No Greater Love: The True Story of Father John P. Wessel

NO GREATER LOVE:

THE TRUE STORY OF

FATHER JOHN P. WESSEL

A Biography of Father John P. Wessel

Karin M. Burke

with

Foreword by Father Andrew Apostoli, C.F.R.

Introduction by Monsignor Joseph C. Shenrock, P.A.

Copyright © 2007 by Karin M. Burke.

(Based on Unpublished Work © 1996 Karin M. Burke)

Cover: Portrait of Father John P. Wessel, 1972, by well-known Trenton, New Jersey artist Peggy Peplow Gummere. (Used with permission of the Wessel family)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2004098512

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 01/10/2023

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CONTENTS

Foreword by Father Andrew Apostoli, C.F.R.

Introduction by Rev. Msgr. Joseph C. Shenrock, P.A.

Introduction by Karin M. Burke

Chapter 1: One Friday in December

Chapter 2: A Child is Born

Chapter 3: Boyhood Years

Chapter 4: On Chippewa Trail

Chapter 5: School Days

Chapter 6: I Call You Friends

Chapter 7: Filled with Wisdom and Grace

Chapter 8: Vocation

Chapter 9: St. Charles, Catonsville: The Early Years

Chapter 10: Trial by Fire

Chapter 11: Mourning

Chapter 12: The Pilgrims

Chapter 13: St. Charles, Catonsville: The Later Years

Chapter 14: Last of the Mohicans

Chapter 15: St. Mary’s, Paca Street

Chapter 16: St. Mary’s, Roland Park

Chapter 17: Ordination

Chapter 18: Blessed Sacrament, Trenton

Chapter 19: The Man and The Priest

Chapter 20: Missionary to the Young

Chapter 21: Search for Christian Maturity

Chapter 22: Lessons and Teachings

Chapter 23: An All Church Priest

Chapter 24: Zealous for Justice

Chapter 25: The Eucharist, Project and Parable

Chapter 26: A New Assignment

Chapter 27: St. Joseph, Toms River

Chapter 28: The Last Search

Chapter 29: Father John, Our Friend

Chapter 30: The Closing Circle

Chapter 31: The Vietnam Veteran

Chapter 32: Mission of Mercy

Chapter 33: No Greater Love

Chapter 34: Tributes Far and Wide

Chapter 35: Aftermath

Chapter 36: A Cause Begins

Acknowledgments And Message To Readers

Endnotes

Dedication

To the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary

To my Mother and Father

with my eternal love and gratitude

*     *     *

To all our priests, and especially to Monsignor Joseph C. Shenrock

for his friendship and support

To all mothers and fathers of priests, and especially to

Mrs. Kathleen Hogan Wessel for her gracious example and strong faith

To our Holy Fathers, Pope John Paul II

Pope Benedict XVI

+

JMJF

FOREWORD

by Father Andrew Apostoli, C.F.R.

Father John Patrick Wessel was ordained a priest forever on May 22, 1965. That was right during the time of the Second Vatican Council, which held its final session in the Fall of that year. The Council was convoked by Pope John XXIII, who prayed it would bring about a New Pentecost for the Catholic Church, with a new outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon the Church and on each of her members. As we know from Catholic theology, the Ordination of a priest involves a generous outpouring of the Holy Spirit, transforming the man who receives the Gift of God into an alter Christus, or another Christ. As a result, when he carries out his priestly office, he will speak and act in persona Christi, or in the person of Christ.

Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen was a noted participant at the Second Vatican Council. He deeply loved the Priesthood! He saw the importance of priestly holiness in the mission of the Church. So important was it that he remarked shortly after the Council, If there is any key to the reform of the Church and the salvation of the world, it lies in the renewal of the Priesthood. How prophetic he was!

He also spoke in terms of a Sanctified Priesthood as a fruit of the Council. Priests can and will be holy if they submit themselves to the light of truth and the fire of love being poured forth within them by the Holy Spirit they received on the day of their Ordination. In St. Paul’s words to his young disciple Timothy, I remind you to stir into flame the Gift of God bestowed when my hands were laid on you. The Spirit God has given us is no cowardly spirit, but rather one that makes us strong, loving and wise. (2 Tim. 1:6-7).

Fr. John Wessel was, without doubt, an outstanding example of the Sanctified Priesthood! Though he was a priest for only six years (1965-1971), he gathered a great harvest of souls for the Kingdom of God. He touched countless lives as a dedicated parish priest through his inspiring sermons in the pulpit, and his ministry of mercy in the confessional or at the bedside of the sick, and as an excellent teacher of Sacred Scripture and Religion. But it was, above all, the youth through the Catholic Youth Organization (CYO) that he loved most and ministered to so well! They, in turn, flocked to his Masses, retreats and service projects. He was a humble and holy priest, faithful to the Magisterium of the Church. At a time when many priests and religious were leaving their consecrated vocations, he wanted to be a good priestly example, especially for the sake of his youth. As he once wrote while a seminarian, The eyes of the world are on a priest!

Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen, in speaking of Jesus, would always stress that He was both Priest and Victim. Pagan priests and even the priests of the Old Testament, he would say, always offered a victim separate from themselves. But Jesus offered Himself, thus making Himself, the Victim offered as well as the Priest offerer. Archbishop Sheen said that every Catholic Priest then must, like Jesus, be both a priest and a victim. Like Jesus, Fr. Wessel was both a priest and a victim. As a priest, he ministered the Sacraments and offered spiritual help to the people. As a victim, he offered himself daily in the fulfillment of his priestly responsibilities. He could say like St. Paul, whom he admired so much as a tireless worker-priest, his life was being poured forth as a libation. (Cf. 2 Tim. 4:6). For the overwhelming majority of priests, being a victim with Jesus means the white martyrdom of daily giving in service to the people of God. But to Fr. John Patrick Wessel, God also gave the crown of red martyrdom so that he became a victim of that supreme love which Jesus described as laying down your life for your friends! (Cf. Jn 15:13).

