Along The Way: A Priest's Journey of Joys and Challenges

By Monsignor Paul L Bochicchio

This work is the result of a great deal of reflection on the rich experiences of more than 50 years in the Ministry. I recognize how many wonderful encounters I have had "Along The Way." As I reflect in my introduction, I senced what Michelangelo felt when he observed a block of marble and had to " release" David. I knew that if I had to "releas

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Bochicchio Books
• Release date: Nov 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958518755

Book preview

DEDICATION

To all those who have crossed my path over the years:

family, friends, priests, religious, parishioners,

and so many young people.

You have all contributed to my growth and spirituality

along the way.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Foreword

Introduction

Section One ~ ROOTS & WINGS THE JOURNEY BEGINS

Chapter 1 Autobiography

Chapter 2 Family Sketches

Section Two ~ THE JOURNEY UNFOLDS 1967-PRESENT

Chapter 3 St. Lucy’s Newark (A Tale of Two Parishes) 1967 - 1971

Chapter 4 Our Lady of Mercy, Jersey City 1971 - 1983

Chapter 5 The Seekers

Chapter 6 Cursillo

Chapter 7 The First Saturday Club

Chapter 8 Roselle Catholic High School 1983-1985

Chapter 9 Holy Rosary, Jersey City 1985-1992

Chapter 10 Seton Hall University, South Orange 1992 - 1994

Chapter 11 Our Lady of Mount Virgin, Garfield 1994 - 2004

Chapter 12 Holy Family, Nutley 2004 - 2014

Chapter 13 Immaculate Conception, Montclair 2014 - 2016

Chapter 14 Hoboken, 2016 - Present

Our Lady of Grace, 2016-2017

St. Francis, 2017-Present

Chapter 15 Retreats, etc.

Chapter 16 Retirement Adventures

Section Three ~ PASTORAL VIGNETTES ALONG THE WAY

ST. LUCY

1      Drama in the Cemetery

2      Wisdom from an Unexpected Source

3      Pastoral Visits

OUR LADY OF MERCY

1      Meet John Denver

2      Italian Confession?

3      The Sound of Pebbles at 4 AM

4      GI Joes

5      Bathroom Walls

6      Hudson County Jail

7      Long Hair

8      The Bar, the Pizzeria, & Paradise East

9      Ash Wednesday, 1972

10      Ash Wednesday, 1974

11      Who Will Answer the Bell?

12      The Off Track Lounge

13      Lord, depart from me for I am a sinful man.

14      A Lesson Well-Learned

15      The Rookie Priest

16      What does Mr. Jones say?

17      Straighten them out

18      We have been waiting for you to come along.

HOLY ROSARY

1      Cook and Lector

2      Baptism Sponsor

3      Learning the Hard Way

4      A Memorable Procession

5      Take me to the hospital

6      The Mystique of Old Italian Ladies

7      No, you’re making it up!

8      Making the Crooked Ways Straight

9      A True Witness

OUR LADY OF MOUNT VIRGIN

An Alternate Route

MISCELLANEOUS

1      Idolatry or Something Else?

2      Breaking Bad News

3      A Lesson in Preaching

4      God’s Grace at Work

5      A Conversion

6      A Geography Lesson

7      Wedding Bells

All Along The Way…

Reflections on People Whose Paths Have Crossed Mine

Section Four ~ ESSAYS

1.In Medio Stat Virtus

2. The Impossible Dream

3. In the world…but not of the world

4. Scootch & Dulcinea

5. Assisi

6. Liturgical Notes

7. Loaves & Fishes

8. Affirmation

9. Transcendence & Immanence

10. Accountability

11. Where are they?

12. Stewardship

13. Who is right?

Conclusion

FOREWORD

Efforts are ours. Results belong to God.

— Msgr. Paul L. Bochicchio

Chapter 13

If a lifetime of service and sacrifice can adequately be represented by a single adage, then this turn of phrase is at least a good starting point. As countless parishioners, colleagues, friends, and family can attest—myself included—Msgr. Paul Bochicchio’s ministry over the last five decades has changed all of our lives for the better. He has shown the effort, and God has provided the results.

