Christmas has the power to trigger potent emotions and memories, particularly around families. While many of those are warm to recall, it is a reality of the human condition that families can be complicated. For some of us, Christmas might be an unwelcome reminder of the many ways families can fracture—estrangement, divorce, death, addiction—and the ways that politics have divided families and our nation. I feel a kind of tension, a “holy sadness,” around the concept of family this time of year. I reverence the truth that the Divine Child is seeking to be born in my heart in a new way, while also recognizing that my families—of origin, of religion, of country—are in need of his healing light.
This Advent, several of our fellow parishioners and I had the privilege of studying, discussing, and praying with Matthew’s Gospel. This evangelist begins his story in a most creative and unexpected way—Abraham begetting Isaac. The gospel goes on to list a veritable rogues’ gallery of ancestors. Among them are Jacob (who defrauded his brother and deceived his blind father), Judah (who was seduced by a prostitute who turned out to be his daughter-in-law), David (who had his lover’s husband killed), and Ahaz (who sacrificed his son to an Assyrian idol). What a remarkably dysfunctional family tree! Yet despite these deeply flawed characters, God managed to find a way to work with and through them, to Jesus, to us.
The Holy Family, whose feast we celebrate today, knew difficulty and dysfunction intimately. Matthew’s story continues with an out-of-wedlock pregnancy, a transgression punishable by death, and a husband who was ready to walk away in shame from his betrothed. And if this crisis wasn’t enough to endure, political tensions created by a cruel king and his agents force this fledgling family to flee from their home. If it weren’t for a few timely dreams and some good judgement on the part of his parents, Jesus might not have survived infancy. What a statement of solidarity God makes by choosing to enter the human condition through such a complicated, vulnerable situation!
Henri Nouwen wrote, “Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.” This Christmas, I find myself turning to the weak, vulnerable, powerless dimensions of the Holy Family’s story. As I experience our national family becoming more deeply estranged; as I live with our worldwide Catholic family struggling to find healing and common ground; as I hold the tensions and broken-ness that are present in my own family, I feel a deep solidarity flowing from the hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Theirs was no angelic existence where they floated three inches off the ground. No—they, too, were fully immersed in the complexity of being human. And that is where God came and met them, becoming weak, vulnerable and and powerless, all in order to demonstrate great compassion.
Today’s Gospel ends with a journey, from Bethlehem, to Egypt, to Nazareth. I can only imagine the anxiety, the terror, the loneliness, the resentment, the confusion the Holy Family must have felt while wading through such danger and broken-ness. Nonetheless, they found a way, by the grace of God, through the chaos to a new kind of life. This is the promise of this Divine Child who comes to us at the darkest time of year, seeking to bring his light and hope to the darkest corners of the human heart—and the lesson we learn from his parents, who chose to trust in that light. Today I pray in gratitude for God’s compassion and solidarity, and I pray that I may also trust that God is coming to meet us in our most broken places.
— Brian Pinter, Pastoral Associate
December 21, 2025 Essay: The Gift of HopePerhaps you can recall the endearing short story about the exchange of Christmas gifts between James and Della Dillingham Young. Newly married and young, they had little money between them, but it was important for them to honor their love through an exchange of gifts on Christmas Day. They wanted to keep their gifts secret until they presented them to each other. Della had the grand sum of $1.87 to buy a gift for James, and James not much more than that to buy a gift for Della.
When they exchanged their gifts on Christmas morning, it was neither the expensive set of finely decorated combs for Della’s knee-length brown hair nor the shining platinum fob chain for James’s gold pocket watch that captured their hearts and filled them with happiness. Rather, it was what they did to pay for these gifts that showed the depth of their love for each other. That is what they cherished more than anything else. That is what gave them a true understanding of Christmas
I presume by now that with these few sentences you recognize the short story, The Gift of the Magi, written in 1905 by American author O. Henry, and will remember what James and Della did to be able to buy their gifts. If not, treat yourself and read it during the Christmas holiday. It is a story of the depth of love that James and Della experienced through personal sacrifice. In exchanging their gifts that Christmas morning, hope for a bright and happy future together was born as they reveled in the love that they had for each other, a love that they knew would endure no matter what their financial circumstances. Nothing had more value for them than that.
