In just another few days, my father, Raymond J. Ingram, will have been gone exactly 8 years. My father died in the ICU at Huntington Hospital, with my mom and all my siblings gathered around his bed.  He had been entirely unresponsive since suffering a heart attack 8 days before, and my family had come to the realization that the man we knew as my dad was truly no longer there.  So after each of us had had the opportunity to whisper a private “good-bye” and “I love you” into his ear, the ventilator that had been sustaining his body was removed.  He passed away within about 30 minutes.

I share that life-changing experience not because I feel a great weight of sadness this Father’s Day weekend.  My father was among the best men I’ve known—unselfish, hard-working, devoted, funny, faith-filled, loving.  He wasn’t the kind of father who did a lot of hugging; and my siblings and I weren’t out in the backyard playing games with him all the time.  A retired captain in the FDNY, he was the kind of father many  of you may have had—on the quiet side, not very demonstrative in his affection, but nonetheless full of selflessness, care, integrity, and genuine goodness.  I’ve come to love and admire him even more since his death, to appreciate the gift he was to me, and I pray for him every day. 

I hope this Father’s Day brings a sense of gratitude, admiration, and joy to each of you.  Some people have now (or had) fathers who were less than loving—even abusive—and they understandably find it hard to celebrate today.  But regardless of what our personal experience of having a dad or being a dad may be, I hope we can still offer prayer to God today, asking the Lord to help us appreciate these very special men—even if they stumbled or even failed in their vocation.  On this and every Father’s Day, it’s almost second nature to turn our attention and our prayers to St. Joseph, the humble, hardworking, devoted and loving protector of the child Jesus.  We ask his intercession for all our fathers, living and deceased, and pray that God will fill them with mercy and grace.

On a rather different note, I want to wish the whole of our parish family a happy and healthy summer!  Today (June 21^st) is the summer solstice, with the longest period of daylight of the entire year (it’s all downhill from here, folks!).  The turning of the seasons reminds us—among other things—that nothing is permanent in this world.  Only God, our heavenly Father, remains unchanging, watching over his struggling family with divine tenderness and mercy.  May the Lord bless the coming summer as an opportunity for us to regain our footing, if need be; to shake off whatever may be weighing on our hearts, lives, and relationships; to savor the beauty of creation; and to step trustingly into the future than only God can know.  Have a restful, playful, prayerful summer, everyone.

(And no vacationing from church!!)

May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

Our May 24^th celebration of Pentecost marked the festive conclusion of the Easter season.  Since then, the Church’s liturgy has returned to what we call “Ordinary Time,” which will continue until we’re ready to begin the season of Advent at the very end of November!  During the months to come, the Scripture readings will guide us through much of Jesus’ earthly ministry—his teaching, his miracles, his parables, etc.  Hardly “ordinary,” but admittedly distinct from seasons like Advent, Christmas, Lent, or Easter.  Before Fr. Ben and I return to wearing green for Sunday Mass, however, we celebrate two of the most solemn feasts of the year, namely Trinity Sunday and Corpus Christi.  Last Sunday, we were invited to delve into the unfathomable mystery of God’s very Self . . . our Church’s age-old conviction that God is eternally One, and yet somehow, wondrously, exists as a Trinity of Persons whom Jesus himself calls the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. 

Today’s Feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ (or Corpus Christi) asks us to give our hearts and minds to the Gift that is ours for the taking at each and every celebration of Mass—the gift of Christ’s own precious Body and Blood.  One might wonder why the Church chooses to highlight the Eucharist on one particular day of the year, when in fact EVERY Mass is meant to be a feast of wonder and gratitude for the Lord’s gift of himself under the appearance of bread and wine.  Perhaps our fickle human nature holds the key to that question:  if I were to hit the lottery today, I’m  sure I’d be so completely swept up in the astonishment and glee of such a stroke of good luck that I could hardly breathe.  If, however, I were to win a lottery every single day . . . my excitement might begin to taper off after a couple of weeks, even  with the winnings piling up!

Unfortunately, many of us allow even the miraculous to become “ho-hum” when it comes to us so frequently.  And that’s precisely the challenge we face in having the Bread of Life offered to us whenever we choose—even on a daily basis.  We are holding in our hands, or placing on our tongue, the living presence of the crucified and risen Son of God . . . but our minds may be far more caught up in thinking about the kids’ soccer game, or what to have for dinner. 

Today’s beautiful feast gives us the opportunity to REMEMBER—to remember Who it is present for us on the altar and reserved in the tabernacle; to remember how marvelously we are loved that the Savior should give himself to us as food and drink; to remember that, as Jesus himself says in today’s Gospel, “unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you cannot have life in you.”  We are the objects of a love so wondrous, that our Lover wishes to become part of who we are, and thereby transform our lives into his life.  May the gift of the Eucharist be for us the greatest of treasures—on this particular Sunday in June, and always.

And may our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

“Cecilia, be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit . . .”

This weekend, we celebrate the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity—the mystery that lies at the heart of our faith as Catholics.  We reaffirm our ancient faith (as we recite in the Creed) that there is one God—one--eternal, uncreated, living in unapproachable light, the loving Source of all that is good and true and beautiful.  And yet this one God has revealed Himself as a trinity of Persons, whom we name Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  May the “Three in One” shower us with grace and blessing this Sunday, and every day, drawing us deeper into  the divine Communion of love that He is.

That being said (poorly, I admit), I find myself looking back to last weekend’s celebration of Pentecost—the coming of the Holy Spirit, and the joyous end of this year’s Easter season.  And my heart is still filled with gratitude for those whose lives were touched in a very special way since last Sunday by the Spirit’s transforming power . . .   