No doubt, as Fr. Wessel offered what would be his last Mass on the morning of Friday, December 17, 1971, when he said the words of consecration over the bread, This is My Body which will be given up for you, he had no idea that by that night, he would join Jesus in offering up his own body and the life it held. Nor did he realize as he consecrated the chalice filled with wine that morning with the words, This is my Blood . . . It will be shed for you and for all, that he would shed his own blood. He was attempting to help a young distraught Vietnam War veteran who in his confusion and distress, shot the young priest who had come to offer him counsel and comfort. Jesus the Eternal Priest-Victim had offered Himself as priest-victim for souls. Fr. John Patrick Wessel united himself fully to Jesus when he offered himself with a victimal love like that of Jesus!

Fr. Andrew Apostoli, C.F.R.

Mercy Sunday, 2004

INTRODUCTION

by Rev. Msgr. Joseph C. Shenrock, P.A.

It is with great joy and pleasure that I write this introduction to the new book on Father John P. Wessel. I have known the Wessel family for over 50 years. My first assignment as a newly ordained priest was at Sacred Heart Church in Mount Holly, New Jersey, where I met the Wessel family. Through the years I have built a close friendship with them.

John Wessel was in the eighth grade when I arrived in Mount Holly and he was preparing to enter St. Charles College to begin his studies for the priesthood. In an age when the priesthood is being damaged by the press, it is a wonder to remember a good and saintly priest, who gave his life in the service of the Church.

I hope and pray that readers of this book will realize that there are many good and dedicated priests in the world like Father John Wessel.

Rev. Msgr. Joseph C. Shenrock, P.A.

In using the word saint or other similar terms, and in describing reports of favors apparently received from Divine Providence, the author in no way intends to anticipate the judgment of the Holy See whose decision is respectfully awaited. In all matters, the author wishes to conform completely to the decree of Pope Urban VIII Coelestis Jerusalem of July 5, 1634 and all other ecclesiastical legislation pertinent to this subject.

*     *     *

Although the quotations in this text are faithful to the actual statements and manner of expression of the persons who are quoted, in some instances the quotations have been edited slightly to correct grammatical errors.

The Author

INTRODUCTION

The time has come to speak courageously about priestly life as a priceless gift and a splendid and privileged form of Christian living.¹

Pope John Paul II

It is the kind of story that tends to stay with you, even if you didn’t know the man.

The bare outlines of his life, briefly summarized, appear at first glance quite ordinary:

Father John P. Wessel was born on September 20, 1939 in Mount Holly, New Jersey. He was ordained to the priesthood in St. Mary’s Cathedral, Trenton, on May 22, 1965. His first assignment was Blessed Sacrament Church, Trenton, where he remained until September 23, 1971, when he was transferred to St. Joseph’s Church, Toms River.

But for those of us who were privileged to know him, if only briefly, we have long remembered the story of the young, dedicated, energetic, humble parish priest, who suddenly one day, while assisting another human being in a routine act of kindness, offered a very great sacrifice. For those of us who lived through those days, in December of 1971, the memory of his heroic witness for Christ remains with us and inspires us, even now.

I myself was a student at the last parish school where he served. He came among us like a breath of fresh air, and quickly earned the love and respect of all those around him. All too soon—for we had just started to really know him—he was gone from our midst. The title of the Irish ballad, Johnny We Hardly Knew Ye, seems almost fitting.

Yet, we did know him, and through these pages will hopefully come to know him better in a deeper way. And for those who never knew him, it is my hope that you too will come to know and love him.

His life was a gift to us; his life is now a gift to you.

*     *     *

Father John Patrick Wessel’s story begins over thirty years ago. He embarked upon his priesthood in the middle of the decade of the sixties, one of the most turbulent, rebellious, and yet idealistic eras in American history—

The sixties had started out brightly. Hope was in the air, and despite the omnipresent specter of communism, a new spirit of optimism was sweeping America and igniting the whole world. In 1961, a new, young, Catholic President, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was at the helm of the Republic, while a new, innovative, and young at heart Italian cardinal, Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, had in 1958 been elevated to the papacy of the Roman Catholic Church. As the spiritual head of the world’s 430 million Roman Catholics,² the Pontiff’s first official act was to choose the name John.

And so it was that these two men who shared a common name and faith presided over the beginning of the sixties, a decade that began in hope and ended in turbulence, in ways that neither could have foreseen nor would live to see.

But at the dawn of the decade, it was a great time to be an American, and a great time to be a Catholic. John F. Kennedy, a mere forty-three years old, seemed to embody everything that the young and vigorous nation thought best about itself. Gone were the days when, several generations ago, a Catholic could not hold public office, nor engage in certain occupations, much less aspire to the presidency. Here on earth, Kennedy exhorted the nation in his inaugural address, God’s work must truly be our own.

The Roman Catholic Church too was growing and changing—not in substance or dogma, for the eternal truth of Jesus Christ and His Church was constant—but in format and approach, in finding new ways of reaching out to people, meeting the challenges of new philosophies, addressing new problems which confronted the modern world. In order to do this, Pope John XXIII promptly convened the Second Vatican Council, a gathering of all the Bishops of the Church.

In 1962, the Pope confidently proclaimed that we must open a new window and allow the Holy Spirit to renew the Church like a fresh breeze. Come Holy Spirit. Fill the hearts of your faithful and enkindle in them the fire of your love was his prayer. The Second Vatican Council was an invitation to the Holy Spirit to breathe new life into the Church. But the end of the Council and the implementation of its inspired deliberations, as well as the end of the decade itself, would be presided over by another, Pope Paul VI, for John XXIII died in 1963.

The Council was remarkable, not simply because the last worldwide gathering of its kind took place in 1870. More importantly, the convocation of the Bishops of the Church (and observers from other Christian faiths) would change much of the outward manifestation of Catholicism, so much so that the Catholic Church is today described by reference to pre- and post-Vatican II in much the same way that the birth of Jesus Christ divided the measurement of civilization into B.C. and A.D.

Within the Church, many would embrace the changes of Vatican II with ease and enthusiasm, while others would find it difficult or even impossible to adjust. To some, the Church was not changing fast enough; to others it was changing much too quickly.