Why focus on sacrifice as we prepare for a day that is intended to be celebrated with joy and festive gatherings? Can’t such a consideration wait until a time when we are in the throes of anxiety and despair or have surrendered ourselves to a feeling of hopelessness? After all, most of us have more than $1.87 to our names and can afford to buy admirable Christmas gifts and feast on foods prepared from treasured family recipes. By God’s grace, all of this will be done without great personal sacrifice. While this may be true for the vast majority of us, it is certainly not true for everyone.
As a parish, we are very generous at this time of the year and help those in need with food, clothing, and toys. Such good deeds are noteworthy and virtuous. They are done without any expectation of a word of gratitude or personal recognition. To do what is right is always its own reward. However, when we give generously to those less fortunate, do we recognize and honor the personal sacrifices of those who choose to accept and receive what we offer to them? Out of love for their families or concern for their own welfare, many will have sacrificed their pride, their sense of self-worth, or their dignity. If we can acknowledge their sacrifices, we will then be challenged to sacrifice our pre-conceived notions of the poor. Hope will spring forth from the abyss of ignorance, fear, and judgment when, like James and Della, we understand the true meaning of Christmas. And so, what is that meaning?
More than two thousand years ago, a young women sacrificed her will out of love for God. Her betrothed sacrificed his reputation out of love for the one he was to marry. Parents-to-be sacrificed their dignity and accepted shelter in a stable so their child would be born in safety. And ultimately, their son sacrificed his life out of love for all God’s creation that we might know the depth of God’s love for us. In the midst of surrender to the will of God and confounded by confusion, fear, anxiety, and hardship, hope was born in Bethlehem, and the meaning of love was found in sacrifice.
For James and Della, the spark of hope for a brighter future together was kindled into a roaring fire as they exchanged gifts on Christmas morning. May we be blessed with the gift of hope in every expression of love we experience on Christmas Day.
— Dennis J. Yesalonia, S.J., Pastor
December 14th Essay: Rejoice! Really?Today is Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete is the Latin for “rejoice.” It is from the opening antiphon of today’s liturgy. “Rejoice in the Lord always …rejoice. The Lord is near.” Is there cause for us to “rejoice” in these distressing times in which we now live?
What is the cause of our rejoicing? The antiphon tells us: the Lord is near. This is not a reminder that Christmas is less than two weeks away. It is a reminder to us that the Lord is near right now. The Lord, indeed, is within us and within our midst. Jesus dwells in each one of us personally by virtue of our baptism in which we come to share even now in his risen life. All of the baptized together form the body of Christ, that is, the Church and the Lord, of course, dwells within the Church. Every time we celebrate the Eucharist, the Lord is present in all the members of his body who have gathered in remembrance of him. The Lord is also present outside the body of Christ, that is, the Church, wherever the values of the reign of God, which Jesus inaugurated in his life and ministry, are present in this world. Wherever we witness an all-inclusive compassion, an all-inclusive mercy, wherever we witness selflessness and generosity, wherever we witness the desire for the good of all persons, and the desire to lift up the poor and marginalized, the Lord is present there as his values, the values of God’s reign, are present there. Yes, indeed, the Lord is near, and that is cause for rejoicing.
