A Vision for a Thriving PNCC Church

  

                    Pulpit Rock, New Bedford, New Hampshire by Fr. Matt

Dear Friends,

As we sit together here in Manchester for the General Synod, surrounded by structural ordinances and heavy agendas, a moment from our floor discussions stands out as the true compass for our future. A lay delegate—a dedicated woman in her seventies—stood up and asked our bishop nominees a direct, heartfelt question: What specific program would you recommend to bring people back to our church?

 

It was a beautiful, honest question that cuts right through all our administrative bureaucracy and committee jargon. But if we are completely honest with ourselves, new "programs" aren't going to save a dying denomination. National research from groups like the Barna Group reveals that young adults (Gen Z and Millennials) are actually returning to church in surprising numbers right now—but they aren't looking for superficial entertainment, slick marketing, or a parish fish fry. They are looking for authenticity, tangible justice, and deep spiritual practice.

 

If we want the PNCC to do more than just survive—if we want it to truly thrive for coming generations—we have to roll up our sleeves, look at what young families are struggling with every day, and adopt these three specific behaviors:

• First, we must shift from institutional defense to fierce, hands-on solidarity with our margins.
  Data shows that young people leave when they see Christianity as a social performance rather than a life-changing faith. To them, a church that preaches Jesus must act like Jesus. Today, pastors like Fr. Erick in Las Vegas and Fr. Robert in San Antonio are watching their Hispanic parish families live in constant fear of discrimination and deportation. We need to honor our 1890s roots—when the PNCC was founded to protect Polish immigrants from prejudice—by standing firmly with our Hispanic brothers and sisters now. That means rolling up our sleeves to establish real legal clinics, turning our church properties into safe sanctuary spaces, and building emergency support funds for families whose breadwinners are detained.
• Second, we must replace rigid perfectionism with flexible, family-focused liturgy.
  Young parents today face intense daily performance pressure and exhaustion. The last thing they need is to feel judged or anxious when their toddlers make noise in the pews. Research shows that young adults deeply value traditional elements like prayer and the beauty of the liturgy, but they choose churches where their actual lifestyle and daily realities are understood. We need to adapt our rigid parish schedules to match the chaotic reality of modern work weeks. We must create flexible, shorter, family-friendly liturgies, and stop treating ancient administrative rules like they are more important than welcoming a stressed-out parent.
• Third, we must offer authentic, shared leadership instead of passive maintenance.
  National studies show that the top spiritual reason young adults attend church is a desire for deep prayer, alongside an explicit wish to learn from mentors who have survived real-life struggles. They do not want to "wait their turn" in a hierarchy. We need to turn our parishes into active community spaces that tackle daily struggles head-on—offering practical marriage and family counseling, affordable after-school care, and parent peer-support groups. When young people see that the church is a place where they can directly lead service projects, ask raw questions, and find real-life support systems, they stay.

 

Let’s carry that lay delegate's question with us through the rest of this Synod. Let's stop talking in committee language, step out from behind the safety of the rectory doors, and start acting like a church that isn't afraid to labor in the vineyard.

Warmly,

Father Matt Kawiak

Consoling a Wounded World

                                    Little Tonawanda Steam by Fr. Matt
  

This Sunday, I am on my way to Manchester, New Hampshire, for our PNCC Synod. The official agenda ahead is heavy, focusing on the critical need to elect three new bishops and approve over thirty structural ordinances for our church. Yet, if I were to pull aside our wise, retired priests and ask them what the real, singular purpose of a holy gathering like this should be, I know exactly what they would say. They would tell me that beyond the laws, elections, and debates, the true mission of the church is simply to bring comfort to the people. Perhaps, looking back on their own long ministries, they might even share a quiet confession: that they were sometimes far too hard on their people.

 

“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.” This beautiful echo from Isaiah reminds us that the main purpose of the church and our priests is to bring comfort to people; one of our major tasks is to console a wounded world. What people need first from us is help in lifting the weight of life's complexities, wounds, and anxieties.

 

This call to comfort grounds today’s Gospel, where Jesus asks a simple question: "What do you think?" He tells the story of two sons: one says no but changes his mind and goes to work, while the other says the right words but never shows up. When Jesus asks which one actually did the will of the father, the answer is obviously the first. This forces us to look at a phrase we don't ponder nearly enough: doing the will of the Father. When was the last time you actually paused in the middle of a frantic day to ask, "What is the will of God in this exact situation?" The Cross shows us that true life comes from pouring ourselves out for others.

