Remarks by The Most Reverend John W. Flesey, S.T.D., D.D.
On His Episcopal Ordination as
Titular Bishop of Allegheny and
Auxiliary Bishop of the Archdiocese of Newark

I was ordained a priest on May 31, 1969 right here in this magnificent cathedral. About four days after the ordination my father and I rode out to the Archdiocesan Cooperative on Bloomfield Avenue. That’s where I picked up the first new car I ever owned, a Dodge Coronet 440. I was so proud of that car, and enjoyed it so much. However, one night in 1974, I was driving home to St. Bernard’s Rectory after a gathering at a parishioner’s house. As I approached the intersection of Second Street and Leland Avenue, I noticed all the cars were going through the red light. I thought it must be stuck on red. I did not notice all the cars were turning right. By the time I hit the brakes, I was already through the intersection, where I was hit by two cars. Thank God no one was hurt. However, my Dodge Coronet 440 died, and as I stared at the tree facing the windshield, I realized how lucky I was.

Later that evening around eleven o’clock, I sat down in a slight state of shock and tried to figure out what had happened. Since I was studying psychology at the time, I knew that sometimes events could have a hidden meaning. I tried to discover what that meaning was, but it was to no avail, so I decided to say night prayer before I went to bed. As I opened the Liturgy of the Hours and started to pray, a voice inside of me said, “Unless you slow down and pray more, you will crash and ruin the priesthood that you value infinitely more than that car.” I think from that moment forward, I really became a priest of prayer.

The following summer I made a retreat at the Trappist Monastery in Berryville, Virginia. Sometime during the night, I visited the tiny chapel on the first floor of the retreat house. Outside there was just the rolling hills, the dark, the stars, the moon, the cows, and the silence. Inside there was room for only two kneelers in the chapel, and of course, the small flame flickered by the tabernacle door. As I sat in the quiet, an insight came clearly to mind, almost as if the words were written on the wall. A priest is a man of prayer.

In the over 30 years that have passed since those two events, I have tried to remain faithful to the wisdom of those insights, and I am firmly convinced that any fruit that has resulted from my ministerial efforts is a direct result of the effort to pray. I discovered that prayer changes things not through magic, but through perspective. It reminds us of what we need to be grateful for, and it gives us a confidence in Christ that can diminish our fears for the future.

Some people say this is a time of darkness for the Church, and especially for bishops and priests. But, as Bishop Sheen once observed, if you want to get out of the darkness walk into the light. When we pray, that is just what we do.

As I stand here as a new bishop, I stand here in gratitude. First of all, I want to thank my family for 35 years of unwavering support. I also thank all those who have asked me to minister to them. They are the ones who have created the priest I have become. There are so many priests to whom I am indebted, but two recent losses stand out for me today – Monsignor Andy Cusack (a colleague for 16 years at Immaculate Conception Seminary) and Monsignor Ed Kavin (whose ordination I attended here when I was 13 years of age).

I am grateful to Cardinal McCarrick, who as Archbishop of Newark offered me the encouragement to finish my doctorate and the opportunity to serve as Spiritual Director of the Seminary as well as Rector and Dean. Those were wonderful years for me, and I will always be grateful to him for it.

I am also deeply grateful to Archbishop Gerety, who invited me to go to Rome and study for my Doctorate in Theology. When I told the Archbishop that I was happy being a parish priest, he responded in his inimitable style, “I know that. That’s why I asked you.”

To Archbishop Myers, I express my deepest gratitude for his confidence in me. I will try to be a bishop of prayer so that he will always find that confidence well founded.

When a man is nominated to the episcopacy, he is invited to write a personal letter to His Holiness, Pope John Paul II. In my handwritten letter to the Holy Father, I thanked him for offering me this awesome opportunity and challenge. I pledged to him my filial loyalty and support, and told him that I intended to dedicate my episcopacy to the guidance of the Blessed Mother, even as he had done.

In 1983, when I left St. Bernard’s parish to go to Rome, I visited the church one last time, and I knelt before the statue of the Blessed Mother. I said that I was willing to do this, but she would have to lead the way. I know she did then, and I know she will now. That is why I end by recalling the motto on my Coat of Arms: “My Spirit Rejoices in God My Savior, for He who is mighty has done great things for me and Holy is His Name.”

2004 News Releases