Today, as we meditate on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew, I’m deeply moved by two images: the silent strength of Christ and His heart always open to all.
“A bruised reed He will not break, a smoldering wick He will not quench.”
Jesus doesn’t shout, He doesn’t force anyone, and yet…
“Many followed Him, and He healed them all.”

On this day, as I give thanks for my 17 years of priesthood, I understand a little more what this attitude of Christ means. Yes, I give thanks, with a heart full of emotion, for the journey so far. Like each of you, in your own vocations—whether as parents, religious, committed lay people, or simply as men and women seeking to do good—like any other vocation: priesthood is not an easy road. It’s a “package”: full of blessings, but also carrying its share of struggles. You can’t remove the hardships and keep only the joys. We must learn to walk with both, together.

I give thanks for my family, for my brother priests, for the sisters, and for you, lay people of goodwill. I thank God for my formators—those who believed in me when I doubted myself. But above all, I want to thank those who asked me a question that may seem simple, yet is so essential:
“Dominic, how are you? Are you happy?”

Because that question is worth gold.

Yes, priesthood can be a very lonely adventure. Living in community doesn’t always mean feeling accompanied. One can be alone without being isolated, and be surrounded yet never feel understood. What sustains me are the simple gestures: a listening ear, a kind look, a silent presence in a chapel, or the quiet support of those who care without needing to speak.

In the Gospel, Jesus faces rejection, even conspiracies against Him. And yet, He doesn’t shut Himself off. He doesn’t harden. He keeps loving. He keeps healing. That’s the priest I want to be: not a man of noise or appearance, but a man of presence. Like Christ: healing quietly, carrying without crushing.

On this anniversary day, I thank God for this community that has become my family over the past six years. I thank Him for today. As for tomorrow? I don’t know. In recent times, I’ve been learning to live one day at a time. And I ask you simply:
Pray with me. Pray for me.
That not my will, but His will may be done.

And there’s an image, deeply personal, that never leaves me. It’s not a story I once read—it’s part of my life.
One day, as a child, I was carried on the back of my own little brother. Someone asked him:
“Isn’t that too heavy for you?”
And he answered, simply, but with the wisdom of love:
“It’s not a burden. It’s my brother.”

That moment shaped me. Today, I understand that it’s the key to priesthood. To life itself.
I pray that the Lord will make of me—and of all of us—bearers of life, capable of carrying our brothers and sisters not as a duty, but as a grace. Not as a burden, but as a gift.

So today, I ask each of us not:
“How are you doing in your role?”
But rather:
“How are you, in your heart?”

Let us walk together.
Let us follow Him together.
And He will heal us all.