Either way, in the words of Bob Dylan, the generation’s troubadour—the times they were a changin’.

The young Catholic President no doubt had great plans to lead his country bravely into the New Frontier he frequently alluded to, but all that was silenced on November 22, 1963, with an assassin’s bullet. The assassination of the young President was in many ways symbolic of the country’s loss of innocence. The vulnerability of an American President to the power of evil served to remind the nation of its own frailty and mortality. By the end of the decade, the murders of his brother Robert F. Kennedy, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., two other revered leaders, would leave the country reeling and grieving.

The conflict between democracy and communism, manifested most ominously in the nuclear arms race, continued throughout the 1960s. This reality was brought to America’s doorstep with communist Cuba less than ninety miles from our southern shores. Emboldened by the failed 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion, then-communist Russia (U.S.S.R.), under Khrushchev, tested American resolve by placing nuclear missiles in Cuba aimed at the U.S. mainland. For two perilous weeks in October 1962, the world teetered on the brink of nuclear annihilation, while confused schoolchildren practiced air raid drills and frantic parents built bomb shelters in backyards, until October 28th (the Feast of St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless cases) brought deliverance and respite from the immediate threat of nuclear war.

America soon became embroiled in South Vietnam, thought to be the last stand of resistance to communism, and the Vietnam War became one of the defining events of the decade. U.S. involvement in the war was the legacy of his predecessor, but under President Kennedy our commitments in Southeast Asia became intractable. During subsequent American presidencies of Johnson and Nixon, the Vietnam War became an increasingly massive and seemingly hopeless conflict which drained more and more young American lives and resources. By 1965, the United States was fully engaged in the combat, as young men coming of age contended with the military draft and the prospect of losing their lives in a far-off land. By the end of this conflict, 45,997 Americans had been killed in combat; 10,928 died of non-combat causes; 303,640 wounded; nearly 600 captured; and over 1,300 missing.³

A decade that began with such hope would end with war and violence, turmoil, rebellion, and social unrest, as America struggled to define who we were and what we believed. For the remainder of the decade, America was often divided over issues such as Vietnam, race relations, poverty, and civil rights. Protests and demonstrations, particularly anti-war protests, could often be found in the streets. Rebellion against the system—the establishment—anything that represented law and order, authority, and the status quo, was the mood of the country, particularly among the young.

Yet it was also a study in contrasts, for there were many positive aspects in the thinking of that era: the high idealism of youth; an emphasis on peace, love and brotherhood; an abhorrence of war; social concern for the poor and less fortunate; a disdain of greed and material possessions; the rejection of discrimination and prejudice in favor of racial harmony and equality; the Civil Rights movement, founded by Dr. Martin Luther King on Christian principles; the desire for a simple and natural way of life; and an emphasis on genuineness in social and interpersonal relationships.

Perhaps because of the war, and some of the ugliness of life in the 1960s, the young, more so than in most generations, began to question and reject the values and conventions their parents held dear. The term generation gap was created to describe the void between parents and children who almost could not communicate.

The traditional morals and values of the older generation were, more often than not, eschewed in favor of a hedonistic, morally ambiguous, live for today mentality. If it feels good, do it and free love were common slogans. Pleasure and the gratification of the senses became paramount.

Mind-altering drugs became prevalent as well, and many a young person was seduced into the lifestyle of tune in, turn on, drop out. Drugs were exalted in the lyrics of popular songs and in the lives of youthful role models. Musicians, actors, entertainers, and athletes became gurus to the young, replacing parents, teachers and religious leaders as authority figures.

In the trend toward personal and social liberation, it was inevitable that some would seek to liberate themselves from Almighty God as well. The influence of traditional religious faith began to decline as the judicial branch of government, under novel interpretations of the U.S. Constitution, sharply limited the role of religion in public life: The so-called separation of Church and State soon became a divorce. In 1963, simple prayer was forbidden in public schools. By the end of the decade, Pope Paul VI would note with alarm an increasing sentiment against the child and the family taking root in Western civilization, which revolved more and more around personal gratification and self-centered individualism.

To some, God and religion were no longer relevant, and traditional religious structures and institutions, just another facet of the despised establishment, came under attack. God is dead, they said. Or was He?

By the close of the decade of the 1960s, profound changes had taken place in American life. On the surface level, all seemed as it was—yet on a deeper level, America was no longer sure of who we were and what we believed. Too much had changed. The old beliefs and value systems had been tossed aside. Living through the sixties was as if one had taken up residence on the edge of an active volcano. And the seeds that had been sown in the turbulent sixties would be ready for the harvest in the not-too-distant future.

*     *     *

It was around this time that a young, twenty-five-year-old John P. Wessel hopefully embarked upon his chosen vocation, the Roman Catholic priesthood.

The Catholic Church was also affected by the spirit of rebellion and confusion of the times; those for whom the Church was a vocation—priests, sisters, religious—were not immune to the turbulence around them. They sought to remain true to their beliefs and calling in an increasingly anti-religious and despairing world and to combat the heresies of modernism and selfish individualism. In particular, they struggled to reach out to the next generation with the immutable truth of Christian doctrine, even as the world questioned God’s existence and His love for humanity.

As secular society became more and more inhospitable to religious life, some priests and religious were unable to persist in their vocations and left quietly to find their own path; others left publicly with great commotion and fanfare. Yet others, like Father John Wessel, stayed on and persevered, convinced that what he had to offer, the Gospel of Jesus Christ, was infinitely more valuable than man-made philosophies or social trends.

Father John Wessel, like the vast majority of priests and religious, went about his duties quietly, faithfully and devotedly, without attracting attention. His daily task was ministering the sacraments, sharing the love of Christ with others, transforming lives and winning souls, especially of the young. He labored in a world that was increasingly skeptical and unwilling to listen to God’s message, yet so willing to listen to anyone else’s—the charming, the popular, even the bizarre. Like a voice crying in the wilderness, he persevered, he succeeded, he cared—through the sixties, and into the new decade filled with hope, as all new decades are, and the promise of better days ahead.