 

I am thinking about a good friend Tim, a retired medical manager now serving as a home health aide to Ken. Tim has provided home care for over a year for Ken, who is now at Highland Hospital in comfort care. Ken can no longer speak, however when Tim walked into his hospital room, Ken gave him a big smile. Most likely Ken will be going home to heaven soon, but Tim shared that this man will not be alone. He promised to stay at his bedside reading his favorite book, Those Crazy Ass Catholics. This is what true life means pouring ourselves out for others.

 

I pray for all my Sonshine Friends, especially Ken and Tim, that we pause before we act, listen before we speak, and to genuinely ask, "God, what do you think I should be doing with my life?  Give us the courage of the first son to repent of our stubbornness, to lay down our own agendas, and to joyfully labor in your vineyard today. May our lives and our church structures become instruments of Your radical comfort, lifting the heavy burdens of those we meet and reflecting Your all-forgiving love to a wounded world.

 

 

Melt Our Keeping Score Hearts

                                Reviresco Autumn Fungi with Maple Leaf by Fr. Matt
  

Jesus hits us right where it hurts: our deep, human obsession with fairness. We read about a landowner paying the five o'clock latecomers the exact same wage as the early morning crowd, and something inside our chest tightens up. We immediately think, “Hey, that’s not right!” We are wired to believe that you only get what you earn. We want a God who keeps a strict scorecard, but instead, this parable confronts us with a divine generosity that completely ignores our human math.

 

This story isn't just an ancient fairy tale; I see it play out right on our modern street corners. In cities across the country, you can drive past crowds of migrants who need day work just to feed their kids. Yet, so many folks find that scene appalling. Our society shouts that these workers are breaking the rules. We hear people argue that they have no right to be here, no right to work, and certainly no right to healthcare or public education. When anyone suggests treating them with basic dignity, the cultural reflex is to push back. We want to protect what is "ours" from the people we think haven't earned it.

 

Our world tells us that success means climbing the ladder, protecting our territory, and making sure the "right" people get rewarded. But the radical message of the Cross shatters that worldview completely. God’s kingdom does not operate on a merit system. The Cross is the ultimate picture of unearned mercy given to the broken, the late, and the undeserving. While the world demands borders, quotas, and background checks before showing kindness, Christ offers overflowing grace to anyone who shows up—even at the very last hour.

 

We see this same ugly human friction right here in our own neighborhoods, workplaces, and families through our daily score-keeping:

 

The Thief’s Reward: The quiet discomfort we feel when we think about the penitent thief on the cross next to Jesus—a criminal who lived a life of crime, yet received paradise in his final breaths while others spent a lifetime trying to follow every rule.

The Workplace Grudge: The bitterness that bubbles up when a coworker who slacked off or joined the team at the last minute gets the exact same bonus or public praise as those who pulled all-nighters for months.

The Safety-Net Resentment: The frustration we feel when we see someone using government assistance or a local food pantry to buy nice groceries, immediately judging whether they are "needy enough" or if they are just gaming a system we pay into.

 

Why does it make you so angry when someone else receives a blessing that you feel they didn't work for? Are you secretly terrified that if God stopped grading on a curve, you might find yourself standing empty-handed at the end of the day too?

 

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends, melt our cold, keeping-score hearts. Give us the grace to celebrate your mercy wherever it falls, and help us work diligently in our own little corner of the vineyard so that everyone is cared for.

 

Where Nobody Has to Hide

                                                Holy Family Parish Picnic by Fr. Matt 

          

Think about the last time you had a true emergency out in the field. Maybe a combine caught fire right at the peak of harvest, or a heavy storm took half a roof off your barn. In a community like ours, you don't even have to make a phone call. Before you can even figure out your next step, you look down the gravel road and see dust kicking up. It’s your neighbors pulling into your driveway with their own tractors and tools, ready to help you get your crops out of the weather. We know exactly how to show up when the house is on fire, but today’s scriptures ask a much harder question. They ask how we handle the quiet, hidden, everyday struggles.

 

In the Gospel, a scholar asks Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” He was probably hoping Jesus would draw a comfortable fence line around the folks who already look, think, and live just like us. Instead, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan and tears down every boundary we try to build. He shows us that our neighbor isn't just the person who checks all our easy boxes. It’s the stranger, the outsider, and even the person we’d honestly rather avoid.

