deacon Kelly said, his parents, Tom and Kathy, were active Catholics, and his pastor/godfather was nagging him to attend Mass. He eventually started going to daily Mass at Holy Trinity before work, telling himself, "I'm just going to sit here and see what's going on."
Something stirred within him. He started thinking about religious life.
"There's a fear factor to it," Deacon Kelly remarked. "Most people have the idea that, if you're even considering priesthood, you're locked in." But "the whole point is supposed to be about discerning and praying."
So, he did that. As he contemplated the unknown -- the thought of "giving up job security to figure out where the Lord is calling you" -- he said he experienced "little graces [that] you start to consider more than your hesitation."
Deacon Kelly applied to study for the priesthood for the Albany Diocese, and he was accepted. He said family and friends, while "shocked," were "extremely supportive." His own father had spent time in the seminary and knew many priests of the Diocese, and Father Becker was behind him: "I have unlimited support from all avenues."
At Mundelein Seminary in Illinois, he also found fellow seminarians working through issues like whether they were called to marriage, or called at all. It was good to be among people discerning the same things, he said.
Back home on breaks, Deacon Kelly also met people who were praying for him through the whole process and parishioners who reminded him "why you're doing it in the first place." During formation, he served at Immaculate Heart of Mary parish in Watervliet and Christ the King in Westmere, Albany, as well as studying American Sign Language at Gallaudet University in Washington.
What really made his vocation "click," he said, was a stint in clinical-pastoral education (CPE) at Albany Medical Center. He discovered that he excelled during the intense, adrenaline-fueled moments of emergency situations.
"You never knew what you were walking into," Deacon Kelly told The Evangelist. "At Albany Med, you get some of the worst cases in the area. You go in[to the hospital room], and you're all in. You have about 90 seconds to gain somebody's trust."
He described one incident when he stood with a family whose loved one, a gang member, had been shot and killed. As Deacon Kelly supported the mother and grandmother, other gang members who were present spoke of retaliating for the shooting. Members of an Albany Med program for such situations helped to de-escalate their anger.
Another time, Deacon Kelly baptized a six-month-old boy who was not expected to live. While a medical team worked to save the baby, the seminarian prayed alongside the child's parents for a solid hour and a half. Finally, the baby's condition stabilized, and Deacon Kelly did the baptism.
It was a gift: That day was the future priest's birthday.
Hospital work also showed him the other end of the spectrum: older people at the end of life. Deacon Kelly described one woman he knew from a parish who was about to die of cancer: "She was like, 'Well, I know where I'm going.' She was more concerned about her family than herself -- she had that great a faith."
Such experiences also made the seminarian reflect on everyday aspects of parish life -- making coffee, ordering photocopy paper -- as opposed to the intensity of helping a family say goodbye to a loved one.
He learned, he said, "what a priest can really do in a moment."
Six years into his studies, the "super introvert" said he's excited to start his ministry as a priest. He's been spending his free time walking his parents' golden retriever, listening to classic rock and letting others plan the receptions after he's ordained.
Deacon Kelly has also mused on how he has changed and grown from the young man who thought upon entering the seminary, having worked for the Church, that he "just needed to learn how to say Mass" and such, into a full-fledged member of what he calls a "pretty cool" group of new priests for the Diocese.
"We're all from very different backgrounds, not out of the same mold," Deacon Kelly explained.
As for ordination, "I'm ready to go. I'm at peace with it, and I'm curious about where they're going to send me."
DEACON STEVE MATTHEWS
A warning has already been issued to the friends and family of Deacon Steve Matthews: "Don't be surprised if you see me crying on the altar" at the ordination ceremony.
"I'm afraid I'm going to be bawling!" he confessed.
Emotions are running high because it's been an extremely long road to the priesthood for Deacon Matthews. At 59, he's the oldest of the "class of 2016" priests of the Diocese -- but, in fact, he first went into the seminary three decades ago.
Deacon Matthews is a native of Long Island. He was in high school when his parish asked students to work in the rectory. Along with his friends, he answered phones and did other chores, becoming comfortable with parish life and priests.
What Deacon Matthews terms his "initial call" to the priesthood grew. He finished college and, in 1979, entered a seminary on Long Island. After two years, though, he felt priestly life "just wasn't right" for him, and left.
Working in banking and credit card operations, he also enrolled in graduate school, earning a master's degree in theology. The student himself wasn't sure why, telling himself: "Perhaps I just need to get more knowledge. Perhaps it's just closure." He even thought the point might be to make friends he could approach with questions about God.
"Where is God in this? What does God want from me?" he wondered.