For an Italian-American priest with devotions to Mother Cabrini and St. John Bosco, it is no wonder that his greatest impact has come serving parishes of immigrants and inner-city youth. Nutley, New Jersey, may not be the inner-city, but Holy Family was a traditionally Italian parish, and Monsignor served as my church’s pastor for ten seminal years of my life, from the start of middle school through my senior year of college.

I was an active member of Holy Family’s youth group in high school, participating in retreats and Passion plays, service trips and Praise and Worship events, all under the caring, twinkling eyes of Msgr. Paul. In one of my favorite memories from this time, I had the honor of playing Monsignor in a short film we made as part of the Archdiocese of Newark’s annual youth ministry film festival, robing myself in one of Monsignor’s vestments and throwing talcum powder in my hair to make it gray.

All of this paled in comparison—physically, spiritually, and experientially—to the four trips to Canada I undertook with Monsignor and the youth group each summer during that time. On these nine-day pilgrimages, we assisted a group of people with physical and mental disabilities called the First Saturday Club as we traveled to the healing shrines across Quebec, including St. Anne de Beaupré where many miracles are known to have occurred.

As we soon learned, this pilgrimage had been occurring annually for nearly half a century, and Msgr. Paul had been leading it for decades, ever since his time at Our Lady of Mercy in Jersey City when he first brought his youth group, the Seekers, along. At each of Monsignor’s later assignments, he had brought the youth on this intense service trip, a trip where life lessons were learned, faith in God was forged, and love for our fellow man and woman was strengthened. Accompanying the First Saturday Club was an honor and a privilege because all we had to do was be present, to listen and provide care when necessary; in return, we saw Christ through the love and faith these beautiful people. Efforts are ours. Results belong to God.

Having known Msgr. Paul for over half of my life, I am quite comfortable saying that I could relay many of his stories as though they were my own, stories told in his homilies, during Agape prayer sessions on retreats or Canada trips, over dinner, at Cursillo 4th Day meetings, et cetera. In this book, a literal journey through the joys and challenges of such a fruitful life, Msgr. Paul retells these stories—and then some. He paints a picture of city life, of sacrificial love, of Italian culture and devotion, of the changing times in America, in New Jersey, and in the Catholic Church itself. Reading these pages, these stories and vignettes, essays and biographical flourishes, one gets the sense that Monsignor has been equally impacted by many of the people with whom he has worked, served, and prayed, just as he has impacted our own lives. Evidently, a shepherd can sometimes learn a thing or two from his sheep.

Towards the end of this memoir, you will read Msgr. Paul talk about his favorite song, The Impossible Dream from The Man of La Mancha. I have vivid memories of Monsignor singing this song on the boat ride we would take up the St. Lawrence River at the end of our Quebec trips each summer, so I have always associated this song with him, but I have never truly listened to the lyrics until now. The song is about hope and Msgr. Paul embraces hope in all that he does. He provides the effort—the hope—and God provides the results.

Steven Filippi

Holy Family Youth Group,

2006-2010

January 16, 2021

INTRODUCTION

I have always been intrigued by a story of Michelangelo’s imagination. It is said that he would look at a block of marble and see David or Moses and be compelled to release that particular figure from the marble. As his creative energy caused him to reveal what his imagination helped him to see so, I believe, that the same principle enables one to release and reveal stories from the experience of one’s life.

We all love stories because they give us insight into our journey and stir our imaginations to embrace the adventure that marks all of our lives. The stories that come from Scripture, history, as well as from fiction, enrich our lives and help us release and reveal our own stories from the block of marble that is the realty of life.

These pages that follow are my story: the story of my life, my family, my ministries, some personal vignettes, that are sometimes humorous and sometimes inspirational, and my essays which round out the picture revealing my thoughts.

This is my story as I approach my 50th anniversary of my priestly ordination, Along the Way: A Priest’s Journey of Joys and Challenges. It is written in a spirit of gratitude for all the blessings that unfold in these pages. I pray that these pages enable you to take a second look at your own joys and challenges so that you may trace the Hand of God moving through your own story.