 

That challenge hits us right where we live during a tough season like this one. We are carrying some heavy, quiet burdens in agriculture right now. Between falling crop prices, skyrocketing input costs, and constant financial worries about things completely out of our control, the pressure can feel suffocating. You can work fourteen-hour days, do everything right, and still watch the math work against you.

 

In North Java and the surrounding towns where I had the privilege to serve as shepherd for twelve years, the people have a tradition of being tough and keeping their heads down, but that independence can become a dangerous wall. Too often, when the anxiety gets to be too much, a neighbor starts to pull back. They stop showing up at the morning coffee counter, their field goes untended, or their equipment just sits idle.

 

When we see a neighbor quietly drowning under financial strain or mental exhaustion, the temptation is to cross to the other side of the road and tell ourselves it’s none of our business. We avoid pulling into their driveway because sitting with someone else's pain makes us uncomfortable.

 

But the priest and the Levite in the story also had plenty of "good reasons" to pass by and stay in their comfort zones. The Samaritan was the only one who let his day be completely interrupted by someone else's brokenness.

 

Loving our neighbor means breaking that silence. We need to turn off the truck, pull into that neighbor’s driveway, and just check in on them. We have to find the courage to ask how they are really doing, sit on the tailgate, and just listen to the raw truth about the stress they're under. Together, we can remove the shame and make this our community where nobody has to hide their financial despair or mental exhaustion.

 

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends. May our neighbors never feel alone in their dark days, and may we always be the ones who bring warmth and light to their struggles, just as a true neighbor should.

 

 

Finding "Sonshine" in the Darkness: A Priest's Journey Through 9/11 Trauma Support

Dear Sonshine Friends,

As we pause to look back on the tragic events of September 11, 2001, I wanted to share a personal reflection with you all. It is a memory that stays with me deeply, not as a point of pride, but as a reminder of how God calls us to serve in moments of absolute brokenness [

 

On the day of the attacks, I was called to serve with the JetBlue Care Team at JFK Airport in New York City. There, we did our best to care for the thousands of stranded, frightened passengers who were caught up in the immediate chaos of that tragedy.

 

Shortly after, JetBlue management asked me to return to New York City to oversee a much larger effort. I was deeply humbled by this request. Guided entirely by the wisdom and strength of the Holy Spirit, I accepted this invitation to serve. I was assigned to JetBlue Airways, where I served for three years as the Director of Mental Health Services.

 

During those difficult years, my mission was simply to be an instrument of peace for the airline's 4,000 crew members who were flying out into 12 cities across the country. The Holy Spirit gave me the strength to provide critical incident counseling and trauma support to:

• Airline pilots carry the immense weight of returning safely to the skies.
• Flight crew members processing deep anxiety and fear.
• Administrative staff working tirelessly behind the scenes.
•  

Looking back, I am simply grateful that God could use me to bring a small glint of His comfort and "sonshine" into such a dark chapter of our history.

 

Today, I invite you to join your hearts with mine as we lift up those who lost everything on that fateful day.

 

A Blessing Prayer for the Fallen and Their Families

Heavenly Father, God of all comfort and peace,

We come to You today with solemn and heavy hearts as we remember the devastating day our nation changed. We hold close in prayer the 2,753 precious souls who went to work or stepped onto planes that morning and lost their lives in and around the Twin Towers  We pray for their eternal rest, knowing that You have wrapped them safely in Your loving, eternal embrace

 

Lord, we also lift up the thousands of surviving family members, spouses, children, and friends who have had to carry the heavy weight of that sudden grief. For the parents who lost children, the children who grew up without parents, and everyone still missing a piece of their heart—pour out Your overwhelming grace Send them comfort when the memories hurt, strength when the days feel long, and a deep, healing peace that surpasses all human understanding

 

Thank You for guiding us through the dark times, and help us to always live with a spirit of kindness, courage, and unconditional love In Your Holy Name, we pray. Amen.

With love and blessings,

Fr. Matt Kawiak

 

Where Nobody Has to Hide

Think about the last time you had a true emergency out in the field. Maybe a combine caught fire right at the peak of harvest, or a heavy storm took half a roof off your barn. In a community like ours, you don't even have to make a phone call. Before you can even figure out your next step, you look down the gravel road and see dust kicking up. It’s your neighbors pulling into your driveway with their own tractors and tools, ready to help you get your crops out of the weather. We know exactly how to show up when the house is on fire, but today’s scriptures ask a much harder question. They ask how we handle the quiet, hidden, everyday struggles.

