For a small village in the central highlands of Vietnam, 5 A.M. can be the loudest hour of the day. Locusts chirping at deafening levels, roosters crowing at the far corners of the cluster of brick and dirt homes, and the rustling of over 500 people making their way through dirt streets to the humble church sitting at the center of the village. Some walk, others are carried, others make their way in wheelchairs driven by hand-powered wheels.
The priest preparing for Mass has visited countless times, knowing the faithful in the crowd are rarely able to celebrate the sacraments when he is home in Florida. He speaks Vietnamese with a handful of those who learned the common language, even though their families and communities speak one of the 54 known ethnic dialects in the area. Yet despite not being able to communicate verbally, they all share a common language: love.
For the past 20 years, Father Tri Pham has quietly returned to this small village in Kon Tum, bringing food, medical care, and most importantly: the love of God in the Eucharist. But this is no ordinary village – it’s one of the dozens of leper colonies hidden away amid the rice fields and rolling hills of Vietnam.
Growing up, Fr. Tri wanted to pursue a career in radiology. He built a new life in America with no thought of the priesthood. “I never thought I’d be a priest,” he said with a smile. “I wanted to be a radiologist. Instead of reading X-rays, God called me to read souls.”
Having fled Vietnam in 1979 with his parents and eleven siblings, moving to the United States meant a chance at a brighter future. Floating across the sea in small fishing boats for over three days, they were among the thousands who took to the sea in desperation, hoping to survive long enough to find freedom. “We were stopped by Cambodian pirates,” he recalled. “They took our rice and water, but thankfully, they didn’t harm us. That was God’s protection.”
Fr. Tri’s vocation to the priesthood and mission work began in the Jubilee Year of 2000 following a trip to Rome with his mother. The spiritual atmosphere, the crowds of pilgrims, and his own recent experience of seeing poverty up close in Vietnam — all worked together to open his heart. “That was when I heard the call. God didn’t want me to be a doctor of the body. He wanted me to be a doctor of the soul.”
That same year, before even starting seminary, he had traveled to Vietnam and journeyed from north to south by car. “It took me three weeks. I saw my country again — the poverty, the need. And it was clear. God was calling me to serve.”
After ordination, his missionary journey expanded across borders. “I started St. Joseph Mission in my heart, quietly, 20 years ago. Named after the patron of the church, so every time I do mission, I turn to St. Joseph and ask him, ‘what do you want me to do next?’.” This philosophy has led Fr. Tri to Jamaica, Haiti, the Philippines, Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, and most recently Ukraine. “Wherever the suffering is, I try to go.”
He calls himself a “mobile missionary” — a priest rooted in a U.S. parish but always moving outward to meet the needs of others. “Some missionaries live and die in one place. My vocation is different. I go where I’m needed, and I bring the Church with me.”
Years before his ministry would begin, Fr. Tri made a promise to himself after reading the parable of Jesus curing the ten lepers in seminary: “I said, if there are lepers one day that I see, I will devote myself to helping them. I didn't know it was in Vietnam all those years. Until one day, I was in Vietnam helping an orphanage and a priest friend of mine called me and said, ‘Hey, I need your help. Can you go to Kon Tum to help with the lepers?’ and I said, ‘What? There are lepers?’ And the following day, I booked a ticket and went to Kon Tum.”
In Vietnam, Father Tri’s deepest commitment is to the people society has forgotten — those suffering from leprosy in the central highlands near Kon Tum.
Over a day’s walk away from the nearest clinic providing life-saving treatment for the degenerative disease, many of the people in this small village go untreated, often not even knowing they have the disease until the damage takes its toll.
Since the area is heavily populated with ethnic minorities who are often detached from society and speak their own language, “they're afraid to go to the city. So they hide themselves up in the wood, in the mountains, and they don't want to come down. And many of them, they don't even know that they have leprosy until they see the change in their body. Many lose fingers, toes, or limbs. Treatment is available — but it can take six months to a year. And if you're living up in the mountains with no clean water or stable housing, it’s hard to stay on a regimen.”
But Fr. Tri doesn’t lose hope. The first three years he visited Kon Tum, Fr. Tri sought to accompany the people and learn more from them, “my first three years, I tried to understand them. They don't speak Vietnamese that well. They have their own dialect. They're an ethnic group, one of the 54 ethnic groups in Vietnam. So I spent my first three years trying to understand the situation.”
Prioritizing accompaniment and dignity in his work, Fr. Tri’s mission to this colony is two-fold: funding medical training for the sisters of Kon Tum, and a project he calls “The Sandal Ministry” — creating thousands of custom-fit shoes for those with leprosy-related disfigurements.