One person at a time, one soul at a time, Father John fought the good fight quietly and largely unnoticed. Until one day—when his humble and unassuming life was dramatically thrust beyond the confines of his small parish community onto a much wider stage.

That Father John Wessel would expend himself trying to help a troubled soul, and achieve renown in doing so, was a witness of his fidelity to Christ’s own words that perfectly suited those turbulent times: Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did it for me (Matthew 25:40).

Father John Wessel’s Christian witness still speaks to us today.

*     *     *

I must confess that his story has fascinated me during these long years. What kind of man would become a priest during one of the most rebellious, anti-establishment, and anti-religious eras of this century? What kind of man would forego the pleasures and allurements of this world for a life of quiet dedication, continual and often thankless self-service, and perpetual chastity? And what kind of man would go to the aid of someone in a situation that was by all accounts hopeless, even to the point of risking his own life?

It has been my privilege to prepare this biography of this great yet unassuming man. What emerges in these pages is a portrait of a complex human being, which hopes to provide answers to these questions, while chronicling the true story of one dedicated life. It is a life which provides rich lessons for us today by the example of his courage, faith and love; by his zealous and joyful dedication to his priesthood; and in the manner in which he fully embraced his own humanity.

One need not be a Roman Catholic or even a Christian to appreciate Father Wessel’s story, nor is it necessary to have any particular faith at all to be inspired by his example. This is, first and foremost, the story of a man, a real human being, who became a role model and a hero. His story should resonate with all persons who admire the qualities of bravery, perseverance, goodness and self-sacrifice; his example transcends barriers of time and place, culture and creed. May the telling of his story uplift and edify you, no matter what your walk in life, your circumstances, your religious beliefs or lack of them.

At the same time, this is a story of a man who was also a priest, and Father Wessel’s joy in his priesthood was as apparent as his commitment to it. Thus, this work hopefully may serve a second benefit, through his example, to encourage religious vocations, in particular, to the priesthood—a priceless gift and a splendid and privileged form of Christian living, in the words of our Holy Father.⁴

My thoughts and prayers are with the young (or not-so-young) man who may be holding this book in his hands. Perhaps, like John Wessel, you may feel Christ’s call to the priesthood. Do not be afraid to answer Yes to Him, because you are needed: Christ needs you and His people need you. Do not be deterred if you think yourself unworthy, for John Wessel never thought himself worthy. And do not be afraid that you are not holy enough, or smart enough, for John Wessel never thought he was either. Those whom the Lord calls are often not the most obvious choices—one need only to contemplate the lives of the Apostles—and neither was young Johnny Wessel the most obvious choice. All that is necessary is the grace and courage to, like Father Wessel, give a generous and open-hearted response to Jesus Christ.

A few years after his death, those who knew him in life began a process that may one day result in Father John Wessel’s canonization as a modern day saint.

Finally, it is my hope that this work may serve to bolster the cause for Father Wessel’s sanctity and holiness and evidence his exercise of heroic virtues. In doing so, I am reminded of what a priest friend of mine, Monsignor Anthony Dalla Villa, once said about sainthood: The greatest saints the Church has produced have been, first and foremost, the most human.

*     *     *

The world today is badly in need of saints and heroes, and just as badly is it in need of priests. Perhaps it is time to tell Father John P. Wessel’s story. It is a story that is worth knowing, and it has been a story worth telling.

Not unlike the times in which Father John Wessel carried out his ministry, the present days are also tumultuous and confusing: Our society is yet again in the midst of wars and rumors of wars. For the Roman Catholic Church too, it is a time of confusion and internal scandal. While such scandal is the work of but a few, it has caused pain and sorrow for many in the Body of Christ—to her priests, religious, and lay people alike. For those who love the Church, and for those who have made Her their vocation, it is a particularly difficult time.

And yet, it is especially during these trying times that we can learn from Father Wessel’s example. His life instructs us on the true meaning and value of priesthood and what a difference a priest can make in the lives of others. Father Wessel’s response to the turmoils of his day inspires us to do likewise: By being faithful to the small tasks that God gave him to do; by believing in the love of God and the power of the Holy Spirit to protect and guide the Church and to heal the Body of Christ; by never giving up through rough times, never ceasing to give of himself to others, and above all, never losing faith in people.

Far from being discouraged, Father’s response to the turbulence of his times, both literally and in a spiritual sense—build a boat named Eucharist and invite everyone aboard!

*     *     *

Father Wessel had a wonderful way of looking at the world, grounded in his firm faith and authentic Christianity. He was able to distill the essence of life, focusing on the important things and letting go of the little things that so distract us but really don’t matter. He once said, You’ll be a success in life if you have a positive influence on at least one person.

It is in this spirit that I hope and pray this endeavor has such an effect: If, through reading the story of Father John P. Wessel’s life, one man is inspired to enter the priesthood; if one woman is inspired to enter the religious life; or if just one person is inspired to love and care for another through his example—then I hope that I will have been that success of which Father spoke.

This is the story of John Patrick Wessel, the man, the priest—and perhaps, future American saint.

Karin M. Burke

December 26, 2003

Feast of St. Stephen

CHAPTER 1

ONE FRIDAY IN DECEMBER

Friday, the 17th of December. When the day began, it was as normal as any other day at St. Joseph Rectory: the daily Masses; school was in session; the daily chores; appointments; visits to the sick and shut-in; telephone calls and doorbell ringing.

But it was not to end as a normal day.¹

The year was 1971. It was the time of President Nixon and Vietnam. Young people listened to the music of Lennon and Dylan; their parents to Sinatra and Bennett. It was a time of idealism and passion, disorder and chaos, civil unrest and protest songs; love beads, tie-dyed clothes, bell bottoms and long hair; slogans and peace signs; innocence and disillusionment. It was a time of love and a time of war.

