Monday, June 04, 2012

From the bench to the pulpit: At 66, former judge becomes priest

ORDAIN 3 14Among his tight circle of friends, they've been calling Tim Corcoran "Father Timmy" for quite some time. It was a little tongue-in-cheek, but it always made Corcoran smile.

"They got a kick out of it," he says with his impish grin. So did he. But now, it's finally true. 

For the record, he prefers "Father Tim."

He's had a colorful adult life. 

A stint in the Navy that included combat duty in Vietnam at the same time his career-Marine father served. And his distinguished legal career included a law practice, a 14-year judgeship on the federal bench for the Middle District of Florida and service as a certified mediator.

At age 62, with retirement within his grasp, and the chance to golf and sail and play bridge to his heart's content, he did something most men of a certain age would never consider.

He entered the seminary to become a priest.

Last week, Corcoran completed the first leg of his late-in-life journey. 

Just days after his graduation from Blessed John XXIII National Seminary in Boston, he was ordained by Bishop Robert Lynch in the Cathedral of St. Jude the Apostle in St. Petersburg, culminating a call to ministry that first beckoned him years ago. 

In July, he reports to his first priestly assignment as assistant pastor at Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church in Dunedin.

As a judge, he was used to being in charge, giving orders. He had a reputation for being a stickler for details, which didn't always go well with lawyers who faced him in court. 

In his new role, a more humble and empathic Corcoran will answer to his bishop and his congregants. He will talk less and listen more.

Life will be different, to be sure.

"Now the Lord is in charge," Corcoran says. "Formation is a buzzword in seminary, and it's true. They mold us, form us and change us. And for me, it worked. Exhibit A is standing right in front of you."

In August 2008, The Tampa Tribune told Corcoran's story as he headed off to Blessed John. Though he had always been a good student, the prospect of four years of intense schooling and pastoral work was daunting. 

He would have to leave his comfortable South Tampa home off Bayshore Boulevard for a spartan dorm room and a shared utilitarian bathroom, for Lord's sake.

The freedom that comes with having a good income and being single, all gone.

Worse, the rabid Tampa Bay Rays fan would be in enemy territory, surrounded by all those crazy Boston Red Sox followers.

He said he didn't know if he would make it though the four-year program. "It's the Holy Spirit's plan, not mine," he said before his departure.

Blessed John, founded in 1964, was specifically designed for older vocations like Corcoran. 

Candidates in the program typically enter the seminary with college degrees and career experience. 

Annual tuition runs about $40,000 — split by the sponsoring diocese and seminary donors. 

Nearly 600 of its alumni are serving in more than 120 dioceses and religious orders in the United States and beyond.

It was Lynch, bishop of the Diocese of St. Petersburg, who set everything in motion. 

Corcoran's dedication to his faith was long evident. He attended daily Mass at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in downtown Tampa. He was a graduate of the diocese's Lay Pastoral Ministry Institute, and he taught new Catholics in the Rite of Christian Initiation program. 

His next step was to begin the Deaconate Formation program, which would lead to being ordained a permanent deacon.

"If you're going to do that, why not do the whole enchilada?" Lynch, also a Blessed John graduate, asked. It made perfect sense to the bishop.

Corcoran was taken aback. The bishop's confidence in him had to mean something. True, his late mother, Bette Lou, always believed her only child had the makings to be a priest, and was surprised when he chose the law instead. 

Aside from a brief marriage that was later annulled, Corcoran didn't have the excuse of family commitments. He was blessed with remarkably good health and he was ministry-driven.

And then there was that small voice, telling him it was time to take his life experience and apply it to the work of the Lord. Given the clergy child-abuse scandals that had rocked the Catholic Church, didn't his denomination need good priests to restore faith in the people?

"You come up with excuses, you blame obstacles," he says. "But in the end, I wanted to sign up for the Lord's program. I was ready."

The average age range of Blessed John seminarians is late 40s to early 50s. At 62, Corcoran was the oldest of his class of 15 men, who came from a myriad of professions. Eight made it through, earning their master's in divinity earlier this month.

For his final year of seminary, the former judge was assigned to St. Paul Catholic Church in Wellesley, Mass., taking on many pastoral duties to prepare him for what was ahead. The pastor, Richard Fitzgerald, a fellow Irishman, watched Corcoran bloom in the role. But adjustments had to be made.

"I had to remind him quite a bit in the beginning that he wasn't in the courtroom anymore," Fitzgerald chuckles. "I would tell him, 'Let things flow. Roll with the punches.' One of the first things you learn as a priest is that time is not your own, and as much as you may want to control your schedule, that rarely happens."

Four years younger than Corcoran, Fitzgerald has 25 years of experience as a priest. The two men often joke how they will celebrate their 25th and 50th anniversaries side by side — in wheelchairs.

"He's a kind and wonderful human being, a great asset to the church," Fitzgerald says. "With age, comes wisdom, and Tim's got plenty of that."

Friends and colleagues who know Corcoran well have no doubt that he's going to make a fine priest. Thanks to a personal trainer, he's in top physical shape at age 66; spiritually and mentally, he's rock-solid.

"A keen intellect and keen mind," says federal Judge Caryl Delano of Corcoran. "But even more important is his human side. With his Irish wit and personality, people just like to be around him. That will go a long way in parish work."

Corcoran may have questioned his ability to make it through the rigors of seminary, but not Karl Stevens, president of the Catholic Lawyers Guild. They practiced law together.

"Tim has always been a very driven person. Once he makes up his mind to do something, he gets it done," Stevens says. Yet despite that resolute drive, he's always been "patient and gentlemanly — qualities you don't always see in our profession."

Perhaps his biggest supporter is federal Judge Catherine Peek McEwen. They dated eons ago; now she's his closest female friend. He calls her the "Fun Captain" for their adventures, whether it's a trip to Rome to see the pope or to Tropicana Field (they own season tickets next to each other, Section 107, Row S, seats 5 and 6), or playing heated games of duplicate bridge.

She helped him move up to Boston, and when he needed help with his homilies, he emailed drafts to her for editing. McEwen knows they can't be as spontaneous in socializing – after all, priests don't get weekends off – but it's a good sign that he plans to keep his South Tampa house. 

McEwen knows this will be the place he comes home to recharge.

The real story here, she says, is the inspiring message he has sent with focusing on a goal, sticking to it and achieving it.

"Tim is the poster man for delayed vocations," McEwen says. "I believe there's an untapped inventory of men on their own out there, older but still youthful, who have wrapped up a career they enjoyed and still have something to share. Maybe they never thought this was possible. Tim has shown them it is possible."