The Deacon

I didn’t hear the call to the diaconate in silence or solitude. I heard it in the bustling kitchen of our modest home — a baby on my hip, stirring mac and cheese with the other hand. Toys underfoot, laundry downstairs, hungry toddler meltdown imminent.

At the time, I was a full-time lawyer, married to my high school sweetheart, and father to three young children. My days were filled with giggles, Goldfish crackers and long hours. I wasn’t searching for a new calling — some days, I was barely staying afloat in the ones I already had.

But in that moment — amid diapers and deadlines — I felt a nudge. Not a dramatic sign, but a quiet tug at the heart. Maybe I was being called to something more. Not apart from being a husband and father but, somehow, through it.

That whisper became a call — and then a vocation. I began to sense that God wasn’t adding something new but drawing something deeper from what was already there. I entered diaconate formation in 2014 while my wife was pregnant with our fourth child. Three more children would follow. I was ordained at 34, just shy of canonical age, by my archbishop’s dispensation and my wife’s steadfast support.

That moment in the kitchen wasn’t just the start of discernment, it was the start of a realization: These vocations — husband, father, deacon — aren’t rival paths. They’re threads in a single stole, woven by the God who called me to serve. For young married deacons, the diaconate isn’t something added to family life; it’s rooted within it. Embraced together, these vocations become mutually sanctifying, forming a life of authentic service to Church, spouse and family.

A Call Within a Call

One of the most common questions I get from men discerning the diaconate is, “How do you balance being a husband, a father and a deacon?” My answer is always the same: You don’t balance them — you integrate them. If you’re married, your diaconal vocation doesn’t run alongside family, it springs from it.

The diaconate isn’t just a task. It’s a life shaped by service, relationship and presence. St. Paul writes, “Deacons may be married only once and must manage their children and their households well” (1 Tm 3:12). Not all deacons are married, but for those who are, ministry often begins at the dinner table. That verse reminds us: A married deacon’s first Church is his home, his first place of service the family table, his first congregation the spouse and children entrusted to his care.

This isn’t just practical — it’s theological. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that the family is the “domestic church,” the smallest unit of ecclesial life (Nos. 1656-1658). That means a deacon begins his ministry not in the sanctuary, but in his home.

A mentor in formation once told me, “You are your wife’s deacon first.” That simple truth reordered my ministry, not as something added to marriage but lived within it.

Our marriage isn’t a hurdle to ministry; it’s the soil where ministry grows. And not just mine — ours. My wife doesn’t simply support my vocation; she discerned it with me, step by step, and has never stopped praying through it. Her sacrifices didn’t just make ordination possible — they make ministry sustainable.

The longer I serve as a deacon, the more I realize: I can’t live this vocation well unless I live my first vocation well. If I preach beautifully on Sunday but neglect my family during the week, my witness rings hollow. But when I bring home the same humility, attentiveness and spirit of service, I become not just a minister, but the deacon I’m called to be, both at home and in the world.

My Wife’s Hidden “Yes”

Several years ago, my wife traveled to the Dominican Republic for a two-week mission trip. At the time, we had five children under 10. Before she left, she handed me a binder — tabbed, color-coded and formidable. Inside were schedules, snack assignments, drop-off maps, bedtime routines, even instructions for brushing curly hair without tears. It was a true masterpiece of maternal logistics.

I gave her a confident smile and set it aside. I’ve got this, I thought. Within an hour, the questions started: “Where’s my soccer uniform?” “Who’s bringing cupcakes?” “What time is my game?” I pored over that binder like it held the secret to surviving the week — because it did. Every page reminded me how much she gives.

That binder wasn’t just a parenting resource; it was a visible expression of love, poured out in tabs, charts and sticky notes. It represented the thousands of hidden sacrifices my wife makes, not just so I can serve the Church, but so our family can flourish. It opened my eyes to how deeply she serves and how much of my ministry rests on the foundation of her support.

When we talk about the vocation of the deacon, we must consider the essential role of the deacon’s wife. Her “yes” isn’t a onetime nod. It’s lived daily — in schedules, in support and in quiet burdens she carries for the sake of both family and ministry.

For a married man, the diaconate can’t be discerned or lived apart from marriage. The two must grow together. And that growth takes conversation and humility.

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that my wife does more than support my vocation; she shares in it, with encouragement and sacrifices that I often miss in the moment, but recognize now, with gratitude. She helps shape our schedule, senses when we’re carrying too much and gently shows me when I’ve taken on more than I should. When ministry affects family life, we discern it together.

One small but crucial practice has helped us immensely: before saying “yes” to a new commitment, I check in. Not to get permission, but to discern together. “How are we doing?” “Can we carry this?” That pause makes space for her voice — wisdom I might have missed.

