Of course, we get trapped by life. That is our situation. What do I mean by “trapped by life”? It's actually quite simple: there are circumstances or conditions we cannot change, no matter what we do or how we feel about them, and, despite how we craft our most authentic response, it still seems inadequate. The world is not perfect despite our best intentions. Besides prayer, what’s our next authentic move?
I protest that I no longer call myself Roman Catholic; I say that I’ve cast my vote with my feet and walked out the door. Yet I still follow the inner political and theological turmoil and clerical machinations in hopes that it might reflect a force that can help tilt the course of events towards a more equitable, fair, and just course in human affairs. So I could still call myself Catholic. Many in my situation do. Opinions are just opinions. I honor the Teaching of Jesus as a true gift from God, although I don’t fully subscribe to the official ecclesiastic version. I do not fully participate in the life of the church because of how I have chosen to live; I do not feel it’s appropriate for me to participate in rituals or conversations where I would have to fudge the accepted or prescribed guidelines. That would be disingenuous and arrogant.
This outsider position has, over time, changed me and my perception. Where we stand matters. The Jesuit Pope Francis chose to live in a rooming house for bishops and priests. That sparked a revolt among some of the righteous, who also believed that his positions, teachings, and guidance were heretical and should be contested, ignored, or invalidated. Leo is following this M.O. by shifting from Francis’s modest rooms back to the fabulous, regal Papal apartments. Francis's critics hail this as a repudiation of his revolutionary papacy. Cardinal Dolan has been removed—the left asserts “evicted”—from his high and mighty address on Fifth Avenue, but if I think that an address gives me permission to dismiss the filth that he spewed about Donald Trump and Charlie Kirk, I’m just deluded. The doormen of Fifth Avenue buildings have an equal voice about the course of human events, if not more than old Fattso with the red hat. They know who’s fucking who but keep their mouths shut.
Let me confess some of my sins: I watch YouTube for an inordinate amount of time. I’ve watched Leo survey his new digs, take a day at Castel Gandolfo, or convene the Vatican Cardinals. They all wear nearly identical antiquated costumes, and, with the exception of one rather elegant woman religious, the titular head of Vatican City, are all men, ranging from older to ancient, mostly of European descent. They run the show, set the rules, and spend the money. From my perspective, it doesn’t matter how squeaky clean any Francis or Leo makes this kind of government; I would have to believe in the oracle of Delphi to trust this exclusive male coterie to offer real guidance in our topsy-turvy world. I do not. They’ve squandered whatever spiritual inheritance that was handed down through two millennia.
Once upon a time, I believed what these men said, but then I felt that grew up and realized, “Self, you were not born yesterday. Open your eyes. This is not the world as it is, or even pretends to be. These men certainly do not represent you.” Here is a very important distinction: it’s not just individual men. These particular men have an outsized influence on the moral behavior of billions. Only men have the final say. That’s just patriarchy, nothing holy or infallible.
But I find myself in a quandary. I am still looking for leadership and guidance about the appropriate action that I can take to help make things a bit better. I know that love is expressed in action, not words. Do I look towards “La Raza” or L’Arche? Both organizations seem to be founded on solid principles and deserve support. Without question, I say, “Yes!” But then I discover, as the world discovers, that Cesar Chavez used his power and position to lock the door of his private office to have sex with very young girls, and that Jean Vanier engaged in “. . . relationships involv[ing] various kinds of sexual behaviour often combined with so-called ‘mystical and spiritual’ justifications for this conduct.… the alleged victims felt deprived of their free will, and so the sexual activity was coerced or took place under coercive conditions ….” (from the final report of the Inquiry). Have I been betrayed? That’s how it feels.
The sex abuse by clergy was, and continues to be, horrific. I have a lot of conflicting thoughts about the predicament. Can I legitimately withdraw my support for these very human leaders who are not saints while still supporting the organization's aims? Certainly, their conduct has harmed the effectiveness and success of the organizations. Do I keep my mouth shut? Or do I interpret the words attributed to Jesus in John 8 when the Pharisees bring a woman caught in adultery, "Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone," to mean that I should not condemn either Chavez or Vanier?
I can both support the projects and condemn the leaders, and do so in a way that holds up. I recall talking to Avery Dulles several times about the abuse scandals after he was named a cardinal. He found the whole situation to be incredibly embarrassing; those were his words. He just couldn't, on some level, believe that priests or religious were behaving so badly. He also attended the American Catholic Bishops’ meetings, and it was understood that he carried John Paul 2's message to the bishops. He was not a bishop, but was listened to. The Pope trusted Avery, and he talked with men on the Pope’s staff before the meetings. (I was a bit shocked, but that is what he told me). He himself was also both ideologically and politically conservative enough to gain a hearing with that group.