St. Joseph was a busy, large, Roman Catholic parish church in Toms River, New Jersey, a suburban town with a sizeable population of families and children. The church, situated on Hooper Avenue near the center of town, was both geographically and spiritually at the heart of community life. Most of the town’s nearly 44,000 residents were Christian; close to half of these were Roman Catholics.²

Toms River was the county seat of Ocean County, on the eastern coast of New Jersey, a short distance from the shores of the Atlantic. It had perhaps more than its share of business and commerce than its neighboring shore towns. Stately offices of lawyers, doctors and realtors lined Hooper Avenue and Washington Street, the main thoroughfares of town. At the intersection stood the old, white-framed, 1850s era courthouse. All day long, busy attorneys transacted their business at this legal hub on tree-lined Washington Street. Restaurants and shops dotted the small business district around Washington and Main Streets. A large hospital, Community Memorial, was located slightly beyond the town proper on nearby Route 37.

The town was clean, decent and peaceful; the housing affordable. While most residents were young, growing families, an increasing number were elderly, having been attracted by the pleasant, sedate senior citizens’ tracts that were beginning to sprout up all over the county. While containing a mix of both affluence and poverty, most of the area’s population was solidly middle class, middle American.

Years ago, anticipating the needs of the growing population of Catholic families in Ocean County, Father (later Monsignor) Lawrence Donovan, St. Joseph’s far-sighted pastor, built the area’s first Catholic high school, and under his direction the existing parish grade school was expanded.³ St. Joseph also attended to the spiritual needs of the Catholic sick at the local hospital, the residents of three area nursing homes, and the inmates at the county jail.

Parish life started early in the morning at St. Joseph Rectory, and that Friday in December was no different. With the schools, the hospital, and other daily duties, there was more than enough work for the four priests at St. Joseph, in addition to the ever-present requests from parishioners with an endless range of temporal and spiritual needs.

It was a cold, gray day. A dreary, dark, rainy Friday. Thick clouds hung overhead, and with the wind chilling the already cold temperatures, it looked as if the pouring rain would soon give way to snow. Perhaps the ominous clouds and dark, dreary weather were portents of things to come.

There was, however, a special excitement in the air for soon it would be Christmas, time to celebrate the most joyous of events in the Christian calendar, the birth of the Savior, Jesus Christ. The church and schools were full of activity, planning their Christmas pageantry. Students and teachers were anxiously looking forward to a long Christmas vacation and the round of Christmas parties. Christmas decorations adorned the altar of St. Joseph Church; the beautiful red and green colors of poinsettia, holly, and fir boughs added to the gaiety of the season. A little straw crèche with its replica of that first stable in Bethlehem was already in place on the altar, the humble manger empty until the first Mass of Christmas when the statue of the Infant Jesus would be given its rightful place.

John Wessel was looking forward to Christmas. He was young, handsome, thirty-two years old, with black hair and clear blue eyes, the beauty and intensity of which were obscured by his thick black-framed glasses. At five-ten, he was of medium height and medium build. When in repose or lost in thought, he could appear quiet and serious, almost ethereal, but he was most always on the move, active and animated. He had a good sense of humor and laughed easily. His ready smile was memorable, although he sometimes appeared a bit shy because of a habit of ducking his head when he smiled. In many ways he was boyish, but he also possessed wisdom and maturity beyond his years. His personality and physique attested to his strength and masculinity.

John Wessel was the kind of person who was everyone’s friend. He loved and accepted each person, no matter what their station or occupation in life, or social skills, or lack thereof. In fact, he was most often drawn to the outcast, the down and out, the rejected, the troubled. Because of his great compassion, he hated to see anyone in pain, and wanted only to relieve the suffering of others, be it psychological, physical, emotional or spiritual. This trait was not so much the result of his vocation as it was the reason for it.

Father John Wessel, the associate pastor of St. Joseph’s Church, had been a priest for six and a half years. He shared his duties with the older, florid and gregarious pastor, Father Donovan, and two young Irish priests-in-residence, Father Brendan Gallagher and Father Sean Maguire*¹, the latter just newly ordained and newly arrived from Ireland. A nearby convent housed the Sisters of St. Dominic who taught in the parish schools. Completing the parish family were Mrs. Mary Moser, the housekeeper, and Jeanne, a high school girl who worked part-time at the rectory after school.

Father John Wessel was neither introspective nor self-absorbed, but had he paused that day to reflect on the past few months, he might have felt great satisfaction at the path which God had set before him. He had come to Toms River only three months ago from his first assignment, Blessed Sacrament Church in Trenton. It had been difficult for him to leave the people and places he had come to know and love for a new and unknown station, and he came with all the usual trepidation that accompanies such a major change. There was the inevitable loneliness and period of adjustment. Yet, he prayed for the Lord’s help and guidance as he tried to do some good for the people of his new parish. His fervent prayers were more than answered each day.

He liked his pastor, Father Donovan. They got along well. The parishioners and his fellow priests had welcomed him. He was enthusiastic and challenged at the opportunity to work with youth, and found special fulfillment in his role as chaplain of the high school. In three short months, he had already begun to form the high school teens into a real Christian community—with a youth retreat, a morning prayer group—and he had great plans for the future. There was so much more he hoped to do, and God willing, he would do it.

Father Wessel had awakened early and celebrated Mass in the morning of December 17th. Saying Mass and receiving the Holy Eucharist strengthened and prepared him for the day ahead. It was, as he often said, the high point of his day. Afterward, he went about the daily assignments, meetings and chores that he had planned.

At lunchtime, when the grade school children were playing football in the parking lot, Father Wessel could be found among them. The students tossed the football to him a few times, and he returned it; the inclement weather could not dampen the children’s enthusiasm for a game of football with the young priest. Father Gallagher, walking past the schoolyard on his way to church, looked over and took in the scene of John Wessel playing catch with the students for a few moments.

Father Wessel made a point to be a visible presence in the high school. He visited the classrooms, celebrated Mass for them regularly, heard their confessions, and participated in their recreational and leisure activities. He wanted the young people to know that he was informal and approachable, not stuffy, and that he was there if they needed someone to talk with. Many a youngster could approach him with ease over a game of sports or other casual activity.

