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Pastoral Reflection

by Fr. Michael S. Murray, OSFS

The month of May, traditionally the Month of the Blessed Virgin Mary, begins with the feast of St. Joseph, the Worker.

This feast was instituted by Pope Pius the XII in 1955, ten years after the end of World War II, a conflict that had been supplanted by the Cold War. A logical development of the Russian Revolution, while “May Day” was a celebration of human labor, work was seen as something that exclusively served the temporal demands of the “collective,” i.e., the State. From Pius XII’s perspective, a Catholic “May Day” celebrated the dignity of human labor for its own sake, work that served a much greater and lasting purpose: the Kingdom of God.

Blessed Louis Brisson, OSFS, (1817 – 1908) founded the Oblate Sisters and Oblates of St. Francis de Sales during the Industrial Revolution. Sympatico with Leo XIII’s 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum (“On the Condition of Labor”), Fr. Brisson did not see “work” as drudgery; rather, he believed work to be an integral part of what it means to be human, based on the life and legacy of Jesus himself. Raised by a carpenter, Jesus knew firsthand the value of labor, of working a trade and interacting with others. In his public ministry, Jesus clearly and consistently applied that knowledge by working to build up the Kingdom of God one day at a time, one person at a time. Brisson said that to “Live Jesus” we must be lovers of labor.

St. Francis de Sales believed that we are “living plants of the Church” called to bear good fruit in ways consistent with our states and stages in life. As we know from our own lived experience, consistently bearing good fruit for ourselves and others does not come cheaply; it requires arduous work. But then, the most important things in life are worth the effort, are they not?

How privileged we are to do our level best day in and day out to work at building the Kingdom of God in our own little corners of the world with family, friends, neighbors, coworkers, and fellow travelers in faith. How privileged we are to labor for the greatest revolution of all.

The Revolution of Love.



But why don’t we see an image that looks more like the below image?

As it turns out, May is also Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month, an annual celebration that recognizes the historical and cultural contributions of individuals and groups of Asian and Pacific Islander descent.

AAPI people have a long history in the United States. In the 16th century, Filipinos who were escaping forced labor and enslavement during the Spanish galleon trade immigrated to North America, long before the Philippine Islands became a “protectorate” of the United States. During the California Gold Rush of the 1850s, a wave of Asian immigrants came to the West Coast and provided labor for gold mines, factories, and the transcontinental railroad. Despite these contributions, in 1882 Congress enacted the Chinese Exclusion Act which banned all Chinese immigration for 20 years. By 1885 Japanese and Koreans began immigrating to the United States to replace Chinese labor in railroad construction, farming, and fishing. Yet in 1907, Japanese immigration was in turn restricted by a “Gentleman’s Agreement” between the United States and Japan. This added to the perception of Asian immigrants as non-white people, labeled as “other” and alien. When World War II broke out, it was easy to “intern” Americans of Japanese descent, although German Americans were not similarly treated. 

The Civil Rights Movement in the 1950s and 60s assisted in the liberalization of immigration laws, and the passage of the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act changed restrictive national origin quotas. This allowed for large numbers of Asians and Pacific Islanders to come to the United States with their families, something that had been severely limited in the past. In the mid-1970s, refugees from Southeast Asia like Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos came to the United States to flee the violence and hardship of war. 

Today, there are over 20.6 million Asian and Pacific Islanders residing in the United States. Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders have contributed significantly to many facets of American culture and society, including science and medicine, literature and art, sports and recreation, government and politics, and activism and law. In 2021, Kamala Harris became the first Asian American Vice President of the United States. And yet, despite the depth and breadth of the contributions AAPI citizens have made, they still suffer from the persisting stereotype that they are “inherently foreign,” “other,” and “not truly American.”