On Wednesday, we celebrated the sacrament of Confirmation with 93 of our young parishioners.   Bishop Robert Coyle was on hand for the better part of the day to pray with us, and to serve as the instrument through whom the Holy Spirit touched the lives of our young people with his seven-fold gifts.  The services were festive and beautiful, largely owing to the generosity, hard work, and sacrifice of many of our parishioners and staff.  A special word of thanks goes to Mrs. Maria Davidson, the Director of our Office of Faith Formation, to her staff, and to the many catechists, parents, and sponsors who have shared so much of their own faith in guiding our confirmandi to this milestone in their spiritual lives.  May the gifts God first poured out upon the apostles at Pentecost find a home in the heart of each of our young people, especially as they navigate a confusing and broken world, to enliven their sense of discipleship and draw them closer to the heart of Christ.

Confirmation isn’t just for 8^th graders, of course, and many of you also realize that at the 11:00 Mass last Sunday we had the opportunity to call eight adult Catholics to the very same sacrament our young people received on Wednesday.  (FYI, on Pentecost Sunday, Bishop Barres grants the priests of our Diocese the privilege of confirming baptized adult Catholics—something that ordinarily only a bishop can do.)  Congratulations to these eight fellow parishioners who, after weeks of study, preparation, and prayer, are now fully initiated members of the Church.  (See a photo of our friends on p. 5  of this bulletin.)

May the fragrant chrism with which these men and women are anointed assure them that the Spirit’s fragrant blessing is poured over them in full measure.  And may we, who have already been baptized, confirmed, and fed with the Bread of Life, grow more and more thankful for the dignity we enjoy as God’s adopted children.

May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

PS - If you are an adult Catholic who has already been baptized and received the Holy Eucharist, but has never been confirmed, please reach out to the parish next winter.  We’d be honored to guide you through a period of preparation so that you, too, might complete your initiation into the life of the Church.

“Let the fire fall!”  That’s part of the refrain to a song I still remember from my years at St. Barnabas parish in Bellmore.  St. Barnabas had—and still has—a vibrant charismatic prayer group, and while I have to admit I gravitate toward a quieter, less outwardly demonstrative style of prayer, I did enjoy joining the group for special occasions and liturgies in the lower church.  I can hear that refrain in my head—a spirited (pardon the pun!) plea that the Holy Spirit fall upon those gathered in Jesus’ name, filling them with enthusiasm and spiritual conviction in living the Gospel message.

Today, with the feast of Pentecost, we do very much the same thing.  Having made our way through the fifty days of the Easter season, praising God for the wonder of Christ’s victory over death and his Ascension to the right hand of the Father, we implore the Lord to send forth his living Spirit to renew and invigorate us with his seven-fold gifts.  We pray that the transforming, purifying, illuminating FIRE of God’s love might be rekindled in each of us, burning away any trace of apathy, doubt, infidelity or sin, and helping us become the daughters and sons we are meant to be from the moment of our baptism.

It's very fitting that on this “feast of the Holy Spirit,” I will have the privilege of confirming  eight members of our community at the 11:00 Mass, anointing them with sacred chrism and praying that the spiritual gifts they first received at baptism should flourish more perfectly than ever before.  We congratulate these adult confirmandi, along  with the 93 young people whom Bishop Robert Coyle will confirm next Wednesday, and we promise to pray for them at this beautiful turning point in their spiritual lives.

When we think of the sacrament of Confirmation, or of the Holy Spirit for that matter, many of us are reminded of the seven gifts the Spirit confers on the believer . . . do you remember what they are?  can you list them from memory?  They are wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord (For those less familiar with the traditional terms, counsel is the gift of right judgment; fortitude is strength; piety is prayefulness; and fear of the Lord—a distinctly biblical phrase—can best be understood as a sense of awe before the majesty of God).  We possess these gifts—like seeds—from the moment of our baptism, and they are intended to grow full and strong as our lives continue, particularly with the outpouring of the Spirit’s power we receive at Confirmation.  Perhaps you might look at that list today and focus on just one—one gift you may be longing for at this time in your life . . . or one that you perceive a loved one is greatly in need of . . . one that our nation, or our world is especially lacking in.  The Spirit of God is eager to supply our want, to touch us precisely where we are most in need of his transforming power. So ask the Lord to inflame your heart with the fire of his divine love on this magnificent feast day, and to grant you in abundance that one gift that will help you grow closer to the heart of Christ, and better navigate your way through this confusing, violent, and too often tragic world of ours.

Let the fire fall!

May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

PS – Our parish has a Charismatic Prayer Group of our own; they meet on Tuesday mornings at 10:30 AM in the Bethany Center.  Think about joining them!

Last Sunday was of course Mother’s Day; I hope it was a happy one for you.  If you joined us for Mass, you would have seen our St. Lawrence Columbiettes distributing carnations at the doors to any of the moms, grandmothers, etc. who chose to take one.  The Columbiettes had taken the time to tie a Mother’s Day greeting to each flower with ribbon; it was a simple but lovely gift for those leaving church on a special day.

One of the Columbiettes spoke to me early this week, commenting on what a pleasure it had been to hand out the flowers—they brought such unexpected pleasure and big smiles to the mothers who received them.  I was of course very glad to hear that . . . but not surprised.  Most of us realize that sometimes it takes only a very small gesture of kindness to lift someone’s spirit. That’s not to downplay the grander gestures we sometimes make (or the truly life-changing gifts we sometimes receive), but more often it’s the little things that bring a smile, or ease the sadness, or lift one’s spirits.

Like a single carnation with good wishes on a Mother’s Day morning.  Or a phone call to a sick friend.  Or a word of reassurance to a second grader who’s a little nervous about their First Communion . . . or an invitation to lunch . . . or a few bills placed in the poor box . . . or an encouraging text on a difficult day . . . or stopping to hold the door for the person behind . . . or taking a moment to pay a compliment.  As the saying goes, “little things mean a lot.” 

One of my favorite poems by Emily Dickenson captures this theme strikingly; she writes:

One carnation.  One door held open.  One pain eased.  One Hail Mary for our young people being confirmed later this month.  One smile. 

