Cover Story Along with thousands of Japanese Americans, Cora Fujiwara was sent to an internment camp during World War II. Read how she found a new freedom there when she found the Catholic Church. Prisoner in her own land By Bob Horning
	Feature Jean Haines devoted her career to helping disabled children. Then she was diagnosed with multible sclerosis. Find out how she devoted the rest of her life to the Victorious Missionaries, people who focus on abilities ­ especially the ability to pray. Victorious Missionaries ­ meet Jean Haines By Elizabeth Solsburg
	Feature Two women who care for migrant workers in Lenawee County Señora and sister By Patricia Majher
	Ordination 2005 The five new priests of our diocese tell their stories and share their faith PLUS Seven deacons ordained to serve. Meet the new priests of the Diocese of Lansing By Bob Horning
	Exclusive On Friday the 22nd of March 2002, which was the Friday just before Palm Sunday, and our last full day in France, we gathered at the grotto in Lourdes to have Mass about 9:00 am. Joseph's Testimony of Healing at Lourdes

Prisoner in her own land
Cora Fujiwara found God
in an internment camp for
Japanese Americans.
By Bob Horning | Photography by Jim Luning

On Feb. 19, 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the U.S. military to remove any or all persons it deemed necessary from the West Coast. For Cora Uno, that was bad news. Now, at 88 years old, she can look back and see the good that resulted for her in so many ways.

Though it didn’t say so, the order, coming just two months after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, was obviously aimed at Japanese Americans and Japanese resident aliens.

Cora was one of 120,000 persons of Japanese ancestry forced to leave homes, jobs, and businesses behind. They reported to designated military holding areas until permanent relocation centers were built and ready.

Until that time, Cora’s life had been ordinary. Her parents owned a poultry farm near Foster, Wash., and they would take eggs to sell into Seattle, about 10 miles away. “There was a bit of racial prejudice, but we always overcame these situations easily,” she says.

“The first thing my father did when he came to the U.S. was learn English,” Cora says. “He always had good books and magazines in English, and a set of encyclopedias. Although we spoke Japanese half the time with my parents, my siblings and I had no difficulty with English. We always spoke it amongst ourselves. My four brothers and two sisters and I played sports and other activities at school and with the other kids in the neighborhood all the time. We had fun. There were no problems.”

Cora says the only significant prejudice they encountered was when her older sister became a nurse. “One patient said she didn’t want a ‘Jap’ waiting on her. However, my sister took the attitude that her job as a nurse was to take care of that lady. Before long, she wouldn’t allow anyone else but my sister to care for her.”

In her 20s, Cora worked at the Japanese American Courier, a weekly newspaper published in English. She wrote cooking and social columns, and did proofreading and some secretarial work.

Her life took a turn, however, when the U.S. entered World War II against Japan. Though friends and neighbors didn’t change in relating to them, the U.S. government did. Cora said that all Japanese had to be registered and fingerprinted, and her father was made a POW because of his leadership role in the Japanese community. Her mother died of a heart attack in January 1942.

Cora was first sent to a temporary camp in Puyallup, Wash.; then in September 1942, she went to Minidoka Relocation Center in south-central Idaho. She remembers, “The first group of Japanese was allowed only one suitcase, a duffel bag and a pillow. Those coming later were allowed a little more. We slept on army cots, and were supplied wool blankets.”

The 950 acres that comprised the residential and administrative areas of Minidoka were surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by soldiers in watchtowers. When the first internees arrived, there was no hot running water, and the sewage system hadn’t been constructed.

“The area was very dusty, with little grass,” Cora says. “Then when it rained, everything became muddy. In the winter, it would get bitter cold outside, and the wind cut right through you. Inside, the air was dry, though, so we would set out pans of water and hang wet shirts to increase the humidity.” The barracks, because they were hastily built, were little more than wooden frames covered with tarpaper, and had no insulation. During the winter, temperatures outside often went below zero, and some days it required more than 100 tons of coal to heat the buildings. Pot-bellied stoves were used, and the coal had to be hand-carried in. Light was provided by a single hanging bulb.

Though life wasn’t easy, Cora said that most of the Japanese took it in stride because they understood why the government had decided to send them to the camp, and because they knew they had no other choice. “My attitude was that you have to look ahead, not back, otherwise you dig your own grave,” she said.

