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By Shane Gilreath
When I woke up Sunday morning, for half a second, I thought about rolling over and going back to sleep. Like many people, I’m not naturally a morning person, and the 8:30AM Holy Mass at my parish can feel exceptionally early on a lazy weekend morning. There’s a certain sense of obligation that comes with Mass and Catholicism, so knowing I’d face it, I got up anyway.
In the Catholic Church, Sunday Mass is not optional in the way it might otherwise be. Rather, it is understood as a moral obligation That teaching recognizes that faith is not merely something we believe privately, but something we participate in together publicly. It is communal, even when we are tired. So, tired and reluctant, I went. By the end, I understood why discipline matters. There was a message I needed to hear and I wanted to share it.
I was serving as a lay reader and I was still a bit groggy as I approached the ambo, but something shifted during the liturgy. By the time Mass and “Thanks Be to God” sounded across the aisles, I was no longer thinking about being tired or the long workday ahead. I was thinking about gratitude.
For years, I’ve heard that America is becoming a “post-Christian” society. Sometimes that can feel true in the everyday rhythms of life. Church attendance is no longer central for many families, and faith can feel like something practiced quietly on the margins of society rather than at the center of it, as historically was the case. I’ve felt that myself, and I suspect many others have as well, but it took the witness of a visiting priest, Fr Joseph from South Vietnam, to remind me how relative our assumptions really are.
Fr Joseph’s words were honest. He spoke truths about the life he experienced in Vietnam, a country governed by a Communist system rooted in an atheist ideology and long shaped by strict regulation on religious life. Christians there, including both Catholics and Protestants, make up an overwhelming minority – roughly 7% of the population, according to his remarks. Yet within that minority, the Church remains active and deeply present, helping when and where it can.
Interestingly, he described church life differently than Americans have seen it in 50 years. On ordinary weekdays, his home parish sees around 200 people attending daily Mass. On Sundays, that number can grow to approximately 700. What struck me most wasn’t just sheer numbers, but sheer contrasts. In a place where faith is not culturally dominant, people choose to go to church – consistently, intentionally, and often at personal costs. That thought lingered with me well into the afternoon. In the United States, absence from Mass – from any religious service – is often simply a matter of preference or, I’m ashamed to say, being tired. In Vietnam, attendance can carry a different weight all together. It is not something casually set aside, saved for special holy days. Even when life is difficult, people still go to church. Sometimes especially when life is difficult. But there’s a broader reality in Vietnam. When the Vietnam War ended in the 1970s and American forces departed, the nation entered into a period of reconstruction under a Communism – a term a lot of Americans throw around, but few actually know firsthand.
In the post war process of revitalization, Catholic institutions – and Christians more broadly – navigated their way through significant restrictions and everyday challenges. Some critical. Building a church requires government approval to this day and that can take as long as a decade to obtain, and yet even in an environment that maintains strict oversight on religiosity, the Church continues to do work, even as I, well-fed and well-read, whine about being tired and wanting to stay in bed. The latter is not the norm for a lot of people.
There was a lot to process, but one part of Fr Joseph’s message stayed with me more than anything else: the description of a nursing home built through Catholic charity. In that home, elderly people who have no family support are cared for, regardless of faith – Catholic, Buddhist, or non-religious. Children who might otherwise go without adequate food or shelter are also helped through related ministries. It’s not an exclusive project; it’s a human one. A place where dignity is preserved in the most basic way, through food, shelter, and care. It felt like Christianity in its most basic form.
In parts of rural Vietnam, especially in the Mekong Delta region where his diocese is located, poverty and instability still leave many vulnerable. The Church, through local parishes and religious sisters, often steps into that gap. It tries to do that around the world – to see the humanity in each and every one of us. It is easy, sitting in a comfortable pew in the United States, to forget how many people in the world live without the safety nets we assume are normal: reliable healthcare, elder care, childcare, education, food security, work, or even stable housing. On Sunday morning, Fr Joseph’s words made that reality difficult for any of us to ignore.
When Mass ended, I felt something I didn’t expect when I woke that morning. I felt embarrassed for having considered skipping, but more than that, I felt humbled. Humbled by the reminder that faith is not only about personal comfort, but about witness and work – about showing up even when it’s inconvenient, even when we’re tired. Humbled in recognizing the broader body of believers we are part of all across the world.
As we sit here in relative comfort, it’s easy to forget that we are not alone on this planet, or, indeed, in this faith, and it made me believe more strongly in a simple truth. The words of St Luke have long served as my personal motto: of whom much is given, much is expected.
So, as we prepare to celebrate the semiquincentennial , we should realize we are fortunate to live in a country where we are free to worship without fear, but we shouldn’t forget that such freedom is not universal, and because of that, perhaps the least we can do, as Christians – Protestant or Catholic – is not take it for granted. Instead, we can let it move us outward toward gratitude, toward consistency in our faith, and a willingness to help others who carry burdens we may never have to face.
If any of my readers would like to support Father Joseph’s mission or the charitable work of the Diocese he represents, contributions may be sent to:
Fr. Joseph
Long Xuyên Diocese
33 Prospect Hill Road
Cromwell, CT 06416