In the past few weeks as I observed my golden anniversary of ordination to the priesthood, May 29, 1971 – May 29, 2021, a number of people have asked me about these 50 years. The truth of the Latin phrase Tempus Fugit (Time Flies) is my experience. In response to these inquiries, I decided to write a reflection on the past 50 years of my priesthood. It will appear in THE CATHOLIC STAR HERALD in a few installments.
This is the second.
Following my return from the Dominican Republic, Cardinal Cooke assigned me to the parish of Saint Elizabeth, located in Washington Heights, the area north and south of the George Washington Bridge in northern Manhattan.
We were four assistant priests, the pastor and a resident priest. Five daily Masses, 17 on the weekend in the sites; approximately 200 funerals; 100 weddings; 300 Baptisms; 1,200 children in the Catholic grammar school and 600 in religious education.
Broadway divided the parish, the east side of which was beginning to undergo population change with the arrival of immigrants from the Dominican Republic. West of Broadway, the population was stable – middle class with a sizable Jewish community.
Sitting behind a large desk, the pastor, who was in his 80s, welcomed me and informed me that my day off was every Tuesday after the 6:45 a.m. Mass and I was to be back that night. He assigned me to parish responsibilities, eg. altar boys, chaplain to the fifth and sixth grades in the school, CCD (the released time Religious Education Program), counting the collection on Sunday evenings with the priest assistants and the Sunday Spanish Mass, which met in the lower church.
He told me the first assistant, Father James Dorney, would fill me in on the rectory schedule and protocols and familiarize me with the parish plant and the neighborhood. By his priestly example and encouraging advice, he taught me how to be a parish priest. We became brothers and friends for life. Six years ago, I preached at his funeral in Staten Island where he was a pastor and Dean. I was so blessed to come under his influence as a newly ordained. I was off to the best start possible for a parish priest – showing me to love the people.
Each day, a priest was assigned “on duty,” which meant he had to respond to everyone who came to the rectory and every situation that emerged. A typical duty day involved daily Mass; hearing Confessions at 8:30 a.m.; registering families for Baptism; officiating at parish devotions, Novena and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament; assisting with the distribution of Holy Communion at the noon daily Mass (the pastor’s Mass), which was attended by more than 250 people; celebrating a funeral; accompanying a family to the cemetery; doing a wake service at the funeral home; enrolling children in CCD; being consulted on personal issues or family concerns and even immigration problems or looking for a job. You name it, every sort of problem or concern came to the attention of the priest “on duty.”
My first day on duty, the NYPD arrived at the rectory requesting a priest to accompany them to the site of a suicide! I found myself at the side of the victim’s wife, who was hysterical. Her husband had jumped to his death. What to say? What to do? Day 1 in the Heights.
I had 20 First Friday Communion calls, which could not be covered on the first Friday of the month due to the distances between the apartments. I walked from one building to another as street parking a car was impossible, and I would do a couple a day. I so enjoyed praying with the homebound, listening to their stories. Their faith inspired me, and I admired their sincere piety. Their concerns and questions about the last things were real. Ministry to the homebound was as if Christ was walking the streets of the parish and visiting the sick.
The arrival of poor Spanish-speaking immigrants was changing the face of the neighborhood on the east side of Broadway as bodegas (grocery stores) opened and Latino rhythms were heard pulsating from the shops. Some landlords took advantage of the newcomers and failed to meet their obligations to the upkeep of the housing stock and to the tenants.
Under the inspiration of the priest director of the local Catholic Charities office, an ecumenical group was formed – 15 Churches For a Better West Side, a religious coalition that tangled with landlords, some of whom were ruthless and that pressured local politicians to act on behalf of their constituents. I learned the importance of the Social Gospel and the wisdom of ecumenical and interfaith connections who shared values of faith. More, I learned that a parish priest must be concerned with the real-life situations of the people and the neighborhood.
As the parish outreach to the newcomers grew, the reality of an aging population in the Heights became more evident. Something had to be done for the seniors. A group of community-based organizations formed STAR (Seniors Together for Action and Recreation), which addressed health issues, food needs, isolation and recreation of the elderly. A center was needed and the lower church at Saint Elizabeth became the site of STAR, where it continues to this day.
Welcoming newcomers into the parish involved challenges for both the newcomers and the established parishioners. They had to feel at home in their church. Their Latino cultural expressions of Catholicism had to be respected. There was a concerted effort on the part of the parish priests to make this happen so that there would not be two parishes, but one.
Years later – when as a pastor with three distinct ethnic and language communities in the parish – my goal was to form one parish, which I learned at Saint Elizabeth. The Shrine of Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini, Mother Cabrini, the Patroness of Immigrants is located in the parish. Four parish Sunday Masses were offered at the Shrine Chapel in which Mother Cabrini is entombed under the altar. With the Patroness of Immigrants resting in peace in the Heights, how could the church not be at the forefront welcoming immigrants to our country, a nation of immigrants.
The church was calling for family involvement in the religious education of children, which could no longer be left to the religious sisters. Parent preparation for reception of the sacraments by their children was organized. The gifted Sisters of the Holy Child Jesus who staffed the excellent parish grammar school brought their expertise, philosophy of education, involvement in the parish and creativity to this work. Wisely, their superiors released two of them full time for this ministry. We worked feverishly to create new programs of religious education for the children of the parish.
I was assigned to Saint Elizabeth for five years: 1971-1976 (the bicentennial of the nation). That summer, the Church in the United States organized a national event in Philadelphia to which three busloads of parishioners and myself attended. My first participation in a national Catholic event, the Bicentennial Eucharistic Congress. A great preparation for me for other national events over the years and now preparing the diocese for participation in the worldwide Synod and the consultation on the Eucharist sponsored by the United States Catholic Bishops.
The memories of some parish sadness remain fixed in my heart. Such intense pain for the loved ones at the funeral of a young woman who was killed in an accident six weeks after I witnessed her wedding; the teenage son of a school family who was struck crossing train tracks; a funeral for a family of four, victims of a car accident; the burnt body of one of the neighborhood Irish step dancers who survived two weeks in agony following a car accident. How to respond in those situations? Somehow I did. I couldn’t tell you one thing I said. But, I was present, and much of being a parish priest is about presence.
There were great joys and celebrations in the parish. Graduations, celebrations of the Sacraments, parish dances, the annual Bazaar, the first Street Procession in honor of Our Lady of Cobre, the Patroness of Cuba, which attracted 7,000 participants, the packed church on Saint Patrick’s Day, the active CYO basketball program with games all weekend.
Then came the dreaded but expected phone call transferring me. “Do you promise me and my successors respect and obedience?” the question the bishop asks at the ordination of a priest. That means you go where you are sent.
I confess that I wept leaving the parish. However, the experience of five years serving as a parish priest at Saint Elizabeth in the Heights well prepared me for the years of parish ministry that followed.
(To be continued…)
Past installments of Bishop Sullivan’s reflections: