There is an African proverb that says, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Perhaps, in the life of the Church, we could say: “It takes a parish to raise a priest.” Do you believe that a priestly vocation is something formed not only within a family, but within an entire community — a community that prays, witnesses faith, and shows a young person the beauty of giving one’s life to God and to others?
One of the most beautiful and, at the same time, challenging statements in the Creed is: “I believe in the Church.” We don't say, “I believe in this church building.” The building simply exists, it does not require our faith. We can see it. But to say, “I believe in the Church,” means that we believe in a mystery. We believe in a community that God creates.
Christianity is not something we live alone. No one baptizes himself.
A young person needs a community where faith is alive. A community that prays. A community that values sacrifice. A community that serves others. That is the kind of environment where vocations grow.
Looking back at my own life, I realize how blessed I was to grow up among people who truly loved the Church. I saw priests who served with extraordinary dedication. I saw parishioners who valued prayer and supported one another and their parishes. Those communities helped me discern my vocation. But I also came to understand that a vocation is never my private possession. It is not something I keep for myself. It is something given for others.
It takes people who pray for vocations. It takes people who encourage young people. It takes people who show, through their own lives, that following Christ is not only a duty — it is a joy.
When you meet a young person who may have a vocation to the priesthood, what do you see first? Do you see someone who needs to be encouraged toward a particular path, or someone who needs help listening more deeply to what God is already saying in his heart?
When I meet someone who may have a vocation to the priesthood, I don't try to recruit him. My task is not to convince him to become a priest but to help him discern what God is asking of him. A vocation cannot be imposed from the outside; it can only be freely embraced.
What I try to do is help a person listen. God speaks to each of us differently. He speaks through our gifts. Through our talents. Through our wounds. Through our experiences. Even through our doubts.
Sometimes a person is not looking for a vocation because he does not believe he is worthy. Sometimes he does not recognize that God may already be working in his life. Sometimes the most important thing we can help someone understand is one simple truth: You are beloved. And maybe that is the heart of every vocation - to discover that love and then share it with others.
If someone is called to the priesthood, his vocation will not simply be about becoming a priest. It will be about helping other people discover that they, too, are beloved. Our role is not to force an answer.
Not long ago, I received a video message from a young priest I had never met. His sister had once been a parishioner in the church where I served in Ukraine, and he told me that her stories about parish life had helped him discern his vocation. That was a great joy for me. It reminded me
that vocation is shaped less by what we say than by how we live. A joyful priest becomes an invitation.
You mentioned the idea of the “wounded healer” - that a person can help others not because they are perfect, but because they themselves have experienced God’s mercy and healing. How has your own humanity - your own struggles, weaknesses, and wounds - shaped the way you accompany people as a priest?
For many years, I understood priesthood in one way. But today, maybe even more than when I first entered the seminary, I understand something deeper. I understand what Henri Nouwen called the “wounded healer.” A priest is not someone who stands above people as if he has everything figured out. A priest is someone who knows that he also needs God’s mercy. Through his own wounds, he can tell another person: "God has not stopped loving you." Despite your wounds. Despite your failures. Despite your successes.
A married priest who has lost a child may never find the right words. But he can show that it is possible to live through such pain without losing trust in God. In my own life, raising a son with special needs has changed how I see everything. I understand fears, questions, isolation, misunderstanding and struggles that many families quietly carry. Our wounds do not make us better priests. But they help us stand beside people not only with words, but with our own lives.
Through our own wounds, we can show another person that they are still beloved.