“We produce over 2,000 sandals a year,” he explained. “The goal is twofold: protect their feet to prevent further injury, and stop the spread of the disease. If they walk barefoot and get a cut, and someone touches that wound, it can be contagious. Sandals bring safety — and dignity.” Custom built in a nearby local shop in Pleiku, members of the village receive a new pair of sandals every quarter to allow them to safely walk the streets without fear of injury or spreading the disease.
He partners closely with the Sisters of the Miraculous Medal in Kon Tum, whom he’s also helped educate through scholarships. “The first group became EMTs. One of them is about to become a doctor — the first doctor in their order. She’ll run a clinic, and St. Joseph Mission Charity will help fund it.” For the first time in many years, access to medical treatment may finally be a reality for the people of this small village.
With a congregation of over 100 sisters living in the diocese, Sister Myriam, the Superior General of the Sisters of the Miraculous Medal, says their source of hope comes from the many novitiates joining the order with the support of St. Joseph’s Mission and that “we hope that we bring the love of God to the people we help and that they will receive His love from us.”
For Father Tri, supporting the sisters in their work and the Sandal Ministry are vital, but not the primary reason why he continues to visit the colony every year: “What they need most isn’t just medicine. It’s dignity. It’s someone to sit with them, dress their wounds, celebrate Mass — to remind them they are not forgotten.”
Just as the sun began to peak through the trees and the recessional hymn was sung, Father Tri, accompanied by The Pontifical Mission Societies, began the silent walk through the quiet village toward a pivotal moment in his visit: bringing the Eucharist to two people homebound by the extent of their condition with leprosy. It was a moment that embodied everything World Mission Sunday stands for: the Church reaching the forgotten with the hope of Christ.
“What impacts me the most,” Father Tri said, “is their hunger for the Eucharist. Money is important, but it’s nothing compared to giving them the Bread of Life. When I celebrate Mass in these villages, the people light up with joy. That’s what stays with me.”
Witnessing the powerful testament of faith and devotion to the Eucharist in these two short home visits moved many in the group to tears. The first visit was to an elderly couple just next to the orphanage – the elderly man receiving the Eucharist on the tongue tearfully, with what little remained of his hands pressed together in prayer.
The second visit was to an elderly woman farther on the outskirts of the village. Upon hearing Father Tri approaching with the Blessed Sacrament, she crawled down the hallway of her home on all fours to receive Jesus on a mat laid out in the living room. The reverent silence was only broken by praying the Our Father together with her in the doorway of her home.
This Eucharistic hunger, Father Tri says, is the true face of the missionary Church.
Though Father Tri was born in Vietnam, he always makes it clear: “When I go to serve the poor, I go as a priest from America. I tell them: this is the love of the American Church. This is your family, too.”
Back home in Port St. Lucie, Florida, Father Tri has been the pastor of Holy Family Parish for the past 8 years, serving over 3,100 families of all backgrounds. “It’s a diverse community. We have Spanish, Haitians, Italian, Polish, and Filipino communities that all celebrate a mass in their own language each month.”
When he first embarked on his vocation to the priesthood, the life of a parish priest was what called to Fr. Tri, “I hadn’t thought about being a missionary when I joined the seminary, I just wanted to be a parish priest serving the people of God day in and day out.”
Yet while his ‘summer vacations’ are dedicated to the poor each year, Fr. Tri always brings his parishioners into his mission. “They know where I go. Some have joined me on trips. Others fundraise. Others pray. I tell them: if you can’t give, give your prayers. Your prayers are powerful.”
He sees his role as forming missionary disciples — both overseas and at home, and himself as a generous supporter of The Pontifical Mission Societies.
“Not everyone can go. But everyone can be a missionary. If you give two pennies, and someone else gives two pennies, I gather them up and bring them to the poor. The people don’t expect millions. They just want to feel loved.”
Love, for Father Tri, is the only true language of mission.
“If you don’t have love, you can’t be a missionary. We don’t go to fix people. We go to remind them they are not alone.”
And he hopes Vietnamese Catholics — especially in the diaspora — continue to broaden their sense of mission.
“Some groups only want to help Vietnam. But the Church is universal. We’re called to love all God’s people. That’s what being Catholic means. It’s not about borders. It’s about communion.”
As the Church prepares to celebrate World Mission Sunday on October 19, Father Tri offers a living witness to this year’s theme: Missionaries of Hope Among the Peoples.
His story is not just about medicine or poverty. It’s about love that travels oceans, joy that walks barefoot, and hope that carries the Eucharist to the forgotten.
“We’re not just missionaries to build things,” he said. “We’re there to remind people that the Church sees them, that Christ is with them, and that they are part of one Body."
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