The challenge for each of us is to deepen our participation in the risen life of Jesus Christ so that we are powerfully aware of his presence within us. In that awareness, we rejoice that we share in his very life right now so that we are with him, and he is with us. Nothing in this world can separate us from him—not even death. Instead, death will be our passage into the fullness of life in him. This is reason to rejoice. Yet, our intimacy in Jesus Christ is predicated on a life of prayer and action. Through prayer, we deepen our awareness of his presence within us, and we hear him call us to lives of deep compassion, lives rich in mercy, lives marked by selflessness and generosity, lives in which we truly desire the good for all of God’s people, lives in which we share his passionate concern for the poor and marginalized. In living in fidelity to what Jesus calls forth from us, we serve as agents of this world’s transformation. This is cause for us to rejoice as it joins us ever more intimately to Jesus Christ. It is also cause for this world to rejoice as we work in cooperation with Jesus to overcome what is unjust and evil in our world today.
Migrants have cause to rejoice when they see persons stand in solidarity with them and advocate for them. Workers have cause to rejoice when we join with them in their struggle to obtain the wages, hours and benefits necessary for them to live in dignity. The unborn rejoice within the womb when we are advocates for them. Those who are poor rejoice when we demand that our society provide for them what they need to live a dignified live. Are we persons who are cause for rejoicing in our world today? If so, we have cause for rejoicing, as the Lord is, indeed, near to us. The Lord is within us and acting through us to bring joy to this world.
Will Christmas be for us a day to rejoice as we celebrate our intimacy with the One whose birth we commemorate; an intimacy made manifest in how we are the cause for this world’s rejoicing?
— Fr. Mark Hallinan, S.J., Associate Pastor
December 7, 2025 Essay: Becoming Catholic. The Response Evolves…[On December 7th at the 11 AM Solemn Mass, 30+ women and men will participate in the Rite of Welcome, the first Rite leading up to their baptism and/or reception into the Church. Here is a reflection from Eunice An, who became Catholic at the 2025 Easter Vigil.]
A recent Pew study of U.S. Catholics (8% of whom converted to Catholicism in adulthood) found that leading responses were summarized as “came to believe in the teaching or historical foundations of the Catholic Church,” “felt called to Catholicism/found it spiritually fulfilling,” and “the influence of family and friends.” About half of the respondents became attracted to Catholicism through the positive influence of their spouse or partner.
If you asked me why I decided to come into Full Communion with the Catholic Church, my answer would have depended on when along the continuum from my decision to attend Catholic Masses in New York after my mother died through today (nearly two years later). This response changes as the many reasons that are lodged in my heart have reached my consciousness gradually after homilies, readings, or conversations with other Catholics.
I was confirmed as a Presbyterian in 7th grade, but over the years have dropped in and out of different churches. My attendance was more regular at one Protestant church where the homilies were delivered with such skill by the son of a politician as well as at a Catholic church where the “Lamb of God” was sung along to the strumming of a folk guitar and where I learned to love wishing strangers “Peace be with you.” Every Christmas Mass after college was always spent in the company of my mother, who had returned to Catholicism after my parents divorced.
The kernel of an idea to become Catholic came to be after I saw how important my mother’s faith was to her during her last months. It didn’t occur to me at that point that I would do anything more than find a Catholic church with a good homily, where I would sneak in and out, anonymous.
At one of the Masses I attended while sampling the two Jesuit churches in the city, the Catechumens were presented to the Parish community. I knew that I had to go through the process to become Catholic, not simply attend Mass. I chose St. Ignatius because I felt at home here.
The Catechumens in this Sunday’s Rite will have shared their answer as to why they wanted to inquire into Catholic faith in a small group at their first OCIA meeting. Some may have simplified it; others may have told a longer version. While I can’t remember everyone’s story, I do recall enough to know that to try to reduce each of their stories to one of the categories from the Pew survey would not do justice to any of their decisions.
This OCIA process is the beginning of a public and private journey which will extend well past the Easter Vigil when these adults become Catholic. Some will be baptized, the rest will come into Full Communion with the Church or complete their Roman Catholic Initiation. Perhaps their reasons will evolve as the St. Ignatius Parish community affirms and prays for them at the end of the Rite on December 7th, or as they are moved by the kindness of the OCIA Team, or as they find lifelong friends among each other, or as they join various ministries here and find community.
