Deacon Christopher Derige Malano with his parents, Danny and Erlinda, at his ordination last September at St. Paul the Apostle Catholic Community in Los Angeles. (Courtesy Deacon Christopher Derige Malano)
By Deacon Christopher Derige Malano, CSP
Special to the Herald
As a child in Hawaii, I went to a lot of funerals. They weren’t always family — sometimes friends of my grandparents or neighbors — but my parents brought us along. I didn’t realize it then, but those gatherings were my first real experience of the church: people showing up for each other in grief, prayer and food shared at long tables.
Faith wasn’t a thing we pulled out only on Sundays. It lived in everyday moments — in potluck dinners, rosary novenas, rides to the grocery store.
We prayed before meals. We remembered our deceased loved ones on their birthdays and death anniversaries. Even as a kid, I felt like those who had gone before us were still near. I didn’t know the term communion of saints as a child, but I already believed it was true.
One of my strongest memories from Mass is praying the Our Father — hand in hand with my family, yes, but also across the aisles of the church, everyone connected. That unity stayed with me.
The very first prayer I learned was also the Lord’s Prayer. My parents taught it to me when we visited the grave of my older brother, John, who was stillborn. I never met him, but I always wondered who he might have become.
That early memory — of praying at his grave — planted something lasting in me about presence, grief and God.
We didn’t talk much about “vocation,” but my brother and I used to play Mass at home. We’d use a nightstand for an altar, dishes from the china cabinet as a chalice and paten, and sometimes we’d argue over who got to be the priest.
That childhood imagination took root years later, during my time as an undergraduate at the University of New Mexico. I got involved in campus ministry at the Aquinas Newman Center and eventually joined the leadership team.
Through that, I was introduced to the National Catholic Student Coalition. I met other young adults wrestling with faith and service. Slowly, I realized that my call wasn’t just about doing things for the church — it was about accompanying people in the ordinary, sacred spaces of their lives.
Still, I didn’t enter seminary right away. It took nearly 20 years — and plenty of doubt. But the call kept returning. In 2019, I entered formation with the Paulist Fathers, first through the novitiate and then seminary.
Being far from home on the mainland wasn’t easy. But I carried Hawaii with me — in how I listened, how I related, how I ministered. That local, relational way of being kept me grounded.
During formation, I served in a variety of ministries. I was a hospital chaplain in Chicago for a summer. I did my pastoral year in Los Angeles at St. Paul the Apostle Parish and the University Catholic Center at UCLA. I also spent time at Newman Hall-Holy Spirit Parish in Berkeley, California, and at St. John XXIII in Knoxville, Tennessee.
One of the most formative experiences came during the COVID-19 shutdown, when I served at the Paulist Center in Boston. The building had to close, but ministry couldn’t. I learned how to hold space for people even when everything else felt uncertain.
In all these settings, I kept coming back to the same truth: priesthood isn’t something we earn. It’s something we’re entrusted with for the sake of others.
This month, I will be ordained a priest during the church’s Jubilee Year 2025. After years of wandering, wondering and walking, I now see that none of it was wasted. The journey itself had meaning. It was filled with hope — even when I couldn’t see it at the time.
And that’s the kind of priest I hope to be — one who walks with others, who listens deeply, who serves with joy and humility.
Though I’ll be ordained on the mainland, my roots are here — in the islands in the middle of the ocean, where my faith was born: in the homes, parishes and potlucks of Hawaii. To everyone who’s prayed with me, supported me, challenged me, and shaped me: mahalo. I carry you with me in every space I serve — as a missionary priest of the Paulist Fathers.
Please pray for me as I become a priest. And pray, too, that more of our local young people might listen for the quiet tug of God’s call — not just in the sanctuary, but in the sacredness of everyday life. That’s where many vocations begin.
