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Irish Times
5 hours ago
- Politics
- Irish Times
‘People don't care that much': Frustrated sighs audible as students asked the ‘British or Irish' question
The students of Northern Ireland 's first integrated school, Lagan College in Belfast , visibly shudder when faced with a question about identity late in a conversation about the future they seek. 'How many of you would describe yourselves as Irish, and how many would describe yourselves as British?' they are asked. The sighs of frustration roll forward from the back of the P13 AS Government & Politics class. 'We get annoyed at the question because it's quite stereotypical. I would consider myself Irish, but I wouldn't exactly take issue with anybody else saying otherwise,' one student says. READ MORE 'Slowly over time, especially among our generation, it's becoming less of a problem. People don't care that much. It depends on your background, but most don't really care where you're from, don't really care what your identity is,' says another. Contrary to the image offered by this month's anti-immigration riots in Ballymena and elsewhere, the question, however, highlights changing attitudes among swathes of Northern Ireland's youth. For them, if not for everyone, identities of all kinds are fluid, important enough to be respected, or not important enough to fight over, even if many come from still-segregated communities. Facing often vicious opposition, Lagan was set up in September 1981 during some of the darkest days of the Troubles by Catholic and Protestant parents, who wanted their children to learn together. A total of 28 children came on the first day – 14 Catholic, 14 Protestant. Today, Lagan has grown to 1,460 pupils, with 200 new arrivals each year on a campus beside Gregagh Glen – one of 71 integrated schools in Northern Ireland. It's a warts-and-all approach, we don't stifle debate within the classroom. Everybody has an opinion, and they're all entitled to it, as long as they express it respectfully — Fergal McGuckin On a Tuesday afternoon, the P13 class and their teacher, Fergal McGuckin, interrupt class to talk about the lessons students have learned from going to Lagan, and their lives outside. Student Cillian Connolly has no doubts about the benefits. 'I have friends here from obviously Protestant backgrounds, from Catholic backgrounds, and Muslim backgrounds and everything else. 'In our group, no one would even know what you are, or care. I've been here for four years and I didn't even know if my mates were Protestant or Catholic half of the time,' he tells The Irish Times. Lagan College history teacher, Fergal McGuckin However, Northern Ireland's changing face is evident elsewhere, too, he asserts, citing the belief of friends in denominational schools who often, nevertheless, think that their own school is integrated. 'They'll say, 'There's loads of Catholics in our school.' So, they think it is integrated because of the numbers of other faiths, even though it isn't integrated, as such. That's kind of good, really, that they would think like that, it's unofficial integration.' Outside the classroom, however, students are still often badged by their first, or second names, or where they live: 'Sometimes, someone will say, 'Oh, you can just tell you're a Catholic,'' he says. Later generations will find the debate about integrated education puzzling, he believes. 'Our grandkids will look back and think, 'Wait, there were Catholic schools and Protestant schools? That's so odd.' Lagan College, Belfast, was set up in September 1981 during some of the darkest days of the Troubles. Photograph: Liam McBurney/PA Wire 'It's like us looking back and thinking that it was completely mad that there were separate toilets for black and white people in the United States. They'll think that it was all completely mad,' he says. Just eight per cent of Northern Ireland's students go to integrated schools, even though, depending on the poll, nearly 80 per cent of parents say that they want more such schools. 'However, none of the 8 per cent of places that we have were established by the government, or by government planning,' says Paul Caskey, chief executive of the Integrated Education Fund charity. The Irish language is studied by all first-year Lagan students. Dubbed 'enrichment Irish', it shows where it 'has come from and (explains) the significance it has, in place names, etc', says principal, Amanda McNamee. Sixteen years in post, principal of Lagan Colllege, Amanda McNamee. Photograph: Liam McBurney/PA Wire The numbers studying fall away in later years, she says: between six and 12 students take GCSE Irish examinations, while an A-Level option was dropped because it did not have enough demand. Students usually study three A-level subjects, so choices must narrow: 'And it is a difficult language, and I say that as an English teacher; it's not easy,' McNamee says. However, the first-year experience leaves its mark: 'The children love the songs, the cultural side. Some, though, find it difficult to pick up – from all different ability levels,' she says. Most of the P13 students are interested in some political issues, but have little interest in politicians – and