My dear brothers and sisters in Christ,
There are moments when we quietly begin to wonder whether we are truly seen—whether we belong, whether what we do really matters. Even within a parish, it is possible to feel unnoticed.
The Word of God this Sunday meets that experience with both truth and hope. In the early Church, some were being overlooked. Yet the apostles did not ignore the situation, nor did they try to do everything themselves. They invited the whole community to share in the care of one another, so that no one would be forgotten (cf. Acts 6:1-7). From the very beginning, the Church understood this: everyone matters, and everyone has a place.
Saint Peter reminds us that we are “living stones,” each one chosen and necessary, being built together into something greater than ourselves (cf. 1 Peter 2:4-9). And in the Gospel, Jesus speaks words that answer one of the deepest anxieties of the human heart: “I go to prepare a place for you” (cf. John 14:1-12). A place for you—not only in eternity, but here and now, within His Church.
The Lord’s promise is not meant to remain an idea. It is meant to be lived—here, in the daily life of our parish, in the way we notice one another and care for one another. For this reason, I carry it very personally as your pastor. I truly desire to know my people—to greet you, to listen to your stories, to be present in your lives. I want you to know that you are seen, that you are heard, and that you are cared for.
And yet, I must also speak with honesty. There is within me a constant tension: a sincere desire for closeness, and at the same time, the responsibility of shepherding a large and active parish, with many pastoral needs, administrative duties, and commitments beyond the parish itself. Because of this, there are moments when I am not as available as I would wish to be.
I am especially mindful of those who may feel forgotten at this time: our brothers and sisters in rehabilitation programs, nursing homes, those who are homebound, or in hospitals. When someone visits them, brings Holy Communion, or simply sits and listens, it brings a deep and lasting joy. It reminds them that they are still part of us. In moments like these, we see clearly that the life of the Church does not rest on the shoulders of a few. It is the work of the whole Body of Christ.
This is where you come in. Each of you has a real and indispensable role in shaping the spirit of this parish. A simple greeting, a warm smile, a kind word, a visit, a phone call, a prayer—these are not small things. Very often, they are the very ways in which God reaches someone who is searching, hurting, or simply longing to be noticed.
Even the smallest gestures can carry great meaning. Making room in the pew for someone who arrives later, holding the door open, picking up a piece of trash, keeping a respectful silence so others may pray, volunteer to bring Communion to the sick and homebound—these quiet acts proclaim something beautiful without words: “You are welcome. You belong. This is your home.”
Let us not come to Mass focused only on what we receive, but also mindful of what we are called to give. We are not strangers gathered in the same place; we are a family being formed by grace. And every family is built by the care of its members.
This weekend, many of our young people will receive the Sacrament of Confirmation from Bishop Robert Brennan. As we look ahead to Pentecost, let us ask the Holy Spirit to renew our parish and to form us into a community that reflects the beauty of the early Church—attentive, welcoming, and alive with love.
And whenever you are tempted to wonder whether you matter, hold firmly to the words of the Lord: “There is a place for you.”
With my prayers,
Msgr. ”John” Cuong M. Pham