The Rev. Al Schifano knew he would have a lot to contribute when the Roman Catholic Diocese of Tucson, Ariz., asked him last summer to help draft a policy for addressing allegations of child abuse in its parishes.

But it wasn't his experience as a Roman Catholic priest they needed.

Instead, they wanted to tap his knowledge in creating corporate employee-relations policies and dealing with allegations of sexual harassment. That was because the 64-year-old Arizona native spent 35 years as a human-resources executive before becoming a priest.

Father Schifano, an associate pastor at Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic Church in Tucson, was ordained as a priest in 2001, a decade after his wife, Alice, died of lung cancer. But his experience on the church's policy-review committee helped him realize why he gave up corporate life to follow a religious calling.

"It just seemed like I was in the right place at the right time to help take care of the abused and restore trust in the church," he says.

Father Schifano is one of a growing number of older adults who are embarking on second careers as ministers, rabbis and priests, bringing with them a wealth of life experiences and a range of perspectives. Seminary educators say a trend started to emerge in the late 1990s as baby boomers first approached retirement age and sought a way to remain active by serving their communities.

More Than the Beach

"We're thinking differently about retirement," says Father James Brackin, president-rector of Sacred Heart School of Theology in Hales Corners, Wis., which specializes in training second-career priests over age 35, one of whom was Father Schifano. "People are retiring now in their 50s and 60s, and they have another 20 years ahead of them, and they don't want to just kick back at the beach."

These people are having an impact on a variety of faiths. More than half of the 65,000 students in Protestant, Catholic and Jewish seminaries are age 35 and older, according to a 2000 study by Ellis Larsen, a professor at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington. At Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in New York, a school that trains rabbis in Reform Judaism, five students in last fall's class of 50 were over age 50, compared with none a decade ago.

The Catholic church has been one of the biggest beneficiaries of this trend. Typically, many young men balk at the church's rule regarding celibacy. By contrast, many older candidates for the priesthood were once married and had children earlier in life, so they may not consider that requirement to be as much of a stumbling block.

Indeed, some dioceses are rethinking age requirements that once limited candidates for the priesthood to those under 40. At Sacred Heart, 31 of 100 students in this year's entering class are 50 or older, compared with 21 students five years ago.

"With fewer candidates for priesthood, bishops are more open to someone that might not be in that traditional age," Father Brackin says.

Late Starters

The reasons for changing course later in life are varied. Some individuals, after 20 or 30 years in one profession, simply are burned out; others are searching for a sense of fulfillment they didn't find in their first careers. "What might have appeared compelling to someone in their 20s or 30s no longer does" at age 50 or 60, says Rabbi David Ellenson, president of Hebrew Union College. "A life of service becomes a particularly compelling alternative for these people."

For the Rev. Jane Brady, now 52 and six months into a career as an assistant to the rector for St. John the Mountain, an Episcopal church in Bernardsville, N.J., becoming a minister was the culmination of a lifelong pull to the ministry.

A favorite uncle, who was a priest, stirred her desire to be a religious leader, but her Catholic upbringing gave her few options to follow his lead. Ms. Brady considered becoming a nun, but ultimately didn't feel it was the right career fit for her.

For 20 years, she explored different Protestant faiths and enrolled in religion courses part time before chucking her career as a naturalist with the New Jersey Audubon Society to enroll at Princeton Theological Seminary in Princeton, N.J., in 1996. "I'm finally realizing that maybe it was a question of maturity," she says. "Here I am doing what I was supposed to do instead of spending my life running from it."

For many, the call to serve God emerged later in life. Helga Newmark, age 69, is a rabbi with Barnert Temple in Franklin Lakes, N.J. As a child in Europe, she spent three years in concentration camps during World War II. Her father died in the Holocaust, and she was left struggling to make sense of her faith.

Reunited with her mother after the war, Rabbi Newmark arrived in the U.S. in 1948. She eventually married and raised three children. Only when she reached her 50s, she says, did she feel drawn back to her religion. "I came out of the camps not believing," she says. "But gradually I knew there was something -- some spirit -- out there that was calling me to the rabbinate."

