Disabled priest crafts new vision of his life, ministry - Father James Bradley

BROOKLYN, N.Y., -- Fr. James Bradley, sitting in his wheelchair in a small seventh-floor office, listened attentively to intrusive questions he'd probably answered hundreds of times in the past.

How did a stroke change your life? What do you say today to others in the same condition as yourself? Can you empathize with disabled people who are also depressed and may be considering suicide? Is there such a thing as being disabled beyond hope?

Bradley, 49, responded patiently as he recalled some of the details of that summer day 12 years ago when, without symptoms or warning, a blood vessel burst at the base of his brain. He fell to the floor in his room and at age 37 his entire right side shut down forever.

He reaches up with his left arm to shake hands.

At one time robustly athletic, Bradley ran in New York marathons and jogged three times a week. He played paddleball with friends in summer and skied in winter.

Today he has his will, his intellect, his sense of humor, but only memories of his muscular body and athletic skills. His right leg is in a metal brace, his right arm completely useless, his speech slow and somewhat slurred. The muscles in his right eye are damaged and weak; his left eye partially paralyzed so that he can move it up and down but not sideways.

Disabled but undaunted, Bradley is a full-time program specialist with Catholic Charities' Office for Disabled Persons in the Brooklyn diocese. He spends part of his week visiting pastors and promoting Brooklyn Bishop Thomas Daily's 1992 pastoral letter on the disabled, "Come to Me: The Church's Response to Disabled Persons."

As part of those visits to pastors, Bradley stresses the bishop's urging to appoint special parish advocates who will locate and assist disabled parishioners while increasing their own awareness of the disabled and their needs. Pastors should become knowledgeable, explore ways to improve access to all parish buildings and to improve the quality of life generally for disabled parishioners.

Bradley was among the principal consultants to Daily as he wrote the letter.

Bradley also head the Diocesan Access Commission and works closely with the Open Congregation, an ecumenical group that promotes inclusion and accessibility in metropolitan New York.

Every Sunday without fail, Bradley, who is able to stand with support, goes to the altar to celebrate Mass, preaches a homily and distributes communion.

"We could use at least four Jims," said Sr. Bernadette Downes, director of pastoral care for the diocesan Office for Disabled Persons and a member of the Nursing Sisters of the Sick Poor. "He's very bright, focused in his ministry and can laugh at himself and the rest of the world. He has a great sense of humor."

Bradley's ability to laugh readily is a by-product of hope, forged in days of Struggle and darkness.

"Sure I wanted to know `why me?' when it first happened," Bradley said. "In the beginning I was very negative. I saw very few positives. But there is no answer. There wasn't then and still isn't.

"God may have a plan. I wish he would let me in on it," he said with a hint of mischief in his tone.

After the stroke, did Bradley ever think of packing it in, leaving the priesthood as something that just didn't turn out the way it was supposed to?

"Oh sure. It still passes through my mind occasionally. But I think I can still do good work as a priest I am still touching people and I think I am actually a better priest today because I've learned that, in looking at a person's red value, you don't ask what he or she can or cannot do but who they are.

"There is also the simple fact that each one is loved by God and always will be. It was that thought especially that helped me deal with the stroke."

More than most, Bradley can readily understand people who, brought down by a severe disability, may be considering ending it all. He is keenly aware of his unusual pulpit and of the eye level he shares with disabled members of his congregation.

"I know that for many of those who are disabled, coming to me, it's not so much what I see but who I am and what they see. I try to remind them not to look at things as obstacles but as challenges that can be overcome, to look at things not as stumbling blocks but as stepping stones."

He shares his belief that life is given, not owned.

"I can understand that at the moment there is absolutely no hope, there is no point in artificially maintaining [life] support," he said. "But otherwise, life is a gift, believe me, and it's something for which we are all stewards, never masters. That's why there can be no rationale whatever for today's `assisted suicide,' because no one ever has a right to end any life. Not ever."

When Bradley speaks, his words are clearly soaked in experiences hardly hinted at in seminary textbooks. He has a long familiarity with disability.

"Disability was always acceptable in our family as I grew up," he said. He is planning a trip to Ireland next year with his 64-year-old sister, Ann, who is mentally retarded. His parents are from Cavan and Donegal. A few years ago, he visited their home areas and returned with a compelling painting of the Last Supper that hangs in his office.