Healthy integration also means guarding time for our marriage. It might mean boundaries on ministry, prioritizing date nights or saying “not now” instead of “yes.” Saying “yes” to the Church works best when it’s also a “yes” to your marriage.

Finally, it means expressing gratitude, regularly and sincerely. A deacon’s wife may not ask for recognition, but she needs to hear how deeply valued her sacrifices are, and how much diaconal ministry depends on them. I wear the stole, but her love holds it in place.

Fatherhood as Formation

My kids aren’t a distraction from ministry; they’re my first congregation, most honest feedback source and persistent spiritual teachers. They’ve taught me that mercy matters more than perfection and reminded me, often with clarity, when I’ve preached what I still need to live.

Not long ago, one of my daughters called me into her room to show me her latest artwork. She had covered the entire wall with drawings — bold, bright, beautiful. She said proudly, “Don’t worry, Dad. I remembered what you said about not using tape on the walls. So I used glue!”

It was one of those moments where parenting and formation met. I smiled, nodded and made a mental note to revisit our household adhesive policies. But more than that, I saw something deeply true: We’re always forming our children — and just as often, they’re forming us.

Some of my most meaningful homilies have begun around the dinner table or on the floor with a pile of blocks. A child’s insight, a surprising question, even a theological debate at bedtime — all of it can become material for grace when seen through the eyes of faith.

These moments are more than sweet; they’re formational. This is the tension of being a deacon-dad: called to proclaim the Gospel with our lives, even as we’re shaped by the little lives around us. Like marriage, integrating fatherhood and ministry takes attentiveness, flexibility and humility. Here are a few lessons I’ve learned, mostly the hard way.

First, your children aren’t just tagalongs to your vocation. They’re part of it. Welcome their presence. Invite their questions. Pray with them. Even when they’re not by your side, they’re watching. Let them see how you live your diaconate — how you prepare, show compassion and pray.

Second, learn to read the seasons — when to say “yes” to ministry and when to be fully present at home. Your family’s needs will shift. So will your energy and capacity. There will be times to stretch and times when the holier path is to do less. Let love, not guilt, set the pace.

Third, allow your children to shape your ministry — not just with anecdotes, but with their insights, frustrations and simplicity. Kids see through ego and pretense faster than anyone. If you can minister in a way your children understand, there’s a good chance you’re serving authentically.

And finally, don’t be afraid to ask forgiveness. There will be times you miss the mark, overextend yourself, or are more available to the parish than to your own family. I’ve learned that saying “I’m sorry” as a father can be just as diaconal as preaching mercy from the ambo.

Fatherhood, when lived intentionally, is one of the most powerful and humbling formation grounds a deacon can enter. It reminds us that ministry isn’t a performance or a task, but a way of being, practiced through small acts of presence, patience and love, often at home before it’s lived in the world. And in that hidden, daily offering, we’re shaped not just into better fathers, but into truer servants of Christ — offering his love not only to those who call us deacon, but especially to those who call us dad.

Serving as One

We sometimes talk about ministry as something that “takes us away from family.” And while there are certainly sacrifices — missed dinners, evening meetings, moments of tension — that language can be misleading. Because the truth is, I wouldn’t be a deacon without my family. And I wouldn’t be the deacon I am without the way they’ve helped shape me. Ministry should draw us together, not pull us apart.

That doesn’t mean forcing our children or spouses to participate in everything. It means recognizing that the grace of ministry flows both ways. My family is part of my ministry. When they greet me after Mass, when they welcome someone new at church, when they offer quiet understanding after a long day, they’re not watching ministry happen — they’re living it with me.

I’ve come to see our family as a small reflection of the Church, a domestic church not in concept, but in reality. Messy and noisy, yes, but also full of grace. A community that forgives, serves and keeps showing up. We serve the Church best when we let our family be part of what we bring.

And in return, the Church forms us too — through the people we encounter, the sacraments we celebrate and the faith we try to live not just on Sundays, but around the kitchen table and in the car on the way to school. When family and ministry become one call, we serve more effectively and live more faithfully.

Looking back, that moment in the kitchen was the true beginning of my diaconal call. To be a good husband and father is to embrace a life of quiet service. So too for a deacon, called to serve where he is, with those God has given him. For me, the stole is never worn alone. It’s held in place by the quiet strength of my wife, the wide-eyed wonder of my children and the grace of a God who didn’t pull me from my family — but called me through them, to serve them and the Church together.

DEACON ANTON NICKOLAI serves as vice president of institutional advancement at Sacred Heart Seminary and School of Theology in the Archdiocese of Milwaukee.