FDNY Chaplain Mychal Judge’s 9/11 death was a new beginning for iconic priest
FDNY Chaplain Mychal Judge, the charismatic Franciscan priest martyred at the World Trade Center, still draws a crowd.
The pilgrims visit a New Jersey cemetery 22 miles from Ground Zero, decorating his grave with assorted trinkets: A red, heart-shaped sign with the words “Never Forgotten.” A rosary and a silver firefighter’s helmet, dangling from a homemade cross above the stone marker etched with his name. A random baseball, 11 American flags, a photo of the Stars and Stripes raised by first responders above the wreckage of the twin towers.
Judge’s death, the first officially recorded in the carnage of Sept. 11, 2001, improbably marked both the end and a new beginning for the beloved Brooklyn-born clergyman. Judge, killed at age 68, touched countless lives before a falling chunk of the 110-story towers brought his four decades of service to a dramatic close.
And 20 years after that horrific morning, his posthumous presence endures across the city and around the world.
The beloved Franciscan priest lives on through Brian Jordan, just a college kid when he accepted Judge’s challenge to join the priesthood. He survives in the heart of John Bates, who continues to host an annual September march remembering Father Judge’s legacy. He endures in the daily thoughts of gay activist Brendan Fay, who strives to channel the white-haired priest with the brown robes and sandals.
“Mychal Judge is still my inspiration,” said the Irish immigrant, who’s working on a Judge documentary. “He had a heart as big as New York, and there was room for all of us. The city was his parish, the streets were the aisles of his cathedral.”
And so Fay travels the globe, handing out prayer cards with Judge’s photo and the words of the late priest’s own self-deprecating prayer: “Lord, take me where you want me to go, let me meet who you want me to meet, tell me what you want me to say.”
The last line: “And keep me out of your way.”
Jordan, now based in a Maryland parish, recalled a September 1976 meeting with Judge at Siena College that forged the arc of his life.
“I was walking across campus and he says to me, ‘Young man, come and join the Franciscans,’” recounted Jordan, who eventually lived alongside Judge in the order’s quarters on W. 31st St.
“He planted a thought on that September day. And 25 years later, on Sept. 11, he told me, ‘Brian, I’ll see you later’ and headed downtown.”
Typical Judge, whose brand of ministry knew no bounds. When TWA Flight 800 went down in 1996, he counseled and comforted the family members mourning the loss of 230 souls. When the first St. Patrick’s Day parade to welcome gay New Yorkers stepped off in March 2000, Judge joined the marchers — even as his church refused to recognize same-sex marriage. He famously forged a friendship with NYPD Officer Steven McDonald, paralyzed by a teenage gunman in Central Park back in 1986.
And the faithful are calling still.
His current congregation at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery includes those who travel from far and wide to his burial site, drawn to the obscure Jersey town of Totowa — where the dead (100,000 in five cemeteries) outnumber the living (11,000).
Others visit a statue of Judge in East Rutherford, N.J., where he worked as a young priest. The 9/11 museum just this year added a prayer bench used by Judge during trips to visit with his twin sister in Maryland.
On the day of the attacks, when rescue workers carried his limp body from the burning Trade Center — an image compared by some to Michelangelo’s “Pieta” — there was even a movement for Judge’s sainthood.
The Irish wit Malachy McCourt, an old friend, believes Judge would be both amused and appalled by the continued attention.
“I think what was great about Mike was his sense of humor,” said the 89-year-old McCourt, who credits Judge with helping him find sobriety. “He’d put his hands up, his palms out: “Noooo, don’t do that to me.’ Then he’d say, ‘Of course, I can’t stop you.’ And secretly be very pleased and honored.
“He was a grand man in every way,” McCourt continued. “He really was in the spirit of Christ. He didn’t think there was anything unforgivable as long as you were sorry for your sin. He forgave.”
His old friend McDonald, from his wheelchair, launched an annual September walk following Judge’s path on the day of his death: From the priest’s home at St. Francis of Assisi Church on W. 31st., to the firehouse across the street, and south to the World Trade Center site where the Brooklyn-born priest perished.
McDonald’s friend John Bates helped him assemble the first homage, a small event with about 30 participants. After the inspirational McDonald died in January 2017, Bates knew he had to keep the tribute alive.
And he wasn’t alone.
The annual event still draws a crowd of participants from across the city and around the planet. Past attendees included firefighters from France and Germany. A Scottish woman, who learned about Judge only after his death, saved up for years to attend the 2016 walk.
“Most people get three days when they die, two for the wake and a funeral,” said Bates. “This walk is still going strong. I could write a book about Mychal Judge just from the stories I’ve heard from Steven and people on the walk.”
Bates then offered one of his own: The year when the walk was threatened by daunting forecasts of a storm headed up the East Coast, due to arrive on the day of the event.
Followed by bright sunny skies on the Sunday morning when they gathered.
“The hand of Mychal Judge,” he said.