May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

This will be the first Mother’s Day I won’t be spending at the smallish cape in Huntington where my mom and dad raised our family.  I think many of you know that my mom—who’s been living at the house with 24/7 aides the past few years—had a fall at the very beginning of January.  Thankfully no major injury, but she still needed to go to rehab for several weeks, and during all that time I rather naively assumed she’d be coming back home.  But she didn’t make the kind of progress at the rehab we had all hoped, and the house would have required major renovation that hadn’t even been undertaken.

So since March 24^th, she’s been a new resident at an assisted living facility in Smithtown.  It’s a handsome place.  She has a small but lovely room, and the care she’s receiving seems skilled, attentive, and very responsive to my family’s concerns.  My mom has dementia—what particular kind has never been diagnosed—so her new home is in a memory care “neighborhood.”  Thankfully she hasn’t lost as much cognitive ground as many people do, but even when she was at home, I could see subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) changes almost from week to week.

My mom has always been a big part of my life—perhaps my being a priest without a spouse or children of my own lends to an even greater bond in both directions.  So this change has been huge.  More so, I think, for me than for my five siblings.  All of us are glad that she’s safe, well cared for, and getting lots of attention and stimulation, but there are moments when I can hardly believe where life has brought her (and us).  My mom worked her whole life—as an RN and an administrator in nursing facilities (isn’t that ironic?); she has a master’s degree in public administration, and raised six children.  And now if I mention that a sibling stopped by yesterday, she probably won’t remember the visit. 

But this is Mother’s Day weekend, and I hadn’t intended to cast a shadow over what for most is a very festive day.  My mom is still in rather good health physically; she’s still more self-aware and interactive than many people with this cruel illness, and she’s usually in rather good spirits—all for someone 89.  I bless God for the gift she has always been to my life (it’s probably because of a suggestion she made that I became a priest, but that’s for another column!), and I’m deeply grateful that my family and I still have her with us.  I know that her story / our story will ring a lot of bells for many of you who have experienced much the same journey, or are in the midst of it right now.  I can sympathize more with families who are challenged this way than I ever could have before.  And I trust—I do—that our merciful and tender Savior is enfolding us all in his strong arms, not so much to remedy the sadnesses, the frustration, the uncertainty, or the tears, but to press us to his pierced Heart, and lend us the hope and strength we need to persevere, whatever our challenges may be.

I pray your Mother’s Day is an especially beautiful one—bright and festive and full of love.  I’m hoping to help make my mom’s the same.  May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

With a full five weeks having elapsed since our joyous celebration of Easter Sunday, it’s easy to forget that we’re still in the midst of the Easter season—still proclaiming from Sunday to Sunday that Jesus is not dead, but alive, and is wondrously walking in our midst to this very day.  The Lord’s sacrificial death and resurrection-victory are the defining events that stand at the heart of our faith; as St. Paul boldly says, if Jesus is not raised from the dead, then our faith is worthless.  I hope that through these weeks of Eastertide (the season won’t conclude until the great feast of Pentecost on May 24^th), you’ve sensed the Lord’s abiding presence in and around you . . . perhaps in the broad smiles and wide-eyed excitement of our First Communicants; or in the warmth and color of a singularly beautiful spring afternoon; or in an unexpected moment of reconciliation with someone from whom you’ve been estranged.  Even if most of the world considers all this the stuff of fairytales, we contend that Jesus of Nazareth is alive—here with us—and promises to continue walking alongside us until we reach our true home in the house of our heavenly Father.  Easter Sunday may be feeling distant, but do continue to savor this festive time of year, and give thanks that we are heirs to paradise. 

Of course, this beautiful month of May presents us with a special opportunity to turn more prayerfully to Mary, the Virgin Mother  of God.  We can and should be striving for a deeper intimacy with our Blessed Mother at any time of year, but believers have long taken advantage of May as an opportunity for honoring Mary with particular affection and devotion.  Why not approach these coming few weeks with a fresh resolve to invest something more of ourselves in our relationship with Mary? 

Here’s a thought (though not a novel one): if you’re honoring Mary by praying the Rosary—or a decade of the Rosary, or a single Hail Mary—why not lift up that prayer for some particular person you know is in need of Our Lady’s special care?  A few months ago, when my mom was still at home, I was sorting through the rosaries in her dresser drawer.  (I think there were 6 or 7!)  But the one she uses most belonged to my father—it’s old, and worn, and not as eye-catching as some of her other pairs.  But it was his.  And I’m sure she thinks of my dad often when she’s praying with his beads.  As I’ve been trying to pray the Rosary more frequently myself, I’ve made it a habit always to dedicate this powerful prayer to some particular person or intention.

A final thought:  with Mother’s Day only a week away, let’s try to give our hearts a little more generously to our heavenly Mother, trusting that we can find no more tender, compassionate, encouraging, and powerful an intercessor in the presence of her risen Son than she.

May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

Many of you know that I come from a pretty big family . . . I have five siblings, some wonderful brothers and sisters-in-law, and twelve nieces and nephews.  Much as I enjoyed the years when the kids were little, the fact is that everybody’s grown up fast.  My oldest niece is already 30, and the three youngest will be starting college in the fall.  With our own celebrations of First Holy Communion having started last weekend, I find myself thinking back to a time years ago, when my nieces and nephews were receiving the Lord’s Body and Blood in their home parishes.

As you can imagine, I was thrilled to concelebrate those Masses—to have the unique privilege of offering the Eucharist for the first time to members of my own family.  It’s one of the very special “perks” that comes with being a priest, especially one with a family large enough to have plenty of baptisms, weddings, First Communions and (yes, even) funerals. 

