Edited by Veronica Estrade and Catherine Walsh, Institute Communications
Her father’s love profoundly shaped Catherine McAuley, founder of the Sisters of Mercy of the Americas, even though she was only 5 when James McAuley died.
The affection of her “foster father” and benefactor William Callaghan also helped shape Catherine into the visionary religious leader she would become.
James McAuley’s Catholic faith and compassion for the poor inspired his daughter to serve people in need at every turn in 19th-century Ireland and beyond. By leaving his fortune to Catherine—after she cared for him and his wife—William Callaghan made it possible for her to open the House of Mercy on Baggot Street and to bring mercy to the ends of the Earth.
This Father’s Day, we remember not only the two most important men in Catherine’s life but also the fathers and grandfathers of today’s Sisters of Mercy worldwide—whose stories carry forward Catherine’s legacy and expand our understanding of what fatherhood and family are all about.
‘Inspired by my pioneering grandfather and father’
By Sister Cora Marie Billings, Virginia, USA
The roses I hold in a cherished 1957 photo are from the garden of my maternal grandfather, John Aloysius Lee Sr., the son of a slave of Jesuit priests at Georgetown University. My father Jesse Anthony Billings, a Catholic convert, is seated between Grandfather and me.
The faith of both pioneering men inspired me when I integrated the Sisters of Mercy in 1956 as the first Black member of the community.
Not long after he visited me in the novitiate in Marion, Pennsylvania, Grandpop went home to God. He was the first African American recipient of an international award for an outstanding Catholic layperson, the father of 12, including two Oblate Sisters of Providence, and a longtime employee of the U.S. Postal Service. Philadelphia Cardinal John Francis O’Hara presided at his funeral.
I was an only child and lived with Grandpop and my grandmother, Mary Lee, during World War II, while Daddy served in the Navy and my mom, Ethel Lorraine Lee, worked in a factory.
Before I entered the convent, Grandpop told me it would be extremely difficult to be the first African American women. He emphasized I should have faith in myself, distinguish racist incidents from personality differences and trust in God.
When Daddy died, he had a picture of me in my habit in his wallet. It showed he was happy and proud of me.
‘You are my palette of colors’
By Sister Janet Fernández Cardozo, Perú
Describing my father is like having a blank burlap canvas stretched over a wooden easel with a palette full of many colors and a brush in hand.
That is my father, Guillermo Fernández Guerrero, a multifaceted, passionate, service-oriented and very generous person.
A father, a retired art teacher, a writer, a ceramist, a woodcarver and someone with incredible critical awareness.
He is a reader and a storyteller. He has received many awards at the district, regional and national levels in Perú. However, among all the gifts and talents that God has given him, what stands out most to me is that, despite his age, he has never stopped doing what he is passionate about: “painting life” in both its beauty and its vulnerability.
My father is 88 years old and has been married to my mother, Maria Asunción Cardoza Rivas, for 56 years. He still challenges me and my six siblings by saying: “You are my palette of colors.”
‘Mercy lives in my daddy!’
By Sister Algen Castañeto, Philippines
Since I was young, I have witnessed how my father, Alfred Castañeto, has a soft spot for those who are financially challenged, especially children. One time, when he was buying candy for me, he saw two other children gazing at the candy. He bought some for them, too. When he sees neighbors who need money or help of any kind, he readily gives them his money or service. He doesn’t just feel pity—he acts on it, and I can see the joy in his eyes.
I am my father’s only daughter. I have five brothers and our mother died a few years ago. The special bond I share with Papa, a government official in our town, gives me joy. His presence at my temporary vows ceremony in 2023 filled me with gratitude.
‘I rode on my grandfather’s shoulders’
By Sister Gavina de Castro, Guam and Philippines
Riding on my grandfather’s shoulders to church at dawn in the Philippines is a memory I cherish.
Gabriel Ortega, my maternal grandfather—”Mamay Gabriel,” as I called him—raised me alongside my grandmother from ages three to six.
With our Filipino culture of close family ties, grandparents often care for grandchildren. I frequently saw my parents and six siblings, moving back home with them after kindergarten.
