It appears to me that the Holy Spirit has often intervened at crucial points in my life to move me along paths that often diverged from my own intended route. The Spirit has nudged me in directions that were radically different from what I had been thinking and planning, at times even causing me to go against the tide.

Most boys growing up have a wide range of ideas as to what they want to be: policeman, fireman, sports star, etc. From as far back as I can remember, I always told people that I wanted to be a doctor. It was quite clear to me, that is what I would do. Then, in seventh or eighth grade, along came a Maryknoll missionary to talk to us about vocations. I was impressed with his love of God and people, and I also remember to this day his saying that he had gotten fat in China living on a diet of rice and fish! Only years later did I come to realize that a greater influence in my life was the assistant pastor in our parish. He was caring, gentle, loving: a good priest.

Soon thereafter, I had a new goal -- to be a priest. I am one of those who entered the seminary as a freshman in high school -- "a twelve year man." In those days of yore, most of the students in the minor seminary were day students, so I commuted back and forth. Hitchhiking my way home most days was an education in people. Despite being attracted to young women, I followed the rules and avoided dating and all of the other youthful male rites of passage. Today, it is hard to look back and remember if I ever really considered in depth the meaning of celibacy. Promising celibacy was a given, but the reality was never presented as a life style, nor were we taught how to support this life long requirement It was just expected of a seminarian soon to be a priest. What was clear to me, was the call to be a priest. The Spirit had waylaid me.

Quite a few years back, someone told me that I was a good rebel. I suppose that I am. As a seminarian, I found many of the rules to be silly and antiquated, not appropriate to someone who was to be a diocesan priest. They seemed to belong to a bygone age or in a monastery. I followed them to the extent that I found them practical, but also found many ways around them. By the grace of the Spirit, I was ordained, April 30, 1960.

Over the next nine years, I was assigned to three different parishes. The first parish was a good place to be as a newly ordained. The pastor, a real character with a wry sense of humor, was not an FBI (foreign born Irish). Rather, he was from the Netherlands. According to his stories, as a young priest he had enjoyed giving discomfort to some of his Irish pastors. (At that time in Los Angeles, memory says that well over half of the pastors were from Ireland.) He and I got along well. The problem was that there were two alcoholic priests assigned there in the few years I was in that parish, and the pastor and senior associate did not tell me in advance. They did not want to "disillusion" me. The first one disappeared quickly. Regarding the second one, it was clear to me that he was an alcoholic when I had to take the telephone out of his hand to hang it up and remove the drink from his other hand -- he was dead to the world. Innocence died quickly. My years as a clerical priest were spent in the ferment of Vatican II. I had begun to anticipate an early end to obligatory celibacy and a whole new birth of the church. It was exciting to be a priest, even though James Francis Cardinal McIntyre would not allow any altars in the archdiocese to be moved or mass to be celebrated with the priest looking towards the faithful. He was of the school that saw disaster in Vatican II. (The disaster, from the perspective of many church theologians, lies in those who would turn back the clock). Then, Paul VI dropped the bombshell of Humanae Vitae. I could not believe it. I was inundated by people asking what to do, how to respond in their own lives. In effect, I ended up telling them to be adults and make their own decisions: what was going to be best for their marriage and their family.

In my second assignment, I set something of a record for longevity. Prior to my arrival, the longest term for an associate under that pastor had been nine months. My tenure was around five years. It was quickly apparent that the pastor was only marginally functional and quite paranoid. The seminary experience stood me in good stead: give surface observance to the pastor's "rules" (cloaked in the mystique of the diocesan statutes and the "mind" of the cardinal) and do the rest as it should be done. I took care of the people's needs. There are countless stories from those years.

Finally, I grew weary of being expected to wear a cassock around the rectory and school, so I started sporting a clerical shirt. The pastor called me on it and once more appealed to the diocesan statutes. Having prepared for this, I informed him that the appropriate statute simply said "clerical garb," but, if he as pastor wanted me to wear the cassock, I would comply. With that, I had pushed the right button and was assigned to my third parish a few weeks later.