By mid-afternoon on Friday, school had ended. A practice which fast became a daily ritual in the rectory was coffee-and-tea time in the kitchen after school. It was a time to unwind, to enjoy each other’s company, and shoot the breeze about everything and anything. Coffee-and-tea time was for anyone in the rectory who wanted to drop by.

This day, Father Wessel, Father Maguire and Jeanne were sitting in the kitchen indulging in this newly acquired habit. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon, and the lively conversation may have encompassed everything from the day’s events to the weather to preparations for Christmas.

Father Wessel was ahead of schedule that Christmas, and proud of it. He had finished his Christmas shopping that week, and all his presents were wrapped. Several boxes of unopened Christmas cards were waiting to be sent to his many friends and loved ones.

That whole afternoon tea group felt very harmonious, Father Maguire recalled of that day. We all had good feelings about each other. Not that this was unusual—they often felt that way—but it would stand out in his memory because of events that were soon to unfold.⁴

Strangely enough, death became part of the conversation that afternoon, and Father Wessel said, very seriously, that if he died no one would care.

Jeanne, surprised, didn’t know what to say. Sure, sure, she countered. You know darn well people would care.

I just don’t want people to be crying over me when I die, he remarked.⁵

Adding to the conversation, and as if to follow his earlier train of thought, Father Wessel mentioned that he had been asked to visit a troubled young man who was in need of counseling. Father Maguire recognized the man’s name.

I really don’t want to go, Father Wessel confided to the younger priest, referring to the request to visit the troubled young man.⁶ Father Maguire recalled questioning him but that John Wessel seemed as if he wanted to just drop the subject, and so it was dropped.

Father Maguire remembered the Christmas party for the grade school faculty scheduled for three o’clock that afternoon. Sister Juliana Naulty, the grade school principal, and her faculty had worked hard on the preparations. All the priests had been invited and were expected to attend.

Assuming that Father Wessel was also going, as he had planned to, Father Maguire went up to his room to get his coat, thinking that Father Wessel would wait for him and that they would go together.

When he came back downstairs a few minutes later, Father Wessel was already gone. It was about 2:50 in the afternoon. John Wessel must have left for the grade school, Father Maguire thought, and he hurried over to meet him there.⁷

Father Wessel’s mood was ponderous when I last left him, Maguire would later recall, like a man who had to make a choice—whether to enjoy the conviviality of a Christmas party with friends, or to answer a call for help that he would have much preferred to have ignored.⁸

Christmas was just a week away. A tree in the rectory still had to be trimmed. Before he left, Jeanne asked Father Wessel to help her trim the tree that night. If he wasn’t too tired, he’d be happy to help her, he said.

Father Wessel put on his black trench coat over his black clerical suit and stepped out into the cold, blustery, December afternoon.

*     *     *

A short time later, a short distance away, a young mother suddenly heard a sound like a strong blast from outside the window of her small apartment. She instinctively gathered up her infant son, bolted the front door, closed the curtains, and ran upstairs. Cautiously, she looked out the window. There was a man lying motionless on the sidewalk outside, face down. Frightened, she called the police.⁹

Surely no one at St. Joseph’s Rectory nor at the festive Christmas party at the grade school that afternoon paid much attention to the sound of sirens wailing past the rectory and down Hooper Avenue.

It wasn’t too long after Father Wessel had left that a call came in to the rectory. It was the local hospital. There was noise and confusion in the background, Jeanne remembered, and an excited nurse said she had to talk to one of the priests. Jeanne rang Father Gallagher’s room.

A young priest from St. Joseph has been shot, said the nurse. He’s in the Emergency Room. We need you to identify him.

A young priest? Who? he thought. It was about four o’clock.¹⁰

Father Gallagher ran out of his room and at the same time the pastor, Father Donovan, was coming out of his. Father Gallagher repeated what he had just been told. The pastor’s reaction was the same—Who? It couldn’t be one of our priests, he thought. All were accounted for. Father Wessel and Father Maguire were at the faculty party; the two of them were there in the rectory.

I’ll go over and give you a call from there, Father Gallagher assured the pastor. He left at once for Community Memorial Hospital to answer the emergency call.

When Father Gallagher first saw him, the injured man was lying on a stretcher surrounded by several physicians. One doctor was in charge and seemed to be directing the others in whatever had to be done. They appeared to be doing everything they possibly could for the injured man, Gallagher recalled.

There was blood pouring out from the man’s wounds, blood pouring off the stretcher and spilling onto the Emergency Room floor. I remember blood coming off that stretcher onto the floor, said Gallagher. It was really a difficult sight.

Father Gallagher made the identification at the hospital.

It was Father Wessel.¹¹

*     *     *

Father Wessel was not moving at all. Fleetingly, Gallagher may have thought back to the last time he saw John Wessel animated and active just a few hours before, tossing a football to the children on the playground at lunchtime.

Father Gallagher stayed with Father Wessel as he was wheeled out of the Emergency Room and up to the Intensive Care Unit. He anointed him and gave him the Last Rites of the Church.¹²

Gallagher called the rectory to tell the pastor. Oh my God, no! the pastor said. Father Donovan and another priest, a good friend of the pastor’s who happened to be visiting that day, left for the hospital immediately.

Father John Wessel, only thirty-two years old, lay gravely wounded and clinging to life in a hospital ward. It was, ironically, the same hospital where he himself had often visited the sick and anointed the dying.

So many unanswered questions—

What had happened in the space of a few hours that Friday afternoon that so dramatically altered the course of events on that seemingly ordinary day?

What had happened to Father Wessel between the three and four o’clock hours to place him in harm’s way?

And who in that small, peaceful, suburban town would want to shoot the beloved young priest—and why?

Many lives would be changed forever, many more would be affected, by the events of that one Friday in December.