 

In the Gospel, a scholar asks Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” He was probably hoping Jesus would draw a comfortable fence line around the folks who already look, think, and live just like us. Instead, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan and tears down every boundary we try to build. He shows us that our neighbor isn't just the person who checks all our easy boxes. It’s the stranger, the outsider, and even the person we’d honestly rather avoid.

 

That challenge hits us right where we live during a tough season like this one. We are carrying some heavy, quiet burdens in agriculture right now. Between falling crop prices, skyrocketing input costs, and constant financial worries about things completely out of our control, the pressure can feel suffocating. You can work fourteen-hour days, do everything right, and still watch the math work against you.

 

In North Java and the surrounding towns where I had the privilege to serve as shepherd for twelve years, the people have a tradition of being tough and keeping their heads down, but that independence can become a dangerous wall. Too often, when the anxiety gets to be too much, a neighbor starts to pull back. They stop showing up at the morning coffee counter, their field goes untended, or their equipment just sits idle.

 

When we see a neighbor quietly drowning under financial strain or mental exhaustion, the temptation is to cross to the other side of the road and tell ourselves it’s none of our business. We avoid pulling into their driveway because sitting with someone else's pain makes us uncomfortable.

 

But the priest and the Levite in the story also had plenty of "good reasons" to pass by and stay in their comfort zones. The Samaritan was the only one who let his day be completely interrupted by someone else's brokenness.

 

Loving our neighbor means breaking that silence. We need to turn off the truck, pull into that neighbor’s driveway, and just check in on them. We have to find the courage to ask how they are really doing, sit on the tailgate, and just listen to the raw truth about the stress they're under. Together, we can remove the shame and make this our community where nobody has to hide their financial despair or mental exhaustion.

 

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends. May our neighbors never feel alone in their dark days, and may we always be the ones who bring warmth and light to their struggles, just as a true neighbor should.

 

 

 

The Good Samaritan

  

 

Fr, Matt invited to preach & concelebrate at Holy Family Annual Parish Picnic 

Think about the last time you had a true emergency out in the field. Maybe a combine caught fire right at the peak of harvest, or a heavy storm took half a roof off your barn. In a community like ours, you don't even have to make a phone call. Before you can even figure out your next step, you look down the gravel road and see dust kicking up. It’s your neighbors pulling into your driveway with their own tractors and tools, ready to help you get your crops out of the weather. We know exactly how to show up when the house is on fire, but today’s scriptures ask a much harder question. They ask how we handle the quiet, hidden, everyday struggles.

 

In the Gospel, a scholar asks Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” He was probably hoping Jesus would draw a comfortable fence line around the folks who already look, think, and live just like us. Instead, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan and tears down every boundary we try to build. He shows us that our neighbor isn't just the person who checks all our easy boxes. It’s the stranger, the outsider, and even the person we’d honestly rather avoid.

 

That challenge hits us right where we live during a tough season like this one. We are carrying some heavy, quiet burdens in agriculture right now. Between falling crop prices, skyrocketing input costs, and constant financial worries about things completely out of our control, the pressure can feel suffocating. You can work fourteen-hour days, do everything right, and still watch the math work against you.

 

In North Java and the surrounding towns where I had the privilege to serve as shepherd for twelve years, the people have a tradition of being tough and keeping their heads down, but that independence can become a dangerous wall. Too often, when the anxiety gets to be too much, a neighbor starts to pull back. They stop showing up at the morning coffee counter, their field goes untended, or their equipment just sits idle.

 

When we see a neighbor quietly drowning under financial strain or mental exhaustion, the temptation is to cross to the other side of the road and tell ourselves it’s none of our business. We avoid pulling into their driveway because sitting with someone else's pain makes us uncomfortable.

 

But the priest and the Levite in the story also had plenty of "good reasons" to pass by and stay in their comfort zones. The Samaritan was the only one who let his day be completely interrupted by someone else's brokenness.

 

Loving our neighbor means breaking that silence. We need to turn off the truck, pull into that neighbor’s driveway, and just check in on them. We have to find the courage to ask how they are really doing, sit on the tailgate, and just listen to the raw truth about the stress they're under. Together, we can remove the shame and make this our community where nobody has to hide their financial despair or mental exhaustion.

 

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends. May our neighbors never feel alone in their dark days, and may we always be the ones who bring warmth and light to their struggles, just as a true neighbor should.