A Church in Search Of Followers

By: Paul Elie

June 23, 2003

New York Times, June 23, 2003

Four years ago, to prepare for the third millennium, Pope John Paul II called for the Roman Catholic Church to undertake a year of repentance for the sins of Catholics through the ages. The efforts at contrition were, inevitably, limited and flawed; but the image of the white-clad pope asking for forgiveness was indelible, and it seemed possible that the process would give rise to a spirit of metanoia, or conversion of heart, in the church worldwide.
It hasn't turned out that way. One year ago, after months of horrifying news reports, the 300 or so Catholic bishops in the United States met in Dallas and promised to deal thoroughly and publicly with the problem of priestly sexual abuse. Since then, many of us have looked for signs of metanoia. We are still looking.

To us, the year after Dallas has been more dispiriting than the year before it. For all the public apologies, the high-level discussions, the back-and-forth between chancery and district attorney's office, there has been surprisingly little visible contrition from the bishops. Despite their efforts at their meeting in St. Louis, which ended Saturday, the bishops actually have less credibility now than a year ago. The opportunity for conversion of heart seems to have passed.

Or has it? When the bishops released a statement on sexual abuse in Dallas—grounded in the promise that any proven sexual abuser would be removed from the ministry—it was hoped that a process of healing would begin. But among Catholics I know, something other than healing has taken place. The mood has changed from anger to astonishment, from dismay to heartsickness, as bishops have brought their habits of evasion to the process: resisting the police, the state, the lay review board they appointed, and the movement of parishioners that arose to call them to account.

At a time when the nation is troubled by terrorism and war, the bishops have been preoccupied with questions of whether a bishop scheming to avoid criminal charges is sheltering his diocese's assets or merely protecting himself; whether one diocese may sue another for passing on predator priests; and to what extent a sitting archbishop is obligated to answer subpoenas.

The crisis of priestly sexual abuse, in short, has exposed a crisis of leadership. Yet can it really be said that the past year has been more dispiriting for the believer than the year before it, in which many hundreds of instances of abuse were brought to light, several bishops resigned in disgrace, an accused priest was shot by his accuser and Cardinal Bernard Law, under fire in Boston, hid behind a bunker of secular legalese?

Yes, it can. Because the developments of the year before Dallas, though appalling, were no great surprise to most of us. We all knew—some of us firsthand—that there are priests who are sexual predators. We knew the bishops to be a controlling and self-righteous lot, determined to deal with problems in their own fashion and at their own pace. And since we were familiar with their characteristic worldview—in which the church, represented by the bishops, is in pitched battle with the crass forces of modernity—we weren't surprised when they recast themselves as the defendants in a show trial conducted by the impious American press.

So we were prepared for scandal. And we were relieved, even grateful, when the problem was dragged out into the open; we wished we'd done more to expose the problem ourselves. What we weren't prepared for was the bishops' hardness of heart after the problem was in plain sight and they had pledged to deal with it.

This article originally appeared in the New York Times.
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