I celebrated the first of this year’s four First Holy Communion liturgies last Sunday, and the experience always makes me smile, as I’m sure it does Father Ben.  It’s hard to tell, sometimes, exactly how much the children grasp about the small, round wafer of bread being placed on their tongue or in the palm of their hand . . . but I have no doubt that almost all of them know something very special is happening, that a gift unlike anything else they’ve ever been given is now theirs.   They may find it hard to believe that that host is in fact completely changed—that they are holding the risen and transfigured Son of God in their hand.  That’s OK, though . . . most of us grown-ups find the notion of Christ’s real presence in the Eucharist challenging to fathom.  (Perhaps the kids are MORE able than we adults to let go of our intellectual constraints and simply believe . . .)

I’m thinking of my nieces and nephews as we move through these few weekends, and praying that they are growing into a deeper friendship with the One who calls himself the Bread of Life.  And I’m certainly happy for our own children here at St. Lawrence—that within the space of just a few weekends, 83 of our little ones will finally have come to the Lord’s altar, been fed with the Bread of heaven, and will hopefully be more excited than ever about growing closer to Jesus.  Please join me in praying for them, for their parents, godparents, and families, for our catechists and all who have guided them toward this extraordinary encounter with the living God. 

And let’s try—even if imperfectly—to put on the innocence and wonder of a 7 year old whenever we take the Lord into our hands, receiving this miraculous gift of divine love as if for the very first time.

May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

As we arrive at the Third Sunday of Easter, I thought it would be an appropriate moment to express heartfelt thanks for the gifts of time, care, creativity, and selflessness that went into preparing for and celebrating Holy Week and Easter.  The Masses and other devotional opportunities during those few sacred days require a greater amount of effort and preparation than any others during the year (including Christmas!), and so many people rose to the occasion in such a generous fashion!  At the risk of being too specific, special recognition should go to the following:

• The entire parish staff, who, like Jesus washing his disciples’ feet at the Last Supper, are marvelous examples of service that is both lavish and humble.
• All our liturgical ministers (lectors, ushers, altar servers, and Extraordinary Ministers), who volunteered to participate in one or more of the celebrations.
• Our Director of Music, Joe Mankowski, our organist, Marie Winn, and the dedicated company of cantors, instrumentalists, and both adult and children’s choir members. 
• Jeanmarie Smith, and a small but energetic team of church decorators, who managed to transform the church for Easter with only a brief window of time to work their magic.
• The creative and always generous gardeners who filled planter after outdoor planter with spring color.
• Our parish maintenance staff—Ben Flad and Rob Rembish.
• All who volunteered to do something a little out of the ordinary—like having their foot washed, or carrying a flask of oil, or waving a handful of palm.
• Father Ben, who presided at a beautiful and moving celebration of the evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday.
• Deacon Patrick LaBella, whose presence and careful attention to detail are always invaluable.
• All of our parishioners, visitors, and friends who joined in praising God for the wonder of Christ’s Resurrection.

May the joy and hope of the Lord’s Easter victory be a blessing for you and all those you love—this Eastertide and always!  And may our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

PS – This weekend we’ll celebrate the first of our Masses for the children of the parish who are receiving the Holy Eucharist for the first time!  Please remember them, and their families, in your prayers.

“For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us, and on the whole world.”

By now most of the chocolate eggs and jelly beans have been gobbled up, the Easter bonnets have been shelved for another year, and even some of the lilies are starting to droop.  But please don’t make the mistake of thinking that Easter is over—far from it!  As most of you realize, the marvel of Christ’s Resurrection is far too central a mystery of our faith to be confined to a single Sunday . . . in fact, the Church invites us to drink in the wonder of the Lord’s victory over death for a full fifty days, crowned with the great festival of Pentecost on May 24^th.  So don’t stop wishing one another a “Happy Easter”—we’ve only just gotten started!

This Sunday is a particularly beautiful one from the vantage point of our ever-evolving Catholic spirituality.  Today we celebrate the wonder of Divine Mercy, a personal revelation imparted to a Polish nun named St. Maria Faustina Kowalska beginning in 1931.  What the Lord shared with St. Faustina—and which she recorded in a 600-page diary—of the depths of God’s merciful love has profoundly impacted contemporary spirituality; millions of Catholics pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy every day, and have seen their interior lives transformed by this devotion.  I myself have come to pray the chaplet more frequently over the past few years than I ever had before.  As directed by Pope Saint John Paul II at the time of St. Faustina’s canonization in 2000, this Second Sunday of Easter is known as “Divine Mercy Sunday,” and the universal Church is asked to turn today to the merciful heart of Christ for forgiveness and strength.

Here at St. Lawrence, a special opportunity to participate in the devotions of Divine Mercy Sunday will begin at 3:00 PM with exposition of the Blessed Sacrament.  The Chaplet (prayed in a fashion similar to the Rosary) is the most familiar part of the devotion, and the time will conclude with solemn Benediction.  While many of our parishioners have delved deeply into this beautiful prayer, and pray the Chaplet faithfully, my guess is that most still have little idea what this is all about.  If “Divine Mercy” is simply a phrase you’ve heard, or the name given to the painting we keep in an alcove by the northeast doors of the church, I would encourage you to learn more about the revelations to St. Faustina.  Even better, why not  take an hour on Sunday afternoon to join parishioners in worshiping the Risen Christ—the inexhaustible fountain through whom God’s merciful love washes over our fallen world?  Please join us at 3 PM, and allow the Lord to speak to your heart with a tenderness and compassion beyond what we could begin to hope for. 

Christ is risen!  And our God is truly merciful. May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

Have you ever heard (or wondered) how the date for Easter is determined?  Easter is what’s called a “movable feast,” so unlike Christmas, which always falls on December 25^th, Easter can take place anywhere between March 22^nd and April 25^th—that’s a lot of latitude.  But how does the Church calculate the date?  Believe it or not, the formula goes all the way back to the Council of Nicaea in 325.  The Council fathers decided that Easter should be the first Sunday following the first full moon after the start of spring. This year, spring officially began on March 20^th, and the first full moon to follow was just this past Wednesday.  I love the fact that our observance of Easter is tied to spring, even if this year’s very wintery winter has been  slow to move on.  Spring speaks of life—lawns finally greening, buds on the forsythia so close to opening, days lengthening and warming.  Springtime speaks of new beginnings, of renewal, and of hope for what lies ahead.