Msgr. Paul L. Bochicchio

June 12, 2020

Section One ~ ROOTS & WINGS THE JOURNEY BEGINS

Chapter 1

Autobiography

The Early Years

I came into this world on Sunday, September 16, 1945, at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Greenwich Village, the first child of Daniel J. Bochicchio and Clara A. Earls. At the time, my father was in the occupation army in Germany. According to everyone’s expectations, I was not due until the 30th. That is, in everyone’s mind except my paternal grandmother, Donata Maria, whose birthday was September 16, and who steadfastly maintained that I would be born on her birthday. I was baptized on October 7, 1945, in the Church of St. Joseph in Greenwich Village by Father (later Monsignor) John J. Casserly, who had officiated not only at my parents’ wedding on January 2, 1944, but most of the family’s baptisms and weddings. My Godparents were Uncle Willy (Victor) Bochicchio and Aunt Florence Cahill.

For a while we lived in South Ozone Park, Queens, with Aunt Anne and Uncle Neil and then with my paternal grandparents at 211 West 10th Street. Dad came home in March 1946 and for about a year or so we lived on Bleecker Street. After a period of time—perhaps two years— we moved to Brooklyn (Bed-Stuy) to one of six apartments in a brownstone on Putman Avenue. Aunt Anne and Uncle Neil and my two cousins relocated there and lived next door. Dad worked for the DL&W Railroad on the piers in Manhattan and Hoboken, NJ.

On March 29, 1949, my brother Donald was born. In 1951, I began first grade at our parish school of Our Lady of Good Counsel. The school was so crowded that we went to school for half a day. The school was staffed by the Franciscan Brothers of Brooklyn (Boys’ Division) and the Sisters of St. Joseph Brentwood (Girls’ Division). I remember Br. Angelus, the principal—he was tough but lenient with first graders. Years later, I would come to know the Brothers and recall my memory of Br. Angelus.

The neighborhood began to change. Bedford-Stuyvesant was quickly becoming inner- city. (Ironically, it is now on the rebound and becoming gentrified.) My Aunt and Uncle had already moved to Elmont, Long Island.

The changing neighborhood and an invitation from my father’s Aunt Millie to relocate to Summit, NJ, to take care of her six-family apartment house became the determining factor. To New Jersey we went, and I completed my first grade in St. Teresa of Avila School under the guidance of the Sisters of Charity.

Summit, for the most part, was a wealthy community but we lived on the other side of the tracks (literally, across the street from the tracks—appropriately on Railroad Avenue). First grade was a bit of an adjustment, especially since I was on a half-day schedule in Brooklyn. Sr. Elizabeth Pierre, our 1st grade teacher, was a kindly soul. I had some wonderful teachers. Some were tough but good, others not so tough: Sr. Grace Josephine (2nd grade), Sr. Leonita (3rd), Miss Catherine Brophy (4th), Sr. Frances Noline (4th), Mrs. Prestwick (5th), Sr. Regina Ellen (6th), Sr. Cornelius (7th), Sr. Anita Mary (7th), and Sr. Eileen Mary (8th).

All of them were dedicated in their own way. Miss Brophy and Sr. Eileen Mary stand out as my favorites. Miss Brophy was a retired NYC schoolteacher. She was kind, approachable, and extremely competent. Sr. Eileen Mary was from Ireland. She was a great teacher, kind and approachable and made no excuses for favoring the boys—probably why fourteen of her boys, including four of us from Summit, became priests. Most of us concelebrated her 50th anniversary Mass where I had the privilege of preaching.

I became a Cub Scout and eventually a Boy Scout. I became an altar boy and I remember serving my first Mass on April 30, 1956, at 6:30 AM in the Convent. Our parish priests were Msgr. John Lenihan, Fr. John Kelly, Fr. John Twoomey, and Fr. Harold Murray.

Since I was in the 2nd grade, I wanted to be a priest; when I started serving Mass, the desire deepened. I remember playing Mass with my brother as the altar server. When I reached the 7th grade, a Carmelite priest came to speak to us about vocations. In cards that he handed out, I indicated that I was thinking of the priesthood. I received mail from him for many years.