very little, it has to be said, in the workings of the Stormont Assembly and Executive. Connolly's classmate, Francesca Keenan, voices an unhappiness shared by others: 'They're not really helping the majority of ordinary people. Even though they seem to have differing ideas of what should go on, they're really serving their own interests.' For the last 16 years, the English-accented Amanda McNamee, born in England to Irish parents, has led the school in a career honoured by an MBE from Queen Elizabeth, one that began in Omagh before the Real IRA bombing . [ End of segregation in Northern Ireland is a long way off, report finds Opens in new window ] Shortly after 3pm on August 15th, 1998, McNamee, then newly married, was preparing with her husband to pick up a new kitchen in a shop near the courthouse in the bustling Co Tyrone town. Nearing Omagh, she changed her mind: 'We'd been out the night before. I said to Adrian, 'Oh, we're tired and jaded. Let's go home,'' she says. A few minutes later, the bomb exploded, killing 29. Life's journey can be decided by a turn of the wheel. Today, McNamee's passion for the social value of integrated education, fuelled by her time in Drumragh Integrated College in Omagh, is evident. Lagan has a clear code based on the Christian principles of equality, service, reconciliation and respect, she says, 'where everyone is expected to be exposed to, and to respect, the beliefs of others'. Students gathered to consider the legacies of the queen and Pope Francis when they died 'because for many people in our school they were important parts of their lives' she says. 'If it's important to some of us, it needs to be respected by all of us, so it's not that someone can opt out of such an assembly because they don't recognise the queen, or the Pope – they can't,' she says. Years ago, Lagan students' uniforms marked them out, though such problems have faded. However, students coming from still-divided communities are often regarded locally as 'different'. 'Sometimes, you'll hear other people say things that you just haven't been exposed to here, because it's so normalised for me to be with people of other religions and stuff,' says one student. Coming to Lagan was 'like night and day' compared to elsewhere, another student says, 'the way people treat one another, attitudes to language and stuff, you get none of that hate'. Lagan's students are well versed in the Troubles throughout their school years, says McGuckin, right up to the end: 'So, they're probably sick of it by then. 'It's a warts-and-all approach, we don't stifle debate within the classroom. Everybody has an opinion, and they're all entitled to it, as long as they express it respectfully.' 'Students learn to be comfortable in their own skin, about being a nationalist or a unionist, or whatever.' The bonds made in Lagan last. 'Friendships made here endure. It's like a badge of honour,' he says.
Hamilton Spectator
2 days ago
- General
- Hamilton Spectator
Meet the men who just became Catholic priests in Virginia
ARLINGTON, Va. (AP) — At a time when the U.S. Catholic Church is grappling with a severe shortage of priests, the Diocese of Arlington, Virginia, recently ordained 12 new priests — its second-largest class ever — in a joyful Mass at its cathedral. Ahead of the ceremony, The Associated Press spent time with the men , who explained what drove them to choose a life of celibacy, obedience and devotion. Here are four of their stories. A rare kind of leader As a teenager active in youth ministry, the Rev. Ricky Malebranche was often encouraged by adults to consider the priesthood. He assumed it was just what Catholics told religious, young men. At the end of college, he thought seriously about seminary. But it would take another nine years, he said, before God told him: 'I want you to be my priest.' By then, he had built a career as a high school counselor and coach. He owned a home and hoped to one day marry and have children. 'Oh no, you missed your chance, Jesus,' he thought. After he finally decided to apply to seminary, he felt a profound sense of peace. He later enrolled at Mount St. Mary's, a Catholic institution in western Maryland where the diocese sends some of its seminarians. The son of Haitian immigrants, Malebranche now joins a small group of Black American priests. Though rich in tradition , Black Catholics make up 5% of the U.S. church, and account for less than 1% of U.S. priests. 'I am very cognizant of it every time I do anything in ministry, that I represent a larger group than just me,' Malebranche said. 'I have this desire to not let them down,' he said. 'I want to be able to bring pride to a people who don't always see themselves represented.' A military chaplain Before he ever considered ordination, the Rev. Mike Sampson, without conscious thought, made the sign of the cross — a decidedly Catholic ritual. 'I looked up and laughed,' he recalled. Though raised Protestant, he took the moment as a prompt from God to explore Catholicism. The California native practiced law while volunteering at his local parish in Arlington, Virginia. Six years after his conversion, he enrolled in seminary to become a priest. 