Sanctuary

When I was a kid, we sometimes had a retired priest fill in when our parish priest was away.  Father Sylvester Livolsi was a feisty old-school urban Italian, and he had a thing for fire and brimstone preaching.  This was rather off-putting to many of those in the pews, but I thought it was great.  They were the kind of homilies that demanded attention and gave you plenty to think and talk about afterwards.  I remember one particular homily during which he declared, “If Catholics had half as much fidelity as the Muslims, we’d set the world on fire!”  Wow.  I’d never heard anyone say anything like that before.  After Mass, the adults in the parking lot vented their outrage that a man of the cloth could utter such a thing.

But even at a young age, I understood what he meant.  He wasn’t advocating for violence, but rather chiding the average American Catholic for being lukewarm in the knowledge and practice of the faith, including among other things the practice of evangelization.  I must admit that, every weekend, I hoped that I would arrive at Mass to discover that Fr. Livolsi was filling in.

Once you got to know him, you soon discovered that Fr. Livolsi was actually a very kind and gentle soul – at least that was my experience in the several encounters I would have with him over the years.  He was the chaplain for the local fire department, and he was well liked by all the volunteers (Catholic and Protestant alike).  But perhaps his greatest legacy was the creation of what many of us locals still refer to as The Sanctuary of Mary.

Sometime in the 1970s (I was yet a toddler at the time), Fr. Livolsi acquired a 12-acre plot of land in scenic northwest New Jersey.  My understanding is that the property was donated by a local farmer, but for more detailed information about the history of the grounds, there have been articles published in The Beacon, the official newspaper of the diocese of Paterson.  The idyllic wooded location looks out onto a ridge of the Kittatinny Mountains that includes a section of the Appalachian Trail.  With his own hands, aided by a small army of volunteers, Fr. Livolsi built a beautiful chapel with wood panel interior, stained glass windows, life-sized statues of the Holy Family, and even a bell tower.  It is, in my opinion, the loveliest church in the county.

Attached to the chapel is a modest living space that can accommodate 2-3 people, though Fr. Livolsi lived alone during his tenure there.  There is also a separate building on the grounds – St. Joseph’s Hall, which includes a commercial kitchen, larger communal areas, and small private quarters for sleeping.  Walking along a path past St. Joseph’s Hall, you soon come to St. Michael’s Pavillion, which can easily shelter over a hundred people.  One will also notice another path upon which weathered bronze Stations of the Cross line either side.

The whole idea of The Sanctuary was to give pilgrims a place to come to meditate and pray, as well as to accommodate occasional retreats.  It had the blessings of the bishop and, though Mass was celebrated daily, was not considered a parish.  Living only a short drive from the place, I would often go to enjoy the solitude of the chapel and grounds, or just to visit with Fr. Livolsi, who would always offer to hear my confession.  (I still recall the one occasion on which he gently chastised me for giving a confession that was rather “vague.”)

I remember the very last time I got to visit him.  I brought my two sons, still very young, and they were delighted when he offered them each a bowl of black cherry ice cream.  And to me he presented a gift of a book about Our Lady of Akita, a statue in Japan that has been observed shedding tears.  Fr. Livolsi passed away shortly after that visit.  I still have the book.

About one year later, the property was transferred to the care of the Society of Our Lady of the Blessed Trinity (SOLT), and inhabited by Fr. James Mulligan, a retired military and commercial pilot.  Over the years of his time at The Sanctuary, I would get to know Fr. Jim even better than I’d known Fr. Livolsi.  Fr. Jim was an exceptional man and a solid priest.  He celebrated the Novus Ordo Mass as reverently as it can be, and his love of the faith was always evident.  He came to my home to break bread.  He blessed my house and even my car when I purchased it.  One time, in mixed company, I expressed my belief that fewer young men wanted to become altar boys since girls began taking over the role.  When I was criticized for making such a claim, Fr. Jim came to my defense.  “He’s right.  No red blooded American boy wants to belong to a girl’s club.”  (I’ll save discussion of that topic for another article.)

Father Jim had a tough time trying to keep up with maintenance of the property on his own.  We would go over there to help out as much as we could, but 12 acres is a lot to tame season after season.  I spent many hours over at St. Michael’s Pavillion splitting logs for the wood stove.  I even built a bat house and hung it on a phone pole by the pond at the property’s entrance, the idea being to help keep down the mosquito population.  On one visit, Fr. Jim confided in me, “You know, this is going to sound crazy, but last night I was sitting outside and I swear I thought I heard what I can only describe as – the roaring of a lion!”  I laughed and explained to him that it actually wasn’t so crazy.  Space Farms, a museum and zoo in the area, has lions.  And lion roars apparently can be heard from over a mile away.

Sadly, there reached a point when Fr. Jim’s superiors decided he might do more good elsewhere.  He relocated to do missionary work in (I believe) North Dakota.  At one point he shared with me that, on his drive out there, someone in a passing vehicle had fired a gun and hit his car.  He never reported the incident, something for which I admonished him.  Today he is, at least the last I heard, ministering to converts at a reservation in New Mexico.

For about the next three years, The Sanctuary would go uninhabited.  I drove up there periodically to make sure nothing was being vandalized.  Though it was locked up, I knew a way to get in, and I would sometimes spend time alone praying in the chapel.  (I confess that I took a can of gas out of the shed and used it for my lawnmower.  I reasoned that it was going to go bad otherwise.)  One of my good friends and former teaching colleague had the idea of using the place for a classical education school.  But Fr. Livolsi had apparently left a stipulation in his will that he wanted only ordained clergy to have run of the place.  It made me sad to think that this might become yet another Catholic stronghold in our county that would simply fall into ruin.  (We have an amazing stone building that was once a convent that’s now just an empty shell, and a former Catholic monastery that’s now inhabited by Buddhist monks.)

But I guess maybe The Holy Ghost had other plans for The Sanctuary.  In 2022, stewardship of the grounds was granted to the Society of Divine Vocations (aka The Vocationists), an order whose patron is the recently canonized St. Justin Russolilo.  Rededicated by the new bishop, the official name is now the Sanctuary of Mary, Our Lady of the Holy Spirit/Shrine of St. Justin.  (Most of us still just refer to it as The Sanctuary.)  Currently, Fr. Thomas from India is manning the fort.  I visited him recently for confession, and he was gracious enough to show me some of the improvements they’ve made to the living space that was in desperate need of repair.  He shared with me that his modest stipend as chaplain for the nearby hospital (about $100 per week) is the only steady income for his own sustenance and that of the property.  Though daily Mass is celebrated at 6PM, there is no collection since it is not a parish.

The fact that a place like The Sanctuary exists and survives is something that gives me hope in a world that more often seeks to snuff it out.  In many ways, the grounds represent the Church as a whole – something subject to change in the temporal order, even to the point of sometimes appearing lifeless, yet somehow the celestial promises of continuity and preservation are honored.

I encourage you to learn more about The Sanctuary and visit their website:  sanctuaryofmary.org.  It’s my hope that it will continue to be a respite for the weary, as well as a place where fruitful retreats and other events might be held.  If you ever find yourself in the area, stop in for a visit.  And please consider supporting The Sanctuary through your prayers and, if you’re able, through a donation.