At the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic, prominent characterization of the disease as the “Chinese virus” or “Kung flu,” contributed to a spike in anti-Asian racism and violence, with AAPI people of all ages and cultures being verbally and physically harassed and murdered in cities across the United States. At the same time, the U.S. was grappling with protests against systemic racism in the wake of the killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and others. This was not simply a coincidence; a June 2020 Pew Research study revealed that 58% of Asian Americans and 45% of African Americans felt that racist views toward them had increased since the pandemic. Former Baltimore Health Commissioner Dr. Leana Wen commented at the time, “We who are Asian American join in and support Black-led movements to talk about dismantling systemic racism and the legacy of anti-Blackness in this country…. This is not a conversation about comparing injustices, but … a reckoning for what happens in this country - that we all have to be part of the solution to stop all forms of racism, xenophobia, and hate.”

This call to solidarity is the key to the message contained in Joseph Cheah’s book Anti-Asian Racism: Myths, Stereotypes, and Catholic Social Teaching. He notes how Asian Americans are often excluded from academic discussions of racism due to the myth that they are a “model minority.” He challenges this stereotype by exploring how Black and Asian Americans are racially positioned in American society, showing how their histories of oppression and liberation are actually interconnected. The very name of the Black Lives Matter movement highlights the long-standing marginalized position of Black citizens in the United States. Yet the point of Black Lives Matter is not to exclude others from its demand for social justice; it does not denigrate the difficulties other groups have suffered and continue to suffer. It is in fact at the heart of what many consider to be the best, if not the only way to combat racial hatred and violence – solidarity. Society often proclaims the importance of individualism, but Catholic Social Teaching holds that human beings are fulfilled in community and family. The Catholic Church believes we have the responsibility to participate in society and to promote the common good, especially for the poor and vulnerable. In Fr. Cheah’s own words, “For AAPI this involves building coalitions with Black, Brown and White allies, bolstering networks of community support, and actively working toward the common good of justice and peace.” 

Tired of the chaos and divisions in our society today? Register to listen to Fr. Joseph Cheah at 7 P.M. on May 15, via zoom bit.ly/Fr-Cheah and be inspired to help build bridges not walls. Answer the call to solidarity.  



The liturgical calendar is rife with feast days, celebrations, solemnities and memorials. Many of them are deeply embedded in the minds of the faithful – Corpus Christi, Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul, St. Patrick’s Day, Christmas. Likewise, there are many days dedicated to Marian titles and devotions including the Assumption, Our Lady of Fatima, Immaculate Conception, Our Lady of Guadalupe; there is one Marian memorial honoring our Lady under a title relatively new to the modern-day Church: Mary, Mother of the Church.

Now, you might be asking yourself: “Self, don’t we start the year with the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God?” And to that I would reply, “Yes, yes we do.” The Divine Motherhood of Mary is one of the four Marian dogmas of the Church. Embedded in papal documents and writings defining the person and natures of Jesus are also texts describing Mary’s integral role as Mother of Jesus and the “Theotokos” or “Bearer of God" (See Lux Veritatis: On the Council of Ephesus, Encyclical of Pope Pius XI promulgated on December 25, 1931). We celebrate this day at the pinnacle of the Christmas Octave, January 1st, that amidst our joyous celebration of the birth of Christ, we may also give due honor to the Mother who bore our Saviour. In the Litany of Loreto, after touting her as "Holy Mother of God" and "Mother of Christ" her next maternal title is that of "Mother of the Church."

So how is this different? The memorial of our Lady under the title of "Mary, Mother of the Church" was introduced to the liturgical calendar on February 11, 2018, by Pope Francis. It is to be celebrated every year on the Monday after Pentecost. Though only six years old, this devotion has an ancient tradition, as confirmed by Pope St. Paul VI at the end of the third session of the Second Vatican Council:

“Venerable Brothers, this concerns a title by no means new to Christian piety; indeed, the Christian faithful and the universal Church choose to invoke Mary principally by the name of Mother. In truth, this name belongs to the genuine nature of devotion to Mary, since it rests firmly on that very dignity with which Mary is endowed as the Mother of the Incarnate Word of God. Just as the Divine Motherhood is the basis both for Mary's unique relationship with Christ and for her presence in the work of human salvation accomplished by Christ Jesus, so likewise, it is principally from the Divine Motherhood that the relationships which exist between Mary and the Church flow.”[1] 