'Very proud,' is how his mother, Diane Sampson, described feeling after her son's recent ordination. His call to the priesthood was initially difficult for the Protestant family. 'One of the things that I think even most Catholics are challenged by is the idea of celibacy and not getting married and not having kids and the family name not carrying on,' the Rev. Sampson said. In three years, he will begin a five-year stint as a military chaplain with the U.S. Navy . Fellow seminarians describe Sampson as a mentor. They say he is well-suited to the discipline of military life, despite not serving in the armed forces before seminary, when he was commissioned as a lieutenant. For now, he will serve at a parish close to the office complex where he once worked, and where he occasionally went to noon Mass. He is 'coming back,' he said, 'but in a very different way.' A Peruvian connection Pope Leo XIV , the first U.S.-born pontiff, spent decades in Peru . In his first public appearance as pope, he addressed his former diocese in Spanish. 'I frankly couldn't believe it,' said the Rev. Alfredo Tuesta. 'He greeted us in our language. It was just beautiful.' Born in Lima, Peru, Tuesta immigrated to the U.S. at age 10. His family settled in Paterson, New Jersey, a hub for the Peruvian diaspora. He attended Don Bosco, a nearby Catholic prep school. He was drawn to the priesthood from an early age, but as the firstborn son of immigrants, he felt he should support his family instead. 'Financially, we come from a very modest and humble background,' he said. 'And so, you want to make it. You want to provide.' It was only after he earned a doctorate in mechanical engineering and was living in northern Virginia that he rediscovered his calling. By then, both of his parents had died. He has since heard from his mother's friends that she thought he might become a priest. His ordination drew loved ones from all over the world to celebrate. The self-described introvert was hesitant to be the center of attention. 'We're not really there to celebrate me and my priesthood because it really isn't mine,' he said, noting it's shared among his brother priests and community. 'What we're really celebrating is everyone there — everyone who contributed to my discernment, to my vocation, to my faith, to my upbringing.' An adventurous life The Rev. Tim Banach is a thrill-seeker who enjoys the outdoors. With other seminarians and priests, he has hiked many mountain ranges and camped in the Badlands. The priestly life strikes him as an adventure too, where no day is the same. From weddings to funerals, priests serve thousands of people on their best and worst days. 'There are just these moments you get to share that can be overwhelming,' he said. 'But we're very privileged as well.' A native of Corning, New York, Banach first considered the priesthood while an engineering student at the University of Virginia. After graduation, he lived 'a pretty normal life,' he said, working at a consulting job and going on some dates. 'But that question never really went away.' The diocese eventually sent him to St. Charles Borromeo , a seminary near Philadelphia. He graduated in May. 'When I joined the seminary and met the kind of men that I could be serving alongside for the rest of my life, I was even more encouraged,' he said. 'Because they're exactly the type of guys that I want to be my brothers.' ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
Hamilton Spectator
2 days ago
- General
- Hamilton Spectator
A US diocese defies trends and ordains its largest class of Catholic priests in decades
ARLINGTON, Va. (AP) — They are a day away from becoming Catholic priests, rehearsing for their ordination Mass under the gothic cathedral's arches. It's a balmy Friday afternoon in June, and they are practicing where to stand, when to kneel. The weekend's rituals will be the culmination of six years of seminary and a lifetime of discernment . There are so many of them — more than their diocese has ordained at one time in nearly 30 years — that it's a challenge to fit the whole group in front of the altar. Their bishop likes to call them 'the 12.' Like the 12 apostles of Jesus, their number has become a mantra and a prayer. It offers hope there can still be joy and renewal in a church riven by division, crises and abuse. Among the group there are engineers, a tech company founder and two future military chaplains. They range in age from 28 to 56. Most are U.S.-born, but some trace their roots to faraway countries with a strong Catholic presence: Cameroon, Mexico, Peru, Haiti. They are entering the priesthood at an exciting time, just as the first U.S.-born pope begins his papacy. Yet, there remains an acute shortage of clergy like them. In the U.S., the number of priests has declined by more than 40% since 1970, according to CARA, a research center affiliated with Georgetown University. During their final year of seminary, these 12 men have served as transitional deacons, offering baptisms, homilies and promising to live in obedience and celibacy. 