The way he describes it, he was praying in the lofty, 125-foot-high sanctuary of St. Vitus Roman Catholic Church, when he looked up at a life-size crucifix and was overwhelmed by a sense of peace and belonging. He realized he would commit the rest of his life to Jesus.

"It was like the classic movie scene: Guy sees girl across the room, knows she's the one," said Burbeck, who grew up on the Cary-Apex border. "I had this moment when I realized that [Jesus] would be my all-inclusive love."

Next month, Burbeck will don a black cassock, or robe, as he begins six years of training to become a Catholic priest. When he graduates from Philadelphia's St. Charles Borromeo Seminary in 2013, he will serve in the Diocese of Raleigh, which like other dioceses nationwide, is experiencing a severe shortage of priests. In a modern culture that glorifies material wealth, sex and self-promotion, few young people consider the selfless life of the priesthood.

To Bishop Michael F. Burbidge, recruiting men such as Burbeck has become the No. 1 challenge. The number of U.S. priests has shrunk from 58,632 in 1965 to 41,794, while the Catholic population has grown by nearly 20 million. In cities such as Boston, where the shortage is much more acute, 62 parishes have been closed since 2004, and a recent report suggested more closings might be coming.

In the Diocese of Raleigh, which spans 54 counties from Chatham to Dare, there is one priest for every 1,791 Catholics. Nine small parishes have no priests, and mega-parishes strain at the seams with round-the-clock masses every weekend to accommodate an ever-burgeoning Catholic population.

Since Bishop Burbidge arrived in Raleigh last year, he has added a monthly service to pray for more priests. To encourage teens to consider the priesthood, he even refereed a basketball game of seminarians versus students from St. Thomas More Academy in Raleigh. So far, eight men have responded to the call -- an impressive feat that brings the number of seminarians in the diocese this coming school year to 21.

"I'm thrilled with how the awareness has been heightened," Burbidge said recently.

Scholars say that might not be enough. Dean Hoge, a leading expert on the priest shortage, estimates that efforts by bishops such as Burbidge might result in a 10 percent increase in priests at a time when the church needs a 100 percent increase.

"A 10 percent increase is fine," said Hoge, a professor of sociology at Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. "Is it going to solve the problem? No."

But there is a curious thing about the new crop of Catholic priests. Many of them, such as Burbeck, who is 23, have a passionate commitment to the Catholic Church. At a time when many Catholics blame their priests for the horrific cases of sexual abuse of children, Burbeck said that in embracing the church, he felt not qualms but clarity.

"That's the reason I was created," Burbeck said referring to his desire to become a priest. "That's the meaning of my life."

Unusual path to seminary

In many ways, Burbeck is an unlikely priest.

For starters, he's young. The average age at which priests are ordained is 35, and many come to the priesthood as a second career. Burbeck, by contrast, will be 29 when he is ordained.

Plus, he didn't grow up Catholic. Only 6 percent of priests are converts. Burbeck grew up in the Church of the Nazarene, a small Pentecostal denomination with none of Roman Catholicism's elaborate rituals and centuries-old liturgies.

Finally, Burbeck showed no sign of spiritual searching in his youth. His mother, Christina, said he slept through most of his classes at Apex High School, where he graduated in 2002, with an attitude she called "mildly belligerent."

Before he spent several months in Europe with his older brother, Danny, when Michael was 18, his chief passion was horseback riding.

"He's got a red-blooded American man in him," said Joshua Davis, a friend who lives in Henderson. "He likes rock climbing, cars, trucks, mudding."

But his parents, both of whom hold doctorates in experimental psychology, said that when he makes a decision -- such as his decision to go to Europe -- it's deliberate, reasoned and unwavering.

Faith was the last thing anyone expected him to find in Europe. But the beauty and majesty of the continent's great cathedrals drew him. He found himself stealing a few moments to sit in silence -- first quietly, then reverently and prayerfully. He visited Il Duomo, a cathedral in Florence, the churches of Assisi, and, of course, St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.

He said the experiences left him breathless. "At St. Peter's, I spent three hours walking around in a daze," he said. "My experience of the presence of God that met me there was remarkable. I lost sight of everything else."

