“My first response was very intuitive — I knew I had to be there,” said Father Frederick Edlefsen, pastor of Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church, located half a mile away from Reagan National Airport in Arlington, Virginia. “The airport is within our parish bounds, and I was motivated as a pastor to help anyone most in need in a time of crisis.”
On Jan. 29 at 8:47 p.m., American Airlines Flight 5342 and a U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter collided in midair over the nation’s capital. Traveling from Wichita, Kansas, the Bombardier CRJ700 jet plunged in flames into the Potomac River just moments before its scheduled landing.
Shortly after 9 p.m., Father Edlefsen received a text from Joseph Mazel, a parishioner whose son had just witnessed the explosive collision from a nearby park. Mazel, a 30-year military and law enforcement veteran and past grand knight of St. Joseph the Worker Council 14516 in Arlington, immediately contacted Father Edlefsen, who also serves as chaplain of Council 14516.
“I was prompted to reach out to Father to head over to the airport because there was bound to be a need for anointing of the sick, last rites, spiritual counseling, prayer, blessings,” Mazel explained.
It was not until four hours later that Father Edlefsen, Mazel, and the scores of family members, holding onto hope that their loved ones survived, would learn the magnitude of the disaster. The jet’s 60 passengers and four crew members, as well as the three military personnel on the helicopter, had all perished in the fiery crash. It was the deadliest commercial aviation incident in the United States since 2001.
The nation was shocked by the horrific event. But for Father Edlefsen and Mazel, the tragedy was more than just a terrible headline — it was a call to serve and provide spiritual consolation.
RAPID RESPONSE
Earlier that evening, 17-year-old Jimmy Mazel was parked at Arlington’s Gravelly Point Park, a popular spot for watching planes wing their way in and out of Reagan National Airport. As the aspiring pilot scanned the night skies, he watched as something like fireworks exploded over the Potomac River. He soon saw planes diverting from their flight path, and firetrucks and ambulances racing toward the riverbank. Then Coast Guard boats and helicopters arrived. Jimmy texted his father, hoping to make sense of what he was seeing.
After hearing from his son, Joseph Mazel checked the news. Drawing from decades of experience in law enforcement and emergency services, as well as with the U.S. Army, he quickly realized the gravity of the situation.
“For better or for worse, I have had a substantial amount of experience with mass casualty events,” said Mazel. “It gives you an appreciation for [who] needs to be there, not only for the immediate survivors or the victims, but also the responders.”
He quickly alerted Father Edlefsen to the serious emergency unfolding within their parish boundaries.
Father Edlefsen was about to retire for the evening when he saw the text message from Mazel. He didn’t know how civilian traffic could get through the growing number of first responders buzzing at the scene, so he asked Mazel to help him navigate the situation. After explaining to the Arlington Police Department why they needed to be there, Mazel and Father Edlefsen arrived at the airport’s American Airlines lounge — the designated family reunification center.
Families trickled into the room as Father Edlefsen and Mazel walked around, introducing themselves to shocked loved ones and anxious airport staff. Mazel assisted as Father Edlefsen made the rounds.
“My mind [was] all befuddled, and every now and then you need somebody to point out and say, ‘Don’t forget to do this,’” recalled Father Edlefsen, referring to Mazel. Grief counselors, two chaplains and a therapy dog were present, but he was the only Catholic priest.
At the start of the ordeal, many family members held onto the hope that their loved one had survived. But around 1:30 a.m., airline officials and police announced to the families that there were no survivors. And authorities wouldn’t be able to identify or release all the bodies for at least a few weeks.
“Usually, when someone dies, you can have a funeral within a week,” said Father Edlefsen. But these families didn’t know when they would see the physical remains of their loved ones, if ever. “When that announcement was made, it really hit [the families] like you can’t even begin to understand,” he said.
“That was a heartbreaking moment,” said Mazel, “to essentially see the hope that folks were clinging on to kind of fade away.”
