Where hospitality becomes holy: The Church’s Ellis Island moment

By Christine Pinto

On Jan. 1, 1892, a small island in the upper New York Harbor opened its doors to the world. During its sixty-two years, Ellis Island became the gateway for over 12 million immigrants seeking hope, freedom and a new beginning in America. For many immigrants, the journey was not only physical, but also spiritual. Those who made the arduous journey across the Atlantic Ocean arrived with little more than faith, family and dreams of opportunity. Those who dared to risk everything were met by communities who accompanied them as they found their way in a foreign land. Church communities, in particular, played a vital role in this welcome, offering not only spiritual nourishment but also practical support, language classes, job connections, and a sense of belonging.

As we mark the 134^th anniversary of Ellis Island’s opening, we are reminded of the sacred responsibility to welcome the stranger — a call deeply rooted in Scripture and tradition. The story of Abraham and Sarah welcoming three strangers into their meager home is a call to hospitality for people of faith today. The word hospitality comes from the Latin word hospitalitas, and can also mean “guest” and “host.” Why is this important? By linking the two words — guest and host — we begin to understand the reciprocal nature of hospitality. When we practice the charism of hospitality, we are changed. When we meet the “other” we reconnect with the truest nature of who we are as people destined for a future place (heaven). The scriptures tell us that when we practice hospitality in a real way, we meet Christ face-to-face. “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35) is not just a verse; it is an invitation to encounter Christ; it is our mission.

Today, many Catholic parishes face a new opportunity to engage the charism of hospitality. Across the country, many dioceses are merging or closing parishes due to shifting demographics, declining attendance, financial constraints and a desire to create (or maintain) vibrant communities of faith. These changes can be painful, especially for people with deep historical and emotional ties to their parish. But they also present an opportunity — an Ellis Island moment—to renew the Church’s commitment to hospitality and inclusion.

Just as Ellis Island was a threshold to a new life, so too are our parish doors. When communities merge or close, it is the responsibility of the receiving parish not simply to absorb new members, but to truly welcome them. This means meeting them at the harbor, hearing their stories of the journey, walking with them in their ache for what once was, honoring their cultural traditions, and ultimately creating space for shared leadership and mutual growth. None of our communities should look the same at the end of the All Things New process. We are changed by every person who walks through our doors—whether a lifelong parishioner or someone new to the area — and each one is a gift to our community.

Welcoming is not a passive act; it is dynamic and intentional. It requires sensitivity, cultural awareness, and a spirit of humility. It means “my way” isn’t the “only way” or even the “right way.” It also calls us to be more than administrators of buildings—we must be builders of community, the living presence of Jesus Christ for others. At the end of every Mass, after receiving Jesus in the Eucharist, we are told to “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.” This dismissal is meant to send us forth on a mission: to take Christ, who is now physically present in our bodies and GO, BE CHRIST IN THE WORLD.

The legacy of Ellis Island has a special message for the Catholic Church in the twenty-first century. It reminds us that the Church flourishes when it embraces diversity and extends hospitality. The immigrants who came to this country helped shape the American Church, bringing with them vibrant expressions of faith, devotion, and resilience. Today, as our parishes embark on this new journey to discover who we are and who we are called to be, we must follow the footsteps of our ancestors: we must become places of faith where all are seen, known, and loved.

In this moment of change, may we remember our history, honor our present, and commit to a future where every parish is our own Ellis Island—a place of welcome and the doorway to something more. Together, we can embrace and become all things new.

Christine Pinto is the director of faith formation for the Diocese of St. Cloud.