Maybe they will even wrestle with differences between their long-held beliefs and Catholic teachings and figure out what they now believe or even how two seemingly paradoxical things can both be true. Pray that they do, that we all do. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
Peace be with you.
— Eunice An, Parishioner and 2025 OCIA Group
November 30, 2025 Essay: All Misfits WelcomeIn 2018, at the first retreat held by the LGBT Catholics & Friends ministry, Ellen Stilwell and I independently came up with the same idea of having a Mass at St. Ignatius that would welcome the LGBTQ community. We decided to work together, and we organized a “Mass of Welcome for the LGBT Community and Friends” in early December of that year, close to World AIDS Day, which is on December 1st. We had many of the members of the LGBT ministry involved, but we also had the support of our wonderful music ministry, we had the liturgical dancers on board, all of our parish priests concelebrating, and very importantly, the attendance of people in the congregation who maybe didn’t have skin in the game, but wanted to support what they felt was an important and right message of welcome.
The night was absolutely wonderful. For so many of us, it was the first time we had heard the words “gay” or “lesbian” used in a positive way in church. From the pulpit, we heard our pastor assuring us we were loved by God, telling us that we were welcome and wanted in the church, and inviting us to participate in the parish. Despite fears of possible protest, there was only warmth and beauty that night, and at the reception afterwards, people I didn’t know came up to tell me that it was their first time in years back in the church.
This Mass is now an annual event. Over the last couple of years, it’s lost its novelty, and we see the faces of our ministry members in the pews, but not so many others from the parish. Yet each year, new people find me to tell me the same thing—what a wonderful experience the Mass was for them, and how happy they are to be back in the church where they had felt unwelcome or unworthy before.
I’ve started to think that this might be a type of evangelization, creating a welcoming space for disappointed or discouraged people to return to a church that is now ready to invite them back, in a world where that welcoming message, even from other parts of our church, is unclear or missing altogether. And maybe all of us present at this Mass, and present in this parish, are part of a light that beckons others, inviting those on the margins to come closer to God.
Welcoming the LGBTQ community has shown me how powerful and necessary that light can be, but it has also made me realize that this can be a beginning. The experience of LGBTQ Catholics mirrors the quiet pain carried by so many others who feel like “misfits,” who believe they are too broken, too different, too complicated, or too far from the ideal to belong in church. If we can learn to extend real, intentional hospitality to LGBTQ Catholics, perhaps we can learn to recognize and embrace all those who stand at the edges: divorced and remarried people, single parents, addiction victims, people who have been hurt by the church, and anyone who doubts.
Our Mass of Welcome may have begun with inclusion of the LGBTQ community, but its deeper purpose can be to awaken in us a broader vision of church: one where every person who has ever felt like an outsider can finally hear, and believe, the words, “You are loved. You are wanted. You belong here.” In that sense, this is not just a ministry event, but it is a small, hopeful step toward the kind of church we are all called to build, one where no “misfit” stands on the margins, because the boundaries have been melted away by the warmth of the welcoming love that Christ taught us.
Please join us on Monday, December 1st, at 7 PM in the church for “All Hearts Together: A Mass for the LGBTQ Community.” A reception in Wallace Hall will follow.
— Bruce Rameker, LGBT Catholics & Friends Ministry
On the Feast of Christ the King
If you are familiar with St. Ignatius of Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises, then you know that Ignatius began to write them during a prolonged period of intense personal prayer, seclusion, and mystical encounters, occurring over 11 months as he sequestered himself within a cave in a small town called Manresa in Spain. The spiritual insights he gained and the journals that he kept during that time eventually became a handbook of sorts for spiritual directors – an instruction manual for those accompanying others wishing to make a retreat, which Ignatius called the Spiritual Exercises.