Of course, on this great feast of the Lord’s Easter triumph—the highest of holy days for us as Christian people—we celebrate far more than a change of seasons; we celebrate life itself . . . the promise of life that no casket or grave can ever contain.  Our own lives are not meant to end in a hospital bed, at the funeral home, or in the cemetery.  We are destined for eternity.  That core belief can be hard to cling to sometimes, especially when death takes someone we’ve dearly loved.  But God loves us far too much to allow only seventy or ninety or a hundred years to be the end of our journey.  And the One who reveals this to us is Jesus, the firstborn from the dead.

The man of sorrows, whose tortured body  they had taken down from the cross, limp and lifeless, and shut away in a borrowed grave, is striding through the dewy grass of that garden graveyard, somehow alive.  And not just alive, but transfigured in a way language can’t even begin to describe—raised up, made new, the Spring Lamb whose blood has taken away the sins of the world.  But this astounding event is not just “good news” for Jesus . . . it foretells the destiny that all of us share as adopted children of God.  Jesus is the firstborn, the harbinger of a wondrous new life that awaits us all.  Nothing of this world’s heartache and confusion, violence and pain, burden and grief can deprive us of the everlasting joy for which we were made—the joy our first parents cast aside, but which Jesus has won for us again.  Easter is a wide-eyed look backward to that garden tomb, to be sure, but it is also a day of promise, a day to give thanks for what our future holds.  We have only to believe, like John in today’s haunting Gospel, that something wondrous has happened, and let our hearts thrill to the promise that where Jesus has gone, we are meant to follow.  Easter—no matter when the date falls on the calendar—is life from death.  A springtime for the soul.  For all of us.

May the blessing of the crucified and risen Son of God be upon you, and those you love, today and always.  Happy Easter!

Dear friends, having arrived at the festive liturgies of this Palm Sunday weekend, we enter into the richest and most profound week of the entire year for us as a Christian people.  Today we stride alongside Jesus, as he makes his triumphant way into ancient Jerusalem, and then listen in disbelief as the very same crowds who welcomed him into the city are shouting for his blood.  On Holy Thursday, we recline with the Lord at the Passover table in the Upper Room, as he bathes his disciples’ feet, and then gives his own Flesh and Blood to them as the food of everlasting life.  We grieve in horror as we see his shattered body hanging from the cross on Good Friday, and we stare wide-eyed at a tomb that is inexplicably empty on that first Easter Sunday. 

These are the events that have quite literally changed the course of human history, and lifted a fallen world out of shadow and into the bright promise of endless joy.  Two thousand years later, we are the beneficiaries of all that took place in and around Jerusalem during those wondrous days.  But all too often, we move through our 21^st century Holy Weeks more preoccupied with the business and busyness of daily life, only vaguely conscious that this is by far the most sacred time of the entire year.

To those who’ve told me that the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on the evening of Holy Thursday is their favorite liturgy of the entire year, the parish staff and I extend a welcome to come and experience it again (and bring a friend with you!).  To the many more who have never attended the Church’s services on that evening, or on the afternoon of Good Friday, or on the night before Easter—please plan your week around these services and join us!  These are the holiest of all our holy days, and should be the centerpiece of our worship for the whole year. 

I ask that you please save the schedule of liturgies and prayer services taking place throughout the week ahead (see page 5 of today’s bulletin), and resolve to be a part of as many of them as you can.  Each component of our Holy Week observances will be that much richer if you choose to share in them—from a simple, meditative version of morning prayer at 9 AM on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday; to time spent in silent adoration before the Blessed Sacrament in the stillness of Holy Thursday night; to an outdoor experience of the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday; to the joyous festivity of the Easter Vigil. May the mysteries of this Holiest Week awaken in each of us a fresh devotion to the Father’s Suffering Servant, and lead us with hearts renewed and forgiven to a truly joyous Easter.

May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

“Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him . . .” 

On this last Lenten Sunday before Palm Sunday, the Church invites us to travel with Jesus to the village of Bethany, to the home of his friends, Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, and there to be awe-struck at the power of the Living One over death itself.  The story of the raising of Lazarus is by far one of my favorites from the Scriptures, and there have been few times that I’ve proclaimed it at Mass without getting choked up. Though I’ve read the text—or had it read to me—a hundred times, it never ceases to leave me feeling mesmerized by Jesus, the God-man, who can weep so easily at the human sadness of his friend’s untimely death, and in just another few verses, be commanding with divine authority that Death let his loved one go. 

None of us is exempt from the sting of death—neither our own eventual dying, nor the painful moments when someone whom we’ve loved is suddenly gone.  An empty place at the dinner table, or a bed that’s simply too wide for only one person, or the absence of a child’s laughter, all seem to mock our hope and shake our confidence.  But imagining Jesus himself—the Son of God—weeping at the mouth of his friend’s grave, reminds me that the Lord is no stranger to the losses we suffer, or to the ache with which we suffer them.  He knows.  And his response is twofold: he does not hide his own grief (nor tell us that ours is misplaced); yet in the throes of grief (his own, and ours), he insists that the stone be rolled away, and his four-day dead friend step into the light.  He understands our sadness so well, and yet he will not allow it to be the final word.  Still drying his own eyes, he bids his friend “Come out.”  And Lazarus does just that.

Perhaps during this last full week of Lent, we might take time to remember those we have loved and been parted from (much as we would on All Souls Day), and entrust them to the gentle but commanding arms of the one who is Life itself, trusting that with God, there are no lasting good-byes.

May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us.  God love you!  