I just went back to some of my notes about the conversations we had regarding the situation. This is from something I wrote back in 2001 or so. “He said that his first response was profound embarrassment—men with whom we shared the ideals of Ignatius took advantage of their position as priests to prey on teenage boys and young adults. But then he hesitated. He said that the word embarrassed is not exactly right—he said ‘profoundly disappointed’ might be closer. He was embarrassed for the institutional church he loved and supported and, like me, was personally disappointed in the men with whom he thought he shared an altruistic spirit. In retrospect, I think that ‘disappointed’ is still a euphemism. I think he felt betrayed.”
Avery, however, did not bury or hide from what he called a “disappointment.” I know he worked quietly with the superiors of the old New York Province as they talked with Father John McNeil before he was dismissed. Although McNeil was never accused of sexual misconduct, he was openly gay just after Stonewall, and the official position was that he was “intrinsically disordered.” Avery was insistent that every priest accused of sexual abuse get a fair hearing and be given a chance to defend himself. He and I talked about this at length. He was well aware that it was the kind of emotional situation in which people make snap judgments and act impulsively.
Here is a link to another piece I wrote about the sex abuse scandals and the Jesuits, “Don't Ask, Don't Tell—A Jesuit Strategy” (https://jesuskoan.blogspot.com/2019/10/dont-ask-dont-tell.html).
However, I’ve said nothing that addresses Jesus’s admonition, “let the person without sin cast the first stone.” Is it possible to feel and express revulsion about sexual exploitation, standing in the shadow of my own sexual behavior? Of course. I remember Michelangelo Signorile at Saint Peter’s Lutheran Church in 1988, shouting at Cardinal Ratzinger when he outlined the Catholic response to HIV/AIDS, “He is no man of God. He is the devil!” Signorile said it was a spontaneous act, perhaps a reaction, “thinking about the homophobia he'd experienced as a child and the Catholic Church's decrees.” There are many sayings of Jesus where he calls out hypocrisy. As a matter of fact, that is the clear subtext of the “Cast the first stone” story: he is addressing the Pharisees, a favorite target of his anti-establishment sentiment. This was also the beginning of Signorile’s controversial “outing”: publicly identifying and shaming prominent closeted gay men and women who actively suppress gay rights. He kicked off right at the top by calling out a Pope who loved his red pumps.
I defend myself by pointing out my attitude towards the misconduct of so many Zen teachers during the birth pangs of Buddhism in the West. The situation is not that much different than that of Chavez or Vanier if I were just weighing the consequences of calling out sexual abuse. Many people have made the argument that several highly publicized sex scandals have damaged the growth of Buddhism in the West by discouraging people of goodwill from practicing. Zen, however, was made for sinners, not saints—though the same could be said of most churches that cater to humans and not angels.
The Church has a dark record of dealing with known sinners, heretics, or enemies. But when we get to admirable men and women with skeletons in the closet, the record is mixed. Among possible solutions are denial, creating stories, or dividing our lives into distinct zones that barely touch and certainly don’t acknowledge the presence of the dark side except by disdain, avoidance, or condemnation—the gnostic world of Light and Darkness. How will the Church today, and I think more importantly, huge numbers of believers reconcile themselves to the sins of their fathers?
The case of Saint Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer y Albás intrigues me. He founded Opus Dei, which has recently come under investigation for sexual exploitation and abuse as well as financial crimes. (investigative journalist Gareth Gore, Opus: The Cult of Dark Money, Human Trafficking and Right-Wing Conspiracy inside the Catholic Church). He was canonized on October 6, 2002. Both John Paul 2 and Benedict promoted his cause. He was their kind of saint, producing a steady stream of right-thinking conservative clergy ready to undertake the rigors of celibate life. How could he have been unaware of the inner workings of his tightly controlled institute? I cannot say with absolute certainty that he directed every detail of the lives of members of the large worldwide organization, but I bet he knew and approved of most of them. Pope Leo recently invited Gareth Gore to a private interview, so he is also now aware of the inner workings of the Opus. What will be the fate of Escrivá? Can his sainthood be revoked? Of course not, though many suspect holy people have been quietly demoted by the PR wing of the church. Can they create some fiction that separates the saint from the excesses of his overzealous followers? That would be my guess.
Of course, perpetrators have to be held accountable and punished. Of course, the hierarchy has to accept responsibility. But the institutional church has not stepped out of its blame and punishment mindset regarding sexuality. Not on any level. This includes same sex relationships as well as extramarital relationships that heterosexual clergy get caught up in.
There will always be a fall guy. There has to be, especially if the actual abusers seem to escape retribution. There are good bishops who act in the most compassionate way, and there are the old boys like Cardinal Law who wind up as the archpriest of a major Roman church after being removed. None should escape some taint of blame and censorship, but the world is not fair, and we get trapped by life.