What Ignatius was able to attain through the Exercises, and what he hoped to help others find in their own spiritual lives, was a deep and personal relationship with God. This deep and personal relationship with God, in Ignatius’ experience, was wholly and completely rooted in love and freedom. And so, he believed that in deepening our knowing of God’s fervent and abiding love for us (and expressing our own love for God in return), we then engage a sense of spiritual freedom. Furthermore, as we learn to more fully embrace this spiritual freedom, we can then more clearly discern God’s will for our lives and make choices accordingly. In a nutshell and in the words of Joseph Whelan S.J., the whole point of Ignatian Spirituality is this: to “Fall in Love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”
When I was a sophomore attending a Jesuit university here in New York, I had heard and committed to memory all the Ignatian buzzwords but, had yet to fully grasp the point of it all. Enticed by concepts like seeking “magis” and “finding God in all things,” I decided to go on a weekend retreat on a whim. Little did I know that on that retreat, I would have one of my first deep encounters with the Spiritual Exercises—an experience that would eventually lead to a lifelong appreciation for & commitment to living my faith through the lens of Ignatian Spirituality.
On that retreat, two Jesuit Scholastics who I had been studying with introduced us to the Contemplation on the Kingdom of Jesus Christ, an extended prayer period which begins the second of four weeks in the Spiritual Exercises. The “second week” focuses on getting to know and love Jesus Christ through contemplations on his public life and ministry. This first contemplation begins with imagining two very different persons: first, a just earthly king with immense power and wealth, a generous spirit, and leadership worthy to be followed and respected; and second, Christ the King, more magnanimous and worthy of reverence and devotion—beyond even the most humble and respectable of earthly kings—the only one who will be able to grant us the glories of Heaven that surpass our human understanding. As I contemplated these two images, I remember sitting for quite a long time, surprised by how much the prayer period was drawing out of me.
Up until that point in my own faith life, I had never really imagined Jesus in this way, as someone I could follow and give my life for in an instant. Ignatius had been a soldier, so I imagined it must have been an easy metaphor for him to fit himself into. I, on the other hand, had never wanted to be in the military or in politics…I wasn’t even old enough to vote! And yet still, the comparison unlocked something deep within me that I return to today as we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King. It’s still difficult to put into words, but I have found myself continually pulled to follow this King, Jesus the Christ—a King who knows me deeply, loves me, encourages me, and wants only the best for me in this life and for Eternity.
If you are feeling pulled by a desire to learn more about Ignatian Spirituality and the Spiritual Exercises, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. The Father William J. Bergen S.J. Office of Ignatian Spirituality & Faith Formation has plenty of resources for you to avail yourself of, including a spiritual library, Spiritual Direction & retreat opportunities, and much more to come. May we continue to love and be loved by our God, the great King of all kings.
— Roxanne De La Torre, Pastoral Associate for Ignatian Spirituality & Faith Formation
Sunday, November 16th Essay: Have Mercy on Us, O Lord“States have the right and duty to protect their borders, but this should be balanced by the moral obligation to provide refuge. With the abuse of vulnerable migrants, we are not witnessing the legitimate exercise of national sovereignty, but rather serious crimes committed or tolerated by the state. Increasingly inhumane measures are being taken—even politically celebrated—to treat these “undesirables” as if they were garbage and not human beings.” Pope Leo XIV.
Noray Sontay Ramos had only one memory of her childhood in Guatemala. She was eight years old when gang members beat her mother, Estela Ramos Baton, and left her bleeding on the floor. In the spring of 2016, Estala fled Guatemala with Noray. They made it to Arizona, where they were detained but then released. Noray and her mom went to Los Angeles, where Noray’s mom found work as a seamstress. She applied for asylum but was denied, and an order of removal was entered in 2021. Estela continued to pursue legal avenues to remain in the United States while battling high blood pressure and nerve pain. It took time for Noray to adjust to life in the United States, but at age 17, she blossomed as a student and athlete. This past summer, Estela was ordered to report to immigration court with her daughter. They were both detained and deported to Guatemala. Shortly after Noray’s 18th birthday, her mother passed away suddenly. Noray was left to create a life in a country that she and her mother once fled with the hope of a brighter future.