This Fourth Sunday in our Lenten pilgrimage has for centuries been nicknamed “Laetare Sunday,” from the Latin word for “Rejoice!” This is one of only two Sundays in the year you’ll see the celebrant dressed in a rose-colored vestment.  Many of us would think of rejoicing as out of step with the solemn, penitential mood of Lent.  Just past the midpoint in the season, the Church wants us to remember that celebrating the wonder of Christ’s Easter victory is not far off.  Not that we should set aside the prayerful resolutions of Ash Wednesday yet, but the time for singing our joyful “Alleluias!” is as certain to come as the warming weather. 

The remaining weeks of Lent offer us daily opportunities to allow the Spirit of God to continue his mysterious work in our hearts.  As much as on Ash Wednesday, the remainder of the season encourages us to persevere in the disciplines of personal and communal prayer, in acts of sacrifice and fasting, and in charity to the poor.  Mass is of course offered Monday through Friday at 9:00 AM, and on Wednesdays at 12 noon as well.  We’ll continue to walk the Via Dolorosa—the Stations of the Cross—each Friday at 12 noon. 

But on the last Friday before Holy Week, March 27^th, all are invited to a beautiful choral presentation of the Stations by our Music Ministry at 7 PM.  This is one of the most moving prayer experiences we offer in the course of the year, with our choir, soloists, instrumentalists and lectors guiding us through the traditional 14 moments in the Lord’s journey to Golgotha.  Please mark your calendar and let the Lord touch your heart!

St. Patrick and St. Joseph, pray for us!

Catholics and non-Catholics alike are well aware that Tuesday, March 17^th is the feast of the 5^th century apostle to the Irish people, the ever-popular St. Patrick.  But on Thursday,  March 19^th, the Church will briefly set aside the penitential purple of Lent to honor St. Joseph, the husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  Perhaps because Joseph is my middle name, I have a particular fondness for this strong, courageous, and loving man, who doesn’t utter a word in any of the Gospels, but whom we look to as an extraordinary model of fidelity, compassion, and unswerving trust in God.  If your schedule allows, try to join fellow parishioners in honoring this great saint and Patron of the Universal Church at the 9:00 Mass that morning.  Refreshments will follow in the Bethany Center.

I think we do well in the midst of our Lenten pilgrimage to reflect on the amazing ways God often chooses very ordinary people (like Joseph of Nazareth) to accomplish his purpose in the world.  When you think about it, most of us live rather “ordinary” lives, but through us, God can work wonders. 

May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

Just a few days ago I was chatting with a parishioner after Mass, and remarked how at least one of my Lenten resolutions has gone right out the window.  I won’t be too specific; let’s just say that in addition to giving up this or that for Lent, and attempting to add to my daily prayer, I was also determined back on Ash Wednesday that at least for these forty penitential days, I was going to stop speaking critically about a certain family member.  (Just reading that, you’re probably horrified that I can have a critical streak—sorry to burst any bubbles!)  In any case, I had deliberately singled out a member of my family about whom I can sometimes be unkind, and had resolved to keep my mouth shut.  At least for Lent.

And I haven’t. 

In fact, right up to my composing this column, I don’t think I’ve made any great progress at all!  It can be a very humbling—humiliating?—thing to realize how wobbly even our best intentions can be, how fickle our spiritual constitution, how intractable our sinfulness.  The ashes we wore back on February 18^th were symbolic (among other things) of our sinfulness—of that darkened part of myself that resists the Lord’s overtures and would rather not repent.  The ashes came off with just a little soap and water, but my/our proclivity to sin and selfishness can be much more stubborn.  I’m amazed that my Lenten resolution, so clearly formed in my own head 2 ½ weeks ago, hasn’t stuck any more than the ashes did.  (Sigh)

But Lent isn’t over yet.  We’re not even halfway through the season.  The parishioner I was speaking to last Sunday and I both smiled at the realization that one can always make a fresh start, begin again.  Who’s to say that I can’t think of TODAY as Ash Wednesday, and a perfect opportunity to adhere to my Lenten commitment with newfound determination? Perhaps the key is remembering that it isn’t Brian who’s ultimately in charge of this forty day regimen; God desires to be the Lord and Master of my life, guiding my speech, my actions, my thoughts, my impulses, my decisions, my everything.  If I haven’t met great success so far in “what I’m doing for Lent,” perhaps it’s because I’ve forgotten that all of my grand plans need to be surrendered into the care of God . . . who alone can make them fruitful.

If you’re at all like me, and looking for a “do over,” take it.  In the spiritual life we are fortunate to get more than just one “mulligan.” God is inviting us to be re-created with each new morning, and I plan to take him up on that daily invitation to make a fresh start.

May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you. 

PS – Please come to church at 3:30 Sunday afternoon to “enter the journey” with Creative Ministries.  We welcome them back to St. Lawrence to present “Journey, Cross, and Crucifixion,” their live rendition of the Stations of the Cross.  It’s beautifully done; it’s moving; it’s perfect for Lent—especially if you need to recapture the good intentions of Ash Wednesday. 

“OCIA”

If you’re saying to yourself, “I have no idea what those letters stand for,” don’t be too hard on yourself!  That acronym is short for the Order of Christian Initiation of Adults, which for many years was known as “RCIA” – the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults.  Names change, for reasons I won’t belabor here, but what the letters stand for is very much the same:  OCIA (like RCIA before it) is the process by which adults, teens, and older children are welcomed into the Catholic Church.  Some coming to this experience were raised in a non-Christian religion (like Judaism); others have no religious affiliation at all; and still others are already baptized, but in a different Christian denomination.  All move through a rich experience of prayer, study, and personal sharing, which is intended to ready them to receive the Church’s sacraments at the Easter Vigil. 

