In this Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus tells the parable of two sons who are asked by their father to go and work in his vineyard. One son initially says, “No,” but later changes his mind and goes. The other quickly says, “Yes,” but never actually goes to work. Jesus uses this simple story to ask us an important question: Is our faith merely something we profess with our lips, or is it something we live through our actions? That question has particular meaning as we celebrate the World Day of Migrants and Refugees this Sunday and prepare to begin Respect Life Month in October.
A few years ago, I heard the expression “Catholic-lite” used to describe a well known politician who publicly identifies as Catholic but accepts only those teachings of the Church that happen to fit their political beliefs. It is an interesting expression. We usually associate “lite” with food or beer that contain less of something. But there is no such thing as a “lite” version of Catholicism. Being Catholic is not a buffet where we select the teachings we like and leave the rest behind. We do not get to choose which parts of the Gospel are convenient and which are not. When we say “yes” to Christ, we are saying yes to the whole Gospel and to the fullness of truth He has entrusted to His Church. And one of the most fundamental truths of our Catholic faith is this: every human life has God-given dignity and is worthy of our protection and care.
That is why for this year’s World Day of Migrants and Refugees Pope Leo XIV has chosen the theme “Even Just One of These Children,” taken from Jesus’ words: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” The Holy Father is drawing particular attention to children who are migrants and refugees—children who may have been separated from their families, exposed to violence, exploited, or forced to flee their homes. The message is beautifully simple: even one child matters. In the eyes of God, human beings are never merely numbers, statistics, categories, or problems. Every person has a dignity that comes from being created in the image and likeness of God. That dignity does not depend upon where someone was born, how much money they have, whether they are young or old, healthy or sick, born or unborn, a citizen or a refugee. Every human life matters because every human life belongs to God. This is at the heart of what it means to be Catholic.
As we begin October, Respect Life Month, we are reminded that the Catholic commitment to life must be consistent and comprehensive. We defend the child in the womb because that child is a human person. We care for the mother facing pregnancy because she, too, is a human person in need of love and support. We stand with the elderly, the sick, the disabled, the poor, the lonely, and those approaching the end of life. We see the face of Christ in the migrant and refugee. The Church's defense of life is therefore not a political slogan. It is a consequence of our faith in Jesus Christ. We are pro-life because to follow Christ is to recognize and defend the God-given dignity of every human person.
This brings us back to the two sons in today's Gospel. One said “yes” but never went. The other initially said “no,” but eventually changed his heart and did what his father asked. Perhaps the question for each of us is not simply, “Do I call myself Catholic?” The deeper question is: Does my life show that I am Catholic? Do my words and actions reflect the Gospel? Do I recognize Christ in the vulnerable? Am I willing to defend human dignity even when it is inconvenient? Do I welcome the stranger, care for the suffering, protect the unborn, accompany the elderly, and support families in need?
There is no “Catholic-lite” version of the Gospel. Jesus invites us into the fullness of His truth—and into the work of His vineyard.
This year gives us much to celebrate. Across the United States, people of every faith—and people of no faith—are reflecting on the 250th anniversary of the birth of our nation. Here at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs, we mark another important milestone: 60 years since the founding of our parish in 1966.
For six decades, Our Lady Queen of Martyrs has been a place where generations of families have gathered freely to worship God, celebrate the sacraments, educate their children, care for those in need, and live their Catholic faith in community.
Our 60th anniversary gives us an opportunity to give thanks for the generations who have gone before us, for the many blessings we have received, and for the faith that continues to unite us. It is also an opportunity to look forward with hope to the future God has entrusted to us.
A Parish Celebration
We invite you to come together as a parish family on Saturday evening, November 7, for a special celebration in the Parish Community Room. This gathering will commemorate both 250 years of American freedom and 60 years of Our Lady Queen of Martyrs. We hope you will join us for an evening of good food, fellowship, faith, and gratitude. More information and ticket details will follow.
A Garden and a Saint for Our Grounds
To help mark these anniversaries, two beautiful additions have been made to our parish grounds: a new garden and a statue of St. Frances Xavier Cabrini, Mother Cabrini.
We are especially grateful that these projects have been made possible through the generosity of parishioners and friends. No parish operating funds are being used for these projects.
The garden and brick memorial are a generous donation of labor and resources by Michael DeMartino, given in memory of his parents, Steve & Patricia.
The statue of Mother Cabrini has been donated by Margaret Stolworthy, in memory of the Honorable A. Kathleen Tomlinson, who was a strong advocate for the rights and dignity of immigrants.
These are more than gifts that beautify our grounds. They are visible reminders of faith, sacrifice, service, immigration, human dignity, and freedom.
The garden will provide a place of beauty, prayer, and reflection for our parish community. Through the brick memorial, parishioners will have the opportunity to honor and remember loved ones by dedicating a brick in their memory. These personal tributes will become a lasting part of our parish grounds—a place where generations can pause, pray, and remember those who have touched our lives.
The statue of Mother Cabrini will offer a daily reminder of a woman who understood that faith must be lived through service to others. Her life of courage, compassion, and service continues to speak to us today.
Mass and Blessing of the Statue
Before our November celebration, we will gather for a special Mass on Saturday, October 17, at 9:00 a.m. to remember the Honorable A. Kathleen Tomlinson and to bless the statue of Mother Cabrini. We are especially pleased that Fr. Collins has been invited to return to Our Lady Queen of Martyrs to celebrate the Mass. We hope many parishioners will join us for this special occasion as we give thanks for the life and legacy of Kathleen Tomlinson and formally welcome Mother Cabrini to our parish grounds.
Freedom is a precious gift—and a responsibility.
We recently marked the 25th anniversary of September 11, 2001, remembering with gratitude and prayer the nearly 3,000 lives lost and the countless first responders, military personnel, and ordinary citizens who showed extraordinary courage and selflessness. Such moments in our nation's history remind us that freedom often comes at a cost. They also remind us of our responsibility to stand together, care for one another, and never take our blessings for granted.