Carmen’s abusive husband came home drunk one night last summer. He pounded and kicked the door. He threatened to kill her as her young son watched in horror. She called the police, eventually obtaining a restraining order. Months later, he returned and beat her again. Police came again, and he was eventually deported. Carmen applied for a U Visa that allows crime victims a way to stay in the United States legally. Unfortunately, the current administration routinely ignores pending applications. During an immigration check-in in June of this year, Carmen was detained. Without anyone to take care of her son, he was placed with his mother in a family detention facility. Her lawyer informed authorities of her pending application as well as the medical issues that both Carmen and her son had. They were deported to their home country. When she arrived in her home country, her husband was waiting for her. With no other options, she went to live with him and is now a prisoner in his home.
We were told that the focus of immigration enforcement efforts would be the “worst of the worst.” Instead, we are witnessing indiscriminate dragnets, some of which ensnare citizens and others who are lawfully present in the United States, all for the purpose of meeting arbitrary quotas. We are also seeing federal agents acting with violence toward peaceful protestors, journalists, and individuals seeking to accompany persons to immigration court. A climate of fear and intimidation is being cultivated to facilitate the deportation of any and all migrants, and to silence all protests against current policies and practices. Let Pope Leo have the final word:
“The experience of migration accompanies the history of the People of God. Abraham sets out without knowing where he is going; Moses leads the pilgrim people through the desert; Mary and Joseph flee with the child Jesus to Egypt. Christ himself, who ‘came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him’ (Jn 1:11), lived among us as a stranger. For this reason, the Church has always recognized in migrants a living presence of the Lord who, on the day of judgment, will say to those on his right: ‘I was a stranger and you welcomed me’ (Mt 25:35).” Pope Leo XIV “Dilexit te: On the Love of the Poor” [73]
November 9th Essay: Eat This, Not That!We’re just weeks away from Thanksgiving—and you practically can smell the stuffing already! This beloved American holiday is a joyful pause, a moment when everyone, regardless of background or belief, gathers around the table to celebrate gratitude. No gifts, no pressure—just food, family, and the cozy traditions we cherish: turkey trots, football games, and lending a hand at food banks. It’s simple, heartfelt, and for many, the perfect holiday. And let’s be honest—every family has that one dish that must be on the table. For me? It’s homemade cranberry sauce, tart and glistening, the crown jewel of the feast.
New York City’s vibrant diversity includes global cuisines rooted in tradition. For my family, Christmas Eve means celebrating Polish Wigilia—a meatless meal that begins when the youngest child spots the First Star, a challenge amid the city’s glow. The table is dressed only in white (no red and green), with hay and a whole Opłatek wafer at the center, symbolizing Jesus in the manger. Dishes like Żurek and pierogi are served in odd-numbered courses, all white in color. We set an extra place and light a candle to welcome the Holy Family or any stranger in need. Before eating, we break and share Opłatek, offering blessings, gratitude, and love to one another.
It was only when I went to college that I learned many Americans actually eat MEAT Christmas Eve. I was shocked and a little horrified! Our Easter traditions are less in-depth, but I would never even think of eating food that is not blessed on Easter Saturday. I am third generation and not even 100% Polish.
So, as I met Jewish and Muslim friends and learned they, too, had dietary traditions, I somehow found it comforting and familiar. Kosher in Judaism and halal in Islam are the two most recognized religious dietary systems and ones New Yorkers can see daily in everything from restaurants to food carts. While we may not know the differences (yet), it is fair to say that both express a deep respect for God and the injunctions passed down in the Torah and Quran. The word kosher derives from the Hebrew word kasher, meaning “fit” or “proper” according to the kashrut laws. Halal in Arabic means “permissible” according to Islamic sharia law.
