Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
– “The Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha; written by Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion
I am Don Quixote.
As someone given to understatement, I’m not exaggerating when I say this. I am an idealist at heart, through and through. Stories of good people taking on impossible tasks with faith, hope, love and courage always move my heart – be it Frodo, Gandalf and the Fellowship from The Lord of the Rings, the Pevensie children from the Narnia tales, or Luke Skywalker from the original Star Wars trilogy. Chivalry may be “dated” in some ways, but it still stirs my heart. I wish I could defend the fair maiden from the dragon, even though I would love her only “pure and chaste from afar”.
Then there is the greatest saga of all: how God brought forth a universe out of love so that there might be other beings to share his joy; how God did not give up on creation even after sin threatened to lay it waste; how God committed himself to the “impossible dream” of starting anew, calling forth a people through whom he could draw all peoples and all creation back to himself. Thus, Abraham heard the call to leave his homeland for an unknown destination – one that would never be his in any practical sense, but one that would belong to his descendants one day. When this new people became enslaved in Egypt, Moses responded to God’s call and went to Pharaoh with the divine message, “Let my people go!” Through all the triumphs and failures of Israel, there was God, calling to them, challenging them to repent, to trust, to begin again, to believe that even the Gentiles might be saved through their faithfulness to God. Finally, God himself came in Jesus, to gather a renewed Israel together, to free them from sin, and invite them to the Wedding Feast. Jesus, in his faithfulness even to death on a cross, would reveal as fully as possible who God is. Jesus, through his resurrection, would offer new life to Israel and ultimately the world.
This Lord Jesus has won my heart. Every day, I tell him that I am his. I offer him my heart, my mind, my body, my will. I pray for many people and try to remember them all in his presence. Every day, I ask forgiveness for any sins I may have committed, any good I may have failed to do, or anything wrong I may have done through ignorance or obliviousness. Every day, I want nothing more than to be faithful to him now, and to see him as he is some day. I believe in his words. I embrace his Church, his Scriptures, his Sacraments. Reading the Scriptures or any good spiritual book often moves me to tears. I love him – and all that is his – from the depths of my heart and the very marrow of my bones. There can be no better news, for me, than the Second Coming. Some saints write of the “spiritual marriage” with the Lord that is offered to every Christian. It feels like it has been offered to me. I do.
What happens, then, when Don Quixote faces the clergy sexual abuse crisis?
Sadly, this crisis isn’t new to me. In 1991, while I was working full-time in chancery, I was sent to fill in temporarily in a parish where the pastor needed to leave because of an “indiscretion”. That’s all I was told. I had no idea what this “indiscretion” was, nor what the parishioners knew about it – if anything. Two weeks later, the parish secretary asked me if I knew what had happened. I said no, so she filled me in. It was a sexual “indiscretion”. The whole parish knew – except for me. Those months were torture for me. I was autistic, but did not know it then. That kind of situation is poison for someone like me.
In 1993, while I was still in chancery, I was asked to fill in for six months at another parish. There was no “indiscretion” this time; they just didn’t have anybody to put there for six months. However, after a few weeks, we learned that a couple of men who were originally from the parish had accused a priest who was in the parish twenty-five years before of sexual abuse when they were altar servers there. The priest was retired by 1993 and living out of state. I don’t recall how that turned out.
In 2002, the Boston Globe began their series of reports on clergy sexual abuse in the Boston area. Even though some reports of clergy sexual abuse had been trickling through the media since the 1980’s, the Globe series opened the floodgates, so to speak. Suddenly, people became aware of a problem that had been hidden, more or less, for decades. Accusations of clergy sexual abuse began to appear everywhere, it seemed, along with accusations that bishops and superiors had done nothing to deal with the problem, or had done their best to conceal it.
This was an extremely difficult time to be a priest. Because so many cases that had been hidden for so long were now coming to light all at once, it seemed that abusive priests were everywhere. One day, people in a passing car yelled and swore at me simply because I was wearing a Roman collar as I walked down the street. Not only that, but we had to live with the knowledge that some of our brother priests – men we thought we knew – were capable of doing such things to children and young teenagers.
After this, dioceses implemented policies to protect children and to make it easier for people to report suspected sexual abuse of children. It seemed that the Church in this country was getting a handle on the situation.
Then came 2018.
Accusations against Cardinal McCarrick, followed by the Pennsylvania grand jury report, have stunned us. Once again, priests and bishops are looked upon with grave suspicion. Once again, people are beginning to suspect that the problem is even bigger than the cases we have seen in the media. People within the Church are interpreting this crisis as a confirmation of their main talking points. For conservatives, the crisis was born and nurtured in a culture of dissent and permissiveness that began in the American Church in the late 1960’s. For progressives, the crisis shows that seminary formation fails to produce mature candidates for priesthood, or that priestly celibacy itself is psychologically unhealthy.
Each group has a point. Each group misses a point.
Conservatives are correct in that a culture of dissent and permissiveness is corrosive for any organization, including the Church. Faithfulness and integrity demand that if I call myself a Catholic, I need to embrace the Catholic vision expressed in Church teachings and in so many other ways, not least of which is the witness of the saints. However, blaming the clergy sexual abuse crisis on this alone can’t account for the fact that many of the most infamous offenders were educated and ordained before the late 1960’s.