As Christians, we understand freedom in an even deeper way. The freedom Christ offers us is more than political freedom. It is freedom from the slavery of sin—and freedom for something greater: the freedom to love God, to love our neighbor, and to serve others.
That is the freedom we hope to celebrate as a parish this year.
For 250 years, Americans have been called to protect and preserve the freedoms we have been given. For 60 years, Our Lady Queen of Martyrs has sought to use that freedom to build a community rooted in faith, service, and love.
As we celebrate these two important anniversaries, may we give thanks for those who came before us, appreciate the blessings we enjoy today, and commit ourselves to passing on a legacy of faith and service to those who will come after us.
Please Save the Dates
Saturday, October 17 — 9:00 a.m.
Mass and blessing of the Mother Cabrini statue.
Saturday, November 7 — Evening Parish Celebration.
This Labor Day weekend, we give thanks for the dignity of work and for all who labor to provide for their families, strengthen our communities, and build a better world. The Church reminds us that work is more than earning a living; it is a participation in God's creative work and a way of serving others. Yet even the most meaningful work can become a heavy burden. God's love lightens every load. His mercy restores our peace, renews our purpose, and reminds us that our deepest identity is not found in what we do, but in who we are—beloved sons and daughters of God.
Today's Gospel reminds us that the heart of the Christian life is reconciliation. Through His mercy, God makes us His friends and members of His family. He frees us from the burdens of guilt, resentment, and shame, and opens before us a future filled with hope.
There is a story told about President Abraham Lincoln. After the Civil War, he was asked how he intended to treat the rebellious Southern states once the conflict had ended. The questioner expected to hear words of punishment or revenge. Instead, Lincoln replied, "I will treat them as if they had never been away."
Whether or not those are his exact words, they capture the very spirit of forgiveness. Mercy refuses to let the past have the final word. It chooses reconciliation over retaliation and hope over resentment.
Sadly, many people imagine that God is constantly keeping score, recording every failure and holding every sin against us. Nothing could be further from the truth. God's mercy does not chain us to yesterday. His forgiveness opens the door to tomorrow. As beloved sons and daughters of our heavenly Father, we are invited to live with confidence, trusting that His grace is always greater than our failures.
Every time we come to church, Christ invites us to leave behind whatever weighs us down. I love the story of a church custodian who arrived early one Monday morning to clean the church. Instead of finding the usual forgotten umbrellas, eyeglasses, and bulletins covered with children's drawings, he discovered something very different.
In one pew lay a discouraged man's anger toward God. In another sat a woman's fear about an uncertain future. Farther down rested a father's feelings of failure. Across the aisle was a young couple's lukewarm faith. In the front pew an elderly man's fear of death waited silently. In a quiet corner, almost too small to notice, were the sins of a young person. Elsewhere he found jealousy, bitterness, pride, doubt, resentment, anxiety, and despair.
The custodian wasn't quite sure what to do. Finally, he swept them all together—the hurts, the fears, the failures, and the sins—and carried them away. Because Christ has forgiven us, we no longer have to carry everything ourselves. We can leave our guilt at the foot of the Cross. We can surrender our fears, disappointments, regrets, and failures. We are not prisoners of our past. We are children of God—completely forgiven, deeply loved, and always offered a new beginning.
As you leave church this weekend, ask yourself one simple question:
What am I leaving behind today?
Independence Day and
Our Dependence on God
“Do they have a Fourth of July in Ireland?” someone once asked. The answer, of course, is yes—they have a Fourth of July every year! But for most of the world, it is simply another day on the calendar. For Americans, however, the Fourth of July marks the birth of our nation and commemorates the signing of the Declaration of Independence on a summer day in Philadelphia in 1776.
Among its most memorable words are these:
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."
These are powerful words—words that not only launched a nation but also helped define its identity and mission. They continue to remind us that our rights come not from government, but from God, our Creator.
When we look around the world, we see many places where people do not enjoy these blessings. Instead of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, countless men, women, and children endure war, oppression, persecution, hunger, sickness, and suffering. The freedoms we enjoy today were secured through the courage, sacrifice, and vision of those who dreamed of a nation “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” Each generation has been called to preserve and strengthen that vision, striving to build a society marked by liberty and justice for all.
As our nation prepares to celebrate its 250th anniversary in 2026, we recognize that the American experiment continues. Despite the challenges and divisions of our own time, we remain grateful for the blessings we have received and hopeful for the future we are building together.
As Catholics, we are especially grateful for the gift of religious liberty. We are thankful that we can gather openly for worship, proclaim the Gospel freely, and live our faith without fear. We proudly sing “God Bless America.” We honor our nation with the American flag displayed throughout our parish grounds and on the caskets of those who faithfully served our country. Religious liberty allows us to practice, share, and hand on our Catholic faith.
At the same time, we recognize that we share this nation with people of many different beliefs and perspectives. Some understand liberty primarily as freedom from religion, while we understand true freedom as the freedom to seek and do the will of God. While society often celebrates the freedom to do whatever one desires, the Christian understands freedom as the ability to choose what is good, true, and holy.
For Catholics, freedom is ultimately found not in a place, a document, or a political system, but in a Person—Jesus Christ. He is the One who guides us, strengthens us, nourishes us, and sustains us. In Him we discover the deepest meaning of freedom.
As we celebrate Independence Day, may we also acknowledge our dependence on God. In times of struggle and disappointment, where do we turn? In moments of success and joy, whom do we thank? God alone is the source of every blessing and the foundation of lasting peace, prosperity, and the common good.
May the Lord deepen our appreciation for the gift of liberty. May He inspire in us the virtues that have helped make this nation great: faith, courage, justice, generosity, and respect for the dignity of every human person.
And may God continue to bless the United States of America.
One of the prevailing moods of our time is the fear that, somehow or other, things are falling apart in our world. We live, of course, in a time of unprecedented change. So much has changed in such a short span of time, and change is never easy to cope with. We think of the words of W.B. Yeats: “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold…” There is a sense that the old world is crumbling, and no one is quite sure what will emerge in its place. At times we get the feeling that no one is in charge anymore, that confusion and disorder prevail.