Later, he would be able to explain what drew him to Catholicism: its rich body of teachings developed over thousands of years and its sacramental understanding that God works through physical signs, such as oil, water, bread and wine.

But when he met his parents in London at the conclusion of his trip, he explained his call to Catholicism and to the priesthood in simpler terms. He wanted to be a priest.

His parents suspected it was coming. They had noticed a change in him since his trip began. In brief telephone conversations and e-mail messages, he sounded less cocky and imperious, more open and attentive.

"There was a quietness and peacefulness of spirit about him," said Christina Burbeck.

Christina and Steve Burbeck always believed in letting their children pursue their heart's desire, but they were not quite prepared for Michael's pronouncement.

Knowing her son's academic prowess and keen mind, Christina Burbeck told Michael that he had a responsibility to use his gifts.

"I believe my faith is my greatest gift," he replied.

To that, the Burbecks had no rebuttal.

Friends were skeptical

However determined Burbeck was, his path was not entirely straight.

After taking a class at St. Michael the Archangel Church in Cary, he was accepted into the church at the Easter vigil in April 2003.

Acceptance from friends proved more difficult. When he told them he wanted to be a priest, which would entail a vow of celibacy, many of the guys he rode horses with were incredulous. Some asked whether he was gay, referencing a cultural phenomenon in which many Catholics chose the priesthood as a way of hiding their sexual orientation.

Burbeck explained that he found great beauty in the idea of giving himself entirely to God. But it was a hard sell and eventually, Burbeck began dating women, including one with whom he had a serious relationship.

Experts agree that of all the trials priests must endure, celibacy is by far the hardest. A 2007 study of 439 university students active in Catholic campus ministry found that not being allowed to marry was the leading obstacle men and women cited in not wanting to become priests and nuns.

Although celibacy hasn't always been required of Catholic priests -- it was only in the 11th century that Pope Benedict VIII forbade marriage -- it is no longer optional. Nor does it appear likely to end under the leadership of the current pope, Benedict XVI, a conservative, orthodox theologian who previously served as the enforcer of church doctrine.

While Burbeck was reconsidering the priesthood, he enrolled at N.C. State University, where he studied economics -- a path he knew could lead to a lucrative job. He impressed his teachers, winning a coveted internship offered by one of his economics professors.

But then he found out about another internship, one that would allow him to work with the Catholic campus ministry under the direct supervision of a priest. When he landed that internship, he faced what he called his "fork in the road."

Suddenly, economic theories about why some nations prosper and others don't seemed insignificant. And he said he felt strangely liberated from the prospect of making a lot of money.

"I realized that every time in my life I had done something not for its own sake, but to prepare for something else, it was the wrong thing to do," he said. "Every time I did something because I believed it was the right thing to do, it worked out."

By the end of the year, his course was set. He completed his bachelor's degree in three years -- cramming in several graduate level courses as well. Then he turned in his application for the priesthood.

Parish feels like home

Over the past year, Burbeck came into his own in a red-brick church on the outskirts of Clayton. As the pastoral intern at St. Ann Catholic Church, Burbeck taught Sunday school, attended church budget meetings and joined the Knights of Columbus, a fraternal organization for Catholic men.

Except for sacraments such as baptism and marriage, he did everything a priest does -- and loved every minute of it.

The experience, in which he shared a home with the Rev. Scott E. McCue, the pastor of St. Ann, gave him a bird's-eye view of the priesthood and let him form ties to the people of the diocese. He said he learned that being a priest means "living my life in such a way that I am open and available to bring faith and hope to people, whatever their situation may be."

To hear it from church members, he did just that. At a farewell cookout for Burbeck this month, school girls gushed about his unavailability, calling him "Father-what-a-waste." Adults praised the prospects of their newest recruit.

"You don't find many young men so dedicated to the church," said Ethel Anderson, a church secretary. "Anything you ask him to do, he's here to serve us."

After presenting him with a framed etching of St. Ann and a set of Hillbilly golf balls, people lined up with their digital cameras to shoot pictures with him.

Burbeck's voice cracked as he thanked people for opening their arms to him. "This has been a home for me unlike anywhere else I've ever been," he said.

As he drove off in his red Chevy sport utility vehicle with all his worldly possessions, he left one home and headed where he belonged, the seminary, the home his heart had longed for.

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