At the rectory, it was recalled in the midst of all the turmoil that Father Wessel had a family—a widowed mother, a sister and a brother. As he rushed to the hospital, an emotional and upset Father Donovan told Jeanne to call Mrs. Wessel. It remained for the young girl to complete the daunting task of telephoning the young priest’s mother with the awful news. Her son had been shot. That was all they knew.¹³

CHAPTER 2

A CHILD IS BORN

John Patrick Wessel was born on September 20, 1939 in Mount Holly, New Jersey. The birth of the infant was awaited with great joy and anticipation by his young parents, Dr. Edward J. Wessel, a well-known Mount Holly dentist, and his wife, Kathleen, a former schoolteacher. John’s mother was the former Kathleen Hogan, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Hogan of Burlington Road in Mount Holly.¹ John’s father was the son of the late Julian Wessel, Sr., a Philadelphia banker, and his wife Rosalie. Little John was welcomed into the bosom of the young family which already included two older children, Edward, Jr., then seven years old, and Maryann, aged five.

The child had come into the world at the beginning of World War II. The news from Europe had been distressing in the fall of that year. On September 1, 1939, Germany had invaded Poland. On September 3, Britain and France declared war on Germany, but there was little they could do to help the beleaguered Poles, who were no match for the German war machine.

Germany and Russia had secretly agreed to divide Poland, and so, on September 17, with the Polish armies ready to collapse, Russia invaded Poland from the east. Most Polish resistance ended in a matter of days, but in Warsaw, the people fought on without food or supplies until September 27, when the city surrendered. Thus Poland began its long suffering under Nazi occupation, to be followed by decades of communist oppression. The atrocities of the Holocaust and the concentration camps would soon become evident. And somewhere in Poland, a young student-actor and future Pope would shortly begin clandestine studies for the priesthood in Kraków even as the Nazis overran his native land.

As the year 1939 drew to a close, Hitler was preparing for even greater conquests, together with his allies in Italy and Japan. It was the calm before a great storm that would soon involve even the United States.²

But closer to home, in quaint, picturesque Mount Holly in the southern part of New Jersey, the Wessels’ new baby John was baptized at Sacred Heart Church by the pastor, Father J. Arthur Hayes. His godparents were Dr. Julian Wessel, his father’s younger brother, and Miss Clare Hogan, his mother’s older sister.

If it is true that one’s name foreshadows destiny, then the name John Patrick which the baby’s parents had carefully chosen for him certainly provided an indication of his future life. He was named in honor of his maternal great-uncle, Father John Duggan, a Catholic priest of the Diocese of Newark, and his maternal grandfather, Patrick Hogan.

The chubby, dark-haired, blue-eyed baby John was a mild-tempered, wonderful child, and a source of immense joy to his parents, as indeed, were all their children. Two years earlier, a baby boy named James had been born to Edward and Kathleen Wessel but had died in infancy of pneumonia. The birth of baby John two years later must have seemed to his parents like an answer to prayer.

During the first year of John’s life, Father Hayes often visited the Wessels to look in on the new baby and his mother. Always Father Hayes reassured the parents that the child would be fine.

He’ll grow up all right, Mrs. Wessel, the pastor said confidently. Don’t you worry.

Father Hayes had a booming, forceful manner and a jaunty self-confidence that made his prophecy for the child seem not mere wishful thinking but a promise, a guarantee, to the anxious mother.

One day, in fact, Father Hayes made an amazingly accurate prediction about the baby’s destiny.

He’ll live. He’ll live, Hayes said to John Wessel’s mother, and some day he’ll be a priest.³

For the moment, at least, the prediction of the child’s future vocation was completely forgotten by his worried mother, who was only too glad to hear the priest’s pronouncement that her son would be fine.

*     *     *

It was not surprising that John Wessel would become a priest, since a strong Catholic faith was a part of his heritage. His family had been blessed with an abundance of religious vocations. There were several nuns and a monk on his father’s side, and a number of nuns and priests among his mother’s Irish ancestors. But above all else, the family into which young John Patrick was born knew well—and perhaps better than most—the incomparable joys of answering a call to the priesthood, as well as its sacrifices and sorrows.

The Duggans and the Hogans

John Wessel’s maternal grandmother, Mary Duggan, immigrated to America from her native Ireland in the early 1880s. Here she met and married Patrick Hogan, a farmer from Salem, New Jersey.

Since the mid-seventeenth century, many generations of the Duggan family have made their ancestral home on a tract of land called Shandangan in County Cork in the southwesterly part of Ireland, just outside the great port city of Cork.

John’s grandmother, Mary Duggan, was born at Shandangan in 1863, the second youngest of nine children of a devoutly religious couple, Cornelius and Mary Murphy Duggan.

Prayer and the sacraments were a vital part of life for the Duggans of Shandangan. As was the custom, the Angelus would be said three times during the day, with workers pausing in the fields or in their homes to recite the prayer that commemorates the visitation of the Archangel Gabriel to the Blessed Virgin Mary. After dinner, the family would gather by the stone hearth to recite the Rosary. In fact, one of Mary Duggan’s earliest memories was of sitting on a three-cornered stool at her mother’s feet, as her mother, rocking peacefully in a rocking chair by the fireplace, taught her to recite the Acts of Faith, Hope and Charity.

Among Mary’s eight siblings was her oldest brother, Denis, born in 1848. He had also learned the prayers and devotions at his mother’s knee and inspired perhaps by his parents’ deep faith, Denis had decided to enter the priesthood. After the years of required study had been completed, he was ready to become a priest, and his family was preparing to celebrate his ordination.

The story is told in Duggan family lore that on a day shortly before the ordination of her oldest son Denis, his mother Mary hitched up the horse and wagon and rode into town to get the clothing to be worn by her son at his ordination. On her way home, the horse bolted, and Mary Murphy Duggan was thrown from the wagon. Severely injured, she died a short time later.

One can only imagine how great the Duggan family’s shock and sorrow, not only at the sudden death of their beloved mother, but for the incomparably tragic timing of the accident on the eve of their son’s commencement of his priesthood. The happiness and joy that should have accompanied the ordination was mixed with great and unanticipated sadness, for the newly ordained priest, Father Denis J. Duggan, and his family were in mourning. The eight remaining Duggan children, including John Wessel’s grandmother Mary, still a small girl, were now motherless.