There, I was the senior associate, and the pastor was a rather reclusive FBI. For the most part, we mainly ignored each other. The one run in we had was in the midst of the peace marches during the Vietnam War. I had preached on the gospel of John: "Peace be with you" and I suggested that if it would help to stop the slaughter, we might all consider joining a peace march. As fast as Mass was finished, someone hotfooted it over to the pastor. I heard about it quickly. What I said so carefully had been twisted all out of shape, and so it took a recap of my homily to calm him down. The fact is that several of the people thanked me for giving them something to think about.

At that second parish the Holy Spirit subtly readied me to be waylaid again. One of the teachers assigned there was Sr. Mary Robert. She taught the eighth grade and was also involved in religious education for the public school students. Since I regularly visited the various classrooms to talk with the pupils, we got to know each other. Somewhere along the line I had developed the habit of asking for feedback from people. I quickly learned that she was always honest with me; both when I did something well and when I was missing the target. I treasured that, then and now. When the Holy Cross Sisters were allowed to reclaim their own names, I found out that I was now dealing with Sr. Roberta.

After my reassignment, I would stop back at the old parish to see the nuns, the school kids and Sr. Roberta. One day, she told me that she was taking a year's leave of absence from her community, as she wanted to see if she could make it on her own in the world. When school was out in June, she invited me to dinner at her brother's home. After that, I did not hear from her until close to Christmas. During that time, it became obvious to me that I missed seeing her, that she was someone very special to me. When I got her letter, I promptly sent off a response and Christmas card, telling her that I would like to see her. A couple of phone calls, and I was off to see her on New Year's day. Roberta knew that I liked a martini -- so she had gotten a couple of martinis in-a-can. (We laugh about that to this day). We had a wonderful visit, and when we got around to talking about missing each other, both of us finally admitted our love for the other. What a New Year's gift! A week or so later, I had my post-Christmas week off -- and she took some vacation days. We spent the time together. It was wonderful and natural and affirming.

Roberta and I continued to date, to pray, to discern, and to think about what was to come. She made her leaving the Holy Cross Community effective in June of 1969. I decided to begin my departure as a leave of absence, but I really knew that I was not going to look back. I did talk to the Cardinal and to the Chancellor of the archdiocese. I remember vividly the argument of the Chancellor: many of the men who had left were practically starving to death, but as a priest I was guaranteed employment, a roof over my head and food on the table -- three squares and a flop. I still marvel that this was his big argument in favor of my remaining! Finally, I told them that my decision was made. As a consequence, on my birthday, July 31, 1969, I received a terse letter, only a few lines long. It informed me that as of the receipt of the letter my faculties as a priest were withdrawn, and that I should move out. So I went out, picked up the car I had just bought, came back with a couple of friends, and was packed and gone within thirty minutes. The Spirit had pushed me in a whole new direction -- again.

One of the most difficult things I had to do prior to exiting official ministry was to inform my parents, especially my mother. I did so on the evening of the first moon landing. As I had anticipated, my mother was devastated. It took time, and getting to know Roberta, but my mother did come to understand and accept what had happened. I think she saw our happiness and our continued presence in the church. We have many happy memories of times spent with my parents before they went home to God.

Roberta and I waited to get married until I received an official dispensation. By then, Cardinal McIntyre had retired, and a new bishop was in place. It took nine months, almost to the day, to receive the official rescript. I do not remember seeing a copy of it or signing any papers. All I have is a copy of the letter from the chancery office informing me that it had arrived. (A couple of years ago, I received a letter from the chancery office asking me if I wanted to pursue a dispensation. I kindly informed them that I had already received such. Mine was not the only file that was missing!) In my letter to Paul VI, I requested permission to be married and to remain an active priest, but that part was ignored. That is what hurt. I was called to priesthood and I was called to marriage, but I was told, clearly, plainly, bluntly that it was one or the other, not both. I did not then and do not now feel any less a priest. At the same time, I have never regretted the call to marriage. God's ways are a mystery. They are obscure when we want clarity.

