Roberto Marquez

Fr. Roberto Marquez knows what it feels like to walk into a place and finally feel at home, and much of what he does now is about giving that feeling to other people. He is warm and service-minded, the kind of priest who wants the person in front of him to feel genuinely welcomed.

He came by that warmth honestly. He grew up in a big Cuban-American family in Miami, the kind where, as he puts it, "the extended family is family" and there was "so much love" to go around. His family ran restaurants, and Roberto grew up dropping whatever he was doing to pitch in, learning responsibility, organization, and how to work alongside other people. What stayed with him most, though, was the sense of community, the way a busy family kitchen always seems to make room for one more. "It helped me to understand that there's more than just myself," he said, and it left him wanting to give back.

The road to the priesthood was not a straight one, and he is at peace with that. He felt the pull early but set it aside for a while because there were other things he wanted to do first, and he does not regret the detour. When he finally moved from South Florida to Orlando, he spent close to ten years mostly on his own, rebuilding his relationship with Christ and coming to see, in his own words, that it is Christ who fulfills him. The turning point came the day he walked, homesick and lonely, into the Basilica of the National Shrine of Mary, Queen of the Universe. He looked up, and something settled. "Wow, I'm home," he remembers thinking, as his fears and anxiety quietly fell away. Years later, in that same church, Bishop John Noonan ordained him a priest.

Home these days is St. Charles Borromeo in Orlando, where he serves as parochial administrator and gives his time to Bishop Moore Catholic High School and Morning Star Catholic Schools as well. He has a particular love for the confessional, which he calls the sacrament that "leads us to the altar," and a real heart for vocations, praying for them after daily Mass at a parish he says has sent many of its own into religious life. His mother, Lucy, likes to say she knew all along, because he always had his nose in a religious book. His younger sister was not so sure, and he still laughs about it. What he wants most is simple, and it runs straight back to where he began: that the people who walk through the parish doors will feel what he felt looking up in that Basilica, and know they have finally come home.