Born in 1938 and raised in St. Paul, Minnesota, I am the youngest of three children. My sister, Jackie, is the oldest, my brother, Tom, is in the middle, and then me. Our parents, devout Catholics, insisted that the three of us attend our local parish grade school, St. Columba.
When I was in the sixth grade, Sister Victoria suggested I consider studying for the priesthood. Not because I was the smartest kid in class, but because she knew I came from a loving, caring family and was such a “good little boy.”
I laughed at the idea. But in the eighth grade, three of my classmates and I decided we wanted to attend the seminary for high school. In those days it was common to go into the seminary. When I told my parents my plan, Dad emphatically said, “No, you are way too young. If you have a vocation to the priesthood, you wait until after high school. Priesthood, like marriage, is a lifetime commitment.”
I was truly blessed to go to Cretin High School, a boys-only military academy staffed by the De LaSalle Christian Brothers. The Brothers also asked me to consider becoming a member of their community or the priesthood. They didn’t invite me because I was the smartest kid or a “good little boy,” but because they sensed my strong interest in promoting the social values of the gospels. But, at that point, I had discovered sports and girls so that idea of the priesthood melted away, like snow on a warm spring day.
As a small boy, I had learned that if I just tried my best, it would please my parents. Winning wasn’t that important to them; they just encouraged me to persevere and enjoy the challenge. Dad was fond of saying, “Billy, never cease trying to be the best you can be.” My parents had a great influence on my personal definition of success. To this day, success to me means “never giving up.”
I grew up in a generation where commitment was common, expected and rewarded. Loyalty was treasured. Dad worked for the St. Paul Fire and Marine Insurance Company for 40 years, only taking a break to serve in World War II. He was proud of what he did. Ma and Dad so looked forward to celebrating their 50 years of marriage, but unfortunately, two months before the big day, Ma died unexpectedly. It was our parents who modeled the importance of commitment as they sacrificed themselves for each other, ourselves, and whomever they could help.
To this day, I consider commitment sacred. When Ma would get upset, she would humorously threaten us kids, saying, “I promised to honor and cherish your father for the rest of my life but that doesn’t mean I can’t trade you kids off!” By the same token, Dad was fond of saying, “God only gave me one wife. I better treat her right, because I’ve got her for the rest of my life.”
My brother, Tom, echoed these ideas when he reminded me on the day I was ordained, “Billy, there is only one difference between us now that you are a priest: I have a wife and you don’t. But we are both in it for life.” Simple, but true. I was well trained that marriage and the priesthood were both lifetime commitments.
Still, it wasn’t until my third year at the University of Minnesota that I gave any serious thought to either. I was leaning towards marriage. I had found Claire, the woman of my dreams. I wanted to marry her and she wanted to marry me, but we decided that we would wait until we graduated.
During that time, a sense of restlessness resounded inside of me. I began praying that if I had a priestly vocation, it be given to someone worthier. I know God hears all prayers but I also know God doesn’t always answer them the way we want.
I can still feel the pain and anguish of telling Claire that I had to resolve my uneasiness about becoming a priest ... one way or the other. Somehow, she understood. To this day I remember the last night we hugged and kissed, tearfully wondering if we would ever intimately hold one another again. We never did. I left for the seminary and only saw Claire one more time in my life when she attended my ordination.
This “calling” was difficult for me to understand, so it was even more challenging to explain to my close friends. When I told Ma, Dad, my sister and my brother, it was my sister, Jackie, who said, “If that is what you want to be, then be the best priest you can be.”
What attracted me to the priesthood was the excitement and the opportunity to preach and implement Christ’s Gospel messages. By celebrating the sacraments and leading others to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ I could spread faith, love and justice. I was on fire to share His unconditional forgiveness and promote the intrinsic value of every human person, even though I wasn’t absolutely sure I would “make the cut” to be ordained.
I entered the Oblate of Mary Immaculate Seminary before the start of the Second Vatican Council. It was a time when we were literally asked to leave the world behind and separate ourselves from family and friends. Those early days as a seminarian were extremely rigid and isolated. The seminary was built like a fortress. We walked around in drab black cassocks and behaved like cloistered monks. One of the things I found most problematic was the insistence upon deadening our feelings and emotions. We were constantly warned against having friendships because they were considered divisive. In fact, such friendships could be a cause for dismissal from the seminary.
Fortunately, I had experienced a wholesome relationship with Claire. When I shared this with my spiritual director, Father Hurkes, he directed me to be grateful to God. “Bill,” he said, “most of your classmates have never been blessed with such a loving relationship. Your love for Claire is to be cherished and always treasured. You were gifted with the experience to love another and to be loved by another.”
Pope John XXlll formally opened the Second Vatican Council on October 11, 1962. Its main purpose was to help apply the truths of Christ to modern-day life; it was more a pastoral council than a doctrinal one.
When Vatican II closed on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception on December 8, 1965, it changed the way seminarians were trained. There was a new emphasis on openness. Priests, seminarians and nuns were now to be directly involved with the modern world and interact in people’s lives. The pendulum had swung from one side to the other. Rather than being aloof, unapproachable and discouraged from building personal relationships, we were now encouraged to be warm and supportive. I welcomed those changes!
