The spirit of Father Joe continues to soothe the soul
This column was going to be about my mother, who left us five years ago this Thursday. It was going to be about how her death created such a gaping hole in my life that my ready reservoir of words, in the four languages that I speak, are not sufficient to express the depth of my stillfresh sorrow. I thought I’d resurrect her for you, in the few words that remain at my disposal, to explain why the loss of a limb or another visible appendage would not have been so painful. I expected to show you her photo, so you could see the beauty I lived with for 52 years.
But I realized that I owe this space to someone else who, though not nearly as close to me and who I only knew for a brief time, made such an impression on me that my first thought when I learned of his death was “Well, now my mother has great company in heaven.”
That person is Father Joe Corley, who was a monsignor and entitled to all the honorifics and accoutrements of his elevated rank but who, in his profound and natural humility, greeted the world as, simply, Father Joe.
It’s fitting that I write about him in this paper, because it was the newspaper that brought us together. Father Joe was the pastor of Blessed Virgin Mary Church in Darby, a parish I had never visited during the first five decades of my life (even though it wasn’t so very distant from my home). He also happened to be an avid reader of the Delaware County Daily and Sunday Times, and began to write me on a regular basis. I’d wake up on Sunday morning, and the first email in my inbox would be from jocor@juno.com. He usually agreed with me, one of the few people who did. I know he wouldn’t mind me sharing some of his ruminations with you.
On June 25, 2012, reflecting on a column I wrote where I must have done some cheerleading for my beloved, beleaguered church, I got my first email: “Christine, thanks for your article “The Church as a whole …” I needed that. I bet a few more of us appreciated it. Father Joseph M. Corley, Pastor, BVM, Darby.”
On Aug. 10, 2012, responding to a column I’d written about the unfair, and unconstitutional treatment of Monsignor William Lynn, a man who was the sacrificial lamb for those who wanted some “church scandal scalps,” Father Joe wrote: “Christine, thank you for your latest article on Monsignor Lynn. Many folks in my church agree with you, as do priests that I know. I think the priests have remained quiet for fear of being called naïve or unsympathetic towards the victims.”
On Dec. 18, 2012, four days after the massacre at Sandy Hook, Father Joe wrote: “I agree with your article on Newtown and evil in the world. Keep up the good work.”
On Feb. 14, 2016, responding to one of the many columns I wrote about our former Attorney General Kathleen Kane (who just got sprung from the Big House this week), Father Joe wrote: “Christine, thanks for your article today in the Delco Daily. Don’t you sometimes think Kathleen is a Sandra Bullock wannabee? Father Joe Corley, Beautiful Darby PA.” (He actually wrote the “Beautiful Darby” part.)
On Dec. 16, 2016, responding to a column about the tragedy in Aleppo, Syria, where a Catholic priest was murdered, Father Joe wrote: “Your article was outstanding. Bob Dylan and the Prophet, Amos, would be proud of you. Take care, Father Joe.”
On Feb. 15, 2017, in an email with the subject line “The Arch,” Father wrote: “Yo Christine, Nice job providing a fair picture of the archbishop. Hope all is well. Father Joe.”
On April 9, 2017, Easter morning, he wrote “Hi Christine. Doing the right thing. A+ Thank you, Happy Easter Sistaa! Father Joe.”
On May 19, 2017, after he’d read a profile of me in Philadelphia magazine, the one with a caricature of me holding a Pica’s pizza, he wrote “Nice to see you get the attention of Philadelphia Mag ... Loved your comments. Did NOT like the sketch. Going to the Italian Festival?”
On Dec. 17, 2017, he wrote “Merry Christmas Christine. Father Joe, Beautiful Darby.” (Again with the Beautiful Darby, and he really meant it)
And the last email I got from him was this May, when he responded to the column I wrote about antiCatholic bigot Brian Sims: “Congratulations on your article about Sims. Saw it on Real Politics, and the Delco Times (of course). Wonder how much he is being paid? Father Joe.”
And in between all of these emails, only a few of which I’ve printed here, Father reached out and asked if I would do him a favor. Anything, I said.
He wanted to know if I would come and talk to his parishioners one night, giving them some counsel on immigration. Father’s parish, Blessed Virgin Mary, had become a majority minority parish where many of the worshippers were immigrants from Africa. They’d settled into Darby, many of them refugees from war-torn places like Sierra Leone and Liberia and Burundi, and were active participants in the life of the church. Father told me that they were, in so many ways, more the image of the church than the comfortable, well-off parishioners in other places who took their faith and their comfortable privilege for granted. He wanted me to come and talk to these Catholic men and women, and see if they could be helped from an immigration perspective.
Of course I went, along with my boss Joe Rollo, and spent a lovely evening speaking in both French (because many of the parishioners were from francophone West Africa) and English, and trying to make some sense of the tortuous mess that we all know as the broken immigration system. Father was so grateful I’d come, he gave me some gifts, including a lovely bottle of wine and a picture of the Madonna (the real one, not the one who made millions but can’t sing).
For months after that, I would get phone calls from people I had met at the church, people who would say “Father Joe said I should call you because you can help.”
We weren’t always able to help, but I was always ready to see someone who came because Father Joe asked.
Father Joe Corley was not the type of man who asked for himself. He asked for others, only for others. His life was spent in service to others, and in some ways he reminded me of Father Damian, the Belgian priest who was sent to the Island of Molokai, the Leper Colony, to minister to the “least of these,” the ones no one really cared about.
Blessed Virgin Mary was a poor parish, but it was filled with great riches, both in the people who worshiped (and worship still) in its pews, and in the man who was its long-term shepherd. They were, and are, immigrants. They were, and are, in various levels of distress. They were, and are, materially poor. But they were blessed beyond measure in the character and presence of Father Joe.
I know that they feel his absence. They must, because I only really knew him through this long and loving thread of emails, a sort of electronic friendship. And I mourn him, deeply.
But this email gives me a slightly different perspective. On Aug. 10, 2014, just a few short days after my mother passed away and I wrote about her in this column, he reached out in the briefest, sweetest way and said “God bless Lucy, and all who love her. Father Joe.” The thing that got me about the email was that he didn’t write about my mother in the past tense, didn’t say, “God bless all who loved her.” He said “love” her, letting me know that she was still here, with me. It was subtle, but it was a very strong message from a man who knew that death is not final.
That email, and that sentiment, give me comfort. Father Joe is still here, in his words, and in his spirit. And now, like my mother, he’s following me from Heaven, until we meet again.