Fr. Brian Dunkle, SJ

By chance or by providence, I was born in Oceanside, the site of my first priestly assignment, St. Anthony’s Church. I grew up nearby in Freeport, although my parents eventually moved to Pennsylvania, around the same time that I joined the Society of Jesus. After ten years of Jesuit formation—in Syracuse, the Bronx, Buffalo, Rome, and Boston, with extended stays elsewhere around the world—I was ordained to the ministerial priesthood less than a year ago, on Saturday, June 13th, the Feast of St. Anthony (by chance or by providence).

Coming back home to the my birthplace, I figured I knew exactly what to expect in my first year as a priest:  some baptisms, a funeral now and then, maybe even a wedding, along with the ordinary regiment of weekly and Sunday Masses, all with a familiar type of person, mostly Irish and Italian American Catholics living on the south shore of Long Island. And after eight months here, I’ve gotten used to the steady routine of priestly service.  I’m more comfortable with the two-to-five minute daily homily, steadier as parishioners approach me for blessings or for spontaneous confessions, and more competent in completing Pre-Marital Investigations. My satisfaction with the rhythm of parish life—prayer, Mass, appointments, and then evening meetings—has helped confirm that I’m in the right vocation.

Yet I also see that I had no idea what I was really in for, no sense of the ways that the Spirit would surprise me as a parish priest. Every day brings a new, unexpected challenge. For instance, when I got word of my assignment, the pastor, Fr. D. James French, S.J., asked me about my Spanish; I responded that, because I knew Italian, I could understand it just fine, yet my active proficiency was somewhere around where I left it in high school; Jim said, “Great. You’ll say Mass for the Latino community.” The daunting assignment soon became the site of my greatest consolation. No doubt I stumbled awkwardly through those first few weeks, and I often lament that I can’t truly express myself in my Spanish homilies. Yet I’ve found that the Hispanic parishioners have become my closest friends and my staunchest support in difficult moments at the parish.

Each day brings similar challenges, cases that they never prepared me for in theology studies. Some decisions are trivial: Father, can you bless my new Rolex? Others are more delicate and more painful: Is there a rite for consoling young parents as they hold their dead newborn in the ICU at three o’clock in the morning?

For the tough cases, I often seek out advice from older, seasoned priests. Yet, more often than not, I’m surprised to find that I am, indeed, prepared for the unexpected, through the long years of Jesuit formation that seemed interminable and sometimes pointless as I worked through them. In such moments the Lord sneaks up on me with His grace, through encounters with those in need, who see the priest as somehow their link to the presence of Jesus Christ. This year I’ve found God precisely where I didn’t expect to see Him. And although I hate to be wrong, I must confess that’s how it’s always been in my life as a Jesuit.

In a few months, I move on to the next assignment in my Jesuit mission: a doctoral program in historical theology at the University of Notre Dame. I’ve been a student, both prior to entering the Society and as a Jesuit, long enough to know what to expect from further studies. But I’ve also been blessed as a Jesuit enough to know that God’s grace will continue to arrive to sustain my vocation in unexpected, surprising ways.