Introducing Jason Barry

Last weekend, as the “Blizzard of 2026” was bearing down on us, I received an email from the Diocese saying that the Rite of Election was being canceled, but the ceremony should take place in the parish instead.  (Allow me to explain!).  The OCIA is punctuated by a number of rites, or ceremonies, that carry someone preparing to become Catholic along the path to Easter.  (Think of the steps a boy scout or girl scout moves through on the way to becoming an Eagle Scout or Gold Scout, respectively.)  The Rite of Election always takes place on the First Sunday of Lent, and is normally celebrated by one of our bishops with literally hundreds of men, women, and older children who are seeking to become Catholic.  This ritual celebrates the progress they’ve made so far, and formally admits them to “the Elect”—those accepted as candidates for the Easter sacraments. The forecast prompted the cancellation of this gathering at St. Anne’s Church in Brentwood, and threw it (happily) to us here at St. Lawrence.

We have one young man—Jason Barry, who turns 14 in a few months—who has been preparing for Baptism, Confirmation, and the Holy Eucharist for many months under the guidance of Mrs. Paula Mancuso, one of our parishioners. 

So . . . a happy consequence of the snowstorm was that at the 9:00 Mass last Sunday, I had the privilege of “playing Bishop” and formally welcoming Jason into this last period of preparation before Easter.  He is now numbered among “the Elect,” and it’s our responsibility as a parish family to encourage him and keep him in our prayers as he anticipates that life-changing moment of his initiation as a Catholic.  Please also keep his parents, godparent, and Paula, his catechist, in your prayers this Lent.  Congratulations, Jason!

Welcome Back, Creative Ministries

Hopefully you’ve been hearing that next Sunday, March 8^th, we welcome Creative Ministries back to St. Lawrence at 3:30 PM to present “Journey, Cross, and Crucifixion.”  As their website says, “Step back in time and walk alongside Christ in . . . a powerful live reenactment of the Stations of the Cross that brings the Passion story vividly to life. This immersive experience combines heartfelt music, soul-stirring singing, and graceful liturgical dance to guide you on a journey that transcends time.”

Spread the word!  I hope you can be there.  May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

This past Wednesday we stepped over the threshold into another Lenten season.  I hope you had the opportunity to come to church for one of the liturgies that day, and to receive the gritty black smudge of ashes that reminds us of both our mortality and our sinfulness—both of which the Risen Christ will remedy if we give him our hearts. 

Like you, I’ve been asking myself “what should I do for Lent this year?”  It’s a worthwhile question, and hopefully our answers go deeper than doing without ice cream or a favorite show on Netflix!  God thirsts for our love, for all that we are and all we’re becoming.  To surrender more of ourselves into his hands, the Church calls us to prayer, self-denial, and acts of charity.  Below you’ll find a short list of possibilities—just a few options to which you might commit yourself with the hope of turning from sin and growing in friendship with Christ.  The Lord does the heavy lifting, but our cooperation is key.  Whatever you choose to do—or to refrain from doing—let it be with your whole heart, and a deep sense of trust that the Father loves you abundantly!

May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

My Lenten Prayer Commitment

During this sacred season of repentance and renewal, I hope to do the following: (Reflect on the suggestions below, and check however many you choose. Keep this in a place where it can serve as a frequent reminder of your commitment.)

• Come to Mass every weekend.
• Come to at least one weekday Mass each week (perhaps the 12 noon on Wednesdays)
• Spend a set amount of time in private prayer each day.
• Read the Daily Reflections booklet distributed in church
• Read the Scriptures in preparation for Sunday’s Mass
• Make a quiet visit to church during the week
• Celebrate the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Confession).
• Pray the Rosary (or a decade of the Rosary).
• Pray grace before meals.
• Attend the The Search video series (four Saturdays at 10 AM).
• Attend the Stations of the Cross (Fridays at 12 noon).
• Give an offering to the poor.
• Fill a CRS Rice Bowl.
• Limit screen time, social media, or television.
• Reach out to someone who is lonely, grieving, etc.
• Other ____________________________

Surprise!  Ash Wednesday is this coming week.  Whether it falls early on the calendar (sometimes it even coincides with Valentine’s Day) or late, the solemn beginning of Lent often seems to creep up on me.  Back in January, I looked to February 18^th with the comfortable reassurance that we still had plenty of time to get set.  But now it’s almost here!  On Wednesday we begin the most penitential time of the Church year, begging our merciful God to wash over us with his forgiveness, and fortify us in a spirit of prayer, charity and self-denial. Lent can be an amazingly transformative season—if it’s approached in the right spirit, and not as a drudgery or a mere obligation. 

Since the time I was in high school and then the college seminary, I’ve always felt drawn to Lent.  I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite liturgical season, but I do value the opportunity it brings to “get serious” about living the Christian life.  By its nature, Lent isn’t intended to be an “easy time.”  If one approaches the season in the proper way, it’s meant to be challenging, even strenuous.  Not because giving up ice cream or a favorite show on Netflix is beyond our capability, but because Lent is designed to urge us toward real introspection, to purify our hearts, to point us in the direction of sacramental Reconciliation, and to help rearrange the interior landscape of our lives.  That’s not easy stuff, and again, if Lent is approached in the right way, it should be challenging, even uncomfortable.  You may not be in the mood for “uncomfortable” right now, but here it comes, nonetheless!

As with the days leading up to Advent, I invite you to take some time before coming to church on Ash Wednesday to ask the Spirit’s guidance . . . how can you best approach Lent at this particular time in your life?  What might your heart be most hungry for?  What habits, attitudes, or ways of relating do you most need to jettison in order to resemble Jesus more?  How do you need to repent?  A little bit of forethought can be a very profitable thing: ask the Lord in prayer to take your hand and show you how to let this Lent be the most enriching you’ve had yet.

