If Father Mychal Judge’s story of 9/11/01 had remained what it was, except that he lived through the terrible event, he would not be invited to the Tenth Anniversary Remembrance of September 11, 2001. Even though he was called to the scene by Mayor Rudy Guiliani to pray and administer to injured and dying, his presence would not be welcome at the Remembrance. What a disgrace for this Nation. The Firefighters who lost their friends, some injured and ill, are not welcome at the Remembrance. What a disgrace for this Nation. The following is a portion of a funeral eulogy given for Father Judge, the first person recovered from the wreckage, who it is clear was devoted to comforting the souls of all he came in contact with, whether at the World Trade Center that dreadful day or as he moved through all his days. Mayor Michael Bloomberg has decided no one of faith will represent the faith that was on full display that awful day. What a disgrace for this Nation.
While I have no proof, I suspect Bloomberg didn’t want to deal with Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf of Ground Zero fame, or any Islamic leader in the city, so he is keeping everyone away. Another triumph for Islam. What a disgrace for our Nation.
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,
and keep me out of Your way.
Editor’s note: Father Mychal Judge was a Franciscan priest who served as a chaplain for the New York City Fire Department. He was killed on September 11, 2001 ministering to the firefighters he loved after the World Trade Center was attacked.
Fox News Legal Analyst and attorney Peter Johnson, Jr. delivered a remembrance and appreciation of his friend at Father Judge’s funeral mass at St. Francis of Assisi Church in Manhattan a few days later.
“Don’t worry about me. Help the thousands.” Mychal says to us.
I see him kneeling gently, hear him speaking in a firm and lilting whisper, his large hands making reassuring contact with a dying firefighter, his warm eyes focused and loving and deep, communicating the wisdom of almost seventy years and the spirituality of a millennium. Enveloped in the unshakeable concentration of the prayers he knew and lived so faithfully, shrouded in his own mystical but practical Catholic belief, oblivious to the risk of harm that rained from the sky, he died as he lived, trying to save a life, to save a soul in our city on a sunny, not so perfect September morning.
Friar’s friar, firefighter, warrior for the Lord and New Yorker–I can’t help believing that Erin and Dymphna, your beloved Emmet, who wanted to be a priest at the age of four, our beloved Mychal–in the swirling and fiery wind tunnel of the majestic twin towers, helmet off in respect to our creator, lifted his lovely tenor voice and uttered a final Alleluia as he rode the winds aloft, smiling broadly as he shot one final mortal glance at what his model St. Francis of Assisi called “burning sun with golden beam and silver moon with softer gleam.”
Father Mike, it’s not that we hardly knew ya that makes you leaving this earth so hard. It’s that we all knew you so well and depended on you so much that hurts so much.