When I first came to the United States, my husband, children and I lived in a tiny village in New Mexico.  You know the type: everyone knew everyone else; I checked up on my little-old-lady neighbors every day to make sure they were OK, and they told me stories of the old West. One summer, a few parishioners got together and actually painted our church, inside and out. We knew when someone was ill and needed help, the farmers would share their extra produce with everyone, and a couple of local ranchers held an annual fabulous pit barbeque for everyone. They dug the pit, lined it with live coals and I don’t know what else, placed the steer (cow?) in it, covered it and left it there I don’t know how long. The next day the meet fell off the carcass and together with boiled pinto beans, roasted green chili and fresh tortillas provided a feast that is second to none. In other words, we loved living in that small, close knit, friendly village where everyone was like family.

One day a young man came on business, looked around and said: “I could never live in a place like this! I live in a town of about 10,000 and the other day my wife told me: ‘today the grocer called me by name, this place is too small for us, it’s time to move’.” I just stared at him and thought: “What a sad philosophy of life! Why would anyone live in a place where they are always a stranger?”

Especially today, when families are smaller and scattered around the Country, living in a big city can feel like being a number. You know, “What’s your Social?” “What’s your telephone number?” “Take a number!” I remember a wise old friend telling me: “Dying in a city is like taking a hand out of a pail of water. The water closes over the gap and no one knows the hand is missing.”

And that’s why I always loved small places, like the New Mexican village, or the village in the Alps where nonno’s cabin greeted us every summer. We were known by name, and we felt human. I am convinced that’s how God meant us to live from the beginning.  After all, didn’t He place Adam and Eve in a garden?  And God does not go by numbers. He knows the name of every single person who ever lived and who will ever live. He knows every face, every wrinkle: Jesus tells us that He counts every hair on our heads.  Everywhere in the Bible we read of the care that our Creator takes of every one of us. Like Isaiah 49:15-16: “Can a woman forget the infant at her breast or a loving mother the child of her womb? Even these forget, yet I will not forget you… I have engraved you on the palms of My hands.” In other words we, each one of us, is special.

Well, let me tell you: I knew I was not going to be special to anyone when I first moved to Denver. I remembered the “hand in the bucket of water” example of my old friend and I knew she was right.  So, before looking for a place to live, I looked for a parish where I could feel at home. As a Catholic, I knew that there would always be a place for me there, a place where folks believed what I believed, and would welcome me by name. And I was right.

Holy Trinity is the second parish I have attended since coming to Denver many years ago, and it does feel like a small village in many ways. For instance: I’ve seen babies who were baptized when I first came to Holy Trinity receive their First Communion; children who went through the RE program who are now going to college (help!) and yes, some of the folks who welcomed me in the parish are now with the Lord.

Many of us are growing old, but we are getting there together, so we hardly notice. We pray for those among us who are ill, by name, and we rejoice when they recover. If we haven’t seen someone for a while, we ask around “have you seen so and so? Is everything OK?” We grieve when a fellow parishioner is going through tough times: a lost job, a broken marriage, or rebellious children.

Oh how wise is our Mother Church to give us the parish! Where else could we feel at home, with family, no matter where we are in the world? A few years ago, a friend went to Paris (France, that is) on a business trip. Guess what impressed her the most? “I went to Mass and even though I don’t know French, I understood everything that they were doing and saying! It was just like here!” In other words, in a strange Country, a strange language, she understood because she knew the words by heart, and she felt comfortable. She belonged, and belonging is important to all of us.

Can you imagine living in a town where there’s no Catholic church? And yet there are many such places all over the world, and not only in countries where the Church is overtly persecuted. Some parishes have been closed even in the United States, because of lack of priests. I can think of no worse tragedy than living without the Sacraments, without the Church, without the parish. It would feel like a child lost in a great big place, looking for mom, dad, brothers and sisters and not finding them. A very scary, big, inhuman place, where we don’t belong.