How right the pope is; we choose to invoke Mary principally as Our Blessed Mother, a devotion deeply rooted in tradition and scripture. It was at the foot of the cross that our Lord gave Mary to us as our Mother and through St. John entrusted us to her care “Woman, behold, your son...Behold, your mother.” (John 19:26-27) Again, in the Upper Room, she was also present, “all these devoted themselves with one accord to prayer, together with some women, and Mary the mother of Jesus.” (Acts 1: 14) Truly, throughout all Jesus’ ministry on earth and at each significant moment for the new Church from the wedding feast at Cana through to the descent of the Holy Spirit, Mary was present. No doubt, with her gentle guidance, unwavering faith, and constant presence, she offered to all the Apostles a sense of comfort and reassurance.

In truth, Pope Francis, with the decree in 2018, wished that this devotion would “encourage the growth of the maternal sense of the Church in the pastors, religious and faithful, as well as a growth of genuine Marian piety,” and what better moment to turn to our Blessed Mother and Holy Mother Church? Wars and violence rage all over the world; injustice, prejudice, racism, and oppression are still firmly rooted in our socio-political systems; and even at a more local level, the parish is processing the loss of one of its shepherds and all the emotions, questions, transitions that come with it. Similar to the apostles in the Upper Room, there is fear, mistrust, confusion and not a small amount of chaos in our world. In these moments, when we feel the burden and shadow of the cross, St. Francis de Sales reminds us to turn to Mary, who was standing there also: “Let us have recourse to her as little children; let us cast ourselves upon her bosom on every occasion, and at every moment, with perfect confidence.”[2]

Pentecost Sunday marks the official end of the Easter Season, meaning this memorial falls just outside, which I find fitting. In all she says and does, our Blessed Mother desires to bring us ever closer to her Son, never wanting our attention to be displaced from Him. She is present while we glory in the Resurrection, standing nearby as we watch our Lord ascend, and waiting with us in hopeful anticipation for the coming of the Holy Spirit. What follows is “Ordinary Time” but far from ordinary is the work of the Church. It is far from ordinary when we help someone rebuild their home, bring food to the hungry or offer a gesture of hope to the imprisoned. It is far from ordinary when we gather around tables sharing and spending time with loved ones or learn from a different life perspective. It is far from ordinary when we baptize new members, bring communion to someone who is ill or homebound, and act as Christ’s hands and feet. Our Lady knows this and accompanies us through all the extraordinary and the ordinary bits of daily Christian life. In the words of Robert Cardinal Sarah, “This celebration will help us to remember that growth in the Christian life must be anchored to the Mystery of the Cross, to the oblation of Christ in the Eucharistic Banquet and to the Mother of the Redeemer and Mother of the Redeemed, the Virgin who makes her offering to God.” [3]

[1] From the Address of Pope Saint Paul VI, at the conclusion of the third session of the most holy Second Vatican Council (November 21, 1964: AAS 56 [1964], 1015-1016)

[2] “A Month of Mary According to the Spirit of Saint Francis De Sales,” n.d. http://catholicsaints.mobi/ebooks/gilli/day25.htm.

[3] “Decree on the Celebration of the Blessed Virgin Mary Mother of the Church in the General Roman Calendar (11 February 2018),” n.d. https://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/ccdds/documents/rc_con_ccdds_doc_20180211_decreto-mater-ecclesiae_en.html.



My earliest childhood recollection of the Ascension of the Lord, in the Diocese of Trenton in the years immediately following Vatican II, is that we celebrated on Thursday. Today, it is more commonly transferred to the Seventh Sunday of Easter. Just as Easter and Pentecost were Sunday celebrations, observing the Ascension on a Thursday was an additional opportunity to go to church with my Catholic schoolmates and celebrate something that was not explicitly about the Resurrection or the sending of the Holy Spirit, yet was a crucial event within the Easter Season. At the time, I didn't have the words to express the significance, but I knew that unpacking all of Easter’s mystery and joy takes more than just Holy Week.

