There are few names in Church history that simultaneously elicit admiring remarks and raised eyebrows. Dorothy Day is one.

Declared Servant of God by Pope John Paul II in 2000, she would probably resist the honor today. “Don’t call me a saint,” she retorted when people did just that. “I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”

One thing she wouldn’t thwart: the need to remember the feast of St. Joseph the Worker on May 1.

A devout Catholic, a mystic and a social activist, Day advocated a theology of radical love, simplicity and obedience. She became known for her social-justice campaigns in defense of the poor, the forsaken, the hungry and the homeless. And she managed to promote progressive social programs while maintaining an unwavering fidelity to the Church’s teachings on faith, morals and theology.

Day’s earlier life wouldn’t have predicted this arc. She wasn’t always Catholic, much less moral, spiritual or reasonable. Before she found God, she honed her skills as a bohemian, an anarchist, a feminist and a communist. She had two common-law marriages and an abortion under her belt. Yet she began to stop in at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in New York City’s Greenwich Village. She liked the peace she found inside.

Those visits would mark the beginning of a profound conversion experience. The turnaround would lead to her trying to meld her faith in Christ with her belief in activism on behalf of the poor. During the Great Depression, she fought for jobs, housing, unemployment insurance, health care, pensions and assistance for mothers and children. Some people, aware of her background, called this a form of socialism under a different name.

Eventually Day realized that, although socialists and communists sought economic justice for the poor — a Christian ideal — their ideologies were Godless at their core. That she could not, or would not, accept. A socialist agitator in the first half of the 20th century, she went on to stand foursquare against the anarchistic currents of the late ’60s and early ’70s.

Moneyless Magnanimity

It was on the feast of St. Joseph the Worker in 1933 that Day, along with Peter Maurin, founded the Catholic Worker movement. The work came about when Maurin urged Day to use her writing talents to start a newspaper aimed at promoting a Christocentric worldview, one that valued human dignity over consumerism and industrialism.

At first, The Catholic Worker was only a newspaper. But the depth of Day’s dedication quickly became apparent to all who met her. The poor, drawn to her faith-fueled compassion, poured into her office. Day didn’t just want to give out meals. She was first and foremost a Christian who wanted to love God and her neighbor as Christ had.

I showed up for Mass at St. Joseph House, a nondescript and ramshackle storefront befitting the E. First Street neighborhood, only to find Dorothy Day’s old little corner of the world packed to the rafters.

This was especially striking considering I was a half-hour early. It was a tiny space that apparently also served as a kitchen, meeting hall, storage facility, office and lounge. All around me were the elderly, the disabled, the dispossessed, the unemployable, the unwanted and the unwashed. Paint peeled from the walls and smells emanated from everywhere, some pleasant cooking smells and others that reminded me of the desperate poverty of my neighbors.

The setting also reminded me that St. Joseph House was never a social-work agency, much less one operating on the modern “client/provider” model. It is the Church reified: Dorothy Day’s work proceeding apace 27 years after her death in 1980 at 83 years old.

The presiding priest stepped into the makeshift chapel. The congregation greeted him exuberantly. I jumped at the loud response coming from behind me. Considering I was in the back of the room, it was impossible for anyone to be behind me.

I turned to find the store windows had been removed — and many dozens of Mass-goers were attending on the sidewalk and street. I watched a moment as confused passersby, not knowing what to make of this holy spectacle, stared and blinked. What else but the holy sacrifice of the Mass, I thought, could attract this kind of attention on a busy and otherwise depressed New York City street?

The singing was raucous and the prayers were jubilant and the petitions of the faithful went on forever and no one minded. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful churches in Christendom but I’ve never seen one more alive with Christ’s spirit as St. Joseph’s Chapel. Real, transcendent beauty was all around if only you knew what to look for.

After Mass, I made my way around the corner to Maryhouse, the home Day established for homeless women. An enormous party had spontaneously erupted.

Someone grabbed my elbow and pressed me to help the guests. I took my place behind the table, rolled up my sleeves and handed out dishes of food as fast as I could. After all, he who would be first in the Kingdom …

After a long time on my feet, and after everyone had been served, I took my place at the table and had a bite to eat. I thought it might be the most delicious food I’ve ever tasted. I looked up at the people sitting at table with me and was overwhelmed by a sense of thankfulness and peace.

Were the early Christian-home gatherings for Mass and fellowship, prior to the construction of churches, proper, something like this humble yet happy banquet of body and soul? Either way, I imagine that heaven’s occupants must worship God and celebrate his close presence in a similar spirit.

One day I hope to find out, breaking bread with a great crowd whose number includes St. Joseph the Worker and St. Dorothy Day.

Angelo Stagnaro writes

from New York City.

Planning Your Visit

A Mass in honor of St Joseph the Worker is held May 1 every year at 5 p.m. Don’t expect to find a seat. The nearest major airport is in LaGuardia or Kennedy. The nearest subway is the F-train to the Second Avenue station.

St. Joseph House
36 E. First St
New York, NY 10003

(212) 254-1640