I didn’t really want to win the World Cup.
When I was 11 years old and in sixth grade, I arrived in a new middle school. I knew very few of my classmates and everyone knows that on the first day you have to make a strong impression. In my young boy’s mentality, those first twenty-four hours were going to mark this first year of school and maybe even my whole life as a student. Little did I know that this day would mark not only my time at school but also my whole life.
I can still see very clearly the curious looks and clumsy gestures of the pre-teens that we were. Everyone wore their new sneakers, their new East Pack bags and their new “tracksuits” for the boys or their new jeans for the girls. Everyone was concerned about making a good impression with the others but also with our new head teacher: Mrs. Guiho.
Once the seats were allocated in the class, I was very happy to find myself, not too far in front nor completely in the back. This was a delicate situation for dear Mrs. Guiho because she had to carry out the almost impossible mission of putting her class of 25 students at ease. While handing out notebooks, she explained that this unit was the old catechism unit, renamed “titular hour.” We will pass over the absurdity of the name of the lesson to note above all the loss of identity of this private Catholic college which was very often only Catholic in name. Modernity had done its work and so the revolutionary new proposal that Mrs. Guiho offered us was to take a notebook and use it as a journal, to write down our fears and our anxieties, but also our joys, our dreams, and our projects.
The idea was not bad in itself, but this exercise seemed to me to be so feminine and completely uninteresting to my 11-year-old self. I took out my pencil case, swallowed my pride (it wasn’t the time to be noticed) and started the exercise. Our kind teacher began by swearing to her gods (who were apparently no longer the same as mine…) that nothing and no one would have access to this notebook and that we could be sure that its contents would remain secret until the end of time. Then she asked us to write our first and last name on the first page and what our purpose in life was, what we wanted to achieve later, and the name of a person who inspired us.
I must admit that the question bothered me a little. At eleven years old, I didn’t really have a very clear idea of what I want to do when I grew up. Most of my classmates were already writing. It must be noted that my generation had just experienced the great emotions of the mythical double win of the 98 World Cup and the 2000 European Cup. There is not a single 11-year-old boy in the whole of France who did not dream of becoming a footballer and looking like Zidane, the new national hero. As for the women, Alizée, Lorie, and Jenifer were the new pop stars and had their faces on the pencil cases, agendas, and magazines at the bottom of the new East Pack bags.
Personally, I didn’t have an East Pack, I wasn’t dressed in a “tracksuit and sneakers” and frankly I just didn’t really want to win the World Cup. At this point in my life, I discovered a little non-conformist spirit and a malicious pleasure in swimming against the current. So, I had to find an answer that suited me and not just answer like everyone else.
I must admit that I especially wanted to get rid of this somewhat embarrassing question since no answer was obvious. The possibility of becoming a priest had already crossed my mind. I had heard my parish priest asking for prayers for vocations because the diocese lacked priests. I remember that I didn’t understand why a job that only involved working an hour on Sundays was so unattractive. And given the baskets that I saw passing in front of me on the collection every Sunday, it seemed rather well paid for an hour of work…
There had also been the eternal ladies of the sacristy who had come to help me put on my alb as an altar server and who had suggested to me, anything but subtly, that I could become a priest later because the white alb suited me very well.
But above all there was my great-uncle, a Cistercian monk, who came to the house from time to time. A man of deep faith who exuded an incredible joie de vivre and a deep inner peace. I couldn’t put this phenomenon into words, but already at 11 years old, I realized that this man had a big something extra. I looked at him with curiosity and admiration, completely captivated by his personality and magic tricks. He is definitely the one who made me want to give God the first place in my life.
In short, all of this is to say that I finally took my pen and wrote without great convictions and especially without the right motivations: “My name is Jérôme Dejoie and I would like to become a priest and the figure who inspires me is my uncle Jean who is a monk.” I had barely put down my pen when Mrs. Guiho’s voice disturbed my thoughts: “Now, as it is the beginning of the year and to help us get to know each other better, everyone is going to read in front of the class what they have just written in their notebook.”
Fortunately, cardiac arrests are very rare among 11-year-olds because I must admit that I have rarely had such a radical acceleration of my pulese as I did this beautiful morning in September. I had to think of a way out, and think quickly. Already my classmates were announcing their desires to become footballers or to famous singers loud and clear. Mrs. Guiho was over the moon because everyone, or almost everyone, was discovering things in common and it would therefore be easy for everyone to make friends.