Admittedly, the scripture readings for our current Easter liturgical cycle (Year B) do not include some of the more memorable events for me: The Road to Emmaus or Peter and the Apostles casting a net that overflows with fish, both stories involving Jesus as a stranger followed by the revelation in the breaking of bread that He is the Risen Lord. Here we are now forty days after the Easter surprise, and there have been numerous attestations from followers-- men and women--who have seen Christ Jesus alive. Jesus himself has appeared in the Upper Room, passed through closed doors, bid Thomas to gaze upon his wounds and touch his body. The Risen Jesus breathed the Holy Spirit into them granting the power to forgive sins. These are obviously wondrous times of Paschal joy. 



As Peter finds his voice to speak the Gospel publicly and Saul (Paul) journeys toward his own conversion and testimony, Jesus in the recent weeks’ Gospel readings has spoken not only about his close relationship to the Father, but also our relationship to God through Him and with Him and in Him—shepherd

and sheep, vine and branches, and ultimately in the command to “love one

another,” where we remain and share in that divine love. 



In my more recent years of pastoral ministry, the Easter season has been marked by new life, baptisms, and my wedding anniversary but also funerals

and friends’ divorces. New jobs and transitions bring people closer, but changes also take people farther away. Our own Easter journey here as a parish has not been without its own surprises. All in all, I have come to reflect upon the Ascension in terms of what it must have been like journeying from Good Friday despair to Easter Sunday triumph, only to again bid farewell. To have thought He was dead, to have experienced Him risen, but to still have to say goodbye again…if only for a time. 

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, who is famous for her research on the stages of grief, notes that at some point, it was natural for the Apostles, despite their grieving at the death of Jesus, to return to their work. It is not until they return to what they were doing before following Jesus that they can experience the “stranger” as this new person, and both can share in a life that is now changed.

Perhaps, in a way, it is good that our Easter joy has been disrupted from simply the exposition of happiness as attested in the Scriptures we hear. After all, the cyclical nature of Easter or any Sunday has no meaning unless there is transformation. To borrow a Passover expression from the Jewish side of my family, “How is THIS Easter season different from all the rest?” Just as Jesus ascends into Heaven, here on earth, we receive our wakeup call: “Why are you standing there looking at the sky?” As the Preface to the Eucharistic Prayer today says, “…he ascended, not to distance himself from our lowly state but that we, his members, might be confident of following where he, our Head and Founder, has gone before.” Similarly, as one of my first pastors was fond of sharing: the origins of the word “Goodbye” is the expression “God be with ye (you).” It is in the parting, in the breaking that God’s presence comes to burn in our hearts. 

The Ascension leaves us with a promise: Jesus is risen and now ascended into Heaven, and we know this to be our destiny as well. His farewell and departure from us come also with the promise of the Holy Spirit to be poured out upon us. Today we pray, “the Ascension of Christ your Son, is our exaltation, and where the Head has gone before in glory, the Body is called to follow in hope.” We continually experience this “already and not yet” breaking into our world despite its imperfections and disappointments. It is also something this parish shares and demonstrates in such a lively way that it is summed up in the Salesian exhortation: Live Jesus! Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again! 

For Reflection: 

What must we say goodbye to in our lives to welcome God’s promises on earth as in Heaven? What are some examples of this divine disruption in your own life? Is it a child growing up or graduating? Is it a new job? Is it the cyclical change from spring to approaching summer? How can THIS season be

different from all others so that we can respond to Jesus anew and share what

burns within us with the world? 

Love and Patriotism

by Elizabeth Wright

On May 27, across America, we will honor Memorial Day. The holiday is traditionally marked by patriotic parades, houses festooned with red, white, and blue bunting, and gatherings of families and friends for the purpose of honoring those U.S. military members who have died for our country. The holiday is frequently confused with Veterans Day, a more joyous occasion that honors living military service members. Memorial Day, however, is a national tradition that dawned as a response to soldiers killed in America's Civil War. Estimates tally lives lost on both sides of the Civil War to be as high as 750,000. This magnitude of devastation left an already broken nation in mourning, and in response, Americans sought healing through one of the corporal works of mercy: bury the dead.