Both Judaism and Islam intertwine food with faith, setting clear guidelines on what’s permissible and how holidays are observed. Passover, one of the oldest food-focused celebrations, is detailed in the Bible and marked by a family meal—much like Thanksgiving. Islamic traditions also center around food and ritual. During Ramadan, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset, then gather each evening for Iftar—a meal that begins with prayer and shared dishes. It’s a practice our parish recognizes and honors alongside our Muslim neighbors.
Compared to their Eastern counterparts, Catholic Christians take a more relaxed approach to food restrictions and fasting—especially during Lent. But step into the world of the Eastern churches—Armenian, Orthodox, Coptic—and you’ll find a rich tapestry of fasting traditions woven into the calendar. These communities observe numerous fast days and intricate dietary rules, turning spiritual discipline into a deeply embodied ritual that shapes daily life and communal rhythm.
Ready to feast on knowledge just in time for the holidays? Join the Ignatian Interfaith Ministry on Monday, November 17th for “Eat This, Not That!”—a lively, eye-opening evening exploring the fascinating similarities and differences between kosher and halal traditions. Whether you’re hosting, attending, or simply curious, this is your chance to deepen your understanding and become a more thoughtful, inclusive neighbor. Doors open at 6:30 PM, the conversation kicks off at 7 and trust us—you won’t want to miss it. RSVP now at [email protected] and come hungry for insight!
— Simone Vinocour, Chair, Ignatian Interfaith Ministry
Essay: 1,000 Sandwich Bags to New York Common Pantry!Parishioners of all ages jumped into action on Sunday after the 11 AM Masses to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the New York Common Pantry. The Wallace Hall stage was transformed into a small kitchen assembly line where about 50 people made sandwiches and packed brown lunch bags with granola bars, juice boxes, and fruit.
The mission of New York Common Pantry is to reduce hunger and promote dignity, health, and self-sufficiency for New York City residents who need a helping hand. New York Common Pantry provides nearly 12 million people with meals every year. Due to federal funding cuts to non-profit agencies, our own Catholic Social Teaching outreach is more important in these times. Today, more than six thousand new households have been added to the number that seek assistance from New York Common Pantry.
Especially helpful were George and Harry Lowe and other children who were “sandwich runners.” They brought the bagged sandwiches to the table where brown lunch bags were packed to bring to the pantry. It was a community effort and conversations and laughter flowed from each table.
Supplies were exhausted in about an hour and fifteen minutes! Fresh Direct bags were packed up and loaded into Alan and Sally Pardee’s Volvo wagon and for the first time in three years all the bags could not fit in their car. Nick and Emily Lowe volunteered their minivan to help transport the rest of the bags. The estimate at NYCP is that 1,000 pounds of food—1,000 sandwiches—were made and donated by the Church of St. Ignatius Loyola!
A heartfelt thank you to all who participated and donated to this event in order to help feed our neighbors.
AMDG.
— Jean Santopatre, Pastoral Associate
November 2, 2025 Essay: At the Birthplace of ChristEditor’s Note: In his Easter letter to the Parish, Father Yesalonia announced that we have established a sister parish relationship with the Parish of St. Catherine in Bethlehem, Palestine. In September, Roxanne De La Torre and Fr. Hilbert traveled to Bethlehem for an exploratory visit to the community there, meeting with the pastor and other parish leaders, youth groups, and families. They were welcomed with warmth and joy, and they began the process of developing projects of mutual assistance and shared faith. Roxanne is our staff liaison with the Parish of St. Catherine and will be reporting regularly on the budding relationship. The essay below contains Roxanne’s moving reflections on that visit.
“We are the living descendants of Jesus, born on this very land like he was. No matter how difficult life becomes or how much we are threatened, it is our responsibility to stay.”