One of the priests who also embraced the Vatican II changes was an Oblate Priest, Father Joe O’Brien, who was a prison chaplain with the Texas Department of Corrections. It was in my first year at the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas, that I initially met Father Joe. Each year he would personally introduce himself to every first-year theologian, in hopes of recruiting one or two to help him with his prison ministry. His compassionate, positive and caring demeanor intrigued me, and when he spoke about his prison ministry, I knew I wanted to experience what it would be like to minister with him to the men who were incarcerated.
So, in the summer of 1964, I unhesitatingly began interning with Father Joe at the state prison in Huntsville, Texas. I shadowed his every move inside the facility. It was easier to interact with the men who were incarcerated, as the correctional staff viewed chaplains as “naïve do-gooders.”
However, Father Joe constantly reminded me that I would be totally ineffective if I could not maintain a healthy balance in relating to both the staff and the inmates.
I worked with Father Joe in the prison for three summers and the experience sparked my passion to share the love I had for Jesus Christ with people who are incarcerated. Just before ordination, Father Joe asked me to consider ministering in prison as a full- time chaplain. He told me, “I’d like for you to think about taking my place.” I told him I would pray to the Holy Spirit about it.
After six years in the seminary, I “made the cut” and was ordained on September 8, 1968, the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. During the ordination liturgy, as the Litany of Saints was sung, I experienced the Holy Spirit inspiring me to minister to prisoners.
As newly ordained priests, we were asked by the Prefect of Studies to list our three preferences for ministry work.
My first choice was prison ministry, followed by preaching and then working with the poor. My Superior told me I needed some normal priestly experiences before assigning me to prison ministry.
He appointed me to our Oblate pre-novitiate seminary for three years, where I taught classes in criminology and served as a spiritual director for the seminarians. Because of my business degree from the University of Minnesota, I was also the seminary’s treasurer. My subsequent assignment was to the Oblate Mission in Stockholm, Sweden, where I served for two years as a missionary priest in a parish.
In 1973, I learned that my next assignment was to prison ministry. My first chaplaincy was back in Huntsville with the Texas Department of Corrections. I then ministered in various prisons for the Federal Bureau of Prisons.
What drew me to prison ministry was that I realized I could just as easily have been locked up as any one of the men there. I knew that God created these men and that they were good people, who had done bad things. I was not concerned about their guilt or innocence. I wanted them to experience Christ’s love and forgiveness.
The prison environment can be hostile, dangerous and mean-spirited, but it can also be redemptive. Celebrating the sacraments, listening attentively to their stories, counseling their families and just being present to the men who were imprisoned could be restorative and give them hope.
Most of my ministry in prison was a ministry of presence. Eating together, playing chess, bridge or handball. Or just talking with the men in their dorms or cells - that was the best way to get to know them. The years in prison brought me into close contact with many Protestant, Jewish and Muslim people.
After 25 years of prison ministry, I retired. I was more nervous walking out of the Terminal Island Federal Prison for the last time than I was walking into the Huntsville Prison on my first day of work. I had no idea where God was taking me next.
It wasn’t long before I received an invitation from Bishop Phillip Francis Straling to minister in the missionary Diocese of Reno, Nevada. My first assignment was St. Gall’s Parish in Gardnerville.
From prison to parish was not an easy transition.
It was compounded by the fact I was replacing a pastor, Father John Corona, who was an icon with a legacy. Fortunately, the parishioners at St. Gall were open to change and most welcoming. For my part, I committed myself to preparing and writing out every weekend homily. To this day, I still type my homilies, even though I don’t read them word-for-word.
Preaching is not an easy task. I have taken to heart what Paul wrote to the Corinthians 9:16: “Woe to me if I do not preach the gospels.” It takes me several days to produce what I will call an acceptable homily. I prepare by envisioning myself in the congregation, so I do preach to myself and this is the reason I speak about forgiveness so often. My style of preaching is storytelling, interactive with the congregation and in a conversational tone, with a touch of humor. I make an effort to talk from my heart so I can touch people’s hearts first and then touch their minds.
My Ma was my best and strictest homiletics professor and critic. She used to say, “Billy, that homily was a six on a scale of 10, but it was too long.” I try to keep that in mind each time I prepare.
In 2005, Bishop Straling assigned me to St. Francis of Assisi in Incline Village, Nevada, on the shores of Lake Tahoe. I took the place of another iconic pastor, Father Mike Mahone.
Little did I know that Bishop Straling had envisioned the total renovation of St. Francis as the church was too small, had some aging issues and needed major repairs. With the help of generous parishioners, the $5 million needed for the project was raised in six months. It was the start of intentional discipleship at St. Francis of Assisi.
My life as a priest has been extremely fulfilling and joyful.
My priestly ministry has been clearly defined by my love for what I am called to do. That is described in Father James Mallon’s book, Divine Renovation: “To preach the Word of God, to celebrate and minister the sacraments and to lead God’s people.” How blessed can one be, when you are doing what you most enjoy?
Of course, the most sacred thing I do is celebrate the Eucharist. I believe that the weekend Masses should be an experience that leads to a deeper conversion for every person participating in the liturgy. A lofty goal that invites our liturgy committee to be creative.
The Eucharist is the central mystery of our Faith and ideally the center of our lives. To actively celebrate this historical and traditional ritual act with all of its beauty and grace is more than I imagined. It is miraculous.
It is the gratitude of people who are so encouraging and affirming that motivates and inspires me to continue to be the best priest I can be, despite my age. I will continue to serve, as long as my physical health is strong enough to maintain my duties and I continue to have the passion to preach, celebrate and lead.
Rev. William Nadeau
© Copyright 2025 All Rights Reserved