And so it is important to keep things in perspective. The answer to the question, “Who is in charge of the world?” is the same today as it has always been: God is in charge of the world.
Yet people ask, “If God is in charge, why are all these terrible things happening?” And the list seems endless: violence in our streets, economic uncertainty, the loss of civility and courtesy, the rise of hatred, anger and division.
The simple answer is that these terrible things are happening not because God wills them, but because God has given human beings the freedom to choose. And when people make wrong choices, terrible things follow.
We have the capacity to bring untold hardship and misery upon one another. Yet we believe that God remains the ultimate authority over our world, and that the evil born of wrong, selfish, and immoral decisions will never triumph over the good, the right, and the true that God represents.
That is a great consolation.
It is a consolation on a global scale to know that evil will never ultimately triumph over good. It is a consolation within communities to know that the forces of division, conflict, and hatred will never finally overcome those who work for unity and peace. It is a consolation to know that your sins and mine will not have the final word, because God continually calls forth goodness within us to overcome our failures and limitations. And above all, it is a consolation to know that the God of love, mercy, and peace still holds this world, this community, and each one of our lives in the cradle of His hands.
Things go wrong in the world, and in our own lives, because of the choices we make—when we turn away from peace and friendship toward conflict and resentment; when we use our freedom not to choose what is good and true, but what is selfish, harmful, and false.
The God we believe in is a God of authority—a God who spoke in the person of Jesus Christ, and who still speaks to us century after century, year after year, need after need, through the Church He founded. God still speaks to the world, to this community, and to each one of us. He is a God of authority, yes—but also a God who calls us not to fear, but to trust.
And what our world becomes, what this community becomes, what you and I become, depends upon whether we hear the voice of God calling to us—and how we choose to respond
What do you think is the most enduring image of Heaven in the Bible? It is not golden streets or pearly gates. It is not harps or endless singing. Again and again, Sacred Scripture presents Heaven as a feast — a family gathered around the table of the Lord.
That does not mean that when we enter Heaven we will spend eternity eating. Rather, the image of the banquet reveals something far deeper: Heaven is the joy of perfect communion. God desires that we be united with Him and with one another, both here on earth and forever in Heaven.
We are a Eucharistic people, and the Mass is at the heart of everything we do. Our purpose in gathering at the Lord’s table is not simply to satisfy physical hunger, but to deepen our union with Christ and with one another.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in them.” In the Holy Eucharist, God gives us even now a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. He gives us the Bread of Life, the Supper of the Lamb, so that we may celebrate our shared faith, our shared love, and return again and again to the very source of that love.
Today’s celebration of the Body and Blood of Christ — Corpus Christi — gives us a special opportunity to thank God for the incomparable gift of the Eucharist. In fact, the word Eucharist itself means “thanksgiving.” We give thanks not only for our daily bread, for peace, and for the many blessings God provides, but above all because we are in communion with Him. We thank Him for the forgiveness of sins, for the gift of faith, for the assurance of His love, for the mission and purpose He gives our lives, and for the promise of eternal life that begins even now.
What a blessing. What a privilege — to receive Jesus Himself so that He may dwell within us. The Eucharist is the family feast of the Church, with Christ Himself as both Host and Guest. What could be more important than that? We are not simply feeding ourselves; we are nourishing our souls and strengthening the bonds that unite us as the Body of Christ.
So today, let us thank God for His invitation to gather once more around His altar and share in His feast of love. May our devotion to the Blessed Sacrament deepen our faith, strengthen our charity, and keep our hearts fixed on the day when we will share fully in the eternal banquet of Heaven.
Prayer for Corpus Christi
Lord Jesus Christ,
in the wonderful Sacrament of the Eucharist
You have left us the memorial of
Your Passion, Death, and Resurrection.
Nourish us with the Bread of Heaven
and strengthen us in faith, hope, and love.
May we always recognize You
in the breaking of the bread,
adore You with reverence
in the Blessed Sacrament,
and carry Your presence into the world
through lives of charity and holiness.
Keep us united as one family at Your altar
until the day we share
in the everlasting banquet of Heaven,
where You live and reign forever and ever. Amen.
I am delighted to announce that the Bishop has appointed Fr. Michael Lombardi as Associate Pastor of St. Philip Neri, Northport, and Our Lady Queen of Martyrs, Centerport. Fr. Michael is currently serving at our neighboring parish of St. Patrick in Huntington. He will reside at the rectory of St. Philip Neri while sharing in the pastoral and sacramental life of both parish communities. This arrangement will help ensure a visible and active priestly presence in both Northport and Centerport. We are deeply grateful to Fr. Michael for his generosity in accepting this appointment, and we look forward to warmly welcoming him into our parish family.
The diocesan transition of priests takes place each year on the last Wednesday of June. Accordingly, on June 24th, Fr. Collins will begin his new assignment at St. Anthony of Padua in Rocky Point. We offer heartfelt thanks for his faithful service to our parishes over the past six years. Through his priestly ministry, many have been strengthened in faith, comforted in times of sorrow, and nourished through the sacraments. We assure him of our prayers and gratitude as he begins this new chapter, confident that the people of St. Anthony’s will warmly welcome him into their parish family.
Fr. Collins will celebrate a Farewell Mass at St. Philip Neri on Sunday, June 7th at 11:30 AM, and at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs on Sunday, June 14th at 12:00 PM. I am especially grateful to our parish staff and volunteers who are generously coordinating refreshments following these Masses and helping us celebrate Fr. Collins with gratitude and affection.
Our summer assistant, Fr. Michael Afoakwah, will return to assist us from June 1 through August 31. His ministry will be shared among four parishes—Northport, Centerport, East Northport, and Greenlawn. By sharing Fr. Michael’s expenses among the four communities, we are able to continue our mission in a financially responsible and sustainable way while ensuring ongoing pastoral care throughout the summer months. We are grateful for his assistance and look forward to welcoming him back once again.