Despite their internment, the Japanese remained loyal to the U.S. Cora’s youngest brother was already serving in the Coast Guard Auxiliary. About 1,000 internees from Minidoka, nearly 10 percent of the population, volunteered for military service and fought in Italy and France. Seventy-three were killed and two received the Congressional Medal of Honor.

The best part of the camp for Cora, then in her mid-20s, was meeting new friends. “On summer evenings, we would go to the canal, where there was more grass, and talk.”

One special person she met was Eddie Fujiwara, who was from Seattle and had been schooled by the Maryknoll Order as a child. Eddie was a chemist, working in a laboratory in the hospital. Cora worked in the office section of the hospital, and they got to know each other when the workers would take their breaks and talk around the stove.

“Eddie was not shy about being Catholic,” Cora says. “In fact, he wasn’t shy about anything. I had been baptized in the Methodist Church, but began going to the Catholic church on Sunday mornings in the camp before going to the Methodist service. I was impressed because even the children listened and were well-behaved. The priest there didn’t have time to teach me the faith, but I promised him I would take instructions when I got out of the camp.”

Because college students were allowed to leave the camp to go to school, Eddie went to the University of Detroit to earn his master’s degree in chemistry. “Before he left, he gave me an engagement ring – a pipe cleaner twisted into a circle,” she said. She laughs, remembering how tight finances were. During Christmas break of 1943, he returned and married Cora in the camp. They moved to Detroit.

True to her word, Cora took instruction in Catholicism and entered the church in 1951. The Fujiwara family, now including a son and daughter, moved to Adrian and became members at St. Joseph Parish.

Eddie died in 1997, but Cora remains active around the church. She sings in the choir, is a member of the Council of Catholic Women of St. Joseph, has helped make food for Habitat for Humanity volunteers, works in the St. Vincent de Paul pantry, helps with Meals on Wheels, is part of a Bible study group, and answers the phone at the parish office one afternoon a week.

One thing Cora says about Catholicism is that “it has meat. We have all these wonderful prayers that we can heed, and if we heed them, can love one another as a result. To my mind, there is no use going to church if we don’t listen to the prayers and take them to heart. The idea is to give yourself to God. Then, every time we are able to help humanity, especially the less fortunate, we are doing his wishes.

“I like Catholic people,” she says. “They are so nice. Since becoming Catholic, I find myself thanking God more often for both big and little things. Especially now that I am older and forget things more easily, I thank him when I find something. And I am thankful that I can still help others.”

President Roosevelt’s order changed Cora’s life, but she doesn’t look back with regret. Out of a difficult situation in the relocation camp, she met a husband and found the Catholic Church.

victorious
missionaries
Jean Haines
By Elizabeth Solsburg | Photography by Christine Jones

When Jean Haines was a children’s physical therapist in the 1960s, her young clients would ask, “Why did God make me this way? When is this going to go away? Will I be like this forever?” Many of them were learning to cope with severe disabilities that were not going to go away, and were going to last “forever,” such as spina bifida and polio.

Jean didn’t have the answers. Although she had converted to Catholicism in college, she felt her own spirituality wasn’t up to the challenges of the children’s questions. What could she possibly say to someone who would never walk when she was standing on two strong legs?

She’d heard about a program at a nearby Catholic shrine – Our Lady of Snows. The Victorious Missionaries’ (VMs) goal was to enable the disabled to serve God. Being able to walk was not on God’s list of requirements. Jean called the VM founder, Fr. John Maronic, and offered to loan him some wheelchairs from work for an upcoming day of reflection.

She was impressed with the Victorious Missionaries – their focus on developing positive attitudes and finding God was uplifting. Jean says, “This is the only organization I found where religion could be talked about along with disabilities.”
She thought her students would gain a lot from this group. In a short while, she would, too.

At age 30, Jean was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS). Her active, vigorous schedule was suddenly altered. For a time, she continued work as a physical therapist in East St. Louis, Ill. and as an ethics consultant to local hospitals. Sometimes, she would be called when a child had been born with deformities or severe disabilities; her job was to answer the doctors’ question – should we let this child die? For Jean, the answer was always a vote for life – she saw in her students the beauty of humanity and the light of God’s love.

