As I was growing up, I eventually came to understand what it meant to say, “My parents were born in Ireland.” Being raised by immigrant parents did not seem to have much of an impact on me, my sister, or my brother as we grew up in an “Irish-Italian neighborhood” in Queens in the 1970s and ’80s. The strongest memories I have of what it meant to be raised by parents born in Ireland were, once a year, on March 17, we were obliged to miss school (which made me very happy) so that we could join my parents and the “County Mayo Society” as we marched in the St. Patrick’s Day parade. There are other memories of family members from Ireland who talked funny, arriving at our house or being picked up at JFK airport when they came for a visit. There were also a couple of trips that we made to Ireland, which, at the time, I did not particularly enjoy because I would rather have stayed home to play baseball and stickball.

During my high school and college years, I learned what it meant to say that I was “first generation,” a phrase that some people used to indicate being part of the “first generation” of a family to be born in a “new” country. While I grew in my appreciation for Irish music, history, culture (and pubs) during my college and seminary years and during my first years as a priest, I did not often describe myself as a “son of immigrants” until I started to do so in Spanish: “Yo soy hijo de immigrantes.” I spent six happy years in my first parish assignment as a priest in a very diverse parish, St. Nicholas of Tolentine, in Jamaica, Queens. I was beginning to learn to communicate in Spanish during those years. There was a small but vibrant Spanish-speaking community at St. Nick’s. Of the six Sunday Masses, five were celebrated in English and one in Spanish.
My life and ministry changed significantly when I began my second assignment at the parish of Our Lady of Sorrows (“Los Dolores”) in Corona, Queens. There were 11 Sunday Masses at Our Lady of Sorrows; eight of those Masses were celebrated in Spanish, and three were celebrated in English. I believe that the parish has grown in recent years, but during the year that I served there (2003-04), somewhere between 5,000 and 6,000 people attended Sunday Mass on an average weekend. It was a largely immigrant community, some having been in the country 20 or more years, and some had literally “just arrived.” A large number of the parishioners were from either the Dominican Republic, Mexico, or Ecuador, but there were many from a number of other countries in Central and South America. The pastor of the parish was Msgr. Thomas Healy (Padre Tomas), who was the son of immigrant parents who had come from Ireland in the early 1930s, “during the depression,” as Msgr. Healy often said.
Msgr. Healy had been pastor of that parish for almost 20 years, and he knew his parishioners very well. He often spoke to them, in private conversations and in homilies, about the “immigrant experience.” He often shared with me how he “saw” his own parents in the parishioners, commenting on the hardships of arriving in this country and having to work hard, start a family, and raise children. As I got to know the members of the community, I was inspired by their stories, what it meant for them to “leave home,” and how they were able to find work and make a life for themselves here. I came to realize and see that so many members of that community, who were raising children and sending financial assistance to their family “back home,” were not only “living the American Dream,” but were also living inspiring lives of faith, hope, and love. I would also come to learn that many of those parishioners had received a “Green Card,” permanent legal residency, and many others had either become citizens or were on the path to citizenship. I would also learn that a very significant portion of the community was “undocumented,” not having legal status in the United States.
After serving one year in Our Lady of Sorrows, I served as Diocesan Vocation Director for the next six years and then was assigned, in January of 2010, as the pastor of St. Michael’s Parish in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. St. Michael’s was, in many ways, a smaller version of Our Lady of Sorrows. As I began to get to know the parishioners, I gained a new appreciation for what Msgr. Healy meant when he said that he “saw his parents” in many members of the community. As pastor of St. Michael’s, I was blessed to get to know some of the finest and holiest people I have ever met. To see the way parents raised their children, teaching them to pray, attend Mass every Sunday, have respect for their elders, focus on their schoolwork, and always be ready to help if volunteers were needed, caused me to appreciate something about those parents. I realized there must be some wonderful parents and grandparents, priests, religious, catechists, extended families, and parish communities in the Dominican Republic, Mexico, and many other countries who taught their children what it means to be a Catholic Family and raise children in the Faith.
Being a pastor of a largely immigrant and recent immigrant parish helped me to have an even deeper appreciation for our country, which, in so many ways, is a country of immigrants. I saw how blessed the children of those immigrants were, as I had been, to have the opportunity to receive a good education, to go to college, and to develop a desire to “give back” by becoming good citizens who strive to serve our country and community. Similar to the community at Our Lady of Sorrows, many of the parishioners at St. Michael’s were legal residents, many had become citizens or were on the path to citizenship, and many others were “working on their papers” to regularize their legal status. There were other parishioners who were “undocumented” and who had been in the country for 10, 20, or more years, who were working, were very often paying taxes (with a “Tax I.D. Number”), and who had tried many times, but had been unable to “regularize” their legal status.
I am choosing to write this personal reflection at this time so that I can share with readers some of what we, as a community and as a parish family, experienced in the first months of 2017. Similar to 2024, when President Donald Trump was elected in 2016, he often spoke on the topic of immigration and “illegal immigrants” and spoke about “mass deportations.” The first months of 2017 were a terrible time for the people of St. Michael’s parish. Because of the fear of being deported, people were afraid to leave their homes. “Know your Rights” workshops were organized in the community and included assisting parents with filling out affidavits to say who would legally care for their children if they were deported. As I listened to some of my parishioners, I felt deeply disappointed by the policy decisions being made by our government and elected leaders. Hard-working, honest, and generous people who had been welcomed and made a home in this land now felt they could be “thrown out” of the country at any moment.
My recollection of 2017 is that the fear lasted for a few months, and then it seemed to dissipate. A great deal of damage had been done, but most people could return to their jobs and begin again to feel safe and hopeful about the future. I am very saddened to see and hear that, for our sisters and brothers in our immigrant communities, the experience of 2017 is now being repeated in 2025. I am not sure if I have a particular goal or hope in sharing this personal reflection other than letting you know what some of our sisters and brothers are currently experiencing. I also hope that readers might agree that there should be a better way to secure our borders and bring criminals to justice, especially those who have committed violent crimes.
I am also hopeful that our immigrant brothers and sisters here in our diocese of Paterson will know that, as a Church, we are with them in prayer and solidarity in these challenging times. With this goal in mind, we are organizing an Evening of Prayer and Solidarity with our immigrant communities on Thursday, Feb. 13, at Sacred Heart Church in Dover. For more details, see flyers in Spanish and English. I hope and pray that all Catholics and Christians will do what Jesus asks us to do, especially in the 25th Chapter of Mathew’s Gospel, when He asks us to see Him in those who are most in need:
“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me …” (Mt 25:35)