A gentle reminder that during the summer months of July and August, we will make a necessary adjustment to our weekend Mass schedule, reducing the number of Masses from eight to six. This temporary change will allow our priests an opportunity for vacation and renewal while continuing to provide for the spiritual needs of our parishioners. The weekend Mass schedule for July and August will be as follows:
Saturday
5:00 PM – Northport
5:00 PM – Centerport
Sunday
7:30 AM – Northport
8:30 AM – Centerport
10:00 AM – Northport
11:30 AM – Centerport
The weekday schedule of Masses, funerals, and other liturgies will remain unchanged, and we will return to our full Sunday Mass schedule in September.
As we enter this season of transition, I ask for your continued prayers for all our priests and parish communities. May 26th is the Feast Day of St. Philip Neri. Known for his joyful spirit, humility, and deep love for God’s people, St. Philip reminds us that holiness is most beautifully lived through charity, joy, and faithful service. At Our Lady Queen of Martyrs, the parish feast day is observed each year on September 15th, coinciding with the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows. In Mary’s steadfast faith at the foot of the Cross, we find a model of hope, compassion, and trust in God even in times of transition and change.
May the intercession of St. Philip Neri and Our Lady Queen of Martyrs continue to guide and strengthen our parish communities. And may Almighty God—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—bless you and all those you love, now and always. Fr. Adrian
Oh, I sure am happy to see you,” the little boy said to his grandmother on his mother’s side. “Can you make the frog sound?”
Grandma asked, “Honey, why do you want me to do that?”
And the little boy replied, “Well, Dad said that when you croak, we’re in for a fortune!”
Humor aside, communication has always been a challenge. There is often a wide gap between what is said and what is actually heard. Yet, two thousand years ago, something extraordinary happened. The Holy Spirit descended upon the believers, and suddenly they were filled with a passion and ability to communicate the Gospel in a way the world had never seen.
People had gathered from every culture and region—every nation and province—speaking different languages, yet somehow understanding one another. Many voices, yet one message. Diversity, yet unity.
This was Pentecost: the moment when God ushered in a new age—the age of the Spirit—and the birth of the Church for all people. Humanity was changed. The disciples of Jesus were no longer confined by fear or limitation. Not only were they able to speak in different tongues, but they were willing to reach people they might never have approached before.
The power of the Holy Spirit was real and transformative. It surrounded them, spoke through them, and helped them understand God, one another, and their mission. It moved them from believing in forgiveness to offering forgiveness, from trusting in God’s protection to stepping out into the uncertain and dangerous streets of Jerusalem, from reflecting on Jesus’ words to boldly proclaiming them—healing, serving, and loving in His name.
There comes a moment in every life when belief becomes real—when faith moves from something we know in our minds to something we live with our hands and hearts. That moment is the work of the Holy Spirit. It is the Spirit alive within us, drawing us closer to God and to one another.
For the first disciples, that moment came with a rush of wind and tongues of fire. For many of us, it comes more quietly—through people God places in our lives, through moments of grace, through experiences that shape and guide us. That is the Church in action. In one way or another, the Holy Spirit has spoken to each of us in a language we can understand.
Pentecost marks the beginning of the Church—a movement rooted in hope, renewal, and transformation. And if the Church is to thrive today, we must rediscover something of that original fire and enthusiasm.
The same Spirit that animated the early Church continues to sustain it today. Our world, our nation, and our Church still hunger for the grace of Christ. As we move forward, may the Holy Spirit renew and strengthen us, guiding us in truth and mission.
As Jesus promised, “When the Spirit of truth comes, He will guide you into all truth.” That is our hope, and that is our assurance.
Come, Holy Spirit, renew the face of the earth.
“I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.”
On Thursday we celebrated the Feast of the Ascension. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to say goodbye? Many of us struggle to bring closure to a visit. Consider the story of Father Jones.
Father Jones, a young priest, went to visit some parishioners one afternoon. He chatted with them for a while and drank two cups of coffee. Then, gathering his resolve, he said, “Well, I think I’d better be going now.”
But the lady of the house replied, “Oh no, Father Jones, can’t you stay a little longer?”
Never one to be impolite, he answered, “Well, I suppose I could stay a little longer.”
So he stayed—and had eleven cups of coffee. As evening fell, he stood again. “Well now,” he began shyly, “I think I really…”
“Can’t you stay longer?” she asked kindly. “Why not join us for supper?”
Again, he relented. “Yes, I could stay.”
“Wonderful—my husband will be delighted!”
After supper, as he once more tried to excuse himself, the lady brought out the family photographs. By 8:30, he had examined seventy-one pictures. Rising again, he pleaded, “I really must go now.”
“It’s only half past eight,” she replied. “Do you have anything pressing to do?”
Honesty got the better of him: “No…”
So he stayed—more coffee, more photographs. Eventually, it grew too late to drive home, and he was invited to sleep on the couch.
In the days that followed, Father Jones never quite managed to leave. He remained in the drawing room, sustained by coffee and surrounded by photographs. Eventually, the lack of fresh air and exercise took its toll. He fell ill, and in a fevered delirium would sit up and cry, “Well, I think I…” before collapsing again. At other moments he would exclaim, “Another cup of coffee—and more photographs!”
After a month of agony, the end came. They say that in his final moments, he sat up in bed with a serene smile and said, “Well, the angels are calling me; I’m afraid I really must be going now. Goodbye!”
Father Jones reminds us, in a humorous way, just how difficult it can be to say goodbye.
That is exactly where we find the disciples at the Ascension. The One who had called them, taught them, and walked with them was now taking leave of them. What must they have felt as Jesus said goodbye? Only a short time before, He had said “Come, follow me.” Now He tells them He is returning to the Father.
Yet the Ascension is not simply an ending—it is a beginning. Jesus’ departure is not abandonment; it is an act of trust. He believes in His disciples. He knows they are ready for the next stage of their mission.
In truth, God’s “goodbye” is really a greater “hello.” At Pentecost, the disciples will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. No longer will God’s presence be limited to one place or one moment in history. Through the Spirit, God will dwell within His people—within us.