Around that time, I began to notice the interactions between parish priests and people. At that point in early 8th grade, Msgr. Lenihan died and we were awaiting a new pastor. Fr. Kelly, Fr. Murray, and Fr. Little, a newly ordained priest, were serving the parish and I saw how they served people in different ways, from hospital work to home visits, Communion calls, counselling, etc., and this strengthened my resolve to be a priest. At the same time, my Nonna Donata Maria died and it was a great loss for me.

(I speak more of that in the family section and in my chapter entitled Liturgical Notes where I relate my experience of praying at Our Lady of Pompeii Church.)

There, with the experience of moving liturgies, Italian devotions, funerals, and weddings, I continued to grow in my desire to be a priest. I observed the priests from afar and, even though they never knew me, I knew them as I saw them walk to wakes in their cassocks, stop to talk to people in Fr. Demo Square, so unlike the suburbs. I grew in my desire to be a city priest. The pastor was Fr. Mario Albanese and even though we never formally met, I really admired his pastoral style of warmth, interaction, and closeness to his people. He was young —I believe in his early 50s—and talented. He personally directed the children’s choir and they were top-notch. The Community of Priests that staffed the parish were the Scalabrinians founded by Bishop Giovanni Scalabrini in the 1880s to serve Italian immigrants who left Italy in great numbers for America, Australia, Canada, and other places where they could find employment. Bishop Scalabrini and his congregation worked closely with Mother Cabrini (St. Frances X. Cabrini) in caring for immigrants. At one point I inquired about the Community as a possible candidate even to the point where Fr. Abbarno, a future pastor at Pompeii, visited my home. In the end. I opted for the diocesan priesthood.

I graduated 8th grade on June 19, 1959, and had been accepted at Seton Hall Prep School and entered The Divinity School track. The requirements were additional Latin, monthly Spiritual Conference, and periodic interviews with Fr. Finn, the Director of the Divinity School. We were taught by Diocesan priests and a lay faculty. Some of my most memorable teachers were: Fr. Paul Manning (Latin and Math), Fr. Joseph Wortmann (Latin), Fr. Frank Finn (Religion), Fr. Ken O’Leary (English), Mr. John O’Rourke and Mr. Andrew Mitzak (History) and Mr. Hugo Senerchia (Italian), Fr. Joe Vopelak (Biology), and Fr. Steve Lynch (History). Msgr. Thomas Tuohy was the Headmaster. He had been a Marine Chaplain. He was over six feet tall and his imposing figure in his cassock, standing at the top of the landing, certainly kept us in line.

I made friends with classmates, some of whom are brother priests today: Mike Desmond, Mike Russo, and Jim Cole. Several of my friends from my Prep days are deceased: Charlie Farrell and Bill Mink, who died recently.

I joined the Knights of Setonia who sponsored the First Friday Mass and Breakfast. I even tried the school band as a drummer and, believe it or not, the wrestling team—both were short-lived.

I travelled from Summit to South Orange each day on the train since my father worked on the railroad; I had a railroad pass. Then it was a mile walk to the school.

Having priests as teachers was another dimension to priesthood that attracted me. We sometimes had discussions with them in their rooms. We even played baseball with them. At that point, and for many years later, I wanted to be a high school teacher.

In sophomore year, I joined the school paper, The Pirate, and was soon made Literary Editor. I really enjoyed the creativity, camaraderie, and the work. Jim Pagnotta from Hoboken was the Sports Editor. He was two years ahead of me and was ordained a priest and served almost his entire priesthood at St. Joseph’s in Jersey City, retiring not too long ago.

One day, something happened that had a profound effect on me. Fr. Wortmann, the moderator of The Pirate, asked to see me. He was always formal in the classroom, addressing us as Mr. When he asked me to be Editor-in-Chief of The Pirate, he addressed me as Paul instead of Mr. Bochicchio. His affirmation gave me a great sense of confidence in myself. With the help of an editorial staff and many creative programs that year—my senior year—I really grew in self-confidence and self-esteem and leadership skills that would serve me well in the priesthood.

I graduated the Prep on June 16, 1963, and looked forward to the challenge of the University.