Twenty years went by. Deacon Matthews was working for Visa in California, helping customers resolve disputes over items that weren't as expected or problems with car repairs. He found the work interesting and was able to travel around the country, but he wasn't quite fulfilled.
He prayed that God would stop putting a "bug in his ear" and make his path clearer, begging, "Send me a bolt of lightning!"
He got it: He was laid off. But that made him feel his life was a "shambles."
Frustrated, he screamed at God, "I'll go for spiritual direction! Is that what you want?"
At that moment, he said, "Everything just calmed down."
The future priest found a spiritual director to talk with about where God was leading him. Over the next few months, "everything started falling into place." Today, he describes the process as moving down a dining room table, seat by seat, toward the head.
Priesthood was his path, he realized -- but he was already in his 50s. The Archdiocese of San Francisco turned him down. Deacon Matthews found a website of vocations directors for U.S. dioceses and emailed places that interested him.
"If I'm too old, you don't have to respond," he told them.
Rev. James Walsh, then on the vocations team for the Albany Diocese, wrote back. It so happened that Father Walsh was planning to fly to California to meet with another potential seminarian. "What are you doing in two weeks?" he asked.
From there, things proceeded rapidly. The two met; Deacon Matthews came back east for the psychological evaluations and meetings necessary for applicants to the priesthood for the Diocese; and he entered Pope St. John XXIII National Seminary in Weston, Mass., which specializes in "second-career priests."
Going back to school was an adjustment, he said. Older seminarians used to independent living were now under one roof, and taking difficult courses, to boot. Deacon Matthews' tactic was to find students who understood specific subjects well and form study groups.
"Once I was in, I was certain this was what God wanted me to do," he noted, though "I wasn't sure I could do it." He compared the process to quitting smoking, which he'd accomplished nine years ago with "a lot of prayer: 'OK, God, you've got to do this, because I can't.'"
Deacon Matthews' parents are deceased, but siblings and friends told him his vocation was "obvious."
"God has to have much patience, because I drove Him nuts!" the soon-to-be priest remarked.
Since he had his theology degree, his formation only took three years, including service at St. Peter's parish in Saratoga Springs and Our Lady of Victory in Troy, and at a nursing home in Massachusetts.
At the latter, he discovered an aptitude for ministry to senior citizens. Becoming particularly close to one 97-year-old resident, he noted, "said to me, 'I can do this. I'm not afraid to walk in. The Holy Spirit's in charge.'" The two still keep in touch.
Technically, Deacon Matthews is starting his priestly ministry eligible to retire in 15 years. But, after having waited so long, he says that "as long as I'm healthy, I'm going to do as much as I can for the people of Albany."
His energy doesn't stop his younger peers from kidding about his age. "Brian [Kelly, the youngest of the new priests] will text me, 'Am I interrupting your naptime?' I tell him, 'I'll remember you when I'm retired already and you're just hitting your stride!'"
Deacon Matthews expects to be assigned as pastor of a parish -- probably a rural one -- in a couple of years. "That's fine," he declared. "I'm happy to go wherever there's a need."
The new priest will bring a gift of organization: He remarked that, aside from movies, dinner and time at the gym, he likes helping friends set up for parties so much that they joke about that being the reason he's invited. When ordination day arrives, Deacon Matthews believes all his friends and relatives who have passed away will be watching.
"We believe in the communion of saints. All these people are with me," he told The Evangelist. On June 18, "they're all getting together up in heaven, [saying], 'It's 11:00!'"
DEACON PATRICK RICE
Deacon Patrick Rice's 92-year-old mother, Mary, used to call him a vagabond.
The new priest is full of stories: the time he met a potential employer and thought, "There's no way I'm leaving this office without a job," and got one...the way he broke off his relationship with his girlfriend, for whom he'd already bought an engagement ring...the time he and another seminarian went under a bridge in Massachusetts at night to bring water to homeless people.
"If you think that's crazy, you should hear my vocation story!" the 57-year-old declared.
Soon-to-be Father Rice started life in New Jersey. One of eight children in an Irish Catholic family whose father who was a deacon, he says he was "never afraid of a challenge." He majored in marketing at Manhattan College and sold business forms door-to-door in New York City, making cold calls at offices.
Burned out by age 25, he talked his way into a position as a territory manager for the Michelin tire company -- first in Oklahoma City, then based in Albany. He covered 11 states from Maine to Maryland, calling on dealers who handled fleets of vehicles. To this day, he can explain in detail why it's important to rotate one's tires and what's wrong with warranty programs.
"The business world is not an easy world to be in," Deacon Rice told The Evangelist. He did well, but undercutting the competition and trying to make money for the company wore on him.
The energetic salesman met a woman he dated for several years. She was a realtor based in Plattsburgh, so he commuted to see her in between working and managing a rental property he'd bought in Albany.