'We've already made the promises that are, I guess, 'the scariest,'' said the Rev. Ricky Malebranche, one of the ordinands. Soon they will be entrusted with more sacraments. As ordained priests, they will work at parishes around northern Virginia, with the ability to consecrate the Eucharist, hear confessions and anoint the sick. For now, they shuffle side to side until they can fit in a row. Carefully they lie down to practice the act of prostration — arguably the most dramatic moment during an ordination ceremony. Elbows bent, hands cradling their heads, the men press their faces to the cold, marble floor. It's a position of vulnerability that signals absolute surrender. 'We're laying before the Lord,' the Rev. Mike Sampson, an ordinand, explained before the rehearsal. 'We're laying our lives down.' Searching for something more While neighboring dioceses have shuttered parishes and face dire budget shortfalls , the Diocese of Arlington is opening new churches. Its finances are solid. This year's class of new priests is the second largest in the diocese's 50-year history. The reasons behind that success 'are a little bit mysterious,' said the Rev. Michael Isenberg, the diocese's outgoing vocations director. He points to one factor helping the recruiting pool: vibrant parishes, full of young professionals drawn to jobs around Washington, D.C. Sampson, 42, was a government lawyer and raised a Protestant before he was baptized as a Catholic in 2013. Six years later, he enrolled in seminary to become a priest. The Rev. Tim Banach, 31, worked as a consultant in the same office complex as Sampson. 'I enjoyed the work I was doing, but there was something more that I desired.' 'I had the dream job,' said the Rev. Alfredo Tuesta, 40, who earned a doctorate in engineering and was working at the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory when he felt called to the priesthood. 'I had the job that I had trained many years to achieve — and it wasn't enough.' At a Sunday family dinner two weeks before ordination, Malebranche's father, Jacques, talked up these '12 great guys.' 'This kid already had two master's degrees,' he said, pointing to his son Ricky, 37, who worked as a counselor and coach at a Catholic high school before seminary. 'They had good lives. When they say they received a call, they mean it,' he said. 'They gave up a lot, and this is not easy.' A higher barrier to entry Prospective priests undergo a rigorous screening process. 'This is going to sound crazy, but they're normal,' said the Rev. Donald J. Planty Jr., who mentored several of this year's ordinands. 'They can talk to anyone.' In the wake of the clergy sex-abuse crisis , there is a greater emphasis on applicants' psychological health and emotional well-being. They go before an admissions board that includes women and laypeople, and as ordinands, meet with abuse survivors. They ultimately answer to Bishop Michael Burbidge, the diocese's avuncular prelate. 'A thing that has changed for the positive in the church is that bishops really know their men,' said Burbidge, who calls, texts and meets with seminarians regularly. 'When I was in seminary, there was no expectation that you would know the bishop.' Politically and theologically, young U.S. priests are more likely to identify as conservative or moderate than their clerical elders who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, according to a 2023 report from the Catholic Project at Catholic University. For these men in Virginia, the rightward tilt of the U.S. Catholic Church is not a deciding factor in their priesthoods. They have pledged, though, to uphold the church's teachings, which remain conservative on issues such as gender identity, sexual orientation, contraception and abortion. 'I look at the young adults in our parishes, growing up in a world where in many ways the sacred has been removed,' Burbidge said. 'They're looking for something more. 'Give me beauty. Give me truth. Give me clarity.' I see that in young adults in our church, and these men are products of that.' The sacrifices of priestly life For many of the men, priesthood means forgoing dreams of an ordinary family life. 'I thought I was going to be a great dad and have a wonderful family,' Malebranche recalled. 'And I was like, 'Lord, why would you not want that for me?'' For many, there's a grieving process in letting go of that vision, even for deeply Catholic families. 'Every parent wants grandkids,' said Banach, whose career change initially surprised his supportive Catholic parents. Priests give up biological children, he said, but are privileged to raise 'spiritual children.' His fellow ordinand Malebranche ministers to families out of what he calls a 'deep love of my own for a family.' Two weeks before ordination, Malebranche channeled that love into a baptism conducted in Spanish, the parents' native tongue. He was nervous beforehand. A gregarious, gifted speaker, he is less confident in Spanish — though it's necessary in a diocese where nearly half the parishioners are Latino . 'It was a beautiful ceremony,' Gloria Marquez told him after, beaming and holding her 9-month-old. She said she and her husband had tried for nearly 20 years to have a baby. Malebranche teared up, grateful to be part of the longed-for moment. He wants the Catholic Church to be welcoming, especially for those who have been hurt. 