Progressives are correct in that it is possible to embrace celibacy – or marriage, or any other vocation – for immature motives. If those immature motives are one’s main motives, some problems are bound to follow. However, placing the blame for the clergy sexual abuse crisis on priestly celibacy ignores the fact that we can find many celibates – priests, sisters, monks, and lay people – who are obviously very mature Christians.
The full reality of the crisis is complex and far beyond anything I could do justice to in one blog post. Here, I will focus on one aspect of the crisis that is particularly painful for many people – including me. This crisis represents a violation of sacred trust on two distinct but interrelated levels.
The relationship of priest and parishioner is primarily one of trust. I continue to be amazed at how deeply people will trust me simply because I am a priest. They will allow themselves to be vulnerable with me as they share their joys and sorrows, their heartaches and hopes. To me, this is a sacred trust. I am, in a sense, holding someone’s heart in my hand. This being so, one of the primary roles of the priest (or any pastoral minister) is to make sure that people who come to him are safe. They must know that they will be honored and protected. This is especially true when we are talking about children. This is like Star Trek’s Prime Directive – someone who comes to me will feel safe and will be safe. To violate that trust is a horrible offense. I can think of no worse violation of trust than a sexual one – especially when it comes to children or to vulnerable adults. I can understand how people can be tempted in many ways or fall in many ways. But I have never really understood sexual abuse of children. I can learn about it intellectually, but I cannot fathom how anyone could do that to a child. It’s beyond me.
There is a second level of trust. Most people know that, in any organization, bad apples can sneak in. Professions that operate based on trust will naturally attract sexual predators, for these professions can gain them easy access to children. In this case, people trust that the organization will identify and deal appropriately with any offenders. The organization will guarantee their safety and the safety of their children. This level of trust has also been violated in the clergy sexual abuse crisis. Victims were not believed, or were told to “forgive” the perpetrators. Perpetrators were moved from one assignment to another. Violations of trust on this level may be even more painful than those on the first level. The system is not working. Vulnerable ones are not protected. After 2002, we all wanted to believe that this situation had been fixed. Now, we must ask, has it, really? Do our bishops really understand what such a betrayal of trust means? Can we find any solid reason to hope for something better? Is a truly safe Church “the unreachable star”?
How does all this affect Don Quixote?
I find myself perplexed, bewildered, angry, hurt, and outraged that such things could be done by those who are called to represent Christ on earth. Christ’s own words about anyone who would scandalize one of these little ones are quite clear. My trust in bishops and in Church structures is being tested, I admit. My faith in the Lord, however, is not.
I look to history. I see that both ancient Israel and the Church have struggled with various scandals and sins among their members throughout history. Nevertheless, the Lord is close to the brokenhearted, to the vulnerable, to the violated. Israel was commanded by the Lord to take special care of the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner – the people who were most vulnerable in that society. The Psalms are filled with the songs of people who have been oppressed or betrayed, seeking the Lord’s help and ultimately trusting in the Lord’s faithfulness. Whenever Israel began to forget this, prophets reminded them and challenged them to repent. We can see similar things happening throughout the history of the Church as well.
Moreover, the Church belongs to the Lord. If some in the Church – even some of its leaders – fail in their mission, the Lord will call on them to repent. When they die and meet the Lord, he will not be content with PR babble. He will want to know where they were when he was sexually abused. After all, he will remind them, “as often as you did it – or let it be done – to one of my least brothers or sisters, you did it to me”. The Lord is faithful. He will never abandon his own. He hears the cry of the poor. He will bring healing to the wounded, but judgment to the perpetrators.
In the meantime, I see this as a reminder of the importance of faithfulness and integrity in my life. If I am going to rail about those who violate trust, then I had better be trustworthy and faithful. I had better be who I claim to be. I pray for the grace, the strength and the love to be true to my calling.
I also pray for the victims of sexual abuse everywhere – not only those abused by clergy, but by anyone else they trusted: a relative, a teacher, a coach. I pray that they may find healing and hope. I pray for the perpetrators, since as a Christian I must pray for everyone, even those I might consider as enemies in any way. I pray for their healing and conversion. I pray that the day will come when no child (or parent) need fear sexual abuse; when no vulnerable adult need fear being exploited; when all will feel safe and be truly safe. I pray that, at the very least, I might be part of the solution and not the problem. If someone comes to me bearing the pain of such betrayal, may I know what to say and how to say it. May people not only feel safe with me, but may they be truly safe with me.
Perhaps, if each one of us makes such prayers our own, a safe Church might not be an “unreachable star”. Perhaps, by the Lord’s grace, “the world will be better for this”. Perhaps, my own “impossible dream” may happen some day. Come, Lord Jesus. Teach us how to cherish your humble and lowly ones. Teach us how to bring healing to your broken ones. Teach us once again, as the old Christophers TV show once said, that it is better to light even one candle than to curse the darkness.
PS – On a personal note, I ask your prayers for my mother and my family. My mother is dealing with the onset of dementia. My dad and sister and brother are doing their best to help care for her. It is a difficult time for us all. Thank you for your generous love.
PS #2 – In this diocese, our Protecting God’s Children program appears to be working well. May it continue to do so. May we never grow lax in making our Catholic communities and institutions safe places for all.