In the fall of 1963, I began my college career at Seton Hall University. At the time, the Prep was located on the same campus so geographically the terrain was familiar, as was my travel schedule each day. The atmosphere of the University was certainly different. There were 42 men in our Divinity School or College Seminary section. Some of our professors included: Dr. Peter Mitchell (US History), Fr. Joe Russell (Latin), Fr. Richard Scaine (Theology—he had taught us in the Prep), Fr. Frank Byrne (English), and Dr. Basil Steciuk, the infamous Ukrainian, who taught Greek. After a while, I had a reputation for being able to imitate professors—especially Fr. Russell and, of course, Dr. Steciuk. That reputation would follow me into the major seminary. One of the most dramatic events that occurred was the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963. Everyone remembers where he or she was when that happened. I was in our new Student Center studying when the announcement was made. Everyone was stunned. I remember riding home on the train. The silence was deafening.

Msgr. Anthony Connell was the rector of the College Seminary and Fr. John Mannion the spiritual director. There were monthly conferences and interviews. Some of the divinity students lived on the second floor of Boland Hall, which was the unofficial college seminary. Msgr. Connell also resided there, he was a kind man and a good priest and Fr. Mannion was down to earth and an approachable priest.

I had two part-time jobs, one in high school as a stock boy in Kresge’s (later Muirs) Department Store in Summit. My mother was a salesperson there. In college, especially in the summer months after freshman year, I was a busboy at Stouffer’s Restaurant in the Short Hills Mall.

In the summer of 1964, I was approached and asked if I wanted to be a sacristan at the University, a job that meant free room and board. I jumped at the opportunity and a whole new phase of my life began. Life in the dorm had its pluses and minuses. I was probably more disciplined and studied more as a Dayhop but the sense of community I felt with the guys opened up a whole new world. There was also a conflict within me, a real growth experience— the guilt of wanting to spend more time at SHU than at home. Looking back, I realize that it was a process of detachment and attachment, but I really grew.

My work as a sacristan was a real joy. I was in the main chapel with another seminarian, Mike. We covered the main altar and side altar Masses at 6:30, 7:15, and 8:00 and the other devotions that took place. Overall, my sophomore year played an important part in my preparation for the Major Seminary. We had a Sophomore Farewell and I played Dr. Steciuk in the skit that was part of it.

The early summer was a time of great excitement as we all busied ourselves with all the tasks of preparing for entrance into the Major Seminary—purchasing black suits, ties, hats, cassocks, biretta, surplice, and a Zamarra (a West Point-type coat). Finally, the day arrived—July 3, 1965—our entrance into the Major Seminary of the Immaculate Conception, Darlington in Mahwah, NJ.

We arrived at the Seminary, my parents, my brother, and me. Dad at age 53 had just recently gotten a driver’s license and purchased a car. Working for the railroad and living in close proximity to the railroad station, he never had to rely on driving, even in the suburbs, but finally, the necessity of driving prompted him to take the plunge.

Soon after getting settled in our rooms, donning our cassocks, taking photos, and saying goodbye to our families, we gathered as Junior Philosophers with Senior Philosophers and the deacons for a summer orientation to Seminary life. We were introduced to the staff and faculty, which included Msgr. George Shea, the rector, Msgr. John O’Brien, vice-rector, Fr. James Finnerty, the Dean of Men, Msgr. Walter Jarvais and Fr. George Keating, Spiritual Directors.

In 1965, the seminary structure was still very much reflective of the structures mandated by the Council of Trent 400 years before. Both Spiritual Exercises, class and study and the over- all horarium (routine of the day) was very structured. Our goal over the six weeks of the summer was to experience the routine in preparation for the fall when the entire house would return. Until this day, I recall vividly the schedule, the structure rules, and traditions of life at Darlington: 5:30 AM rising (slightly later on Sundays), 5:50 present in your pew in chapel, morning prayer followed by guided meditation, 6:25 Mass, high Mass on feast days when vesture would be surplice over your cassock and biretta, 7:30 breakfast followed by the recitation of the Benedicite as you moved to the chapel for a chapel visit. Many of us had to master the art of reading the Benedicite, watching out for the steps and not tripping over our cassocks—quite a feat.