'I really just want to make Catholicism warm,' he said. Like all the ordinands, he is very aware that in his clerical garb, he represents the church and the presence of Jesus. 'I have to be on every time I'm in this collar,' Malebranche said. 'That is a fitting weight for the gift of the priesthood, but it is a weight nonetheless.' A new chapter Ordination-day morning had the nervous energy of a wedding, an apt parallel for the impending commitment and pageantry. Anxious parents took their places in pews alongside friends and family who traveled from around the world to witness the ceremony. The evening would bring receptions in honor of the new priests, who would then have two weeks off before their new ministry assignments began. Sampson was going to Italy with a priest friend. Banach was hiking part of the Appalachian Trail with a small kit for the Eucharist in his pack. Tuesta was flying to Lima, Peru, his birthplace, to celebrate with family. Malebranche planned to visit loved ones in his native Virginia. 'I'm kind of looking to show off,' he said, laughing. 'I'll have my confessional stole on me at all times.' When their ordination Mass got underway, it was standing room only, with more than 1,200 well-wishers crowded into the cathedral. As part of the three-hour service, nearly 200 priests lined up to embrace and welcome into the fold their new brothers, now cloaked in ivory and blue robes. At the close of Mass, they walked down the aisle to cheers and applause, and the 12 priests were sent out, like the apostles who had come before them. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
San Francisco Chronicle
2 days ago
- General
- San Francisco Chronicle
Meet the men who just became Catholic priests in Virginia
ARLINGTON, Va. (AP) — At a time when the U.S. Catholic Church is grappling with a severe shortage of priests, the Diocese of Arlington, Virginia, recently ordained 12 new priests — its second-largest class ever — in a joyful Mass at its cathedral. Ahead of the ceremony, The Associated Press spent time with the men, who explained what drove them to choose a life of celibacy, obedience and devotion. A rare kind of leader As a teenager active in youth ministry, the Rev. Ricky Malebranche was often encouraged by adults to consider the priesthood. He assumed it was just what Catholics told religious, young men. At the end of college, he thought seriously about seminary. But it would take another nine years, he said, before God told him: 'I want you to be my priest.' By then, he had built a career as a high school counselor and coach. He owned a home and hoped to one day marry and have children. 'Oh no, you missed your chance, Jesus,' he thought. After he finally decided to apply to seminary, he felt a profound sense of peace. He later enrolled at Mount St. Mary's, a Catholic institution in western Maryland where the diocese sends some of its seminarians. The son of Haitian immigrants, Malebranche now joins a small group of Black American priests. Though rich in tradition, Black Catholics make up 5% of the U.S. church, and account for less than 1% of U.S. priests. 'I am very cognizant of it every time I do anything in ministry, that I represent a larger group than just me,' Malebranche said. 'I have this desire to not let them down,' he said. 'I want to be able to bring pride to a people who don't always see themselves represented.' A military chaplain Before he ever considered ordination, the Rev. Mike Sampson, without conscious thought, made the sign of the cross — a decidedly Catholic ritual. 'I looked up and laughed,' he recalled. Though raised Protestant, he took the moment as a prompt from God to explore Catholicism. The California native practiced law while volunteering at his local parish in Arlington, Virginia. Six years after his conversion, he enrolled in seminary to become a priest. 'Very proud,' is how his mother, Diane Sampson, described feeling after her son's recent ordination. His call to the priesthood was initially difficult for the Protestant family. 'One of the things that I think even most Catholics are challenged by is the idea of celibacy and not getting married and not having kids and the family name not carrying on," the Rev. Sampson said. In three years, he will begin a five-year stint as a military chaplain with the U.S. Navy. Fellow seminarians describe Sampson as a mentor. They say he is well-suited to the discipline of military life, despite not serving in the armed forces before seminary, when he was commissioned as a lieutenant. For now, he will serve at a parish close to the office complex where he once worked, and where he occasionally went to noon Mass. He is 'coming back,' he said, 'but in a very different way.' A Peruvian connection Pope Leo XIV, the first U.S.-born pontiff, spent decades in Peru. In his first public appearance as pope, he addressed his former diocese in Spanish. 'I frankly couldn't believe it,' said the Rev. Alfredo Tuesta. 'He greeted us in our language. It was just beautiful.' Born in Lima, Peru, Tuesta immigrated to the U.S. at age 10. His family settled in Paterson, New Jersey, a hub for the Peruvian diaspora. He attended Don Bosco, a nearby Catholic prep school. He was drawn to the priesthood from an early age, but as the firstborn son of immigrants, he felt he should support his family instead. 