Ordo Amoris

This is not the first time I’ve been disappointed in our roman catholic shadow government. I’m starting to feel the ghosts of Pius 12 playing footsie with Mussolini and Hitler, but perhaps my paranoia is winning the day. It is still unnerving to watch this unfold. 

JD Vance told us to Google it. I share this much with our Catholic VP—I often use Google while constructing theological arguments. What shows up in my search for “Ordo Amoris” does not go back to the sayings of Jesus but originates with Augustine, another convert from some weird Gnosticism almost 400 years after the life and death of Lord Jesus and, I might add, a favorite of Opus Dei. 

So, let’s take care of the biblical sources right away. JD’s “family and friends first” is on shaky ground. I’m not saying the scripture has nothing to say about your mother, but you should not elevate those conversations to prayers to the Blessed Virgin. Three passages will cover my argument. 

Matthew 12:47-50: “47 Someone told him, ‘Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to speak to you.’ 48 He replied to him, ‘Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?’ 49 Pointing to his disciples, he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers. 50 For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.’”

John 15:12–13: “12 My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. 13 Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

And then, of course, Luke 25-37, the story of the Good Samaritan. I’ll only quote Luke’s rhetorical question: 36 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” 37 The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

Obviously, Jesus was not as narrow-minded as JD. Or perhaps I should say, “properly ordered.” Loving your parents, especially your mother, is high on the list of virtues to be emulated. Even the Dalai Lama tells his followers to love the world like your mother. But add a Latin formulation from Agustine to Aquinas, and ordo amoris has the ring of natural theology if not the Revealed Word of God. 

But I have trouble with it. It is called natural theology because it states that the order of the world as we find it should be respected because it provides a broad outline of what God intended for the world. But Natural Theology, at least as far I recall, was a relatively confined discipline, covering the “Just War Theology” and a list of sexual disorders that included contraception, sexual attraction, and the proper positions for sexual intercourse. Of course, there were other applications, but this is where the rubber met the road in my Jesuit theology: justification of the war in Vietnam, condemning the sexual revolution, and the “gay Kabal.”

But here is where I can legitimately put on both what remains of my Ratio Studiorum (should I tell JD to Google it?) and my Buddhist robes: Compassion is not a zero-sum game. Vance wants to use lofty-sounding Latin to justify draconian budget cuts that mostly affect poor immigrants and people of color because he can then say that Catholic teaching justifies budget cuts. The order of the universe tells us to take care of our own first. I will not comment on the finite limits of the possible US debt obligation, but this is not a conversation about compassion or the proper order of love. It is bookkeeping, and paying the bill is included. Luke’s tale is explicit. After the Samaritan cared for the man: “35 The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ 

Father Ignatius also teaches us that Love is expressed in actions, not words. Compassion is the supreme virtue in most Buddhist sects, and I suspect in most interpretations of the teaching of the Lord, though the language is slightly different. I usually try not to give spiritual advice online, but this is a no-brainer: JD, talk to your priest or spiritual director. You are doing something wrong if your compassion is not growing and expanding, including more while excluding none. Change your life, and don’t take the advice of your bookkeeper or the tax collector as the word of God. 

I found this article by Frederick Bauerschmidt and Maureen Sweeney in The Church Life Journal helpful. They are a couple. Maureen is an immigration attorney, and Frederick is a theologian.

https://churchlifejournal.nd.edu/articles/ordo-amoris-wisely-extending-love/

Words Shape Our World: Why It's Time to Rethink the Language of Partnership

 by  Akash Maharaj

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I returned to this article by my friend Akash Maharaj today. I thought I should repost it.

Most people don’t think twice about the words they use, but the truth is, words shape our world. They're not just descriptors. They’re creators. When someone says, “You’re hired” or “You’re fired,” they’re not just describing a situation—they’re creating a new reality. The phrase “I now pronounce you husband and wife” doesn’t reflect a relationship—it forms one. That’s how powerful language is. Even in the Bible, it says, "In the beginning was the Word." The very foundation of creation starts with language. Words are that powerful.

Philosophers like John Searle and Fernando Flores got it. They understood that words aren’t just passive tools we use to describe the world—they actively create the world. When we speak, we’re doing more than talking. We’re building the future with every sentence.

Now, think about the language we use at work. Specifically, in recruitment and professional services—a world I know well. Words like “human resources” are a relic of an industrial past, where people were seen as cogs in a machine. “Head-hunting”? Even worse. That language reflects a transactional, outdated way of thinking about talent. It doesn’t just describe how we treat people; it informs how we treat them.

