God’s Canonization of Mychal Judge
The Church doesn’t need to canonize Mychal Judge. God already did.
Running Toward Chaos: Mychal Judge in Action
On September 11, 2001, when planes tore into towers and the streets of New York filled with screams, Mychal Judge ran toward the chaos. He didn’t carry a weapon. He didn’t carry armor. He just wore a collar and carried a burning heart. While others fled, he entered the lobby of the North Tower with the firefighters he served as chaplain. He prayed over broken bodies. He blessed the maimed. He whispered forgiveness into ears that were already fading into silence. He was a priest to the very last breath of so many. God, he was a priest.
A Queer Priest at the Margins: Mychal Judge’s Ministry
But let’s not wash his story clean. Mychal Judge was not a saint made for stained glass. He was a queer man…a gay priest…who bore the weight of his identity in a Church that wanted him hidden. He knew what it meant to live at the margins…and that knowledge gave him a deep tenderness for all who were pushed aside. Like Jesus, Mychal Judge was a dear friend to the homeless, the addicted, the poor, the sick and so many others that society had cast out. When AIDS swept through New York and the Church turned its face, Mychal Judge walked straight into hospital rooms. He held the hands of men dying in isolation. He kissed foreheads others feared to touch. He blessed bodies the world called unclean. Mychal Judge was a queer priest who loved without calculation…who turned shame into embrace…who carried Christ into places the hierarchy dared not go.
The Death of a Saint: Mychal Judge in the Rubble
In the lobby of the North Tower, violence struck Mychal Judge down. A slab of steel and glass came roaring down from above. It split his skull. His body hit the floor. Blood pooled beneath him. Dust filled his lungs. His clothes smeared with ash. His collar soaked in blood. His life ended in horrific fragments.
And yet…Mychal Judge’s body spoke as loudly as any body ever has. Firefighters and police officers gathered him up…carrying him out as if they were carrying Christ himself. Look at the photos…soot-soaked men cradling his limp body like an offering. They carried him out of the hell of empire as if to say, Here is our priest. Here is our brother. Here is our saint. They laid him on the altar of St. Peter’s Church…a queer Pietà…Mychal Judge’s body broken and given for the world.
The Queer Eucharist: Mychal Judge’s Sacrifice
What happened that day was nothing less than the Eucharist…This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, poured out for the world. Mychal Judge’s broken flesh became bread. His spilled blood became wine. His death became a feast of memory, a sacrament of defiance.
The Vatican wants miracles? Here is miracle enough… A gay man in a collar who loved more fiercely than the fear that surrounded him. A priest who walked into AIDS wards and never turned away. A friar who carried Christ into queer bars and firehouses with equal joy. Mychal Judge died not with a sermon…but with a body that became the very incarnation of Jesus Christ. If you can’t see the miracle…it’s not because it isn’t there. It’s because you’re too afraid to admit that holiness can come clothed in queer flesh.
Mychal Judge’s body is the chalice. His wounds are the bread. His love is the real presence of Christ.
Resurrection: Mychal Judge Lives in Memory
But resurrection will not be silenced. Mychal Judge rises every time his story is told. He rises in the courage of firefighters who still whisper his name before running into danger. He rises in queer kids who see in him proof that God not only tolerates them…but delights in them. He rises in the homeless and the sick who remember a priest who never turned away. He rises in every act of defiant love that refuses to bow to fear.
Queer Love Indestructible: Mychal Judge’s Legacy
This is the truth the Church doesn’t want to face…queer love is indestructible. You can crush the body, but you cannot kill the love. You can split the skull, but you cannot silence the witness. You can bury the gay priest, but you cannot keep Mychal Judge’s holiness in the ground. Mychal Judge lives because queer love cannot die.
Every Eucharist is resurrection. So is his memory. His queer body, broken in the rubble, declares that no violence, no empire, no tower of hate or fear can overcome love. His very death spits in the face of violence and says…Do your worst. Love will rise again.
And love has risen. In every queer kid who dares to love themselves. In every priest who dares to bless the rejected. In every community that refuses to give up on compassion. Mychal Judge is not gone. He is here. He is watching. He is blessing. He is laughing. He is rising. He is raising us up.
Already a Saint: Mychal Judge in Spirit
The hierarchy may hesitate. But the faithful already know…and when the hierarchy refuses to act…the people will. Mychal Judge is already a saint. The Spirit has already declared it in fire and ash…This is the Body of Christ. This is Mychal Judge. This is a saint whose love will live forever.
Liturgical Prayer: Saint Mychal Judge, Watch Over Us
So let us proclaim:
Saint Mychal Judge, watch over us. Teach us to carry love into the fires of our own time. Teach us to believe that even broken bodies can feed the world. Teach us to stand against every violence with the only power that endures…the power of love.
Watch over the firefighters who run into flames. Watch over the sick abandoned in their beds. Watch over the queer who wonder if they are beloved. Watch over us in our violence, our fear and our ruin. Teach us to love as you loved. Teach us to die as you died…with arms open wide. Teach us to rise as you have risen…with love that cannot be destroyed.
For your body…broken in the rubble…still speaks. It rebukes violence. It feeds us with courage. It watches over us as bread watches over the hungry…as blood watches over the living…as Christ watches over the Church.
And so…with dust in our lungs and hope in our bones…
Saint Mychal Judge, pray for us.
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