'Financially, we come from a very modest and humble background,' he said. 'And so, you want to make it. You want to provide.' It was only after he earned a doctorate in mechanical engineering and was living in northern Virginia that he rediscovered his calling. By then, both of his parents had died. He has since heard from his mother's friends that she thought he might become a priest. His ordination drew loved ones from all over the world to celebrate. The self-described introvert was hesitant to be the center of attention. 'We're not really there to celebrate me and my priesthood because it really isn't mine,' he said, noting it's shared among his brother priests and community. 'What we're really celebrating is everyone there — everyone who contributed to my discernment, to my vocation, to my faith, to my upbringing.' An adventurous life The Rev. Tim Banach is a thrill-seeker who enjoys the outdoors. With other seminarians and priests, he has hiked many mountain ranges and camped in the Badlands. The priestly life strikes him as an adventure too, where no day is the same. From weddings to funerals, priests serve thousands of people on their best and worst days. 'There are just these moments you get to share that can be overwhelming,' he said. 'But we're very privileged as well.' A native of Corning, New York, Banach first considered the priesthood while an engineering student at the University of Virginia. After graduation, he lived 'a pretty normal life,' he said, working at a consulting job and going on some dates. 'But that question never really went away.' The diocese eventually sent him to St. Charles Borromeo, a seminary near Philadelphia. He graduated in May. 'When I joined the seminary and met the kind of men that I could be serving alongside for the rest of my life, I was even more encouraged,' he said. 'Because they're exactly the type of guys that I want to be my brothers.' ___
San Francisco Chronicle
2 days ago
- General
- San Francisco Chronicle
A US diocese defies trends and ordains its largest class of Catholic priests in decades
ARLINGTON, Va. (AP) — They are a day away from becoming Catholic priests, rehearsing for their ordination Mass under the gothic cathedral's arches. It's a balmy Friday afternoon in June, and they are practicing where to stand, when to kneel. The weekend's rituals will be the culmination of six years of seminary and a lifetime of discernment. There are so many of them — more than their diocese has ordained at one time in nearly 30 years — that it's a challenge to fit the whole group in front of the altar. Their bishop likes to call them 'the 12.' Like the 12 apostles of Jesus, their number has become a mantra and a prayer. It offers hope there can still be joy and renewal in a church riven by division, crises and abuse. Among the group there are engineers, a tech company founder and two future military chaplains. They range in age from 28 to 56. Most are U.S.-born, but some trace their roots to faraway countries with a strong Catholic presence: Cameroon, Mexico, Peru, Haiti. They are entering the priesthood at an exciting time, just as the first U.S.-born pope begins his papacy. Yet, there remains an acute shortage of clergy like them. In the U.S., the number of priests has declined by more than 40% since 1970, according to CARA, a research center affiliated with Georgetown University. During their final year of seminary, these 12 men have served as transitional deacons, offering baptisms, homilies and promising to live in obedience and celibacy. 'We've already made the promises that are, I guess, 'the scariest,'' said the Rev. Ricky Malebranche, one of the ordinands. Soon they will be entrusted with more sacraments. As ordained priests, they will work at parishes around northern Virginia, with the ability to consecrate the Eucharist, hear confessions and anoint the sick. For now, they shuffle side to side until they can fit in a row. Carefully they lie down to practice the act of prostration — arguably the most dramatic moment during an ordination ceremony. Elbows bent, hands cradling their heads, the men press their faces to the cold, marble floor. It's a position of vulnerability that signals absolute surrender. 'We're laying before the Lord,' the Rev. Mike Sampson, an ordinand, explained before the rehearsal. 'We're laying our lives down.' While neighboring dioceses have shuttered parishes and face dire budget shortfalls, the Diocese of Arlington is opening new churches. Its finances are solid. This year's class of new priests is the second largest in the diocese's 50-year history. The reasons behind that success 'are a little bit mysterious,' said the Rev. Michael Isenberg, the diocese's outgoing vocations director. He points to one factor helping the recruiting pool: vibrant parishes, full of young professionals drawn to jobs around Washington, D.C. Sampson, 42, was a government lawyer and raised a Protestant before he was baptized as a Catholic in 2013. Six years later, he enrolled in seminary to become a priest. The Rev. Tim Banach, 31, worked as a consultant in the same office complex as Sampson. 'I enjoyed the work I was doing, but there was something more that I desired." 