It’s 11:15, Sunday morning in Rochester, New York, at St. Stanislaus Kostka Parish, Polish Mass has begun. The organ is churning, the people are chanting, and American children call out to their bilingual parents in a lovingly preserved mother tongue – it is all very beautiful, and it is all very Polish.
The priest, however, is not.
That priest is me. Italian-American as chicken parm in marinara, Fr. Jim Muscatella…