As Jean’s mobility decreased, she walked with a cane and then braces, and eventually had to give up her strenuous job. She moved home to Michigan to be near her family and to work at Mott Children’s Health Center, testing children for brain damage.

When she said she was moving, Fr. John had an idea – why not start branches of the Victorious Missionaries in other states? He wanted handicapped people to recognize their own potential, to have an organization where they were running things and making a mark in society. Jean responded enthusiastically, and with Fr. John’s support, she initiated the Flint, Mich. chapter of the Victorious Missionaries.

The Flint chapter includes an outreach to residents of nursing homes and a retreat program for those with mental disabilities. The latter effort began when Fr. Carevio asked their board to include that in their mission. Jean says, “We take the ‘missionary’ part of our name to heart ... I say ‘we’ and I don’t mean you and me; I mean God and us.”

One of Jean’s primary missions is prayer. The life of a Victorious Missionary is a life of prayer, to whatever capacity possible. “I try to make whatever I do into a prayer. I no longer [pray] ‘why me?’ Now, I know everything is for a purpose. God doesn’t cause disabilities and we are all children of God. There are many forms of prayer – for example, when you’re hurting and have to respond [to another’s needs] or when you’re getting ready to present a retreat. I pray a lot before retreats.”

When planning retreats for the mentally disabled, Jean says, “I used to be so focused on control and planning every minute. Sometimes you have to let God take over. As I’ve become less [physically] able, other [members of the group] have pitched in.”

Jean’s whole being reflects the VMs’ focus on the positive. She knows that life is not about what you can’t do, but what you can do with God. Prayer is a way to have a dialogue with God, to be in a relationship with him. And to do that, it’s important to “... have some time to listen. We don’t do that enough.”

For Jean, and for all of us, “[Life] is a walk with Jesus – or a roll with him. Jesus lives in your heart.”

---

Accessibility
in our churches

The Victorious Missionaries have a special passion for accessibility. Accessibility can mean the difference between full parish participation and simply sitting in a pew. By allowing the disabled to serve as readers and extrordinary ministers of Communion, accessibility can alter perceptions. Lee Wittbrodt, the current president of the Flint Chapter of the VMs, says it helps people understand that, “Just because we’re handicapped, it doesn’t mean we don’t have brains.” Along with JoAnn Davis from the diocesan Office of Persons with disAbilities, Lee and Jean have advocated accessibility in churches for more than 20 years.

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops recommends that all parishes in the United States make their worship spaces accessible to persons with disabilities. This includes:

• ramps into the church,
• sanctuaries that can allow all persons to serve as liturgical ministers,
• reconciliation rooms that can accommodate wheelchairs,
• and fonts that allow for the full celebration of the sacrament.

But Lee and Jean are now concerned about parishes where those accommodations have been limited or removed over the years.

They remind all of us that our parish church is our home; we should all be able to get to the table.

Señora and Sister
two women, joined by faith and fellowship,
tend to the needs of area migrant workers
By Patricia Majher | Photography by Christine Jones

It’s the height of the growing season in Lenawee County and Maria Espino has hurried in from the fields to make supper for her children. Maria, a migrant worker, has been out picking vegetables since 7 a.m., but will probably go out again after eating to help load the day’s harvest onto a trailer.

At this time of the year, 12-hour days are not uncommon for her. What’s more, because Maria is married to Martin – the supervisor of the migrant camp – her day may last even longer if other workers come to her for assistance and advice.

Still, as the sun goes down and everyone around her gives in to the fatigue that accompanies hard work, Maria still seems full of life. Where in God’s name does she get her strength, you wonder? The answer lies in the question; she gets it from God. As Maria explains it, “My grandmother used to tell me, ‘Never give up. When times get tough, pray to him and he’ll find you. Even in the middle of a field.’”

Maria Espino is a cradle Catholic – a point worth noting, because not all migrant workers share the same faith. A native of Mexico, she came to the U.S. with her parents from the border town of Tamaulipas in 1968. Four years later, at the age of 15, she worked her first harvest. And she’s still working in the fields today, with more than 30 years’ experience under her belt.

