Chris Dorsey

There is a moment one parishioner remembers clearly. Fr. Chris Dorsey was simply walking past his family in church, and what struck him was not a homily or a teaching but something quieter. "I literally saw reverence in him as he walked past us," the parishioner wrote. "Like Lord Almighty reverence." It is the kind of impression Fr. Chris tends to leave. People who have been in his care, whether in a Florida parish or on a military base halfway around the world, say the same thing: they are blessed to have him, and they miss him when he is gone. Fr. Chris is the youngest of three children born to Lee and Mary Dorsey. His father served in the U.S. Air Force and later worked as a contractor with the Department of Defense, and the family moved often, rotating between Washington, California, Alabama, Virginia, and Florida before settling in the Melbourne and Indialantic area. His mother serves as the Director of Religious Education at Holy Name of Jesus Parish in Indialantic Beach. Fr. Chris earned a bachelor's degree in English from the University of Central Florida, entered seminary, and was ordained for the Diocese of Orlando in 2015. Four years later, he became a U.S. Army chaplain, first serving with the 84th Chemical Battalion at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri and then as the only Catholic priest the Army had in Japan, at Camp Zama near Tokyo.

What defines Fr. Chris is a belief he carries into every assignment: "If you're not going through the bad stuff with people, they're not going to come to you when bad stuff happens." At Fort Leonard Wood, that meant waking at 4:30 in the morning, training alongside soldiers, and turning the chapel into what he called "a place of refuge where the drill sergeants can't yell at you," a space where young soldiers fresh out of basic training could catch their breath, go to confession, serve as lectors, and reconnect with faith. During COVID, he celebrated seven Masses every Sunday to stay within capacity limits and visited the sick in a special infirmary. In Japan, where the nearest English-speaking priest was an hour away and the twelve-hour time difference made even a phone call home difficult, he and his community started a quarterly program to feed the homeless, giving out a hundred meals in less than half an hour. He recalls a soldier, not Catholic, who confided she was pregnant and that her boyfriend wanted her to end the pregnancy. She trusted Fr. Chris and chose to keep the baby. She recently sent him a photo of her with the child. "Rarely do we get to see the fruits that clearly," he said, "to see a baby who might not have been there if not for you." Fr. Chris once said, "You may be the only priest some may ever meet." That is the kind of weight he carries quietly, and the kind of presence he brings now to St. Margaret Mary.