Now God works through our lives, giving us the strength to live our faith, the courage to share the Good News, and the grace to grow in love. We are not left behind; we are sent forth.
In the midst of our own challenges and uncertainties, we are invited to embrace this “great hello”—the gift of the Spirit, our Comforter and Encourager.
For we are the people of God, filled with the Spirit of Jesus, and called to bring His presence to a world in need.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers, grandmothers, godmothers, and all women who share in the beautiful vocation of nurturing life and love. Today we give thanks for you, we honor you, and we ask God to bless you for the countless quiet ways you reflect His care in our lives.
“Shhh…”
We spent most of our younger years hearing that sound — “Shhh…” in the classroom, “Shhh…” in the library, “Shhh…” on the playground or in the cafeteria — although that never quite made sense! At home, how many times a day does a parent say, “Shhh…”? For some, it can feel like too much: “Shush yourself… enough. I want the noise!”
But there is another kind of “shhh” — a quieter, gentler one — the kind we actually longed to hear as children. At the end of the day, a parent would tuck us in, pull the blanket close, lean in, and whisper, “Shhh… I’m right here if you need me.” It wasn’t to silence us because we were too loud, but to make sure we heard words of comfort. It was a moment of reassurance, of presence, of peace.
That is the kind of “shhh” moment Jesus shares with His disciples in today’s Gospel. In one of His final conversations, as told in the Gospel of John, He prepares them for His departure. He tells them He will not remain with them much longer, and their hearts are understandably troubled. The One they had depended on — the One who guided, protected, and strengthened them — would soon be gone. What would they do? How would they carry on?
Jesus knows their fears, their doubts, and their questions. And so He gently reassures them: “Shhh… the Father will send you another Advocate, a Counselor, a Comforter, who will remain with you always.”
“Shhh… I will not leave you orphans.”
“Shhh… I give you my peace — not as the world gives, but a deeper, lasting peace.”
“Now, be still. Listen. Trust.”
Jesus does not quiet them because they are being loud or disruptive. He quiets them so they can truly hear — so they can receive the promise of hope He is offering.
And that same gentle voice speaks to us today.
Amid the noise of our lives — the worries at home, the pressures at work or school, concerns about health or finances — we hear that same invitation:
Shhh… God has not abandoned you.
Shhh… You are not alone.
Shhh… The Holy Spirit is with you.
Today, as we honor mothers, we also recognize how often they are the ones who embody that reassuring presence — offering comfort, peace, and quiet strength, reflecting in a human way the very promise Jesus makes to us.
Whatever you may be facing now, or whatever lies ahead, hear those words again:
Shhh… God is near.
Shhh… God is faithful.
Jesus continues to call out to His people. He first called out over two thousand years ago, and that call has never ceased. In the beginning, His followers were drawn from the Jewish people, the chosen people through whom God made Himself known. His earliest companions were His closest friends, the Twelve. Yet, as His ministry unfolded, His invitation widened, and He spoke to thousands, drawing ever more people into His saving message.
Following the Resurrection, Jesus entrusted His mission to His disciples with the great command: “Go and make disciples of all nations.” In these words, His call extends to every person, in every time and place.
While Jesus came first for the people of Israel, His mission was always universal. He came for all. This is why the Church continues to invite families to bring their children for Baptism, to prepare young people for First Communion and Confirmation, and to celebrate the Sacrament of Marriage. These sacred moments mark important milestones in the life of faith.
At the same time, we must acknowledge a significant challenge: too often, these moments remain isolated events. We baptize infants whom we may not see again for many years. Families gather with great joy for First Holy Communion, yet regular participation in the life of the Church does not always follow. Young people complete the journey to Confirmation, but may not continue as active disciples. Couples exchange their vows before the altar, yet may not return except for life’s major occasions.
Faith, however, is not meant to be confined to moments of celebration. It is meant to be lived—daily, faithfully, and intentionally. The Christian life is not simply about receiving the sacraments, but about allowing those sacraments to shape the whole of our lives.
Yet questions remain for many. What of those who struggle to believe, who wrestle with doubt, or who find faith difficult to embrace?
The Gospel offers us a powerful response in the figure of Thomas. Faced with doubt, Thomas is not rejected but invited—invited to see, to touch, and ultimately to believe. In this encounter, we are reminded that God’s mercy is greater than our uncertainty. It is difficult to imagine a loving God turning away Thomas, just as it is difficult to imagine Him turning away any of our loved ones.
Jesus does not abandon us in our questions; rather, He meets us within them. He continues to call, to invite, and to transform.
Moreover, He entrusts His mission to us. “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do, and will do even greater ones than these, because I am going to the Father.” These words reveal the very heart of the Christian vocation: to continue the work of Christ in the world.
This is the essence of our faith—not simply to mark important moments, but to live as disciples, carrying His presence into our daily lives and witnessing to His love in all that we do.
These past few years have brought many changes to both Our Lady Queen of Martyrs and St. Philip Neri, especially the transition of clergy and the sad loss of Fr. Holz. Along the way, we have also faced the challenges of reduced financial resources and the broader difficulties experienced by our diocese during the bankruptcy resolution. These have not been easy years, yet they have been years marked by faithfulness and perseverance.
As we continue this journey together, it is important that we honestly face some of the realities impacting the Church today. Across the United States, Catholics have been living with a serious shortage of priests for many years. Only now is the Northeast encountering what has long been the experience of other regions.
In 1970, our diocese was served by 544 priests caring for approximately 900,000 Catholics. Today, we have 147 priests serving 1.5 million Catholics. Of those 147 priests, 93 are pastors and 38 are parochial vicars. Within five years, there will be no diocesan parochial vicars—only international priests assisting pastors.
Our clergy is also aging. Fifty-two percent of our active priests are 60 years of age or older, and 72 percent are over the age of 50. Only 13 percent are under 40. Within the next five years, 41 priests will become eligible for retirement. While we are blessed with 93 retired priests, only 43 are healthy and local enough to assist in ministry, and their average age is 80.