During Maria’s life as a migrant worker, many things changed. Early on, her mother died. Then Maria married and bore six children, including a set of twins. There were years when she was concerned about her aging father’s health. Then, in 1998, he remarried and Maria welcomed a stepmother into the fold.

Through it all, though, there has been one constant in her life: her steadfast belief in God and his goodness. A deeply religious woman, Maria has made sure that no matter where her family is, they maintain their connection to the Catholic Church and grow in their faith.

And that is quite a challenge, given that Maria’s family spends half the year in Florida and the other half – from May to November – in Michigan.

Maria and Martin are employed by Adrian farmer Ed Judson to work his fields and to oversee the 100-plus people living in his migrant camps. The accommodations are modest – more modest than most of us would find comfortable. And the units are so close together that a sneeze in one can be heard in another. But the closeness does create a sense of community in which neighbor helps neighbor without question. Children are babysat, rides to the dentist or doctor are arranged, and trips to the laundromat or store are all worked out – often with Martin or Maria’s guidance.

But who provides spiritual guidance for the migrant field workers?

That’s the mission of Adrian’s St. Mary of Good Counsel Parish. The parishioners and staff of St. Mary’s have ‘adopted’ the Judson camps and can be counted on to help the workers in any way possible, starting in the spring when the first carloads of people pull into the area. “That’s when we begin to prepare our welcome baskets,” explains Sister Georgiana Stubner, O.P., coordinator of the parish-camp partnership. The baskets contain kitchen essentials like dish soap, towels and a scrubber, as well as paper products and personal care items. “Enough to get everybody started with the basics,” she adds.

As she and volunteers deliver the baskets, they also begin to forge friendships with the workers and to figure out what each adult or child may require in the way of services. Some may want to participate in reconciliation or to attend Mass at the camp, requests that are honored by Father Tom Helfrich about every other week. “We’re too busy to go into town,” notes Maria. “So the people really appreciate having the priests come to them. They don’t want to lose touch with the church while they’re up here.”

Mass nights are enhanced by St. Mary’s own Spanish-language choir, which leads the assembly in singing the praises of God.

For young children, there’s a Bible story night. And for those who are old enough, there are preparation classes for the sacraments of first Communion and confirmation. Maria helps Sister Georgiana identify those who might be ready to receive instruction: “I’m thankful that all of my kids had their first Communion here.”

The sacrament of baptism is also extended to the children of workers by Deacon Cal Torres, but many parents decline the offer, preferring to wait until they return home where extended family members can act as godparents.

Occasionally, a couple marries while working in the area. “Some time ago, a woman who had no family and a man who had no family got married at St. Mary’s and we had a big party for them in camp. And my father and stepmother were married by the bishop five years ago.”

In fact, Bishop Carl Mengeling makes it a point to visit the Judson camps every year. Weather permitting, he says an outdoor Mass; one year, in the middle of the liturgy, threatening skies forced everyone into a nearby pole barn, where he continued with hardly a pause. “Yes, I’ve met the bishop here a couple of times,” notes Maria, “and I’ve never met the one in Florida.”

Besides the religious significance, the bishop’s arrival is also a social event, with workers from around the county invited to participate. “We have a big dinner, too,” says Maria.

Members of St. Mary Parish provide the fixings for that feast. They’re also available at a moment’s notice to fill a worker’s empty cupboard with provisions from the parish pantry. Clothing needs are addressed in much the same way. “Some people drive up here with just the clothes on their backs,” Maria says. When that happens, Maria talks to Sister Georgiana and they make sure everybody gets outfitted.

In tending to the material and spiritual needs of the camp, Maria and Sister Georgiana make a pretty good team. But Sister Georgiana is quick to give credit where credit is due. She says simply, “It’s the gifts of many – both the migrant people and our parishioners – that help us see the face of Christ in this work.”

In 2005, Sr. Georgiana is moving on to parish work in Illinios. Migrant ministry is one of many supported by the DSA.

“the spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me”
meet the newly ordained priests of the Diocese of Lansing
By Bob Horning | Photography by Christine Jones

Jeff Poll

After six-and-a-half years of seminary, Jeff Poll says, “My head is full of stuff. I can’t wait to start using it and helping others. Like I’ve been told, ‘my vocation is not to the seminary; it’s to the priesthood.’”

