In this November month of remembrance, I reflect on my own lived experiences as the daughter of Vietnamese-American refugees and the integrated elements of my Catholic faith and Vietnamese culture. The story of St. Andrew Dũng-Lạc, a revered Vietnamese saint, was well known amongst my family and community. In many Vietnamese homes, a family altar, called a bàn thờ, holds a significant place in the home to honor our ancestors. Photos of loved ones are displayed in ornate frames arranged around fresh flowers, incense, and small bowls of rice and fruits to symbolize substance and abundance. Rosary beads or prayer cards rest alongside the photographs, among them St. Andrew Dũng-Lạc, as a reminder of a commitment to the Catholic faith and the sacrifices of those who have gone before us.
Born around 1795 in Vietnam, Andrew Dũng-Lạc embraced Christianity and pursued priesthood during a period of intense religious suppression. In the early 19th century, the Nguyen Dynasty imposed strict anti-Christian decrees, targeting both foreign missionaries and local converts. Despite the perilous climate, Dũng-Lạc ardently served his community, spreading the Gospel and offering solace to fellow believers. In 1839, Dũng-Lạc and his companions faced brutal persecution due to their refusal to renounce their Christian faith. They endured excruciating torture and imprisonment, yet they did not waver in their convictions. Ultimately, they were martyred for their refusal to abandon their religious beliefs, becoming a testament to unyielding faith in the face of extreme adversity.
Alongside his Vietnamese martyrs, Andrew Dũng-Lạc stood as an emblem of unwavering faith and resilience in the face of persecution and stands as an inspiration for many, both within Vietnamese and across the globe. The feast day of St. Andrew Dũng-Lạc and his companions on November 24 serve as a reminder of their courage, the power of faith and devotion to endure even in the most challenging circumstances.
For many Vietnamese Catholics in the diaspora, this story is one that parallels their own experiences as refugees, compelled by political turmoil and religious persecution, relied on their beliefs and strength to persevere through the challenges of displacement and uncertainty to build a sense of community in their new homes. Within my own family, lived experiences, and the world in which we live today, I can’t help but reflect on the human spirit’s capacity to endure amidst violence and trauma. The collective trauma of displacement and the migrant experience is intergenerational and requires us as persons of faith to seize this moment as one for us to reclaim love in its fullness. How do we make space to open our hearts to others’ grief?
Angeline Vuong, parishioner