On May 13, 1864, the first military burial was held at Arlington, and one month later, War Secretary Edwin Stanton signed the order declaring this sacred ground the Arlington National Cemetery. The first Memorial Day was commemorated in Arlington on May 30, 1868. By this time, “Decoration Day,” as Memorial Day was originally known, was being widely recognized in the United States. In 1966, President Lyndon B. Johnson proclaimed Waterloo, New York, as the birthplace of Memorial Day, and in 1971, the Uniform Monday Act was signed into law officially making the last Monday in May a federal holiday.

Aside from Waterloo, New York, from Richmond, Virginia, to Carbondale, Illinois, more than a handful of cities lay claim to the birthplace of Memorial Day. However, in the late 1990s, Yale University Civil War historian David Blight, discovered an archived file that alluded to the actual first Memorial Day observance. Bolstered by first-person news accounts from both The New York Tribune and The Charleston Courier, Blight learned of a gathering in Charleston, South Carolina, on May 1, 1865, less than a month following the surrender of the Confederacy.

In the last year of the Civil War, the Washington Race Course and Jockey Club in Charleston, South Carolina, was transformed into a provisional prison for captured Union soldiers. Approximately 260 bodies of men, who had died from malnutrition and unsanitary conditions, had been thrown in a mass grave just behind the race track’s grandstand. After the surrender and subsequent evacuation of the Confederacy, 28 men from a local church exhumed the Union dead and properly buried them in a new cemetery, which was fenced and adorned with an entrance arch declaring “Martyrs of the Race Course.” Following the burial, more than 10,000 gathered to honor the dead and decorate the graves. More than 3,000 children paraded while singing and carrying flowering bouquets, ministers recited scripture, and uniformed military regiments marched with practiced cadence.

It would seem this quintessential Memorial Day scene was unquestionably the first Memorial Day observance. Except, history is usually written by those in power. The fact is, the 10,000 people in attendance were mostly newly emancipated Black men, women, and children accompanied by Unionists and white missionaries. The uniformed military members were from the 54th Massachusetts and other Black union regiments, and the school children carrying flowers to lay on the soldiers’ graves were students from the Freedman schools. This was not the narrative Charleston, South Carolina, had any interest in perpetuating.

By the 1880s, the bodies were exhumed again and moved to a newly designated national cemetery in Beaufort, South Carolina. In 1902, the grounds of the inaugural Memorial Day were appropriated as a public park and named in honor of Wade Hampton III, Confederate General and proponent of the “Lost Cause” movement. Hampton also was known to have owned one of the largest collections of enslaved people in South Carolina. In 2017, the City of Charleston at last officially recognized the site and validated the momentous history by erecting a historical marker proclaiming it as the “First Memorial Day.” The park itself, however, remains named for Hampton.

To me, as a military spouse of 25 years and an Army mom, patriotism is woven through my family. But love for my country does not mean denying history, rather it is having the humility to acknowledge that a significant part of the fabric of our nation is born from the sin of chattel slavery. Recognizing that entire systems were devised to suppress Blacks in our nation, and yet, today, there remain systemic disadvantages that routinely marginalize the most vulnerable in our communities. Patriotism is not just about loving our country, but loving our fellow citizens--caring for and serving each other. On May 5, the Sixth Sunday of Easter, the reading from the Gospel of John is eight verses long, and Jesus says “love” eight times in commanding his disciples, ending the passage with “love one another.” As our nation observes Memorial Day later this month, as Catholics we are called without exception to love and show mercy to all our neighbors. We remember and honor our U.S. military members who served and made the greatest sacrifice, and in a nation that seems to have enduring division, we must embrace a higher calling “to go and bear fruit that will remain.”