Where did you grow up? In Deerfield, a farm community of 1,000, located about 35 miles south of Ann Arbor. My parents were both auto workers. I grew up Catholic, but went to public schools. I have a sister and twin brother. Around confirmation age, I thought both about law enforcement and the priesthood. I received an associate degree in criminal justice from Lake Superior State University in Sault Ste. Marie.

Did you use your degree? Yes. I worked for almost five years for the state in the prison system – as a guard and in parole/probation. It was a good job with great benefits, but it always seemed like something was missing. I began to look back over my life as to what I wanted when I was younger, and that led me to start reflecting more on the priesthood. I talked with Fr. Dan Wheeler in Tecumseh, and he set up an appointment for me with Fr. J. Munley, then the vocation director.

After prayer and discernment, the scales were tipped toward becoming a priest. But it was good experience to be out working, to see people in their greatest and weakest moments. Plus, it helped me grow up. I was quite a procrastinator in college the first time.

How did you like seminary? I enjoyed my classes and professors. Mundelein has a strong academic program. It’s on a beautiful 300-acre campus, with a man-made lake. I feel well-prepared from the experience and opportunities there. I will be a little nervous at first as a priest, but I am basically comfortable.

One drawback is that we didn’t have much free time in school. I would have liked to exercise more. I had to put basketball and racquetball on hold. Same thing with deer (bow) and duck hunting, camping and fishing. I gained weight as a result, but that was partly because I am a food guy in general, especially a good hamburger or bratwurst.

Because Mundelein is more than four hours from our diocese, it was a strain to be involved in diocesan activities. But I did get to meet a lot of the priests at the annual convocation for diocesan priests in the fall, to which third- and fourth-year seminarians are invited.

What strengths do you bring to the priesthood? I get along well with others. People have told me that I have a calm voice, calming presence, and that I put people at ease. I am patient and a good listener. I am good at de-escalating situations. Some of that I learned working in the prison system.

Sometimes I tend to overextend myself, but I’m getting better at letting other people do things. I am eager to be in a parish so I can bring the sacraments to the people and help them.

What does the church need today? We need more vocations. We need to be talking to young men about that. Having a full-time vocations director (Fr. Jerry Vincke) again helps, as does the yearly luncheon with the bishop for young men who are high-school age and up.

Another thing we need to do is bring fallen-away Catholics back. Creating FAITH Magazine has been a big help with that. We can also reach them at baptisms, weddings and funerals, since we don’t see them at Mass. That’s a good chance to let them see what the church is and welcome them back, even in the homily.

Gordon Reigle

Gordon Reigle grew up in Jackson. His family attended Queen of the Miraculous Medal Church. He went to school there through sixth grade, and was in the Jackson Lumen Christi High School class of 1990.

What led to your vocation? I graduated from Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, with a degree in industrial engineering, and then worked as a computer programmer for Electronic Data Systems. After a few years there, I began thinking more about my priorities and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Over time, I became more involved in church activities like prison ministry, daily Mass and music ministry. My discernment spanned a two-year period and was aided by frequent affirmations from people – friends and strangers alike – within the church community. By the time I got up the nerve to enter seminary, it seemed as if I was receiving weekly reminders about the priesthood.

You were at Mundelein Seminary during the sex abuse scandal. How was that? There was a lot of media scrutiny since Mundelein is so large, and it was a pleasure disproving to the media the stereotypes of what people think about us. They saw a group of real guys, older and more mature than what they expected. Men becoming priests in their late 20s and 30s, men who have worked for a number of years in the world, are normal now. We know what we are getting into and are probably more psychologically aware than in times past. The issues that led to the scandal are openly addressed and discussed in seminary.

What was the biggest change for you in seminary life? How I used my time, mainly in regard to prayer. We are expected to pray the Liturgy of the Hours every day, attend daily Mass, and spend an hour in private prayer – preferably before the Eucharist. That can add up to three hours in prayer a day. It becomes a fundamental part of the day, winding yourself around prayer and the Lord, so that you are able to take on the mind of Christ. I grew to love it, and missed it when for some reason I was unable to do it. But it requires using your time well, since we are very busy at seminary.