What if we changed that? What if the words we used matched the future we want to build? We don’t need "resources." We need talent, creativity, and energy. We don’t "hunt heads." We build teams. This isn’t just semantics—it’s how we shift the narrative, the culture, the work we do.

And speaking of shifting narratives, it’s time to rethink how professional services and managed service providers are viewed. “Suppliers.” Really? That word reduces us to a one-sided transaction, where companies receive and service providers deliver. But the best partnerships aren’t built on transactions—they’re built on collaboration. Service companies should be seen as partners—invested in your success, not just delivering a service. It’s a relationship that goes both ways, where both parties grow together.

But here’s the kicker—changing our language isn’t hard. It’s a choice. It’s about being intentional. When we start using words that reflect respect, possibility, and collaboration, we stop thinking about people as resources and start thinking about them as partners. It shifts the conversation from what we can get to what we can create together. And that small change in language? It leads to a big change in culture.

So, what does this mean for you? It means you can start today. Pay attention to the words you’re using. Are they shaping the future you want, or are they holding you back in an outdated mindset? The power to change the way your organization thinks, hires, and grows is already in your hands—or rather, in your words. And once you start using them with intention, the impact will be impossible to ignore.

Maha Kumba Mela as Sacrament

Religion defines a sacrament as a religious ceremony or ritual that imparts divine blessing. They are both a sign or symbol of a spiritual reality and that reality itself. The efficacy of the intervention from above usually depends on inner qualities, the depth of faith in the believer, his or her devotion, and the level of commitment, for example, the depth of the penance or suffering displayed in the ritual.

The Baltimore Catechism defines sacraments as outward signs that represent inward grace and have the power to produce it in the soul.

What’s important here is that it is the religion itself spelling out its terms, descriptors of its tools, as well as their uses and intended results. From the viewpoint of the historian of religion, it’s just some data for analysis. My intention is clear: I am trying to be as objective as possible. This is more evident when we look at various cultural expressions side by side for comparison.

The Sadhguru and every other baba will tell us that the Maha Kumba Mela is a massive public display of devotion with an equally powerful inward reality that is a vehicle of God’s grace and that even Westerners can benefit. “I do yoga, man, so let’s do this maha mela thing.” My YouTube feed is making it a numbers game. !4 million participants will yield more blessings than 1.4. They are playing the game of the relative power of a cult or belief system. Join the club.

I’ve spent more time in India than most Westerners who are not scholars, Hindu converts, or wanna-be Saddhus. Even if I were younger, I would never subject myself to the Kumba Mela. Woodstock was what? Half a million. Burning Man, 70,000. How many at Lourdes, even on a yearly basis? Three to four million. Due to the alignment of the celestial bodies this year, 15 million people are expected to attend the Kumba Mela over the next 45 days. All huddled on an open, muddy plane with minimal sanitation facilities and accommodations. But that is a description of my culture shock. The fault is in the observer.

My first year in India, in 2010, we traveled from the northernmost part of India to Delhi to catch our plane to the US on or about July 15th. We had been up in Leh-Ladakh to avoid the heavy rains marking the beginning of monsoon. We came down the Manali Highway on the east side of the lower Himalayan range, traveling over the highest passes (at the time) for conventional vehicles, Tanglang La, at about 18,000 feet. Then we drove over the famous Rohtang Pass to Manali and Shimla before we dropped down into Haridwar, which, at 1000 feet above sea level, sits at the head of the Ganges as it begins its descent to the Bay of Bengal. We’d planned a ceremonial dip in the sacred waters. Even at its head, with all the new water from the melted snow, the river was so filthy, I wouldn’t even stick my toe in it, much less swim, particularly when I saw half-burnt human bodies floating downstream among floral garlands.

As we were checking out of our guest house, we began to notice large groups, gangs of young guys, a few younger saddhus, plus a few women, very few, walking on the road with large buckets of water. Though there was no dress code, they all seemed to be attempts at something vaguely like the saddhus' orange loincloth. Headbands de rigeur. Each band or gang had a large image of Shiv or some other deity they were carrying or pulling. There was equal chanting and boom boxes. The smell of marijuana was so strong that we were getting high in a sealed vehicle.

We began the trip from Haridwar to New Delhi. It usually takes about four and a half hours, but it would take 12. At some places on the road, the procession was so slow-moving that our driver tried some shortcuts in vain. The dense procession clogged the new double-lane highway. I have no way of estimating, but I suspect at least 50,000, perhaps more than 100,000 pilgrims, were walking barefoot the 233 km from Mother Ganga's source to Delhi and then onto small villages, carrying holy water for the new year’s rituals. That is just one day’s count. The “carrying” would go on for at least a fortnight.

