Anything but routine
Fr. Joseph N. Moody was one of the great priests of the Archdiocese of New York in the last six or seven decades. Tall, athletic, and handsome, he was first encountered by most of us as a professor of modern history at Cathedral College, the minor seminary of the Archdiocese of New York. We knew him to be the nearly polar opposite, physically and ideologically, of another great character on the faculty there, Florence D. Cohalan. Fr. Moody was a passionate teacher who could come close to tears in describing a particularly dramatic moment in history. He took a great deal of interest in his students and actually sought their views on historical personages. He was also the only teacher whose language in the classroom occasionally betrayed his experience in the navy.
We were eventually to learn that Fr. Moody was an acknowledged expert on nineteenth-century French history, was a participant in the National Council of Christians and Jews, a vigorous defender of the rights of labor, and a champion of efforts on behalf of Negroes (as the word was then). He edited a 914-page volume, Church and Society. Catholic Social and Political Thought and Movements, 1789-1950 (New York: Arts,. Inc. 1953), many of whose chapters, including especially his on France, are still worth reading. He served as pastor in two parishes in the suburbs of New York City. He also taught at the College of New Rochelle and at The Catholic University of America. (Upon his death in 1993, a lovely appreciation of him was published by in the American Historical Association.)
During World War II, Fr. Moody served as a navy chaplain, and would receive citations for his service on the USS Massachusetts and the USS Yorktown.. While at sea, he arranged for $50.00 to be sent to Commonweal every month so that its editors could send books from current reading lists. He sent a letter of thanks to the Editors which included this encomium:
The Commonweal is more valuable to me than ever before, for it keeps me informed, better than any other vehicle, in those areas that are of deepest significance. Each week, after reading my copy, I place it in the officers’ wardroom, and I have found that it is the only bridge we possess to reach the secularized American mind. Recently when our officers drew up a list of magazines they wished to obtain, they included The Commonweal, a striking testimony of its power to reach a segment of our reading public that would otherwise be untouched by things Catholic.
In March 1944, Commonweal published an article by Fr. Moody, “Routine: Days in the Life of a Navy Chaplain,” which recounts with his typical combination of down-to-earth realism and hearty optimism the challenges, griefs, and joys of his work with the men at sea. The whole piece is worth reading, but I draw attention to two of his final paragraphs, which can usefully go into any account or appreciation of pre-conciliar Catholicism:
A census showed that the great proportion of Catholics aboard were more active in the practice of religion than they had been at home. The explanation is obvious: the intimacy with which the priest lives with them and his opportunity to influence their personal lives; the activity of lay apostles; the increased occasion for reflection that came in lives freed from all distraction. In practically all cases where a radical change for the better occurred, it was necessary to buttress it with a full course of instructions, for lack of religious training is the prime defect in our adult Catholic. Rarely was fear an important element, as modern naval war-fare is too impersonal to inspire terror, and men’s mental habits are too firmly grooved to be deeply affected thereby. The conviction was always present that although the spiritual results were gratifying, they could have been achieved by intensive missionary activity on Main Street, almost as well as aboard a man-o’-war.
The chaplain’s greatest help in bringing his men to God is the liturgy. The use of Father Stedman’s missal is universal among them, and the regularity of their attendance is increased by their growing appreciation of the beauty of the Sacrifice. They frequently aver that they had no concept of its meaning until they had learned to follow it intelligently. The numbers at daily Mass tripled once the “Missa Recitata” [jak: the "Dialogue Mass"] was introduced, and the response on Sunday was almost as noteworthy. There is little doubt that they were being prepared for a real interest in liturgical participation, which gives one hope that some abiding spiritual result may have been obtained from their experience aboard ship. At least in their religious life, the influence of routine was diminished. Coupled with the aid furnished by the Confraternity Home Study Courses and pamphlets, it was felt that a firm basis was afforded for their further religious development.
Thanks, Fr. K – what a wonderful priest. Hope I can find some of your referenced works. By the way, your story reminded me of my own minor seminary rector, Rev. Chick O’Malley, CM. He founded and built the minor seminary I attended in Beaumont, Texas in the early 1960s as part of the Southern Vice-Province of the Vincentian Community.
He taught us english and like your story, his WWII experience in the Navy emerged at the most unlikely times – not just in class but in a homily or giving orders on a work assignment, etc.