I was Mamay Gabriel’s little shadow. We explored the jungle together and I watched him work as a farmer, mechanic and driver. He would patiently answer my unlimited “Whys?”
His faith strongly influenced me. He gathered his grandchildren every evening to say the rosary, and he shared beautiful Bible stories, such as the one about the child who leads the beasts and fearlessly plays with them (Isaiah 11:6-8). Because of Mamay Gabriel, my favorite verse is Isaiah 46:4: “Even to your old age … I am [God] who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you … I will rescue you.”
Before he died, when I was 12, my grandfather drew a vision he’d experienced of himself in heaven with God. This drawing inspires me in my journey as a Sister of Mercy.
‘He told me I could do anything’
By Sister Lisa Gambacorto, New Jersey, USA
My father, Dominic Gambacorto, who is 92 years old, has always put his wife and three daughters first. I would describe him as selfless. He worked two jobs his entire life: at a water company for over 40 years and at a gas station on weekends. He gave his daughters a Catholic education.
He taught me that a girl can do anything a boy can do but probably better. He supported me in every step of my journey, including my decision to enter religious life.
He told me I could do anything with my life and be successful, but God was smart to call me because [God] was getting “a great person and a hard worker.” He was so cute when he said that. He and my mother Janet will be married 71 years in October. I am lucky to have them. My dad’s faith in God is unwavering and something I admire. He is my hero.
‘His love remains alive in me’
By Sister Edith González, Panamá
My father, Juan González, a farmer, was a humble man—deeply hardworking and dedicated to agriculture and cattle raising in our native Panamá. He and my mother, Antonia Vega, formed a family of eight children. His love for me was constant and sustaining, encouraging me to become a person capable of serving others.
From a young age, I saw him welcome people from the community who came seeking help or shelter. He always extended his hand with generosity. I also learned gratitude from him: He was thankful to God and to those who helped him.
His love deeply shaped my faith and helped it grow. He taught me to love and respect God. He showed me what it means to serve others and reflected God’s goodness in our lives. Although he passed away six years ago into the Easter of Christ, his love remains alive in me. His memory sustains me each day and has made me a strong and grateful woman.
‘I am grateful for Dad’s sacrifices’
By Sister Michelle Gorman, California, USA, & Ireland
As a child in County Mayo, Ireland, I learned that my father, James Gorman, liked to listen to the news. One day, I decided to deliver the news to him while he worked on our farm.
I couldn’t read or write yet, but I listened intently to the radio and scribbled on paper. Then I hotfooted it to the field, handed him the paper and asked: “Tell me what it says.” Dad studied my scribbles and talked about news he had likely heard that morning. I was amazed. How could he possibly know what I had “written?”
My father had a hard life. He was born about 50 years after the famine and lived under colonialism. He told many stories about the brutality of British paramilitary forces during the Irish War of Independence (1919-21). But he loved God and his family, who he led in daily rosary.
When I told my parents I was going to California to become a Sister of Mercy, Dad wrote out the Prayer of St. Teresa of Avila for me (“Let nothing disturb you…”). Every time I returned for a visit, he said if I “didn’t like it there,” I could come home. He stopped saying that after I made final vows.
I am grateful for the sacrifices he made so I could follow my dreams and religious calling.
‘He taught us to be grateful’
By Sister Nieves Jimenez, Panamá
My father, Saturnino Jiménez, devoted himself to his faith and family and to the hard work of cultivating the land. Together, with my mother, María Inés, he raised six children in rural Panamá, where we grew up surrounded by effort, faith and love.
In his youth, he worked in banana companies in Puerto Armuelles, a Panamanian city near Costa Rica, migrating in search of better opportunities. Later, he returned with us to our hometown of San Juan, where he dedicated himself fully to farming—growing rice, corn and other crops that sustained our family.
Our childhood was shaped by the countryside—where we grew up among mountains and harvests and learned meaningful lessons. He taught us how to plant, how to work with joy and how to value simplicity. He was a generous man, grateful to God, always ready to help others.
His example strengthened my faith and taught me to seek and respect God. Nearly four years have gone by since he passed away at 92. However, his love remains alive in me and memories of him are with me every day, filling me with gratitude.