Any special experiences there? It was an experience of the universal church. We had men from about 45 dioceses and 14 countries. Some of our liturgical and feast-day celebrations would include the language, customs, cuisine or music of other cultures. The social formation was wonderful.

What are you looking forward to as a priest? The main things are celebrating Mass and preaching. How awesome it is to take on the persona of Christ, as someone who serves, guides and blesses the people. The Church needs holy priests. People are attracted to holiness when they see the light of Christ in someone. I hope that I can get out of the way and let God work, because then he can do amazing things.

How did you spend your free time before entering seminary? I played in four or five bands in the Jackson and Lansing areas. I had taken private music lessons from the age of five through high school, and my main instruments were piano, organ and guitar. I have played for many years with Jackson’s Skyline Jazzband, which features big-band music, especially from the 1940s. But I play a mix of styles from Top 40 to Christian praise-and-worship music. I’m sure that I will be able to use that music background in my ministry.

Chas Canoy

Chas Canoy was born in the Philippines, grew up in Missouri, studied in Indiana, Ohio, Austria and Rome. He has traveled all over Europe, but he is settled in the Diocese of Lansing.

You said that World Youth Day in Denver in 1993 was a turning point in your life. In what way? While studying at Indiana University, I had a crisis of faith. I was pursuing what the world told me would bring happiness and I questioned the faith in which I was brought up. In fact, back in high school, I took St. Thomas the Apostle as my confirmation name because of my doubts.

When I went to WYD, however, those doubts were erased. During a eucharistic procession, I felt Jesus’ presence in such a special way that I had to hide my face because of how holy I sensed the Eucharist was. I had an incredible awareness of God’s reality and his mercy and love for me, and a sense of inner peace that nothing in the world could give.

What did you do after college? I worked at General Mills for two years in business planning. It was rewarding, but it also made me realize that working with Wheaties was not my life’s ambition. I resigned, sensing God was calling me to work in some type of ministry. I considered the priesthood, and so I took two years of philosophy at Franciscan University in Ohio. After my first year, I had zero desire for the priesthood and my reaction was, “All right, God! I guess this means you’re calling me to marriage.”

I began dating a young lady from the Irish Hills, which is how I ended up in the Diocese of Lansing. Though we soon broke up, I stayed in Michigan to work for an organization of Catholic business leaders. After a couple of years, that subtle voice urging me to consider the priesthood returned, and it wasn’t so subtle anymore.

What did you do then? During the Jubilee Year 2000, I went to Rome to study and figure out what to do, but with all of the activities going on there, that became difficult. So I went to a little village in Austria for Lent 2001, where I did a 30-day Ignatian retreat. There I was able to overcome my resistance to God’s call and see what my heart truly desired. That fall I entered Sacred Heart Major Seminary in Detroit.

How are you viewing being a priest? I am excited about helping people discover the person of Jesus and humbled at being one of God’s instruments to give his divine life to others, whether it’s through his word, the sacraments or simply through personal contact. I’ve never been accused of being shy. Wherever I am, I try to reach out to others, so I hope God can use that to make me a channel of his mercy and compassion. People long for authentic love and that is ultimately found in a love affair with God.

Do you have a passion for any particular ministry? Reaching young adults. When they leave home and family for college or work, they’re faced with those deep questions of life that they now have to answer for themselves. They have to do this in the context of a secular culture that often pushes values contrary to the dignity of the human person. Having had a crisis of faith myself at that age, I know the importance of the church being there to help and be Christ’s life-giving voice.

Does it seem to you that you have given up much in becoming a priest? At one time, I just couldn’t picture life as a celibate. So I saw that as a huge sacrifice. But now that I’ve made that step of faith, I can’t picture myself as being anything other than a priest. God in his great love richly provides.

What are your hobbies? I love the great outdoors, especially the mountains and the sea, so God only knows why I’m here in Michigan. I also like golf, having played on my high-school team for all four years. Most of all, I just enjoy spending time with family and friends.

Mike O’Brien

Mike O’Brien grew up in Saginaw. He moved to Ypsilanti in 1990 and began work as a prison guard at Milan Federal Correctional Institution. He was there for nine years before entering seminary.