He also served in the Pacific on a US Navy aircraft carrier – it may have been the Franklin, I can not remember. He did not speak much about his WWII experiences but I do remember his comments about a kamikazee attack, his vessel being on fire, many dying and his role as chaplain.
He inspired many of us by his words, example, and ethics.
He sounds like an extraordinary man (and I say that not just because we historians have to stick together). I was particularly struck by this passage from his naval service:
“Each week, after reading my copy, I place it in the officers’ wardroom, and I have found that it is the only bridge we possess to reach the secularized American mind. Recently when our officers drew up a list of magazines they wished to obtain, they included The Commonweal, a striking testimony of its power to reach a segment of our reading public that would otherwise be untouched by things Catholic.”
I also subscribed to Commonweal while at sea, and I left my copies in the wardroom too, but I don’t think they ever had quite the same effect as his did (then again our shipboard chaplain was a Southern Baptist. Still, the magazine remains today “a bridge to reach the secularized American mind” — if only that mind is open enough to read it.
Fr. William H. McEvoy, SJ
by Tom Ackerman
“Father Bill McEvoy had the most far reaching impact on my life however. He was the Regent at the (Marquette University) Dental School and a Chaplain/Advisor at Monitor Hall where I stayed my Freshman year. The Dental School was right next to the Engineering School and Father Mac would say Mass in a lecture hall every morning. He also had a little chapel in a converted boiler room in the basement where he would say a Mass at noon on First Fridays and during Lent. He also heard confessions down there. It was an experience to have him throw one cassocked arm around you and the other over a steam pipe and create a virtual confessional. He gave me an appreciation for the Blessed Sacrament that continues to this day.”
Jim’s comment: Everyone knew and loved Fr. Mac. He was truly one of a kind.
He first provided the annual Thanksgiving dinner for students who had nowhere else to go during the 1950′s in the basement of the Dental School building. This dinner continues to this day and is done in honor of his efforts and ministries.
I had that “Fr. Mac” confession experience one time. I was a student there from 1958 – 1962. He regularly wandered throughout the campus between classes and selected men at random for confession time. The women I knew said that he never approached them and I suspect that he had been warned about the hammerlock approach to women. He was an ex-Marine (as were so many Jebbies at MU at that time) and not too skilled in the ways of polite 1950s society. He was a Kansas farm boy whose life story can be found here:
http://www.jesuitpartners.org/site/PageServer?pagename=Blackrobe_Home
His opening line was: “How ya doin’? How’s your prayer life – pretty good or pretty punk?” After that, barring violent objection on the part of the student, it was quickie confession time.
His personal hygiene left a GREAT DEAL to be desired, so the arm lock confession was rushed through as quickly as possible. I never knew that a cassock could be so green around the edges!
RIP, Fr. Mac.
I got chills when you mentioned Fr. Moody’s service aboard the USS Massachusetts. My father, who just turned 86, also served on BB-59. He is not Catholic (I am a convert) but he has always had wonderful things to say about the ship’s priest, a Fr. Moody, whom all the men liked. I don’t know if he is aware of Fr. Moody’s life as a professor or historian. I’ll have to call him tonight! Thanks for this, Fr. K!
Craig: What a wonderful link! Let us know what your father had to say about Fr. Moody.
I knew joe in college in his last years. I was a mechanical engineer student at the time and would spend my afternoons with him after class. We built for him an exercise bike (inverted so he could pedal in a wheel chair) and at hoist to get him from his wheel chair to the pool… he loved to swim. I did not know his past, I just wanted to volunteer my time and the Fr. Mike at St. Mathews directed me to him. What we would to was saw wood. I would bring his sticks and he would work is upper body (I have video of this) and his legs for exercise. He loved nature and loves the outdoors. He would tell me about the war years and experiences on the ships. What I remember the most, was that he did not think of himself… only others. He would always want to know how I was doing.
I graduated and moved to Savannah. I came to visit him and when I walked into the nursing home (he was committed then and had his leg amputated), he was laying on the floor. This was vary odd to me and asked what is wrong with this place? He said he wanted to be there. He looked at me and kissed my hand and said “I really don’t like you see me like this. I want to know how you are doing? Here was a man dying and all he wanted to talk about was the issues in my life. I have volunteered at many nursing homes and never saw a man who loved God so much and only cared about was the ones around him. He told me he was ready to die, and wanted to join God. He died not long after I left. A friend who was there said he was singing just before he died and die with a smile on his face. If only I could live the life he did.