At one point, his girlfriend's father asked Deacon Rice to manage a company the man had purchased. Deacon Rice left his job before learning the purchase agreement had never been signed.
Undaunted, the future priest started over again, managing an Adirondack Tire branch and then taking another position in the same field. In all, he worked in the commercial tire industry for 27 years.
All those years, there had been something else under the surface.
His sister, Mary Jane, was a 40-year member of the Opus Dei organization for Catholics, and "I [also] watched my older brother, Greg," Deacon Rice remembered. "He was a daily communicant; he lived his life to his faith.
"I thought he was putting on a show for my mom -- my dad passed away in '91 -- but he raised his kids to have a deep faith, and it made a difference in his family. There's a sense of peace about him -- something that was missing for me."
While still in tire sales around the country, Deacon Rice had started going to daily Mass. He'd arrive at a hotel, fire up his laptop computer and find the closest church. Then he started staying after Mass to pray the Rosary. When he started his workday, there would already be 10 messages on his phone.
After realizing his relationship with his fiancée was not working out and breaking it off, Deacon Rice came to another realization: He was being called to the priesthood.
First, he told his mother. She thought it was related to job woes, but "I'm serious," Deacon Rice told her. "That's what scares me," she shot back.
The future priest was persistent. He met with a vocation director in Newark, N.J., who suggested the "second-career priest" program in Albany. So he met with Father Walsh, who warned that he'd have to leave his job, sell his car and get rid of his rental property: "I can't have you getting a phone call that the boiler broke down when you're in seminary."
Deacon Rice agreed to everything. It didn't matter to him if others in his life were surprised; many friends had "always thought I thought outside the box too much" anyway, he said, and his family were all adults, making their own decisions.
As for work, he told just a couple of coworkers and customers. "That's really cool; we need more of those [priests]," one told him, adding: "I'd always noticed, when we went out to dinner, you'd bless yourself before we ate. I knew there was something there."
His boss thought Deacon Rice was joking and promised him a better position if he stayed. "Money isn't everything in life. I'm done," the new seminarian replied.
Soon, like Deacon Matthews, he was attending Pope St. John XXIII National Seminary, studying for the priesthood for the Diocese.
Coursework was not easy. Deacon Rice recorded his classes and typed up his notes, but his first homily assignments came back from his professors with "more red than black" ink on them.
"If this is what you want me to do," he prayed to God, "you'd better help me!"
During eucharistic adoration, he squirmed at first, whispering to fellow seminarian James Davis (now a priest of the Diocese), "Jim, everybody's really quiet."
"It's meditation time, Pat," the future Father Davis whispered back. "Just sit and let it go."
Deacon Rice tried, and succeeded. "This is what I'm looking for," he concluded.
As his time in seminary went on, the future priest initially known for having "brought laughter back to the halls" became more serious. Some people wondered what was wrong, but others realized he was focused on the "four pillars" of study: pastoral, spiritual, human and academic.
It was an important time. "I didn't have to chase the church anymore," Deacon Rice explained. "Mass was right there. It was 120 paces to the chapel."
He also learned academics weren't everything. A fan of Pope Francis and his emphasis on the poor and marginalized, Deacon Rice got involved with a ministry called "I Thirst," bringing bottled water to addicts and homeless people living under bridges along a Massachusetts river.
He worked at a Schenectady soup kitchen when he was back in the Diocese on breaks, and served at Immaculate Heart of Mary parish in Watervliet, St. Mary's in Ballston Spa and St. Kateri Tekakwitha in Schenectady. He hopes to continue his work with people on the margins after he's ordained.
Being this close to ordination is "surreal," Deacon Rice said. "I'm nervous as can be."
Having gone to a seminary classmate's ordination, "to see him become a priest and say Mass was pretty wild. What am I going to feel like in five years, when I look back?"
After he's assigned to a parish, Deacon Rice is looking forward to staying for a while. "I want to get to know the parishioners," he said. In fact, if he spends a few years in one place before becoming a pastor, he'd like that.
Deacon Rice's mother, now 92, recently broke her hip. Though he's rooting for her to attend his ordination ceremony, she shrugged, telling him, "I'm going to be there one way or the other: in the front row in heaven or the front row at the cathedral."
DEACON FRANCIS VIVACQUA
Deacon Francis Vivacqua may not have known he'd become a priest, but it seems like everyone else did.
"My great-grandmother told me I would be a priest," the 42-year-old admitted. "I had some friends who would call me 'Father Francis.'"
Then there was the woman, a stranger, who stopped after a daily Mass the young man attended and grabbed his hands. "She said, 'To think, one day these hands will consecrate the body of Christ,' and walked out."
