There’s a perk for the Franciscans residing at Holy Name Friary in Silver Spring, Maryland. If any of them wakes in the middle of the night with a toothache, there’s always a dentist nearby.
Fr. John Heffernan, OFM, will gladly consult, but treatment will have to be done by another dentist with ready equipment. Fr. John, a dentist, now spends his time largely away from fillings and extractions and ministers as a pastoral associate at St. Camillus Church in Silver Spring, a busy, multi-cultural parish near Washington D.C.
Fr. John, 74, developed his dental skills before entering the Franciscan community in 1983. As a layperson, he studied dentistry because, he said, “I wanted to take care of people who were poor.”
A graduate of Holy Cross College in Massachusetts, the young Heffernan returned to his native Buffalo to attend dental school. Later, for two years, he trained in Charlottesville, Virginia, where he got to know the local Dominican friars. “Their goodness was impressive to me,” he said.
He returned to Buffalo and began a dental practice, but felt a call to priesthood, and entered the local diocesan seminary.
“But I still wanted to be a dentist,” he said. “I looked around for a place where I could be a dentist and still do ministry.” Enter the Franciscans.
The community, dating back to Francis of Assisi, always encouraged friars to nurture skills that benefited the wider community. The friars welcomed the dentist.
As a novice, he ministered in a nursing home. Later, he was assigned to Long Beach Island, New Jersey, a pleasant resort community on the Jersey Shore. He has subsequently practiced priestly ministry and dentistry in impoverished regions, including Mexico and Peru. But there was greater danger at the time in New Jersey.
It was the 1980s. The AIDS epidemic inspired fear and, in some cases, hatred and isolation. Fr. John knew his dentistry skills were invaluable to the AIDS community. At a time when there were wide gaps in knowledge about the disease, Fr. John worked with AIDS patients needing tooth repair, even if those who provided care were often considered susceptible to the disease.
“They were people who were considered lepers,” recalled Fr. John. As a Franciscan, he decided to walk in the footsteps of Francis of Assisi. His dentistry “was something for those who had no other options. It was a Franciscan type of ministry. I found it tremendously fulfilling. This was something I felt I had become a friar for.”
The dental ministry came with fear attached. “Every time I had a backache, I went to get an AIDS test. It was frightening.”
He moved on to parish ministry, both in New York City and in Silver Spring. At St. Camillus, he is part of the parish ministry to Langley Park, a community with many Central American immigrants.
He no longer does regular dentistry work. The cost of equipment is high, and the need for ongoing certifications in various states has proven to be daunting to a friar working in parish ministry.
But Fr. John has brought his skills on mission trips to Latin America. When his parents passed away, he felt free to pursue a ministry in foreign missions, combining pastoral work with his dental ministry.
He began by assisting a mission trip to the Dominican Republic. In Peru, he has provided dentistry to Amazon inhabitants, far removed from routine dental care. In Mexico, he has worked with the local friars to provide care at an impoverished parish, as well as on migrant trails.
“I’ve seen a lot of people who had never seen a dentist before,” he said.
In 2022, his dental ministry came to La 72, Mexico, a stopover site for migrants. His first goal in mission settings is to provide professional care, with competency providing comfort and solace to his patients. At first, that focus overtook getting to know his patients. Later on, he talked to patients about their struggles.
In a dental chair, he can hear their stories. Fr. John described it this way in a recent reflection:
“On these mission trips I hope that the patients feel and know that they are in good hands. Despite the crude, simple chairs and the materials and instruments scattered on a table, I want you to know that everything is disinfected and/or sterilized. The patients’ healing is more complete if they are confident in care. This care is a gift that God has given me to pass on. I try to share it with the greatest dignity possible, and I dedicate myself to offer the best of my ability and knowledge.”
At first, he said, he limited conversations to the business at hand. “I was afraid of sounding just curious.” Later, those barriers broke down. The dental chair can be a remarkable forum for sharing stories.
“In these most recent visits, all that has changed. Now I am grateful for the privilege of having the trust of patients. I am interested in the circumstances that led them to leave their home and their loved ones. I want to know, for example, how was the trip? How did they cross the borders? What violence, disaster, or abuse did they escape? Who was left behind? What is their destination?”
The relationships go beyond fixing cavities.
“Learning about the lives they have lived and about their strength and hopes has been an amazing eye-opener,” he said. “I will remember the people for the rest of my life.”