Classes from 8:15-12 noon, 12:07 Particular Examen on the Fridays of Lent and Stations of the Cross, 12:30 lunch, 1:30-3 study, 3-4:30 outdoor recreation (unless the temperature was below 32), 4:30-5:30 showers (the entire house with about 200 shower stalls), 5:30 vespers and on feasts days Benediction, 6:15 dinner. At dinner, the Roman Martyrology was read in Latin followed by the Benedicite (ongoing challenge), chapel visit, 7-8:00 free time in the recreation rooms. If my memory serves me right, you could view the news on the rec room TVs, 8-9:30 study hall, 9:30 Compline followed by the Grand Silence, 10:30 lights out. Some nights a late order would be declared and we skipped Study Hall and had recreation from 7-9:30.

On Sundays there was a different schedule—7:30 low Mass, 9:30 Solemn High Mass, 12 noon Spiritual Director Conference, afternoons free, 5:30 Solemn Vespers and Benediction, late order.

The schedule was ingrained in us, especially Grand Silence, which meant from the end of Compline until breakfast, no one was supposed to speak. Fr. Finnerty was the enforcer and the only one allowed to break the silence in order to discipline anyone else who did.

You never knew where he was but he always seemed to be on the scene when someone spoke. One night, when one of the deacons wanted to surprise a classmate on his birthday (of course, after the grand silence), he slipped into a hall closet, preparing to spring out when his classmate passed by, when he heard the sound of someone breathing, the light went on, and Fr. Finnerty said Mister, what are you doing here? to which he replied, Father, what are you doing here?

In September, we returned with the rest of the house—probably over 200 from the then four Dioceses of New Jersey. We were ready now that we survived boot camp. We began with a seven-day silent retreat. The preacher was an elderly Jesuit. Until this day, I think of that retreat as one of the best I have made in my life. I religiously kept silence for the seven days and became totally absorbed in the message of the retreat master. I can vividly recall and have repeated in talks that I have given in priests’ retreats this phrase: If we priests prayed as much as we said prayers, we would be saints.

At the end of the retreat, there was a celebration including a movie. I even remember which one—It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. Interestingly enough, the projectionist commented once that he also showed these movies at the Rockland County Psychiatric Hospital and that the patients reacted and laughed at the same scenes we did. I wonder what he meant by that?

Also at the end, I listened to the comments of many seminarians; they were critical or dismissive of the retreat director’s talks. I went to see my Spiritual Director, Msgr. Jarvais and asked if I were out of it since I gained a lot from the retreat. His reply: Maybe he came for you!

Msgr. Walter Jarvais was 62 when he became Spiritual Director of the Seminary. Msgr. George Bonnie Baker was in poor health, although he continued in that role too. Fr. George Keating was Assistant Spiritual Director. Msgr. Jarvais arrived the same day our class did, July 3, 1965. He automatically became an honorary classmate. He was ordained on March 15, 1930, at the Seminary and after serving as a parish priest for several years spent most of his priesthood in academia at Seton Hall, except for a few years during WWII as a Coast Guard chaplain, and before coming to the seminary as a pastor at Sacred Heart, Bloomfield.

He was a wonderful priest who lived actively until just short of his 99th birthday. He was my spiritual director, a very wise one. Several times when, in the midst of discouragement, I was ready to leave the seminary, his wise counsel and deep understanding kept me grounded.

I often did imitations of him, much to his delight, on his 40th, 50th, 60th, and 70th anniversaries of his ordination. Not only did I want to imitate him in a humorous way, but I wanted to imitate his priesthood. I had the honor of him preaching at my First Mass and again for my 20th anniversary as a priest. He, along with so many men on the faculty, continued to inspire me to be a good priest.

We had a good faculty—generally good role models. To name a few: Fr. Stanley Adamczyk (Latin and Greek), Msgr. Joseph Przedziecki and Fr. Russ Ruffino (Philosophy), Fr. Frank McNulty (Moral Theology), Fr. Anthony Padovano (Dogma) Msgr. Ed Ciuba (Old Testament), Msgr. Turro (New Testament), Fr. Phil Morris (Homiletics), Msgr. John Cassells (English), Fr. Joe Hull (Counselling), Fr. Gene Herbster and Fr. Carl Hendricksen (Church History), and Msgr. Joseph Manz and Msgr. William Hogan (Spiritual Theology). He succeeded Msgr. Shea as rector. Some were real characters; some eventually left the