The Joy of Rescue

  

"What man among you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing." (Luke 15:4-5). We read these words and think it’s just a nice, comforting story about an ancient shepherd. But let’s be honest with ourselves: in a world driven by efficiency, economics, and rigid schedules, leaving ninety-nine perfectly good assets to track down one broken, messy stray sounds completely irrational. We are conditioned to cut our losses, look away, and keep moving.

Look around our contemporary society. We live in a disposable culture where things—and unfortunately, lives—are cast aside the moment they become inconvenient, old, or broken. Our social media feeds are flooded with carefully curated, flawless images of success, while the broken realities of our world are swept quietly under the rug. We are told to focus on our own comfort, to guard our time fiercely, and to never take on burdens that aren't technically our responsibility.

But the radical humility of the Cross shatters that worldly logic. Society measures power by what we accumulate and who we can discard. The Cross measures love by what we are willing to pour out for the vulnerable. True joy isn't found in a life of insulated comfort, but in the dirty, exhausting, and compassionate work of reaching into the ditch to rescue what has been abandoned.

Today, that radical gospel love takes flesh right here at our home as forty beautiful souls gather to share stories of hope. These dedicated individuals serve in an organization called Volunteers4Animals, which has faithfully served the people and animals in Genesee County for over 40 years. This legacy of love looks like the volunteer waking up at three in the morning in the freezing cold to bottle-feed a litter of abandoned, shivering stray kittens. It looks like the Amazon driver hauling Chewy cat food and litter down our gravel driveway to make sure Sue has what she needs to care for our kitties. It looks like the patient family spending hours sitting quietly on a kennel floor, slowly earning the trust of a terrified, abused dog until it finally wags its tail and realizes it is finally safe, loved, and on its way to a forever home.

 Of course, God has provided the absolute perfect backdrop for us to celebrate this beautiful work today. We’ve been blessed with an above-average temperature of 72 degrees and gorgeous sunshine. After those early low temperatures we had earlier in the week, the leaves on our sumac have turned a brilliant, bright red, while the other trees are bursting into yellow and orange, making for a truly picturesque day. As I look out at our backyard, I'm incredibly grateful that Sue handles the real hands-on animal care. Meanwhile, I’ve been happily assigned to tent logistics, food, beverages, and playing the dual role of parking attendant and gator tour guide throughout our forest sanctuary, we call Reviresco—a Latin name that means "to be green again.”

When faced with the brokenness, suffering, or loneliness in our community, do we find ourselves making polite excuses to protect our own comfort and time? Are we willing to let our hearts be broken open by the vulnerable, or are we keeping our love safely guarded within our own small circles?

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends, thank you for the profound joy, compassion, and tireless dedication of these incredible volunteers who serve as your hands and feet for the strays and abandoned animals of our world. Grant them renewed energy when they are weary, fill their hearts with the unique joy of seeing a rescued kitty or doggie find a loving home, and inspire us all to live with the same radical, protective, and open-hearted compassion.

 

Invitation to the Kingdon-Bringing Our Best Selves to the Feast

  

                                        Wedding Saiesha & Ben by Fr. Matt

Everybody loves a wedding, but the parable Jesus tells in Matthew 22 is far from your average fairy-tale celebration. Unlike the Gospel of Luke, where a single servant delivers a quiet, polite invitation, Matthew reminds us that the invitation to the King’s wedding banquet is grand, urgent, and deeply significant. The King has prepared a sumptuous feast for his Son and has invited everyone—the good and the bad alike. Yet, as the parable warns, we so easily get distracted by our own lives. We make worldly excuses—tending to our farms, checking our cell phones and Facebook, or letting the frantic busyness of daily life pull us away from the celebration of love and community. We are being offered a seat at the ultimate table, but we treat it like an optional calendar notification.

 

I have to confess, I really love performing wedding ceremonies. Just recently, my dear friend Fr. Don invited me to concelebrate a service for his son, Ben, and his new bride, Saiesha. It began with a magnificent, traditional Hindu ceremony where everyone from her family was dressed in their absolute finest, most vibrant robes. It was my humble privilege to co-officiate at the Christian wedding service alongside his dad the following day. Looking out at those beautiful traditions, I was reminded that a wedding is one of the few times left in our culture where people naturally and wholeheartedly try to bring their best selves. When we receive a wedding invitation, we instinctively understand that we dress, prepare, and carry ourselves in a way that honors the host and celebrates the couple's joy.

 

The paradox of the Kingdom is that the King’s invitation is completely indiscriminate and wide open, yet it demands everything from us. The world tells us we can show up to life on our own terms, completely casual and unbothered. But a wedding feast requires us to honor the host by showing up prepared. In ancient times, the King provided a closetful of festive wedding garments for his guests; to show up cavalierly without one was a flat-out refusal to cooperate with the grace being offered. Today, our wedding garment isn't about fancy clothes or worldly status—it is about a radical internal transformation. The ultimate host doesn't care about our bank accounts or social standing, but He does require us to be clothed in gratitude, faith, hope, and compassionate love for our neighbor.

 

We see this calling play out in the ordinary, beautiful corners of our local community—especially through our animal shelter volunteers. Right now, Susan and I are throwing a volunteer appreciation party to honor those who serve our vulnerable animal friends so faithfully. The tent is ordered, the food and beverages are ready, and yes—the parking attendant is prepared to guide you safely into the farm! But this isn't just another casual weekend hang. We honor the gathering by bringing our best selves, reflecting the same love our volunteers show every single day to the most defenseless among us. We see the "wedding garment" of active love when volunteers  bottle-feed a fragile litter of stray kitties every few hours. We see it when they patiently clean out isolation kennels, provide medical care to a sick, frightened neighborhood stray, or spend hours gently socializing a traumatized kitten so it can finally find a forever home. That is what it means to be clothed in grace.

