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Seton Bridge - Forever Serving Downtown Manhattan PDF Print E-mail

We are the Church of Our Lady of the Rosary and the Shrine of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. Our two names distinguish our historic and present legacy to Lower Manhattan. Born in Colonial times as the James Watson House, then the residence of Mother Seton-America's first canonized saint. The parish was also a mission for receiving poor Irish women sent out of Ireland by the British in the 1800's before Ellis Island existed. Today we provide daily worship and Eucharist for commuters from the metropolitan area.

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Our vision of who we are is best captured by the term Seton Bridge. Under the inspiration of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, we work within her spirit to bridge, as Catholics, the financial world, the ecumenical world, the civic world, and the world of commuting and touring members of the Church. The events of September 11, 2001 devastated our area and presented the parish two unprecedented historical opportunities to serve Lower Manhattan once again. For seven Sundays, Our Lady of the Rosary hosted the church services of Trinity Episcopal Church. We also held the Memorials for the British and Canadian citizens who died in the world Trade Center attack. Prince Andrew brought the condolences of the queen of England.Our Lady of the Rosary has always served as safe haven, for Catholics and non-Catholics alike. And we continue to serve our neighborhood in that same spirit. The Reverend Peter K. Meehan is the current pastor.

 

Pastor

Rev. Peter K. Meehan

Staff

Rev. Edward G. Zogby, SJ

 
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Inspiration

A Death in Iraq

He had that look, the empty, lonely,

   Futility-of-war look.

He tried to look at me,

   But there was nothing in his eyes.

Empty…emptier than skies

   Without a dawn….

   Or even a hope of dawn.

Without a cry, where the only word,

   Even among the stars, is goodbye.

Where are the other words? Are there any

   In the evensong of birds?

Will no one say, peace….home…...soon

   Tomorrow…?

Are the cries white?….black?….bearded?

   or turbaned?

Is it Allah among the rocks?

   Or Jesus, where he bleeds?

Is it in caves or in front of friends

   That he weeps?

What dread voice sent him here?

   Is he dying for a mistake?

Oh, please God, not for a mistake.

   Then he closed his eyes.

Harold Buckley
August 2005