Only a few men are currently in seminary formation. After the ordinations this year, we expect no more than one ordination per year through 2031. Regarding permanent deacons, 130 are active and 135 are retired, with 15 men presently in formation.
Looking ahead to 2030, the diocese expects, even under optimistic projections, to have approximately 113 priests to staff 133 parishes. The actual number may fall below 100, and it is likely that more international priests than diocesan priests will be serving in our local communities.
Because of these realities, pastors are increasingly being entrusted with the care of multiple parishes. One priest in our diocese currently serves four parishes. Deaneries have already been reduced from 14 to 7, and Mass schedules and parish collaboration are being carefully reviewed throughout the diocese. These decisions are not about doing less, but about caring responsibly for both our people and our priests. If we ask 147 priests to do the work once done by 544, we risk exhausting them and losing them altogether.
Here in our own parishes, we have already experienced significant change, and I am deeply grateful for your understanding and flexibility. For the summer months of July and August, we must make another necessary adjustment to our Mass schedule, reducing our weekend Masses from eight to six.
The weekend Mass schedule for July and August will be as follows:
Saturday 5:00 PM – Northport
5:00 PM – Centerport
Sunday 7:30 AM – Northport
8:30 AM – Centerport
10:00 AM – Northport
11:30 AM – Centerport
This change to the schedule will allow our priests to plan some vacation time and we will return to the full Sunday Mass schedule in September. The weekday schedule of Masses, funerals, and other liturgies will not be affected.
Fr. Michael will be returning to assist us from June 1 through August 31. His ministry will be shared among four parishes—Northport, Centerport, East Northport, and Greenlawn. As bringing in extra priests places an additional financial burden on resources that are already stretched, sharing Fr. Michael’s expenses among four parishes helps us continue to shape our mission in a way that is financially sustainable.
Thank you for your attention to these matters. With confidence in the Lord’s care, and under the protection of Our Lady, let us continue to pray for vocations so that we may carry out the work the Lord has entrusted to us. May God continue bless you and all those you love. Fr. Adrian
Easter lasts much longer than Christmas—fifty days, in fact. The reason is that Jesus made many appearances to his followers and eventually ascended into heaven fifty days after the Resurrection.
Today we join two of Jesus’ followers as they walk along the road to Emmaus, returning home disappointed after all that had happened in Jerusalem. Jesus joins them on the road, but somehow they do not recognize him; they have no idea who he is.
This is one of those stories where Jesus shows up when people are at their lowest point. Cleopas and his companion were deeply discouraged. They had lost their beloved rabbi, and they had believed he would be the one to redeem all of Israel. Yet Jesus was there, walking right beside them.
Jesus is here as well, walking beside us, helping us make sense of things. Sometimes we know he is present, and at other times we are so confused or miserable that we have no idea Christ is with us.
For these two travelers, Jesus began to explain things. He showed them how the Scriptures had prophesied everything that would happen to the Messiah. Still, they did not recognize him.
Then something important happened. At a critical moment, they invited him to share a meal. And when they invited Jesus, he came. Jesus cannot resist a sincere invitation. If we invite him into our homes, he will come. If we invite him into our hearts, he will come.
At the meal they gave him the honor of breaking the bread, and it was at that moment that they recognized him. This is central to us as Catholics, for we recognize Christ in the breaking of the bread—the Eucharist. The power of the Eucharist is the Real Presence of Christ. Like the disciples, we say: “Come, Lord, stay with us a while.” Be known to us in the breaking of the bread! And Jesus, who cannot resist an invitation, comes to us.
May the Risen Jesus enter the hearts and homes of all who share in the Eucharist today. We thank the Risen Lord for making himself known to us in the breaking of the bread at every Mass.
And like those two disciples on the road to Emmaus, once we recognize him, we cannot keep the good news to ourselves. We must rise from this table, return to the world, and tell others: the Lord is truly risen, and he is still walking with us.
The disciple Thomas has often been portrayed in a negative light as “Thomas the Doubter.” But honestly, who among us in that situation would not have had the same questions? After all, a fair amount of critical thinking is healthy for our faith.
Some people frown upon questioning faith. Doubt is often portrayed as something negative. But aren’t doubts, when expressed sincerely, a way of reaching out to God? Look at the disciple Thomas. His honest questions and doubts about the resurrection of Jesus led him to discover a deeper revelation of Christ. It is from Thomas’s mouth that we hear, for the first time, a clear statement of the divinity of Jesus: “My Lord and my God!” Sincerely expressed doubt can lead to a deeper, more firmly rooted faith.
God wants us to be honest with ourselves. God is like a loving father who wants to sit us down on his lap and explain some things to us. We may not receive answers to all our questions, but the story of Thomas gives us hope that by expressing our struggles and doubts, we may gain a deeper revelation of God.
God certainly understands that we can be uncertain in our faith. Doubt is human. We all go through phases of doubt and uncertainty—times when we question what we believe about God, or even question God himself. Yet God is big enough to handle our questions. Doubt may even be a helpful and necessary element in our faith. Even in our liturgy we speak of the “mystery of faith.” Mystery leaves room for wonder, uncertainty, and even doubt within our relationship with God.
When Thomas doubted that Jesus had risen, and doubted that the other disciples had truly seen him, he was not mocking anyone’s faith. Thomas simply needed to see it for himself. He was longing for his own experience of God. There is nothing wrong with wanting to ask questions and seek answers from God personally. There comes a time when the lessons of our childhood in Catholic school or religious education are no longer enough. We must discover faith for ourselves. We must have our own encounter with God.
In many ways, the journey toward a personal faith often includes moments of doubt—times when we set aside what we have been told about God by parents or our faith community and wrestle with it ourselves.
Hopefully, as we face the hardships of questioning, as we leave no stone unturned, as we wrestle with life’s mysteries and sufferings, and as we continue searching for answers, we will eventually encounter that vision—that experience of God. And then, perhaps, like Thomas, we will be able to say with conviction: “My Lord and my God.”