'I had the dream job,' said the Rev. Alfredo Tuesta, 40, who earned a doctorate in engineering and was working at the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory when he felt called to the priesthood. 'I had the job that I had trained many years to achieve — and it wasn't enough.' At a Sunday family dinner two weeks before ordination, Malebranche's father, Jacques, talked up these '12 great guys.' 'This kid already had two master's degrees,' he said, pointing to his son Ricky, 37, who worked as a counselor and coach at a Catholic high school before seminary. 'They had good lives. When they say they received a call, they mean it,' he said. 'They gave up a lot, and this is not easy.' A higher barrier to entry Prospective priests undergo a rigorous screening process. 'This is going to sound crazy, but they're normal,' said the Rev. Donald J. Planty Jr., who mentored several of this year's ordinands. 'They can talk to anyone.' In the wake of the clergy sex-abuse crisis, there is a greater emphasis on applicants' psychological health and emotional well-being. They go before an admissions board that includes women and laypeople, and as ordinands, meet with abuse survivors. They ultimately answer to Bishop Michael Burbidge, the diocese's avuncular prelate. 'A thing that has changed for the positive in the church is that bishops really know their men,' said Burbidge, who calls, texts and meets with seminarians regularly. 'When I was in seminary, there was no expectation that you would know the bishop.' Politically and theologically, young U.S. priests are more likely to identify as conservative or moderate than their clerical elders who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s, according to a 2023 report from the Catholic Project at Catholic University. For these men in Virginia, the rightward tilt of the U.S. Catholic Church is not a deciding factor in their priesthoods. They have pledged, though, to uphold the church's teachings, which remain conservative on issues such as gender identity, sexual orientation, contraception and abortion. 'I look at the young adults in our parishes, growing up in a world where in many ways the sacred has been removed,' Burbidge said. 'They're looking for something more. 'Give me beauty. Give me truth. Give me clarity.' I see that in young adults in our church, and these men are products of that.' The sacrifices of priestly life For many of the men, priesthood means forgoing dreams of an ordinary family life. 'I thought I was going to be a great dad and have a wonderful family,' Malebranche recalled. 'And I was like, 'Lord, why would you not want that for me?'' For many, there's a grieving process in letting go of that vision, even for deeply Catholic families. 'Every parent wants grandkids,' said Banach, whose career change initially surprised his supportive Catholic parents. Priests give up biological children, he said, but are privileged to raise 'spiritual children.' His fellow ordinand Malebranche ministers to families out of what he calls a 'deep love of my own for a family.' Two weeks before ordination, Malebranche channeled that love into a baptism conducted in Spanish, the parents' native tongue. He was nervous beforehand. A gregarious, gifted speaker, he is less confident in Spanish — though it's necessary in a diocese where nearly half the parishioners are Latino. 'It was a beautiful ceremony,' Gloria Marquez told him after, beaming and holding her 9-month-old. She said she and her husband had tried for nearly 20 years to have a baby. Malebranche teared up, grateful to be part of the longed-for moment. He wants the Catholic Church to be welcoming, especially for those who have been hurt. 'I really just want to make Catholicism warm,' he said. Like all the ordinands, he is very aware that in his clerical garb, he represents the church and the presence of Jesus. 'I have to be on every time I'm in this collar,' Malebranche said. 'That is a fitting weight for the gift of the priesthood, but it is a weight nonetheless.' A new chapter Ordination-day morning had the nervous energy of a wedding, an apt parallel for the impending commitment and pageantry. Anxious parents took their places in pews alongside friends and family who traveled from around the world to witness the ceremony. The evening would bring receptions in honor of the new priests, who would then have two weeks off before their new ministry assignments began. Sampson was going to Italy with a priest friend. Banach was hiking part of the Appalachian Trail with a small kit for the Eucharist in his pack. Tuesta was flying to Lima, Peru, his birthplace, to celebrate with family. Malebranche planned to visit loved ones in his native Virginia. 'I'm kind of looking to show off,' he said, laughing. 'I'll have my confessional stole on me at all times.' When their ordination Mass got underway, it was standing room only, with more than 1,200 well-wishers crowded into the cathedral. As part of the three-hour service, nearly 200 priests lined up to embrace and welcome into the fold their new brothers, now cloaked in ivory and blue robes. At the close of Mass, they walked down the aisle to cheers and applause, and the 12 priests were sent out, like the apostles who had come before them.