At the time we were married, Roberta was working in banking and I was working for a small company that made electronics manufacturing equipment. Soon after we were married, I got laid off in one of the periodic recessions and, recommended by a friend, I took a temporary job in a vocational rehabilitation workshop. It was a form of ministry, and I found that I liked it. That temporary job turned into a career that lasted some twenty-three years. During that time, I earned a masters degree in Rehabilitation Administration.

Roberta and I never walked away from the church, as our Catholic identity is in our bones and sinews. It is truly a part of us. Almost every Sunday, I found myself saying the Eucharistic Prayer along with the priest at the altar, and I still do. For a long time, I said little to others about being a priest, especially around church. At the same time, a lot of the people knew that there was something different about me and about Roberta too. Somehow, the religious formation never quite goes away because it becomes part of who you are. Eventually, I came to the point where I knew that I had to become involved in ministry again. I had a talk with the pastor and became a lector at our parish, the Old Mission in Santa Barbara which is run by the Franciscans. They welcomed me and made me feel comfortable there. I even became a Eucharistic Minister as well. Then with the pastor's support, I started to train other people to be lectors, proclaiming the word of God. In the various parishes where we have worshiped, I can say that we have never been ostracized or turned away from anything we wanted to do in the parish. We have been blessed to be welcomed and valued, and find joy in participating in the lector ministry as a couple.

In the late 80's, I started to hear about CORPUS. We both got curious about it, and as we learned more and found that membership was now also open to wives, we decided to join as a couple. Despite our living in California, we did not attend the conference in 1989 in San Jose. But the very next year, we went off to New York for the conference there. Each year as we attended the conferences, listened to the speakers, I began to feel called again. The Spirit's direction became apparent to me for the third time.

This time, I was really puzzled as to how to respond to all that I was experiencing. I was being much more open about being a priest. In 1985, we had moved back into the Los Angeles area, and I was actively involved in doing lector training through the Diocesan Office for Worship. In any class I taught, I began to tell people that I was a married priest. They appreciated hearing that, and many told me that they supported priests getting married. Roberta and I found ourselves in a time of discernment again. Several times, I celebrated the Eucharist with our Bible Study Group (this group had been meeting for years longer than we have been a part of this authentic small faith community). Somehow I knew that this was still not enough. There was more that I could and should be doing. Along the way, people had been asking me about performing a wedding or conducting a funeral and other forms of ministry. I had been turning down these requests. Slowly, it became clear to me that this was the next step in the journey. But how was I to go about it. I listened and sometimes talked to other people in CORPUS: Pat Callahan, Nick De Los Reyes, Anthony Padovano, Linda Pinto, Allen Moore and many others. Roberta and I decided that I would work into an active ministry, responding to people who would not otherwise be turning to the church. In 1993, I began ministering to marginalized Catholics, a meaningful and appreciated ministry so many of us married priests are engaged in today.

I do not like to complain, but when I look back, I think that God gets impatient with me and I get a shove. Suddenly, I was very active. Wedding and funeral ministries have kept me busy on a full time basis. In 1994, once more my full time work became ministry as a priest. There are not enough words to describe what I was experiencing. My life was recharged, and I found myself helping people to connect to God, and even move back into contact with the church. I shared in the lives of many people and in the past couple of years, couples have come back requesting me to baptize their children. Quite often after I conducted the funeral of one person, the families ask for me when another member of their family dies. I have experienced the blessings of God's goodness.

In 1999, at the International Married Priest Conference in Atlanta, Georgia, I celebrated my sixty-fifth birthday. It was a day where I was surrounded with friends and brother priests and their sister-wives, as St. Paul would have put it. What a terrific day and celebration. In January 2000, Roberta ended her career at Wells Fargo Bank - thirty plus years. Since then, we have become travelers with a motorhome that takes us about the country part of the year. While we are home, I do some weddings and baptisms when I am called. Since I maintain my name with CITI and the rentapriest web site: www.rentapriest.com, I even get calls while we are traveling. Right now, I have two baptisms and three weddings on my schedule in the coming months.