I was sitting in the living room of a Palestinian family’s home with a parishioner of the Church of St. Catherine’s in Bethlehem, and his wife had just served us mint tea. When he said these words to me, I had to hold back the tears that instantly gathered behind my eyes. In fact, as I recall this moment now, I’ve had to stop and restart this reflection several times to allow the emotions I had initially held back to pour out of me.
Abu (Arabic for father) had been my guide for the day, introducing me to many other Catholic families in Bethlehem, teaching me a bit of the history of the place, explaining some of the hardships and challenges that Palestinians in this region are currently facing, and treating me exactly like a treasured member of his family. The kindness and hospitality were overwhelming.
There was much information relayed and explained to me verbally during the many hours I spent with Abu and his family that day, but there were also countless other realities I came to understand just by moving around town alongside them. Random road closures were commonplace, depending on whether a checkpoint was being left open or closed by the Israeli military, so a 5-minute car ride turned into an hour-long sojourn. Permits to travel into Jerusalem (less than 30-mins away) were not being granted to Palestinians, so regretfully all hopes to have taken me to see the Christian sites there were dashed. The family’s business, a tourism company, had been devastated over the past two years of war with almost no pilgrims visiting the Shrine of the Nativity, so there was no income. And like most Christian families in the West Bank with no health insurance or other safety nets available to them, they had to rely solely on the parish for financial support, with the pastor granting vouchers for medical visits, pharmacies, school fees, grocery supplements, etc. Life was a game of survival—with “normal” day-to-day activities made increasingly more complicated by the occupying party’s strategies to wear-down the Palestinian resolve. And yet, the Palestinian spirit persists, even when the effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy was thrown into chaos.
That afternoon, as we waited for their grandchildren to arrive home from school for the afternoon meal, a shooting at a bus stand a few miles away culminated in a military lockdown of all of Bethlehem. The gates were again closed and fortified on the open-air prison where Abu’s family traces their roots, in the land where Jesus took his first breaths. We were under siege, and there was no telling how long it would last. And yet, amidst all this, the family continued to move with intention, adjusted plans on the fly, relished the moments of joy, and generously poured into me from what they had. Their God-given resilience was on full display.
Hours after all of this, as we sat digesting the delicious meal of mansaf lovingly prepared by Abu’s wife, is when he shared those words with me and I was floored.
“We are the living descendants of Jesus, born on this very land like he was. No matter how difficult life becomes or how much we are threatened, it is our responsibility to stay.”
This statement hit me like a ton of bricks. But the tightening of my chest and the collecting of tears in my eyes were not born of pity. Nor were they born of an immediate desire to find ways to help or to ease their burden in some way. In a quite visceral way, I understood that there would be little I alone could do to change the impact of war on this family.
But what moved me deeply was that these words were delivered by Abu as if they were an extension of the Creed that we recite at Mass every week. For him and his family, staying in Bethlehem, despite the injustices of occupation and the daily threat of escalating war, was simply the clearest expression of their faith and trust in God. For Abu, to remain is his calling as a Palestinian Christian—an honor and a privilege granted to him by God alone that he daily prays for the strength to uphold. These words were a beautiful outpouring of his love for God, and his spiritual reliance on God’s return of love to him and his family that keep him going. I couldn’t help but think, with all the privileges and blessings I have in this world, have I ever loved God that much? Have I ever allowed myself to just fall into the love of God in trust and surrender the way Abu has? I’m not sure I have.
As I look back on the two weeks that Fr. Hilbert and I were blessed to have spent in Bethlehem this past September, I struggle to relay the complexities of life in the occupied West Bank, and thus the processing and sharing with our community will be staggered and spread-out. But I remain ever-grateful for the opportunity for our parish to get to know the people of St. Catherine’s more deeply in the years to come, and to share a bit of ourselves with them too. I look forward to more opportunities to share these stories with you, and to having you join Fr. Hilbert and me as we continue to build on the relationships we established there two months ago. As always, the grace of how we will move forward together will be in the hands of our loving God, Inshallah!
— Roxanne De La Torre, Pastoral Associate