
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.'
Sundays
Kevin Rollason's Sunday newsletter honouring and remembering lives well-lived in Manitoba.
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.

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Winnipeg Free Press
17 hours ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
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. Sundays Kevin Rollason's Sunday newsletter honouring and remembering lives well-lived in Manitoba. 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.


Winnipeg Free Press
17 hours ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
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.' Sundays Kevin Rollason's Sunday newsletter honouring and remembering lives well-lived in Manitoba. 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.


Winnipeg Free Press
a day ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Fusion between culture and modernity as children dance in Kenya's refugee camp
KALOBEYEI, Kenya (AP) — Beads of sweat drip from the faces of young girls and boys as they dance to the rhythm of traditional drums and open calabashes, while their peers watch them in awe. These are refugee children, some who were born in one of Africa's largest camps — Kakuma, located in northern Kenya, where more than 300,000 refugees' livelihoods have been affected by funding cuts that have halved monthly food rations. The children use the Acholi traditional dance as a distraction from hunger and have perfected a survival skill to skip lunches as they stretch their monthly food rations that are currently at 30% of the U.N nutritional recommendation per person. The Acholi people, mostly from Uganda and South Sudan, are among refugees who live in Kakuma camp, which was established in 1992 as a safe haven for people fleeing conflict from dozens of east African countries. For a moment, the melodious sound of one of the refugee mothers stops the playground buzz of activity as dozens of children sit down to enjoy the traditional dance performance. The colorful swings doting the community center at Kakuma's Kalobeyei Refugee Settlement were donated by a Swiss organization, Terre des hommes, which still manages the playground aptly named 'Furaha' — Swahili for Happiness. But the happiness of these children isn't guaranteed now as funding cuts have affected operations here. Less resources and fewer staff are available to engage the children and ensure their safety. One of the dancers, Gladis Amwony, has lived in Kakuma for 8 years now. In recent years, she has started taking part in the Acholi traditional dances to keep her Ugandan roots alive. The now 20-year-old doesn't imagine ever going back to Uganda and has no recollection of life in her home village. 'I'm happiest when I dance, I feel connected to my ancestors,' the soft-spoken Amwony says after her dance session. While Amwony and her friends are looking for a cultural connection, just about 5 kilometers (3 miles) from their village in neighboring Kalobeyei Village 3, some boys are in touch with modernity. The five boys have been practicing a one-of-a-kind dance where they mimic robots, complete with face masks that hide their human faces. They make their sharp synchronized moves that they have been perfecting for months. The boys will be part of performances that will be showcased during this year's World Refugee Day, as an example of the talent and resilience that exists among the refugee community. This younger generation of dancers make precision moves in a small hall with play and learning items stored in a cabinet that is branded with an American flag, an indication that it was donated by the U.S government. Such donations are now scarce, with the United States having cut down on funding in March. These cuts have affected operations here, with the future stardom hopes for these children dimming by the day. The center, which previously featured daily programs such as taekwondo and ballet, may not be operational in a few months if the funding landscape remains as is. 'We are now reducing some of the activities because we are few. The staff are few and even per day we only have one staff remaining in the center and it is really hard for him/her to conduct 500 children,' said John Papa, a community officer for Terre des hommes in Kalobeyei Village 3. These programs do more than entertain the children — they keep them away from issues such as child labor, abuse and crime which as a major concern for humanitarian organizations in Kakuma. And as the children dance and play beneath the sweltering sun, the only hope is that these child friendly spaces remain operational for years. ___ For more on Africa and development: The Associated Press receives financial support for global health and development coverage in Africa from the Gates Foundation. The AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at