On August 15, 2018, exactly two weeks before I would board my one-way flight to Rome for four months, a grand jury released a report on child sexual abuse in the Catholic Church in Pennsylvania. This news, while horrifying, was not shocking (and if you thought it was shocking, please go watch Tom McCarthy’s Spotlight). The report initiated public conversations within each affected diocese and the Church overall that allowed the world to witness a piece of history as it occurred. Rather than blindly accept this tragedy as another headline, I am a member of a community that was forced to grapple with the ramifications of this report.
My study abroad experience begins not upon my arrival in Rome, but in my hometown of Scranton, Pennsylvania. Scranton’s diocese comprised a significant portion of the report. The names from the report were not simply bullet points on a list, but friendly faces that once shook my hand while entering a place of worship. At home, grief and anger consumed a community of faith as we tried to figure out how to move forward. My suitcase would have to make room for this, whether I wanted it to or not.
My Catholic identity, shaken by these recent events, was initially soothed as I saw the beautiful ways that Catholicism manifests itself through the people and architecture of Rome. A mere 17-minute bus ride—assuming I take the 870, and assuming it arrives on time, which it never does—separates me and the Vatican, the center of one of the most powerful institutions in the world. I take classes next to a convent and I regularly see nuns fill the streets. Walking to get my post-class espresso, I pass more churches than I have been in throughout my entire life. Rosaries are a dime a dozen, and everything, I mean everything, has been blessed by the Pope.
Despite this proximity to such public expressions of faith, I somehow felt more distant than ever to the Church that professes a faith which I claim to follow. Each day is spent in constant interactions with Italians, yet in the comfort of small talk, I find myself unable to discuss the issue of child sexual abuse. While I so desperately desire to talk about this issue, it seems that religion is not so much talked about as it is assumed. The assumptions differ depending on several factors of your identity, most significantly your age. Religion is dictated more by cultural cues than personal preference or disposition. Young adults should not care so much about religion—so why does my heart feel so heavy?
As I stare up at the obelisk in Piazza San Pietro, I am transported to another obelisk monument slightly closer to home which I frequent with personal problems. It looks back at me and sighs, as if to say, “What do you want me to do about this?” The truth is—I don’t know. I don’t have the solutions, even though I have seen articles, tweets, and hashtags fill my social media communities over the past few weeks, claiming to know the secret behind this plague. The story of my community fades in the ears of the opulence which I see every day. The people I interact with on a daily basis, both at home and abroad, must try to have conversations about child sexual abuse and address the intersectional needs of the different communities. I look forward to watching this exchange commence during my time in Rome. In addition, I am curious to see how this will affect the global Catholic Church. In order to seek resolution for this tragedy, Catholics on a personal and institutional level must first be willing to put aside what is culturally “right and just.” Therein lies hope.
Emily Jonsson (C'20) majored in classics and government and minored in anthropology. For the fall 2018 semester, she studied in Rome, Italy at the Intercollegiate Center for Classical Studies and blogged for the Junior Year Abroad Network.