As my turn approached, my little brain was overheating to try to figure out what I should do. To say in front of my new classmates that I wanted to become a priest was an immediate social condemnation. If even for me, a young boy from a practicing Catholic family, it was not very clear what a priest was, I’ll let you imagine what it could mean for my classmates. Apart from being seen as the weird guy in the class, there was definitely nothing to be gained.
I knew what I didn’t want to do, but it still didn’t give me any solutions for what I needed to do to get out of this mess. Very soon, it was my turn to speak and I really didn’t know what I was going to say. I felt a little betrayed by Mrs. Guiho who, after assuring us that this notebook was more secret than the nuclear codes, simply asked us to reveal in front of everyone what we had written.
Suddenly I found my escape. Indeed, no one was going to check if I was reading exactly what I had written. It was so simple and so easy, I just needed to say that I too wanted to become a footballer and no one would notice anything. It was almost time, there were only two people left before I had to speak. My choice was made, I just had to start my first day of middle school with a little lie that wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lying had never been a big problem for me, my parents can testify to that… However, this time I didn’t want to do it. But did I really have a choice? My decision was made, ‘don’t make any waves, not today, let’s be reasonable.’
In any case, I didn’t have time to think about it anymore because it was my turn to speak. And so, reassured by my strategy, with all the calm in the world, I said: “My name is Jérôme Dejoie and I want to become a priest”. I think my brain was still convinced that I had said I wanted to be a footballer and there were a few seconds of hesitation during which I felt like I heard myself saying this improbable sentence. It was when I saw the faces of my comrades and Mrs. Guiho that I realized what had happened. There was a deafening silence in the classroom. I had really ruined the atmosphere. The last students finished the exercise, but no one was really paying attention to them anymore. Once the exercise was over, Mrs. Guiho took the floor again to say: “Since this is still a catechism course, I would like Jérôme to tell us why he wants to become a priest.” Somehow the “titular hour,” as if by magic, had become catechism class again… I was still in shock from what had just happened, and I stammered, “I don’t know, I feel called.”
This moment in my life is a detail, a small episode that made an impression on me, but it is one of the moments that triggered the great adventure of my vocation. There were moments before and many moments after. Yet, on the eve of my priestly ordination, I like to look back at this moment to see how long this journey has been. I was 11 years old, with a very limited and sometimes even erroneous idea of what a priest was. I knew nothing of the theological dimension and the vocation to be another Christ. My answer to my kind teacher’s question was not ‘mystical,’ but rather the response of a young boy already marked by pride, non-conformism, and maybe a little courage too.
I didn’t want to give an easy answer, I wanted to express how I was different, and also my indifference to what others might think of me. There was far too much “Me” and “I” in this response. But that’s also why I like it. When I look at this answer, I realize how far I have come and how God can use a very limited answer and transform it into a “yes” full of Love, with his infinite patience and the accompaniment that I have received in my years in formation from my Legionary formators of Christ and my confreres.
My answer had a lot of flaws, as one would expect from an eleven-year-old child, somewhere between the innocence of a child and the stupidity of a teenager. But it had the merit of being an honest answer. I didn’t want to lie to my class, or to my teacher, and I especially didn’t want to lie to myself. A few days after this answer I joined the Boy Scouts where I was able to learn the meaning of honor, of giving your word, and the spirit of service. Three years after this answer, I entered the apostolic school of the Legionaries of Christ where I was able to learn to give God the first place in my life. Seven years after this answer, I entered the novitiate of the Legionaries of Christ to begin the most beautiful adventure and to follow up on this call—as mysterious as it is magnificent.
I don’t know where my former classmates are in their dreams of becoming football or singing stars, but for my part, almost 23 years after my answer, I am arriving at the dawn of my priestly ordination. I look with a little smile at this young 11-year-old “me” who didn’t really know what it really meant to be a priest, but was at least honest and faithful to his calling. It is quite possible that in another 23 years I will look with a little smile at this young deacon of 34 years old who still does not really know what it really means to be a priest (since it is an inexhaustible mystery), and I hope that once again I will be able to say that at least I was always honest and faithful to my calling.
Deacon Jérôme Dejoie, from Nantes, France, currently works as the assistant to the rector at the Novitiate and College of Humanities of the Legionaries of Christ in Cheshire Connecticut. He will be one of 23 Legionaries of Christ ordained to the priesthood on May 3, 2025, in Rome, Italy by Cardinal Kevin Farrell. You are invited to learn more and to watch the live stream of the Ordination Mass here.
