11 May 1933 - 11 September 2001

The Saint of 9/11

Introduction

Ephphetha--the spittle rite

In the old rite of baptism the rubrics (the red print in the ritual books) directed that “With his thumb the priest shall take saliva from his mouth and touch the ears and the mouth of the infant, saying, “Ephphetha,” “Be thou opened.” I performed that spittle rite for decades and didn’t feel squeamish about it at all. I even liked it. Today in this antiseptic (but filthy) age of ours, the rubrics now direct that the spittle part of the rite may be omitted “at the discretion of the celebrant.” But he is still directed to touch with his thumb the ears and the mouth of the infant and command that he be opened.

Ephphetized people

In the first reading the prophet Isaiah announces good news that the Lord God will come to open the eyes of the blind, the ears of the deaf and the mouths of the mute (Is 35:4-6). Jesus came and commanded “Ephphetha,” “Be thou opened”, and the eyes of the blind men from Bethsaida and Jericho began to see for the first time the glories of sunrise and sunset (Mk 8:22-25; 10:46-52). He commanded “Ephphetha,” and the ears of the deaf heard for the first time the voice of the turtle dove riding the breezes of spring. He commanded “Ephphetha,” and the tongues of mutes started to sing aloud the praises of the Lord (Mk 7:31-35).

We the baptized are ephphethized people. We are commanded to open our eyes to see what should be seen, but there are always things we don’t want to see, and so, by gum, we don’t see them. We’re commanded to open our ears to hear what should be heard, but there are always things we don’t want to hear, and so, by gum, we don’t hear them. We are commanded to open our mouths to speak what should be spoken, but there are always things we’re afraid to say, and so, by gum, we don’t say them.

A man superbly ephphetized

On May 11^th, 1933, in Brooklyn, New York, an infant son was born to good Irish parents. He was quickly carried to the baptismal font, and the priest baptized him Emmet Judge. He did the spittle-ephphetha rite on the infant and commanded him to be opened. No one suspected that day that the little guy would grow up to become a superbly wide-opened human being—a man with not only his ears opened to hear people out and with his mouth opened to console them but also with arms and a heart so widely opened as to be able to embrace the whole City of New York.

When Emmet Judge grew up, he joined the Order of St. Francis and took the name of Mychal and was ordained a priest. Then he launched into a remarkable journey of life on which he would become not only a compassionate champion of the needy and forgotten of that great metropolis but also a beloved chaplain for its fire department. It would be especially a spiritual journey on which he would have to wrestle with private demons of alcoholism and sexuality. It’s the age-old journey of all of us, filled with human frailty and divine goodness, with human disobedience and godly obedience.

The disobedience of Fr. Mycal

Everybody knew Fr. Mychal’s disobedience. They knew he was a recovering alcoholic. They knew, too, he was very earthy and streetwise, and that he lined up well with the characters and chaos of New York City. In his own house, the church, he was controversial and unconventional, holding Mass in the most unlikely places. An angry monsignor in the New York Chancery frequently had to admonish him, and one day Fr. Mychal told him, "Monsignor, if I've ever done anything to embarrass or hurt the church I love so much, you can burn me at the stake in front of St. Patrick's." Fr. Mychal had no compunction when it came to language. He would use the f word at times as he’d tell an alcoholic, “Look, man, you’re not a bad person. You have a disease that makes you think you’re bad, and that’s going to f… you up.”

Everybody knew Fr. Mychal’s disobedience. People also knew that he was gay. He opened the doors of the well-known Church of St. Francis of Assisi on 31^st Street in Upper Manhattan to Dignity, an organization for gay Catholics. When church authorities urged a boycott of the first gay-inclusive St. Patrick's Day parade in Queens, Fr. Mychal showed up in his Franciscan habit as usual and went out of his way to be interviewed by reporters. Everybody knew his disobedience.

The obedience of Fr. Mychal

But everybody except those, of course, who were incapable of spiritual insight also knew Fr. Mychal’s obedience. Those who knew him were amazed at his encyclopedic memory for people’s names, birthdays and passions. He knew everyone from the homeless to Mayor Giuliani. And though he was a true New Yorker, born and raised in New York City, people saw how he lived on an entirely different plain of priorities than most New Yorkers. He was utterly unselfish and uncomplaining. He was not acquisitive; he grabbed nothing for himself. He walked the streets of New York in his medieval Franciscan habit, and he rejoiced in his vow of poverty. He searched out people who had been hurt by the harshness of insensitive priests. He ministered to anyone and everyone: to the firemen of New York City, to recovering alcoholics in AA, to people suffering from AIDS, and to young Franciscans preparing to make their solemn vows. The holy foolishness of the first Franciscans wove in and out of the story of his life.

9/11--the end of his journey

That life filled with human frailty and divine goodness, peaked on September 11, 2001, in the 68^th year of his life. The story of his death is one of the first to come out of the tragedy of 9/11. It has been told so many times that it has by now acquired the shiny sheen of legend. The story goes that he had taken off his helmet to give the last rites to a dying fireman who had been struck by the body of a woman who had jumped from one of the burning towers in the World Trade Center. Suddenly debris came crashing down upon him. He died there on the spot, and his body was carried off to the nearby church of St. Peter’s and was laid upon the altar. (That helmet, by the way, was later presented to Pope John Paul II in St. Peter’s Basilica by a contingent of New York City firefighters.)

His funeral Mass was covered in its entirety by the media. When a memorial service was later held for him, an endless flow of priests, nuns, lawyers, cops, firefighters, homeless people, recovering alcoholics, HIV victims, rock-and-rollers, local politicians and middle age couples from the suburbs streamed into Good Shepherd Chapel on Ninth Avenue, an Anglican church, to do a memorial for a Roman Catholic priest. All of them knew the disobedience of Fr. Mychal, but none of them was fooled by it.

The canonized and un-canonized Saint of 9/11

The events of his funeral Mass and memorial service were tantamount to a canonization of Mychal not by a lengthy and expensive process on the part of the church but by a spontaneous and inexpensive acclamation on the part of the people of God. In Dallas, Texas, however, an Orthodox Catholic Church of America, which took its cue from the people of God, and on July 27, 2002, declared Fr. Mychal Judge a saint and assigned September 11^th as his feast day. That church’s official name is Saint Mychal Judge Orthodox Catholic Church. Some are now waiting for his own church to catch up to the people of God and that Othordox Catholic Church and officially canonize him after proof of authentic miracles worked through his intercession. At the end of the day the greatest miracle of all has been already recorded and is already known by countless people: his miraculously unselfish life and noble martyrdom.

Conclusion

That they might live

The word "martyr" has been twisted out of shape in this 21st century. Islamist suicide bombers now reap the crown of martyrdom by giving their lives so that 3000 unbelievers might die. Fr Mychal Judge, the joyful friar of New York City and the saint of 9/11, reminds us of the stuff of which true martyrs are made: they give their lives so that others might not die but live.