Next weekend we’ll be giving away copies of  an excellent booklet of Daily Reflections for Lent—brief meditations to offer food for thought throughout the coming season.  Today’s bulletin includes many of the spiritual practices we’ll engage in as the weeks go by, including an additional Mass at 12 noon on Wednesdays, and the Stations of the Cross each Friday, also at noon (note the time change).  You can also do the more high-tech thing and sign on for any number of daily online programs, whether it’s through Hallow, Dynamic Catholic, Word on Fire, or FORMED.  Regardless of what resource(s) you settle on, please take the time to ready yourself for this sacred season.  Too often I’ve arrived at Ash Wednesday night, only to realize I haven’t really thought about how I’d like to approach the next 39 days!  Take the time think it through—and find this Lent your most inspiring yet.

May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

Hmm . . . which are you more likely to have on your mind today—the matchup for Superbowl LX, or the 2026 Catholic Ministries Appeal?  I’m going to guess that for most, it’s the Superbowl that has our attention this weekend, and even though I’m not a rabid fan, I get it.

That being said, if the USPS is on time you should just be receiving a letter from me, announcing the kickoff (pun intended!) of the Catholic Ministries Appeal for this new year.  If it feels like the 2025 Appeal just wrapped up,  and that we’re heading into the next round with barely a pause, you’re right.  But remember that the people served by the CMA are always in need of our help, regardless of what month it happens to be.  We could wait till sometime later in the year to begin, but that would be of no benefit to those who depend on our generosity.  So many programs supported by the Catholic Ministries Appeal provide services that our parish could never provide on its own.  By pooling our resources with the other 132 parishes in our Diocese, we can impact the lives of literally hundreds of thousands of people across Long Island, through programs that teach, heal, counsel, house, and feed. 

Apart from the material you’ll be receiving at home, you’ll find more information about this year’s Appeal on posters around the church and in donation brochures right by the doors.  And our website already features quick links to make a pledge, as well as a very good 8-minute video that helps connect real faces and stories to the programs we’re supporting.

I give to the CMA every year—not just because I’m a priest of the Diocese, or the pastor here at St. Lawrence, but because I’m convinced the Appeal is vitally important to the Church’s mission on Long Island.  So with less than two weeks remaining before we move into Lent, I wanted to dedicate this column to asking you to participate.  Every pledge made to the 2026 CMA is valued, and will help us reach our goal of $90,000 (the same amount as last year).   And to repeat what we announced last weekend, we can be justifiably proud for having reached almost 103% of last year’s goal—a response that triggered a rebate of $19,950 for our use right here at St. Lawrence! 

Imagine how many lives we can impact if we all step up—even in a modest way—to this challenge.  With Lent around the corner, and its age-old call to works of charity, I ask you to prayerfully consider being a part of our parish’s effort by supporting the CMA in proportion to how the Lord has blessed your life.  It's this very notion that goes to the heart of Christian stewardship:  if God has filled my life with blessings, I have an obligation to return a choice portion of that gift to him—and to the least of my sisters and brothers in particular.  Thank you for the many, many ways you already give of yourself—in ways that may have little to do with money, and are likely known only to God.  May God continue to shower your home, your family, your work, and your life with his goodness.  Thank you for all the generosity that’s so evident in our community!

May our brother and patron, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.

NOTE:  To make a donation to the 2026 CMA, simply go to www.catholicministriesappeal.org  or call (516) 678-5800 x 296.

Last weekend’s weather certainly made for an unusual experience here at the parish!  For days beforehand the impending snow seemed to be the only thing people were thinking or talking about, so it came as no surprise that the 5:00 PM Mass on Saturday—before any of the “fun” began—was  packed.  Parishioners who habitually attend one of our Sunday Masses opted to go to “the 5,” anticipating that Sunday’s snow wouldn’t allow them to get out safely.  And I could only appreciate that kind of forethought on the part of those who didn’t want to miss Mass if they could help it.

Sunday was an unusual day for us all—but in a unique way for me as a priest.  I knew the numbers in church would be far less than typical, and they were (the 11:00 Mass was attended by 22 people, instead of the usual crowd of well over 200).  I celebrated all three Masses, since I couldn’t ask one of our visiting priests to brave the weather and the roads.  Each liturgy had a kind of quiet calm about it.  We were without music, so I did my best to lead the small congregations in just one hymn, a capella.  In some ways, they resembled the kind of simple, “unadorned” Masses we have on a weekday.  But I have to admit I enjoyed the change of pace.  Sometimes we need to approach familiar things in an unfamiliar way, so as to appreciate them more deeply.

At the same time, I need to give a “shout out” to the ministers who appeared even as the snow was ramping up—each Mass had a lector, an Extraordinary Minister to help distribute Communion, and ushers to take care of the (modest) collection.  We even had an altar server (thanks, Elena!) at 9:00.  I don’t mention these intrepid folks to make any-one feel guilty about not being in church—in fact, I had been trying to get the word out that there was no obligation to come in person if leaving the house or traveling to St. Lawrence would be in any way hazardous.  Still, I have to express my thanks to those who did manage to come out—safely, I hope!—and especially to those who stepped up so willingly to minister.  On such a terribly cold weekend, I went back to the rectory after the last Mass feeling warm with serenity and gratitude.

A Gift of Healing

On a rather different note, I want to point out that this weekend we’re offering a general Blessing of Throats, in connection with next Tuesday’s feast of the 4^th century Armenian bishop and martyr, St. Blaise.  Most of us are familiar with the sacred legend according to which Blaise cured a child who was choking on a fish bone, and for centuries his intercession has been invoked for deliverance from diseases of the throat.  With so many people experiencing some form of illness as we move through cold and flu season, we didn’t want to restrict the traditional blessing of throats to February 3^rd.  As Fr. Jude and I pronounce those brief but powerful words this weekend, try to bear in mind how deeply the Lord desires that each of us experience health of body, mind, and spirit.  May the prayerful intercession of St. Blaise remind us that we are dearly loved, and that our God has particular compassion for those suffering with any kind of illness or disability. 

May our patron and brother, St. Lawrence, pray for us!  God love you.