Meeting Resistance

The process was difficult. Age discrimination is still a hurdle that many second-career clergy have to clear. Rabbi Newmark spent years trying to convince administrators at Hebrew Union College that she could handle the school's rigorous course load, which includes a year in Israel, as well as the demands of being a rabbi. To help her cause, she earned a master's degree in social work from Yeshiva University in New York.

But "they were still hesitant," Rabbi Newmark recalls. "They hadn't had anyone my age before, and there were lots of questions."

Rabbi Roxanne Schneider Shapiro, director of admissions and recruitment for Hebrew Union College, says as more students like Rabbi Newmark complete the program, attitudes have changed about accepting older students. "Ten years ago, people in their 40s were on our older edge, and now it's people in their 50s," she says.

Still, school administrators caution older students to seriously consider the possibility they may struggle to adapt to the classroom or find jobs when they complete their studies. "It's difficult to imagine that someone coming out of school would be serving for 10 or 15 years," she says. "It's entirely possible, but that can be a challenge."

A Test of Resolve

For all its appeal to older candidates, the religious life appears to test their resolve in more ways than one. The Catholic church, for instance, insisted that Joe Manerowski, a former teacher and now a priest in Hoosick Falls, N.Y., have his marriage annulled (it had ended in divorce) before he could be accepted at Sacred Heart. His three children were nearing college age at the time, and the church required him to prove that all his legal and financial responsibilities to them were carried out before he could be ordained.

Perhaps the biggest shock for many second-career clergy members is their return to the classroom. Father Schifano in Tucson recalls struggling with theology and philosophy studies, which are at the core of Sacred Heart's curriculum. Coming from a successful career where he was "a mover and a shaker with a multimillion-dollar budget," he says he initially considered walking away.

"There were times when the demands of school had me thinking, 'Why do I need this?'" But eventually, he says, he found his studies and work to be rejuvenating. "I feel much more energized than I was in the later years of my first career."

That energy comes in handy. Many second-career clergy say they find themselves working harder than they ever did in the secular world. Father Manerowski is his parish's only priest. In addition to celebrating daily Mass, he juggles meeting couples preparing for marriage, visiting the parish school, attending church-budget meetings and managing his staff of five, among other duties. "Someone always needs something," he says. "It's only after seven years that I feel very comfortable doing what I'm doing."

Past Lives

Experiences from first careers are often called into play. Father Manerowski brings to the parish his knowledge as a former elementary-school teacher and guidance counselor. Moreover, as the father of three adult children, he tends to be more comfortable with questions and concerns about marriage and raising a family than a priest who had never been married.

"When people talk to you about their difficulties in married life, or their struggles to bring up their children, at least you can say, 'I've been there,'" Father Manerowski says. "They will seize on that idea when they know you have the same background and feel a little freer to talk to you."

The rush of activities -- where weddings, funerals and christenings often bump up against each other in a single day -- can be both rewarding and taxing. After two years of working full time at Barnert Temple, Rabbi Newmark has scaled back her activities at the synagogue to about 10 hours a week.

"The only regret I have is that I can't fight my own aging body," she says. "I wish I had started earlier so I could have a chance to study and learn more."

In Tucson, Father Schifano's days, which start at 5:30 a.m. and often last until after 9 p.m., include ministering at a hospital trauma center in addition to meetings and services at his church across the street. He remembers one day in which he spent hours at the hospital with congregants who had lost their three-month-old daughter in a car accident; he then returned to the parish and carried on with a full slate of duties.

"Some nights are sleepless, and that was one of them," he says.

His personal way of coping with the stress: a long lunch and daily nap. "That sustains me," he says.

Still, few express regrets about the second path they've chosen. Although Ms. Brady and her husband sacrificed for several years to finance her education, she says it was worth it to allow her to make a meaningful commitment to the larger community.

"I found my voice and my life through the church," she says.