Aboard a Navy warship, where steel corridors echo with the daily rhythm of service and the hum of camaraderie, Chaplain Lt. j.g. Andrew Dutko moves quietly but purposefully, offering something as vital as food or rest: hope.

At 53, Dutko’s path to the chaplaincy is as winding and remarkable as the passageways of the vessel on which he serves. His story is one marked by service, heartbreak, reinvention—and a relentless commitment to caring for others.

“I always felt a life of service was my call,” Dutko said.

That call first led him to join the U.S. Marine Corps right after high school, where he spent four years guarding Presidents George H.W. Bush and Bill Clinton. When his time in uniform ended during the Clinton-era downsizing, he pivoted to college where fate intervened on the very first day.

“I met my wife the first day of my first class of college,” he said. “She didn’t want to have anything to do with me, but I wore her down for seven months before she finally decided to go out with me.”

As his wife pursued a dual degree in medicine and law, Dutko worked nights, earned a math degree, and eventually ran the advanced physics lab at Princeton University. His journey then led him into the intelligence community—first at the DIA, then the FBI, and later the Department of Energy where he worked on cyber threat analysis and foreign military satellite operations.

But life shifted dramatically on December 26, 2011.

“We both went to sleep and I woke up. She was gone.”

Dutko shares this chapter with a quiet candor, but the pain is clear.

In the aftermath, he admits, “Any husband who loses his wife that tells you he’s not suicidal is lying.”

Later, he started working for Northrup Grumman and went to Afghanistan where he served alongside Marines again and—by his own account—took risks with little concern for his own survival.

In that darkness, a Navy chaplain—Ben Garrett—became a bright lifeline. Rather than offering answers, Chaplain Garrett simply asked questions, helping Dutko confront his anger and grief.

“He never told me what to do. He only asked questions. He realized you can’t tell people how to behave; you have to invite them to make the decision for themselves.”

It was during those long nights in Afghanistan—grappling with loss, faith, and purpose—that Dutko had his revelation.

“I was so angry at God… but I realized it’s because I loved God, and there’s no way I could throw him out of my life.” That realization led him to seminary at Seton Hall University in New Jersey, and eventually to ordination as a Catholic priest in 2019.

But Dutko’s sense of service refused to rest. In 2022, a devastating statistic—17 military members and veterans committed suicide every day—became an unshakable burden on his heart. After much discernment, and with his bishop’s eventual blessing, he joined the Navy as a chaplain.

“The Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard only have 43 priests. That’s, way, not enough.”

Serving aboard his first ship brought new challenges and he recalls his first day with wry humor.

“When you first walk on, the ship looks tremendously big. I got so panicked… I couldn’t even find my stateroom, so I slept in my car because I had no idea where to go.”

Life at sea, Dutko observes, tests everyone in unique ways.

“I joke—I’m alone on the planet. I’d be sitting alone in my room at the church, I might as well sit alone in my room here on the ship. But for everybody else, you have lives and people who depend on you. You’re defined by these relationships, and now the relationships go away, they’re distant. How do you define yourself now?”

Each day, he rises early to say Mass in the ship’s chapel, followed by ten minutes of adoration—a time of quiet reflection. His days are filled with counseling, walking the ship’s decks, checking in on Sailors and Marines—and listening.

“I love that I have the ability to know who’s struggling, just by talking to everybody. And I love that everybody treats me so nicely. I get to watch their face light up as they share good news with me… I’m grateful I get to be the person they tell good news to.”

Dutko’s sense of mission is clear and his lack of “Navy blood,” as he puts it, allows him to see each individual beyond rank or rate.

“I don’t care if you work another day for the Navy in your life. I care about your soul, right? Because it’s the only thing that matters, really.”

Being a chaplain is not without its obstacles. Dutko admits that Navy acronyms and culture can be bewildering, but he considers his outsider’s perspective an asset. “It allows me to only care about your soul.”

The most rewarding part of his role, Dutko says, is reaching people who might never set foot in a church. “Now I’m talking to people who aren’t Christian [or those] who were Christian and the church failed them. I tell people, I don’t care what denomination you are. Come to Mass… Wherever two or more are gathered, I’ll be with you, as God tells us.”

Asked about leadership, Dutko draws on both scripture and experience.

“Authority and leadership are different. A True leader becomes one after you have followers—not because you have authority, but because people know you have their best interests at heart. That’s Christian leadership: dying to self, creating an atmosphere of compassion and love around you that people desire to remain in.”

Serving at sea has changed him, making him more aware of the unique struggles Sailors and Marines face in the close confines of shipboard life.

“If you don’t have good people skills, you’re in a lot of trouble on a ship. You get one shot at relationships. On land, if you screw up, you just go find someone else. Here, you can’t do that.”

As for his personal goals, Dutko is candid—he wants everyone to know the love and grace of Christ. In every encounter, his approach is gentle, inviting, and rooted in service. For Chaplain Dutko, the sea is both a mission field and a calling. Day by day, deck by deck, he offers the gift of presence—a reminder that no one aboard is ever truly alone.

“It’s all about relationship—serving others, being present, listening, and bringing hope.”