The future Father Vivacqua hadn't even told anyone that he was starting to think about priesthood.
When he was growing up in Our Lady Queen of Apostles parish in Frankfort, young Francis had attended novenas with his aunts. His great-grandmother lived across the street from the church. He got to know priests outside of Mass; long-time pastor Rev. Alfred Lamanna became a mentor.
"The Church has always been very important to me," Deacon Vivacqua said.
Still, he was determined to become a teacher, and he wanted a large family with a lot of children and dogs. He earned his degree in elementary education and taught in North Carolina, then Virginia; he got a master's degree in administration and supervision and became a principal in Rochester, N.Y.
"I loved being in the classroom. I was devoted to my students," he recalled, especially those with special needs and those who, even living in America today, did not have indoor plumbing or electricity at home. If their parents were migrant workers, he'd meet with the parents at 6 a.m., before they had to start work. Being flexible, he said, is a way to evangelize.
The teacher went to Mass every day, too.
Around 2008, his mother was diagnosed with stage-four colon cancer and given just months to live. Deacon Vivacqua left his job to help care for her. Two years later, she was still holding on.
"I figured, if I wasn't working, I would volunteer in church," Deacon Vivacqua said.
He added more and more parish ministries -- and noticed his words and actions were changing. He'd mow the lawn and think about an elderly woman he'd met, so he'd offer up his task in her honor. He'd remember someone at the grocery store and say a Rosary for that person.
"I was, a lot more, seeing the struggles and needs of people in the church and community," he said.
On April 4, 2010, Deacon Vivacqua got an email from a church friend named Sue. After discussing a liturgy committee meeting, she'd added: "Forgive me for asking, but have you ever thought about seeking a vocation to the priesthood?"
Deacon Vivacqua was stunned. He started to reflect on where his life was going: his parish, his mother, his experiences. When he went to a friend's baptism on Long Island a week later, he cried through the whole thing.
During the night, he woke up weeping -- and heard a voice. "Francis, just follow me," it said.
"I won't be afraid any longer," the future priest answered. A feeling of peace came over him. Soon afterward, he applied to enter the seminary.
"I don't think many people were surprised," Deacon Vivacqua says today. "It was something I'd pushed away," but the call was always there.
Part of that call was unexpected, though: His experience with his mother's illness and hospice care had prepared him for ministry to people who are suffering from health problems.
"I never wanted to think that would be a ministry I'd be drawn to," he said -- but he ended up sitting with Rev. Charles Gaffigan, a retired priest of the Diocese, when Father Gaffigan was dying of cancer. They'd gotten to know each other when Father Gaffigan lived out in Herkimer County for a while.
"During the last week [of his life], I was there with him almost the entire time," Deacon Vivacqua recalled. Sometimes, they'd pray together, and "we had a lot of great conversations in the middle of the night."
He envisions anointing the sick as an opportunity to "bring a sense of peace" to someone who's suffering. "Being a priest carries many responsibilities: being with people, helping them along their journeys of faith," he remarked.
What he's praying about most these days is, "How am I going to be able to minister to the people I'm assigned to?"
The new priest started out in formation in the Rochester Diocese, but came home to the Albany Diocese four years into the process. He believes the Blessed Mother guided him here.
Deacon Vivacqua has served at Holy Trinity parish in Johnstown and Holy Spirit in Gloversville. He said he enjoyed leading Bible studies and getting to know people, but he's also passionate about helping the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs in Auriesville.
The shrine may soon be turned over to a foundation created by Bishop Scharfenberger (read a previous story at www.evangelist.org). Deacon Vivacqua pitched in with a telethon to raise funds for the shrine, through which he got to know Jake Finkbonner, the young man whose miraculous cure from a flesh-eating bacterium helped win St. Kateri Tekakwitha her sainthood.
When the priest celebrates his first Mass, it will be at the shrine, and Jake will bring up the chalice he'll use for the blood of Christ. Deacon Vivacqua likes the symbolism of new life in the Eucharist, just as he hopes the shrine gets a new lease on life.
"As the day's coming closer, there is this awesomeness -- a sense of grace," he said the week before his ordination.
At the ceremony, Deacon Vivacqua will be joined by his father and stepmother, biological siblings and step-siblings. His mother passed away in 2012. The new priest also enjoys the families and pets of good friends with whom he spends many holidays; he's a skier and likes boating, as well.
Deacon Vivacqua calls himself "definitely a 'Valley boy,'" but said he'll happily serve in any parish where he's assigned.
There -- as a stranger foresaw years ago -- "God willing, I will be able to consecrate the host and wine into the body and blood of Christ and be in the midst of His presence."[[In-content Ad]]
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