Father Denis J. Duggan was the first of his immediate family to emigrate to America. He became a priest in the Diocese of Trenton, New Jersey, and enjoyed many years of dedicated service in Mount Holly, Salem, and then Bordentown where in 1899 he celebrated his twenty-fifth anniversary as a priest. He was elevated to the rank of Monsignor.

While at Salem, Father Denis was instrumental in establishing the Catholic Church of St. Anne’s in nearby Elmer, New Jersey. The ground was broken for the church in 1894. A program prepared for the church’s one hundredth anniversary in 1994 described him and his efforts:

The mission of Elmer was formerly attached to the parish of Salem and it was the Rev. Denis J. Duggan who purchased the first church site. The first Mass at Elmer was celebrated in 1892 by Rev. Father Duggan in a large room of the old farmhouse of Anthony Kitsinger which stood near the Deerfield Road close to the present railroad station called Harding. Rev. Denis Duggan was born in Macroom, County Cork, Ireland in October 1848. He studied the classics at St. Vincent’s College in that city and Theology at the renowned Seminary of Maynooth. In 1874 he was ordained and worked in his native diocese and coming to America, he was accepted into the Diocese of Trenton and appointed assistant to Fr. Fitzsimmons of Camden. Father [Duggan] was a learned theologian, a great friend to the parochial school system and a singer well versed in the art of music.

*     *     *

Meanwhile, little Mary Duggan grew up on Shandangan and learned to be an excellent seamstress.

In the early 1880s, Mary Duggan, now a vivacious, pretty and headstrong Irish lass, decided she would go to America to visit her brother, Father Denis, who was then stationed in the small town of Salem, in the County of Salem, on the Delaware River in southwestern New Jersey. She had intended to come alone, but her brother John, the youngest of the Duggan clan, insisted on tagging along. He would not be dissuaded.

So they sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to America in 1882 or 1883⁴, twenty-year-old Mary Duggan, and her brother John, about eighteen, ending up in Salem to visit Father Denis. They were only supposed to stay for a certain time and had plans to return to Ireland, but fate mysteriously intervened.

Young John Duggan was enamored of the new country. What’s more, he’d become interested in the priesthood. His sister Mary and brother Denis wanted to send him back to Cork, but it was no use, he wouldn’t go. So Mary Duggan, perhaps sensing the hand of God in these altered plans, moved herself and John to Jersey City, New Jersey to live with their cousin, Julia.

Mary Duggan went to work as a seamstress in New York City to support John’s education. An excellent seamstress, she began to run a profitable business working in all the large stores in the city, where the fine skills she acquired in Ireland—sewing, knitting, crocheting, needlepoint and embroidery—were always in great demand. When John graduated from Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, he resolved to continue his education and become a Marist priest, and Mary continued her work as a seamstress to pay the tuition for his education.

John Duggan attended a seminary in Maine, and then went to Catholic University, in Washington, D.C., where he was ordained a priest of the Marist Order. John had hoped to join the Diocese of Trenton, where his brother and family were, but to his great disappointment there were no openings. But he was able to join the Newark diocese, and was assigned as a young priest to St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Newark. He then returned to his alma mater, Catholic University, where he taught for many years, and eventually went to Paterson, New Jersey, where he became a pastor. Father John Duggan spent his remaining years at a parish in Sterling, New Jersey.

*     *     *

Perhaps there was another reason why Mary Duggan was in no hurry to return to her native land. During her frequent visits to her brother in Salem, New Jersey, Mary Duggan had made the acquaintance of the man who would be John Wessel’s grandfather. Young and handsome, Patrick Hogan was a tall, wiry, and gentle farmer. Born in Salem in 1863, Patrick was one of thirteen children of a well-known Salem farming family. Acquaintance soon turned into love, and eventually into a proposal of marriage.

In 1898, Mary Duggan, at the age of thirty-five, was married to Patrick Hogan at St. Michael’s Church in Jersey City. The young couple began their married life together in Salem, New Jersey.

When Mary decided to marry Patrick Hogan, her brother, Father Denis, was not enthused to put it mildly. While he liked the Hogans, he didn’t think the young couple well suited each other because the Hogans were farmers and, as he said to his sister, What do you know about farming? You’ll be of no help. He anticipated a catastrophe as the newly immigrated New York City seamstress tried to fit herself into the mold of a South Jersey farmer’s wife.

Fortunately, despite the sage counsel of her brother, Mary and Patrick Hogan enjoyed a long and happy marriage. For a while, they lived in Salem where John Wessel’s godmother, Clare, the oldest of their six children, was born in 1899. But it was difficult for Patrick Hogan to make a living in Salem and there were better opportunities for him to buy his own farm elsewhere. When Clare was less than a year old, the Hogans decided to move a little farther north, to Mount Holly, in Burlington County.

That John’s Grandmother and Grandfather Hogan settled in Mount Holly in the first place was because Father Denis Duggan had been a priest there. When they were looking for a place to live, he said, Well, there’s a town called Mount Holly, and there’s a lot of good farming there.

Somewhere around the turn of the century, Mary and Patrick Hogan bought a large farm of several hundred acres out on Burlington Road, about a mile and a half from the center of town in Mount Holly. It was a wonderful place, with a great white clapboard house, a barn and a stable. A vast expanse of farmland that the Hogans would cultivate for grain stretched out in all directions. There were plenty of woods, meadows, marshes and fields, where they would hunt wild game and raise animals—horses, cows, sheep, ducks, and turkeys. The land also held wild fruit trees and berries, lush flowering trees and, true to its name, an abundance of holly trees that would be cut and used as festive Christmas decorations. Five more Hogan children—Cornelius, Carlton, Michael, Kathleen, and James—were born on the wild and beautiful stretch of land that forever became known to them simply as the Farm.

*     *     *

Yet another religious vocation flowered in the devout Duggan family, that of Mary Hogan’s older sister, Kathleen.

As a young girl of about twenty, Kathleen Duggan had traveled to America with a religious community of Sisters called the Order