 

Decency dictates that we show up wearing our best selves wherever we are—whether that’s at home, at church, tending to stray animals, or even while trapped in a long car line at the Starbuck’s take-out window. Our spiritual life will never be about what happens to us, only about how we embrace it. Pain and joy come to the good and the bad alike, but so does the invitation to God’s celebration. You have been asked to be a guest at the party, so let’s make sure we look the part. Just remember to pack your joy, your neighborly love, and maybe a little extra grace for the road!

 

What worldly distraction, chore, or daily anxiety are you allowing to pull you away from God's invitation today? * Are you showing up to your life, your community, and your relationships with a casual, cavalier attitude, or are you actively putting on your best self?

 

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that we hear your urgent, beautiful call today. Do not let the distractions of the world cause us to miss out on the joy of fellowship. The table is prepared and the invitation is yours. May God grant us the grace to throw off our worldly excuses, put on our garments of faith and gratitude, and show up to love the vulnerable. May God’s peace be with you.

 

Becoming Fruit of the Kingdom

  

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

When we open Matthew 21:43, Jesus looks us right in the eye and delivers a blunt warning: “The kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.” If we treat this parable like a literal story, the landowner looks completely foolish—sending his servants and his own son back into a den of known, murderous cutthroats. But it’s an allegory, and it hits a raw human tension. We love to cast ourselves as the chosen ones, feeling all warm and special. The uncomfortable truth is that we in the Church need to cast ourselves as the wicked tenants. If we hoard the vineyard for ourselves, protecting our comfort while refusing to nurture new growth, we fail the master. The vineyard does not exist to keep us safe inside the walls; it exists to yield a harvest that feeds the next generation.

 

Our culture, and sometimes our institutional structures, tell us that success is about self-preservation, protecting our traditions, and passing rigid regulations to keep things orderly. We want to sit comfortably inside our fence lines. But the radical message of the Cross completely shatters that desire for safety. The Cross demands that we pour ourselves out for the margins. The one and only true church isn’t found in building taller fences to protect our tradition; it is found in rolling up our sleeves and tearing down those fences to share our harvest and reflect Christ's compassion for the vulnerable.

 

I just spent three intense days gathered in Manchester for our General Synod, surrounded by heavy administrative agendas, bishop elections, and over thirty ordinances. Yet, the real compass for the future of this church didn’t come from a committee report; it came from the floor when a lay delegate stood up and asked what we were going to do to bring people back. Our lay delegates shared their honest feedback: they don't want slick marketing, religious jargon, or superficial entertainment. They are hoping for a future where local parishes look outward, producing tangible fruits for others—whether it is growing literal veggies on the church lawn to feed the hungry, providing a safe space for an immigrant community to worship, or offering a warm meal and a listening ear to a lonely neighbor.

 

We worry so much about finding the perfect programmatic map for church growth, yet we constantly get turned around. I experienced this firsthand recently while walking the trails near Pulpit Rock. I trusted conflicting advice, ignored the need for a real map, and ended up completely lost in the woods. When I finally found a trail out, it led to the wrong parking lot, leaving me completely stranded. Disoriented and embarrassed, I knocked on the door of a nearby surveyor company. I was met not with judgment, but with incredible kindness. The owner knew exactly where I belonged and personally drove me miles back to my vehicle. I felt like an absolute fool, but I was deeply grateful I got lost because it allowed me to meet a wonderful Good Samaritan. Perhaps that is the real secret to bringing people back to our pews: we need to stop acting like owners of the vineyard and start becoming Good Samaritans to our neighborhoods in desperate need.

 

Producing the true fruits of the kingdom means looking directly at the young adults in our neighborhoods. Many are fighting quiet, invisible battles with severe real-world isolation, career anxiety, and hidden mental health struggles. They are not a demographic project to be managed; they are the very people Christ calls us to welcome into the vineyard. Older parishioners possess a lifetime of wisdom, stability, and warmth that this generation desperately craves. You can make a profound difference, step into their lives, and invite them into our church community through these concrete actions:

• Offer Practical Mentorship: Many young adults are navigating complex career choices, financial decisions, or family transitions without a strong support system. Offer your professional expertise or life wisdom freely, with no strings attached.
• Host Intergenerational Dinners: Invite a few young adults into your home for a home-cooked meal. Create a space for authentic conversation where they are listened to as equals, not lectured.
• Provide "Life Skills" Workshops: Share practical talents that are fading between generations. Host casual church events to teach car maintenance, basic cooking, budgeting, sewing, or home repairs.
• Create Screen-Free Spaces: Open the church for quiet hours, community gardens, or book clubs that encourage people to slow down, unplug, and connect face-to-face.
• Practice Non-Judgmental Listening: When young adults do walk through our doors, welcome them exactly as they are. Skip the pressure to join committees right away. Instead, focus entirely on learning their names, hearing their stories, and validating their struggles.

 

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends, grant us the grace to step out from behind the safety of our church doors and labor zealously in your vineyard. Open our hearts to the honest feedback of our laity, honor our roots of protecting the vulnerable, and help us produce a crop of unconditional love that feeds a hurting world.

 

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.