So embrace your doubts. Do not let anyone hold you back on your journey of faith. Do not be afraid—we all experience doubt. You are not alone; we are all in this together. The story of Thomas reminds us that our doubts and our questions have a rightful place within God’s Church.
Ever notice how we sometimes spend more time preparing for an event than we actually spend celebrating it? Think about it. Wedding celebrations are often more focused on bridal showers, bachelor parties, and rehearsal dinners than on the actual wedding ceremony. For Christmas, we shop, decorate for weeks ahead of time, write cards, and wrap gifts—and then Christmas comes. We spend an hour in church, unwrap a few presents, and then it’s back to life as usual. The same can happen with Holy Week and Easter—we can miss the point of the whole celebration because we get caught up with the bunny and the chocolate.
At Easter we proclaim, through song, bells, and alleluias, that Jesus has risen from the dead and that He is the victorious King of Kings and Lord of Lords. We cannot keep silent about this event. Jesus rose from the dead! Jesus is the Son of God! He has overcome sin and death, and we will live with Him now and forevermore.
The Resurrection happened at a time when hope for the true Savior seemed shattered, when things looked worse than ever, and when it appeared that the dark forces of evil had won. At that crucial moment in history, our Savior was raised from the dead. Through His Resurrection, He reversed the destruction brought by sin and evil and even overcame death itself for all of us.
We were blessed to have our church filled with people during Holy Week and to welcome so many to Mass on this joyous Easter Sunday morning. Thank you to our incredible staff and volunteers who decorated the church for days, moving gracefully from the splendor of Palm Sunday, to the stark reality of Holy Thursday and Good Friday, and finally to the beautiful transformation of our sanctuary for Easter.
Thanks to all who participated in every aspect of our liturgy—to our ushers, altar servers, lectors, and Eucharistic ministers; to the choirs and cantors who sang so beautifully all week; and to those who had their feet washed on Holy Thursday and participated in the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday. In the early hours of Easter, we were honored to welcome new members into the Church. Congratulations!
Thanks also to Fr. Collins and our Deacons for making each service meaningful and poignant. And to all our parishioners who attended the Holy Week services—there is no greater joy than being with Jesus here at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs and St. Philip Neri.
Wishing you, and all those you love, a joyful Easter season. May the hope and promise of the Resurrection remain with us long after the celebrations end, guiding us to live each day with faith, gratitude, and the quiet confidence that Christ is truly risen and still at work in our lives.
What is your favorite part of Holy Week?
Maybe it’s the beginning, when we bless palms and take them home as a sign that Jesus is welcome here. We want to be among the crowd that shouts, “Hosanna.” Maybe you were impressed on Monday of Holy Week when churches were open for confessions for hours. Or perhaps Holy Thursday evening, when we celebrate the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, which includes the washing of feet—representing Jesus’ last night and his reckless act of love and humility with his disciples. Good Friday is remembered and celebrated in services where participants feel, taste, touch, and smell the events of the crucifixion.
But what about Saturday?
Saturday is a day of silence—a silence that echoes how the disciples felt after their leader, teacher, and friend was executed. They remained locked indoors, sitting with the silence and their unanswered prayers. Jesus is still dead. He’s still in the grave. They were probably terrified that they were next—that their mere association with Jesus would lead to their own crucifixion. They were grieving the loss of a friend and teacher. They were humiliated that they had truly believed he was the Messiah—the Savior of the world. Doubt began to creep in.
The disciples had forgotten a conversation Jesus had with them just a couple of days earlier. When speaking with them on Thursday, Jesus took time to warn them about the grief, disappointment, doubt, and silence they would encounter in the days to come. Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy.”
Jesus was talking about the darkest day the disciples would ever experience. He knew they would be met with silence. But he was asking them to wait—to hold on to the hope he offered them, the hope that lies beyond the pain and grief and doubt.
Despite the silence, Jesus promises that joy is coming.
In our moments when we are left sitting in the silence of God and our unanswered prayers, we too can hold on to the promise Jesus gave his disciples some 2,000 years ago: joy is coming—a joy that no one can take away.
So we look forward to answering the refrain of Easter Sunday:
He is risen… He is risen indeed.
In whatever ways you are wrestling with the silence of God, hold on to the hope that we are Easter people, and alleluia is our song.
Have a blessed Holy Week.
Over the last few weeks, we have been listening to St. John’s Gospel. Many of the stories are lengthy, but John wants us to hear our own story within the stories he tells. Two weeks ago, we met the woman at the well who did not quite understand what Jesus meant by living water (Jn 4). Last week, there was confusion because a blind man could see things that people with perfect eyesight could not see (Jn 9). Today, John tells us about the death of Jesus’ friend, Lazarus.
Every week at church we encounter Martha and Mary—people who are distraught over the death of loved ones. Through our ministry of consolation—our priests, deacons, and staff, our funeral directors, social ministry, and music ministry—we help grieving families celebrate a funeral. Family members and mourners gather, as they did at the funeral of Lazarus, to console Mary and Martha. We have all been there. We know the support people bring when grief grips us by the heart. We have felt that mixture of rage and helplessness.
In the story, Martha hears that their friend Jesus is approaching down the road. She does not even wait—she runs out to meet him, and the look on her face says it all. Finally, she bursts out, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” It is the same kind of cry we make to God when we say, “Why did you let this happen?” But Martha is with Jesus now, and in his presence she has hope. She continues, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.”
What is she saying? In her words, Martha is expressing her belief that Jesus has the power to stand between Lazarus’ life and the power of death. More than that, Martha challenges the notion that death is simply a natural and final part of life. And she is right. Through Jesus’ life and ministry, a reality greater than death has been revealed. “Jesus, I know Lazarus would not have died had you been here. But even now, I know you can change this.” Wow.
At every funeral, we are standing with Jesus on the very edge of our faith. When Jesus enters, resurrection enters. Jesus gives us the power of life to confront and overcome our struggle with death—whether in suffering, tragedy, depression, or the despair that tries to claim our lives. Jesus has the last word, and Jesus is speaking.