‘Being a daddy’s girl was a treat!’
By Sister Rose Martin, Pennsylvania, USA
My dad, Bill Martin, went to daily Mass (except Saturdays) in our Philadelphia suburb for as long as I can remember. When I was in school, especially in the middle grades, the IHM sisters (Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary) encouraged their students to attend Mass during October, Advent, Lent, May and other special times. My dad and I would partner in this venture—except on the mornings when he would gently wake me and I would murmur, “Daddy, I’m too tired today.” He would then kiss my cheek and pull the covers up around my chin. About 45 minutes later, my mother Rose would discover me in bed, raise the shade, and say, “I see the devil got you again today.”
I see myself in both parents, but being a daddy’s girl was always a special treat! I don’t think the devil won.
Dad believed in God’s will and a good laugh
By Sister Ann McKenna, Rhode Island, USA
In 1959, I told my father, Eugene J. McKenna, I was considering entering the Sisters of Mercy in Rhode Island. He asked if I thought this was God’s will for me.
“Yes,” I responded.
“Then that is what I have been praying for all these years,” Dad said. I was surprised but he added he had prayed I would know and follow God’s will for my life, whatever it was.
“Even if that meant you felt called by God to be a clown in a circus, that was what I was praying for!”
Dad, an officer manager for a business machines company, believed one could serve God anywhere. (My mom, Mary O’Brien McKenna, a bookkeeper, believed that too.)
A few days before Dad passed away, he announced he didn’t want visitors outside the family, which included my siblings Father Eugene McKenna, a priest of the Providence diocese, and Shirley McKenna Clancy, a wife, mother and grandmother who has since passed away.
But when Bishop Kenneth Angell (d. 2016) learned of my father’s pending death from my brother, he stopped by, not knowing Dad’s wishes. When I asked Dad later about the visit, he dryly noted the bishop had said he was a good man, a good Christian, a good Catholic. “You know, the typical confirmation homily!”
‘Dad brought warmth, joy and music to our home’
By Sister Marianne Read, Vermont, USA
My father Charles Patrick Read was a gentle, kind and generous man whose life centered around faith, family, music and love. Professionally, he was a banker. Those who knew him remember the warmth and joy he brought into their lives.
Dad was devoted to my mother, Dorothea, and to my older sister, Dorothy (Dottie), and me.
Some of my happiest childhood memories are of Dad playing the organ in our Boston, Massachusetts, home while his brother, Jesuit Father William J. Read, played the banjo. His sister, Mercy Sister Theresa Marie Read (d. 2010), and Mom sang together while Dottie and I marched around banging pots and pans. (Mom, a gifted pianist, would play for us too.)
Dad loved New Orleans jazz, Irish music, polkas and other genres. He played the clarinet beautifully.
He had a deep understanding of people, especially me. When I told him I was entering the Sisters of Mercy, he smiled and said he had always known I would enter the convent. He then joked that visiting his religious siblings had taught him how to behave when he visited me. We laughed and I still remember the tenderness and pride behind his words.
A treasured photo shows Dad sitting with Dottie and me in the Motherhouse foyer in Burlington, Vermont, when I became a novice in 1964. Mom took the photo, preserving a moment that reflected Dad’s love for his family.
‘My father taught me courageous faith’
By Sister Elizabeth Small, Georgetown, Guyana, South America
As a Sister of Mercy, I carry within me the valiant spirit of my father, Sultan Small, who taught me the true meaning of courageous faith. For 20 years, we lived apart. When diabetes caused his kidneys to fail, he left Guyana, our homeland, with my mother to seek medical treatment in the United States. My two younger siblings later joined my parents. Over the years, my father has endured dialysis three times a week. Yet, he continues to live life with remarkable strength and grace. Three years ago, I was finally able to visit and embrace him. His words to me were simple but powerful: “Never give up on life and always trust God.”
My father, a retired grocery store owner, is Muslim, as is my family. He has always been openminded and supported me in my journey of becoming a Catholic and a Sister of Mercy. Each day he lives, our family gives thanks for God’s sustaining love, mercy and gift of life.