Tell us a little about your growing-up days. I attended Catholic schools through high school, as did my brother and sister. My father was a tool-and-die worker; my mother was a nurse. As a child, I wanted to be a priest and a missionary. I still have a missionary spirit. But I was also interested in crime and emergency situations. That’s why I attended Northern Michigan University in Marquette for my criminal justice degree.

How did you go from prison guard to seminary? Though I was making good money, my job was stressful and I was not fulfilled. In 1997, my dad died (my mother had died earlier), and that caused me to examine my life. I began going to Chi Rho meetings at St. Thomas the Apostle in Ann Arbor, which are for men thinking about the priesthood.

I was impressed with Fr. Roger Prokop’s gentle manner. I met many priests, as well as Bishops Povish and Mengeling. They all seemed happy, at peace and fulfilled in what they were doing. I looked forward to the meetings every two weeks.

I thought I might be too old – I’m 39 now – but everyone said, “No, you have something to offer.” They suggested going to seminary to find out for sure. When I got to Sacred Heart Seminary in Detroit in the fall of 1999, my initial thought was, “What have I done?”

My first year was tough, but during my second year I became more sure of my calling. After getting my degree in philosophy, I transferred to Mundelein.

How did seminary prepare you? Other than academically, which was a struggle for me, I had a number of other experiences. I spent six weeks in Mexico to study Spanish. Then I spent one summer at a parish in Brazil, which was the first time I was exposed to impoverished people. They had a great Marian devotion. It was incredible to see the spirit and happiness of these people who had nothing. And I was the chaplain at the fire department in the city of Mundelein for four years.

How did you change while at Mundelein? They ask you to look at yourself and to improve your weaknesses, because you won’t have time to do that later, as a priest. As a result, I think I am more of a communal person now, less self-absorbed. I have set a goal to avoid being isolated, so that I don’t become a “weird” priest. Also, I am more aware of the need to say “no” sometimes in order to prevent burn-out. I don’t want to become so busy that I’m not effective.

What are you looking forward to as a parish priest? To becoming part of a parish and the relative permanence of that, to being looked to for leadership and support, to being involved in people’s lives. I learned during internship that I can do this work and am good at it.

What is one thing you would like to see change in the Catholic Church? I don’t like the polarization between liberal and conservative. We need to come more to the center. I feel I am moderate, and I can help bring us together through my preaching and my example. I want to welcome everyone.

What do you like to do with your free time? I like to cook. It’s relaxing to make a big meal. I look forward to being in a rectory with a big kitchen, being able to cook at times – like I did at the fire station. I like to read true crime stories and follow current events. I also enjoy movies, plays and conversation.

Steve Mattson

When Steve Mattson was 19 years old, he left the Catholic Church, along with his parents and three brothers. It was 17 years before he returned in 1998. Soon afterward, he heard a call to the priesthood.

Why did you leave? Largely because the worship and preaching at the Evangelical Protestant church we joined in Lansing seemed more engaging and relevant than the Catholic Mass. Years later, while I was an elder, my brother and sister-in-law were on their own journey back to Rome, which piqued my interest. My parents had returned to the Catholic Church in 1994. I asked myself, “Why am I not Catholic?” I read the catechism and a host of books about Catholicism. I prayed. Six months later, I was reconciled with the church of my youth.

What were you doing before entering seminary? I worked as an actuary for a few years before enrolling in the College of Education at Michigan State University to get my doctorate. I was the principal at a charter school for part of a year and taught math at Lansing Community College.

Why the priesthood? When I was in high school, I thought about the monastic life – largely as a result of reading Thomas Merton and Thomas á Kempis, and listening to the music of John Michael Talbot. That stayed with me through the years. While Protestant, I thought about becoming a minister. When I returned to the Catholic Church, people suggested that I consider the priesthood. Because I wanted a wife and children, I didn’t think that was God’s plan. But I prayed about it. One day, while in the adoration chapel, I realized that my thinking about becoming a priest was upside down. I had been focusing on what I would have to give up. I began to think about what I had received from priests in my life – like absolution and the body and blood of Christ. I realized that being a priest was a way to give myself for others as Christ had.