He is Life.
He is the Resurrection.
He is our Joy and our Hope.
Do you believe this?
What was Jesus doing in Samaria? Didn’t He know that Jews and Samaritans had a long-standing and deep animosity toward one another?
Tired and thirsty, Jesus stopped at a well in a town called Sychar. It was Jacob’s well—an ancient well that had been there for centuries and still exists today. Jesus stops to ask for a drink. But He had two problems. First, He had no way to draw water. He had no bucket to lower empty and raise full, and the well was deep. Second, it was the wrong time of day. It was noon.
The women of the village normally went to the well early in the morning to collect the water their households would need for the day. But here is Jesus at noon, without a bucket, with no one in sight, and He is thirsty.
Then, whether He expected it or not, someone else arrives. It is a woman—a woman who has come at an unusual hour. John hints that there are reasons for this. She carries a troubled past, circumstances that kept her from coming at the same time as the more respectable women of the town.
Jesus, breaking all the social conventions of the day, speaks to her and asks for a drink. And a remarkable conversation unfolds. The topic shifts from water to marriage, from marriage to religion, from religion to the differences between Jews and Samaritans.
At the end of this exchange, the woman expresses her belief that the Messiah will come. Jesus responds simply and powerfully: “I am He.”
Despite her lack of credibility in the village, the woman runs to tell the townspeople about her encounter with this remarkable man and wonders aloud, “He couldn’t be the Messiah, could He?” The people come and see for themselves—and they proclaim that Jesus is no less than “the Savior of the world.”
The Savior of the world stopped in Samaria that day and changed the life of one woman—and through her, the lives of many others.
Jesus wants to do the same for us. Jesus wants to meet us where we are, invite us to go deeper with Him, offer us living water, and lead us to rejoice that we, too, have met the Messiah, the Savior of the world.
The story of Jesus and the woman at the well reminds us what can happen when we meet Him at the well—the well where our faith is renewed and deepened in moments of prayer; the well where we witness God bringing new life and new growth into another person’s heart; the well of hospital rooms and deathbeds, where God’s promises are spoken, heard, and embraced.
Jesus shows up when we least expect Him, just as He did for the woman at the well. That is what He does. He goes to the well. He meets us there.
And we discover something wonderful:
He is the Messiah.
He is the Savior of the world.
And the water Jesus gives will satisfy our deepest thirst
When Jesus took Peter, James, and John up the mountain, they probably felt very honored. They may have thought they were the chosen among the chosen. Or perhaps not. Maybe they wondered, “What does He want us to do now? Why couldn’t He pick someone else?”
One thing we can be sure of is that they did not expect what was about to happen: the dazzling light, Moses and Elijah. It was a moment of revelation.
The theologian Karl Barth described a moment of divine revelation as the time when God lifts the veil from one’s eyes. God lifted the veil from the eyes of Peter, James, and John so that they could see Jesus in His brightness and divinity. They were accustomed to surprises from traveling with Jesus—they had witnessed miracles and extraordinary signs—but on this day they saw Him as He truly is in the Father’s reality:
“This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to Him.”
They never expected this revelation to happen on that day, on that mountain.
What about us? Are we open to divine revelation? We often expect God to speak to us at certain times, in certain places, and in certain ways. For example, God reveals Himself through a reflection such as this, while praying at Mass, through the words of a homily, or when we are moved by sacred music. God speaks to us in quiet moments, in prayer, and in our reading of Scripture.
But the account of Jesus’ Transfiguration reminds us that when it comes to God’s communication with us, God is a God of surprises. Just when we expect Jesus to come in through the front door, He is knocking at the back door—whether we are ready or not. Again and again in the Gospels, Jesus surprises people with His answers and His actions. We think we have it all figured out… until God speaks in an unexpected way.
So expect God to reach out to you in moments you least anticipate—while watching a movie or a sunset, reading a poem, dancing, singing, creating, doing the dishes, visiting someone in the hospital, or even sitting in traffic. The message of the Transfiguration is that God wants to reveal Himself to us every day, in different ways and in different places. May we be attentive to His daily presence. God is a God of surprises.
Obedience is not a word we hear very often in a positive way today. In a democratic society, the idea of pledging allegiance and obedience to a king can feel foreign. The expectation that one must simply obey a boss has largely given way to language about collaboration and teamwork. Even within families and schools, the idea of obedience can seem outdated. And yet, at a deeper level, we know that learning obedience—learning to listen, to trust, and to respond in love—remains essential.
At its heart, Christianity is about learning to trust the will of God and to place our lives in His loving hands. In our first reading, Adam and Eve chose to turn away from God’s will and to follow their own desires. They were tempted, yes, but they also made a choice. Scripture does not tell us that the serpent forced the fruit upon Eve, or that Eve compelled Adam. Each, in his and her own way, chose a path apart from God.
Jesus shows us another way. He knows what it is to be tempted, because He shared fully in our human experience. Yet He never turned away from the Father. Again and again in the Gospels, we see Jesus returning to prayer and grounding Himself in the Word of God. Scripture was not simply something Jesus knew; it was something He lived. Prayer was not an occasional practice; it was the steady rhythm of His life.
Lent invites us to walk this same path with Jesus. Over these forty days, we are gently called to deepen our relationship with God through prayer and Scripture. Not as a burden, not as a spiritual competition, but as a way of opening our hearts more fully to God’s presence. When we learn to turn to God in the small moments of each day, we discover that we are better prepared when life becomes difficult.
So I encourage you to choose a simple, realistic practice for Lent. Set aside a few minutes each day to read a short passage of Scripture and to speak with God in prayer. It might be in the quiet of early morning, around the family table, or before going to bed at night. What matters is not how long you pray, but that you show up and make space for God.
And when you struggle—and we all do—remember this: you are not alone. God is for you. God desires your good. God walks with you. As children of God, we are not called to live as the world lives, but to live as people who trust in the love and mercy of our Father.
May this Lent be a time of gentle growth, deeper trust, and renewed hope for us all.