PEOPLE

James Lackey will be the first to tell you he has not suffered injustice. And yet, as he responds to detailed questions about how he grew up and came to be a leader in the Black Catholic community, it becomes apparent: this is a man who has borne wrongs patiently.

Fraternal roots can run deep. Half of the men Kevin Murphy referred to as “uncle” growing up were actually his dad’s fraternity brothers.

As a teenager, Ivan Rojas was one of those chosen to have his feet washed on Holy Thursday. Little did he know those feet would one day step into the breach, trekking hundreds of miles in pursuit of a closer relationship with God.

Ask most first-graders what they hope to be when they grow up and you’ll get the standard responses — firefighter, doctor, police officer, teacher or pro baseball player. But from the age of 6, Peter Dobrowski knew he had a different calling. He felt the persevering inner tug of the Holy Spirit to serve God as a priest.

“I want to be the face of Jesus for someone else but it’s both the giver and the taker that are Jesus. We are Jesus for each other," he said.

“Every young man needs to be challenged to do some heroic deed,” Nikolas Nikas said. Decades later, he and a college roommate continue to answer that challenge.

Francesca Thomas has been working with little kids since she first graduated from college. “I went to church pretty faithfully, but I don’t think my faith was particularly deep at that time. I sort of went, doing what you’re supposed to do, but I really was captivated by this whole putting-your-faith-into-action thing,” Thomas said.

There’s no telling what a lunchtime meeting twice per month can do for the soul. The impact on those they pray for during that meeting — their top agenda item — is equally immeasurable. The main order of business: pray for and network with priests, religious and those in discernment.

For many middle-class men in suburbia, Saturday afternoon spells a round of golf or professional sports on television. Sean Kelly is not one of them.

Growing up in Phoenix as one of 10 children, Aurora Hernandez experienced firsthand the struggles of poverty. Her father worked for a meat company, and she and her siblings shoveled manure and cleaned out the animal pens. Her mother made dresses for the girls out of old flour sacks.