(a reflection on the occasion of my 26th Sacerdotal Anniversary, August 22, 2026)
Twenty-six years ago, I stood before God and His Church and allowed my hands to be anointed for the priesthood. Today, after twenty-six years of blessings and struggles, joys and disappointments, faithfulness and failures, laughter and tears, I stand before the same God with only one word that seems sufficient to begin: Thank you.
Thank you, Lord, first of all, for the gift of life. Every day that I wake up is already a grace. Every breath, every opportunity to celebrate the Eucharist, every absolution I pronounce in the confessional, every blessing I give, every person I accompany, every funeral at which I commend a soul to God, every child I baptize, every couple whose vows I witness, every time I raise the Host and say, “This is my Body,” reminds me that my life has been given a purpose greater than myself. Above all, I thank God for the gift of my priesthood.
Twenty-six years have passed, and if God were to bring me back to the beginning and ask me once more, “Do you still want to become a priest?” my answer would still be yes. Knowing everything I know now, I would still choose the priesthood. Knowing its loneliness, I would still choose it. Knowing its sacrifices, misunderstandings, disappointments, demands and crosses, I would still choose it.
Even knowing my own weaknesses and the many times I would fall short of what a priest should be, I would choose it over and over again. Not because I have been a perfect priest. Far from it. I would choose it again because despite everything, I have discovered that there is no life I would rather offer to God than this one.
Today, however, my thanksgiving cannot be separated from an apology. I am sorry for my misgivings as a priest and as a human being. I am sorry for the times when my words did not reflect the kindness of Christ, when my actions did not reflect His compassion, when my decisions caused pain, when my weaknesses became burdens for others, and when the man wearing the cassock failed to live according to what the cassock represented. The cassock does not remove the human being underneath it. Behind it is still a man who gets tired, becomes impatient, makes poor decisions, carries weaknesses, struggles with himself and sometimes disappoints the very people who love him most.
For this reason, on this anniversary, I especially thank my family and my friends. Thank you for accepting not simply the priest that people see, but the human being behind the cassock. Thank you for understanding me when I was difficult to understand. Thank you for forgiving me, sometimes over and over again. Thank you for remaining when it would have been easier to walk away.
I owe a particular debt of gratitude to those members of my family and those special friends who encountered me at my worst and still refused to give up on me. You saw not only the good side that people normally see. You also saw my ugly side, my stubbornness, my mistakes, my weaknesses and my failures. And yet, you stayed.
There are debts that cannot be paid with money. There are acts of love that cannot be adequately repaid by saying thank you. There are people whose presence becomes part of the reason a person survives his darkest seasons. To those people in my life, please know that I carry a debt of gratitude that words cannot completely express.
Today that gratitude has become even deeper because I am no longer as physically strong as I once thought I was. Some of the illnesses and difficulties I face today remind me that the body eventually demands payment for the ways we neglected and abused it when we were younger. In youth, we sometimes live as though the body will endure everything. Years later, we discover otherwise. Yet even here, God has not abandoned me.
Family and friends continue to support me, care for me, accompany me and help me through my difficulties. There are people whose generosity has made my burdens lighter. There are people who quietly make sacrifices so that I can continue. There are people who pray for me without my knowing it. For all of you, thank you.
Perhaps this is why my prayer on my twenty-sixth sacerdotal anniversary is very simple. Lord, please give me a little more time. Not because I am afraid to meet You, but because there is still so much I wish I could do for You. Give me a little longer to serve. Give me a little longer to celebrate the Eucharist. Give me a little longer to preach Your Word. Give me a little longer to hear confessions, bless Your people, comfort those who mourn and accompany those who struggle. Give me a little longer, Lord, because there were chances You gave me that I failed to appreciate. There were opportunities to do good that I allowed to pass. There was time that I wasted on things that ultimately meant nothing. I cannot recover those years. I cannot undo yesterday. But perhaps, by Your mercy, I can offer You whatever remains.
So I ask those who have become part of my twenty-six years of priesthood: please pray for me. Pray that God will grant me sufficient strength and sufficient time to continue serving Him as a priest. Pray that whatever years remain may become years of greater fidelity. Pray that I may use well the opportunities I once took for granted. Pray that the remaining pages of my priesthood may be written with greater humility, gratitude and love.
Most of all, today I ask forgiveness from God and from His people. I am sorry for every way I have failed to live my priesthood according to Jesus Christ, the Eternal High Priest. I am sorry for the moments when I sought myself rather than Him, when I allowed human weakness to overshadow priestly responsibility, when I failed to love as He loves, forgive as He forgives, serve as He serves and sacrifice as He sacrificed.
I cannot claim to have perfectly represented Christ. But after twenty-six years, I can still say this: I love being a priest. Not because priesthood has always been easy, but because through it God has allowed my imperfect life to become useful to others.
Twenty-six years ago, I gave God my yes. That yes has sometimes been strong and sometimes weak. It has sometimes been joyful and sometimes spoken through tears. There were moments when I lived it beautifully and moments when I failed it miserably.
But today, I want to say it again. Yes, Lord. Yes to the priesthood. Yes to the altar. Yes to Your people. Yes to whatever crosses may still come. Yes to whatever years You may still give me. And if You were to ask me today, after everything I have experienced, whether I would still choose this life, my answer remains: Yes, Lord. I would choose it again. Over and over again. Not because I have been worthy of the priesthood, but because through all these twenty-six years, You have never stopped being faithful to this unworthy priest.
For the life You gave me, thank You. For the priesthood You entrusted to me, thank You. For the family and friends who never gave up on me, thank You. For every forgiveness, every second chance and every person who stayed, thank You. And for whatever time remains, Lord, I offer it back to You.