MINISTRY OF PRESENCE
Father Edlefsen keeps private what the grieving families told him on that difficult night. He believes that his physical presence, more than anything he said, was a powerful witness to others that God and the Church was with them in their darkest hour. When he did speak to the loved ones of the crash victims, Father Edlefsen relied on guidance from the Holy Spirit and the example of his own father.
Martin Edlefsen (1937-2021) was a radio announcer who in the 1960s often went with military officials to inform families that they had lost a son in the Vietnam War. At first, Martin doubted that anyone would want a reporter there. But when he put a microphone in their hands, the families were eager to share.
“They wanted everybody to know about their loved one,” Father Edlefsen affirmed. “I never forgot my father telling me about his experience, and that approach was very helpful to me that night.”
What Joseph Mazel remembers most from Jan. 29 are many brief interactions — a prayer here and a few words there, giving people a chance to speak and be heard.
“You don’t need to have the perfect thing to say,” he said. “It’s just being present. It’s holding their hand if they’re upset. It’s letting them talk. It’s letting them grieve. It’s letting them be angry.”
He said his career and his faith helped him learn how to face extraordinary situations.
“As Knights, this is what we do — we respond when people are in need, regardless of the job. [As a first responder], you’re going to see a lot of tragedy, you’re going to see a lot of heartbreak, you’re going to see a lot of challenges,” he said. “And when you do, realize that at that moment you can be the face of God to that person.”
Three days after the accident, Father Edlefsen celebrated a Mass at Our Lady of Lourdes for those affected. In the weeks that followed, he remained in touch with some of the airline and security personnel. He, too, is still processing the aftermath of the collision.
“You’re actually participating and sharing in their grief and taking some of that upon yourself,” Father Edlefsen explained. “You will never see life the same after something like this. It changes your outlook, and it changes the way you pray, what you think about, and what you ponder.”
A FAMILY IN MOURNING
Two of the family members Father Edlefsen and Mazel met were Andy Beyer and his son, Kallen, 6. Beyer’s wife, Justyna, and their daughter, Brielle, 12, had traveled to Wichita for national development camp for young ice skaters. They were killed in the Jan. 29 collision while flying home to Virginia.
Father Edlefsen alerted the Beyers’ pastor, Father Michael Taylor of Corpus Christi Church in Aldie, as well as Bishop Michael Burbidge of Arlington, that two parishioners had perished in the accident.
Andy Beyer shared the tragic news on Facebook Jan. 30. “I’m still in shock, but I lost my soulmate and my princess last night,” he wrote. “They were truly beautiful people inside and out.”
Since the accident, his social media feed has been filled with videos of Brielle’s ice skating performances and photos of Justyna smiling beside her family.
Father Juan Puigbó, pastor of St. Leo the Great Church in Fairfax and a member of the Knights, learned of the tragedy after receiving a text from Andy. He had first met the couple in 2013 after Brielle, then only 6 months old, had been diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a rare form of cancer. He prayed with the couple, asking God to heal Brielle. Then, trusting God would answer their plea, they thanked the Lord for his healing power.
Before long, Brielle was cancer-free. Father Puigbó remained close with the family in the years that followed. He blessed their first home and gave Brielle her first Communion. He remembered witnessing how in love Andy and Justyna were, and what a gift it was to their children to see their parents’ love for each other.
On March 3, Corpus Christi Church was filled to capacity for the funeral Mass for Justyna and Brielle. Father Puigbó, who celebrated the liturgy together with Father Taylor and Father Edlefsen, delivered the homily, in which he reflected on hope in Christ and eternal life.
The message was no doubt comforting to Andy Beyer, who earlier that morning posted images of Justyna and Brielle to Facebook. “It’s going to be so hard to bury you girls today. I miss you so much,” he wrote. “And I love you both always. Thank you for being the loves of my life. I hope I see you in heaven one day.”
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ZOEY MARAIST writes from northern Virginia.