How did you like seminary? At Mundelein, the academic formation was strong. I developed good friendships; I grew in my faith through the coursework, field education, spiritual direction, prayer, the example of my professors and many conversations with brother seminarians. I enjoyed grappling with the challenges of figuring out how to live and spread the message of the Gospel in ways that will engage men and women today.

What are you looking forward to as a priest? To being a representative of Christ for the people – in the Mass, in my preaching and in the confessional. And to living a life of holy witness. For four-and-a-half years, I have received so much support, prayer and encouragement from the people of God. Now it’s my chance to begin to give back.

What do you see as the church’s biggest need? We need to evangelize, beginning with ourselves. That means we need to know the faith. Catholics can’t be a light to the world if we don’t know the One who is the Light.

A lot of Catholics don’t know the richness of their Catholic faith. I know I didn’t. I want to help adults learn more about their faith. But that’s difficult because adult catechesis isn’t part of the Catholic culture. Pope John Paul II began to change that by showing us the beauty of being Catholic. I want to encourage us to grow closer to Christ and one another. That can happen through honest preaching and adult catechesis. We need to make ongoing formation a part of our culture, as it is in the Protestant churches.

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ordained to serve
meet the 7 new deacons
of the Diocese of Lansing

Seven men were ordained to the permanent diaconate on May 14 at St. Mary Cathedral. Bishop Mengeling, presiding at the ordination, compared the deacons to St. Stephen, the church’s first deacon and its first martyr. Like Stephen and his six companions, the seven new deacons are called to service and evangelization. After each man received the stole and dalmatic and placed his hands on the Book of Gospels, Bishop Mengeling charged them all to “Receive the Gospel of Christ whose herald you have become. Believe what you read. Teach what you believe.”

The new deacons will serve in parishes throughout our diocese, ministering wherever they are needed.

Tom Fogle is the director of Family Life Ministry for the Diocese of Lansing. He and his wife, JoAnne, have been married for 43 years and have four children and seven grandchildren. Together, they serve on the diocesan Family Life Ministry board and are hospice volunteers. They also write for the Marriage Matters section of FAITH Magazine. Tom is assigned to St. Mary Parish, Charlotte, where he and JoAnne are involved extensively in the marriage preparation program.

Ron Kenney has worked as a youth minister and Catholic high-school teacher for more than 20 years. He and his wife, Lisa, are the parents of five children and a foster child. They are members of St. John the Evangelist Parish in Fenton, and Ron will serve as deacon there. Ron and Lisa have also been very involved with leading Marriage Encounter.

Stan Kukla and his wife, Celeste, have taken an active role in campus ministry at Holy Trinity Student Parish in Ypsilanti, where Stan has been assigned as deacon. Stan is an engineering collaboration specialist and has served on the Worship Commission, worked with RCIA, Habitat for Humanity, jail ministry and the Ypsilanti Hunger Coalition. Stan and Celeste have two adult children.

Mike Murray is the legal counsel for the Diocese of Lansing. He works with hospital and prison ministries at St. Thomas Aquinas, East Lansing, his home parish. Mike and his wife, Dr. Linda Jackson, have two children.

Greg Poole is a member of St. Mary Parish in Charlotte, where he has worked with the RCIA program, been an extraordinary minister of Communion and a lector, and has conducted baptism preparation for parents. He and his wife, Liz, have two children.

Dave Rosenberg is the founder of ParishSOFT, which develops software and web solutions for parishes and dioceses. He is also a member of the FAITH Magazine Advisory Board and the Deacon Advisory Board. Dave will serve at St. Joseph Parish in Dexter, where he leads the music ministry program. He has also ministered as a catechist, confirmation retreat team leader, lector, extraordinary minister of Communion and coordinator of the Christ Renews His Parish program. Dave has one son.

Michael Sullivan is a member of St. Francis Parish in Ann Arbor, where he will also be assigned while he is completing graduate theological studies. He is a staff member at St. Francis and also at St. Patrick Parish, Ann Arbor, where he coordinates spiritual direction ministry and programs for Catholics returning to the church. He is married to Patricia, who is a commissioned spiritual director and who established and directs the Counseling Assistance Program at St. Francis. – The Catholic Times contributed to this story.