It was a ritual not widely publicized outside India. We asked what it was, but Ashish may have poorly understood the Hindi, or it was untranslatable. Later, we discovered that these crews are called “the carriers.” Indeed, any village Shiv temple worth its salt had to organize a team. Baba-ji would lose face if he didn’t get a few buckets of holy water from the onset of the monsoon.

It was a cross between rite of passage and village custom that goes back many generations if not millennia. With a few exceptions, the single middle-aged man or the small group of women, it was a young men's game, but unlike Woodstock, there was no sex; the sporty groups in orange gym shorts were moving quickly and carrying their shrines, the new-age rockers with loud boom boxes had rented and decorated a truck; farm boys were dragging their altars with tractors, another hip crowd had streamers and sequins, there were the kids whose guru came from the strict observance, flowers, and incense combined with traditional religious songs, and as I mentioned, they were all barefoot.

The Sadhguru will explain the myth on TV, but, like the Mormon Prophet, he won’t dirty his crisp white uniform. His net worth is also 50 million USD. The average income of the carriers I observed was probably pretty standard--under 5,000 USD yearly. But everyone has their job and their pay scale.

All the local temples along the route, and there were more than several hundred--the route was more than 150 miles, had pales of rice and dahl, drinks, ice packs, and some essential medical attention, all organized by the Hindu equivalent of the lady's Marian devotion group; they’d corralled their husbands into lending a hand. That was recognizable and quite lovely. It was almost as if the culture was ensuring that a new supply from the headwater made its way back to the village temples for the cultic rituals.

At one petrol station, we found a Hindu entrepreneur with a water purification system on the back of his truck. He was selling purified holy water in recycled two-liter plastic containers. Ashish bought some for his super pious mother. The hard truth is that Mother Ganga is a sewer. This was in 2010, and in the fourteen years since then, the Modi government has poured billions into cleaning up the water. They have tried to stop or curtail the dumping of raw sewage directly into the river, the runoff from the Muslim tanneries and cloth dying factories, and the effluent waste products from chemical manufacture. However, these efforts have been going on in earnest since at least 1984, and they are still trying to measure the results. The sacrament's efficacy does not extend to measurable reductions in pollutants, at least not yet, though there are some reports of improvement from the government. My experience in Haridwar, Varanasi, and Calcutta tells me there is a vast gap between what is reported and reality. My motto in India is: “Never drink the water. Pray and filter. Always.”

Now for the hard part. It is impossible to gauge any realization experiences, blessings, or other events we might attribute to divine intervention. I’m not saying that they don’t exist, but all we have is anecdotal evidence of deliverance or inward change. There is probably enough evidence that some people who undertake experiences out of the ordinary experience some inner change, some more than others, some beneficial, and some quite the opposite. But these experiences remain in the realm of religion and mysticism.

The devotees at the Maha Mela may have life-changing experiences. In fact, it is probable that some do, especially if they were doing penance for some infarction, real or imagined, but it is impossible to attribute a direct cause-and-effect relationship. It takes a leap of faith. Is it like a Catholic First Communion? That is a definite no.

We reached Delhi with enough time for Ashish’s ritual leave-taking as well as a nasty fight with our Sikh diver about the tip he had expected after driving us over treacherous roads for almost a month. Ashish invented some complaints that disqualified Govinda. I complained to Ashish that he was being unfair, but it would take me 10 years to realize Ashish’s Indian American arrogance.

Zen Porn

Here is a portion of the koan I was working on when I started to laugh at my porn!

Blue Cliff Record, Case 75: Wujiu’s Blind Stick 

Wujiu said, “Here is a good fellow to beat today,” and gave him three blows. The monk went out. Wujiu called after him and said, “I used a blind stick, as there is a fellow who deserved it.”
The monk turned and said, “It can’t be helped, as the stick is in your hand.”
Wujiu said, “If you need this stick, I will let you have it.” The monk came nearer, snatched the stick from Wujiu’s hand, and gave him three blows.
Wujiu said, “Blind stick, blind stick.”
The monk said, “There is a fellow who deserved it.”
Wujiu said, “It is a sham to wantonly beat a fellow.”
The monk promptly bowed to him.
Wujiu said, “You made a bow—it is right for you?”
The monk laughed loudly and went out.
Wujiu said, “Right, right!”

Zen Koans are wonderful, and no, I hate to disappoint, they are not porn. Can they be used as porn? That’s a personal decision.

I was responding to an email from one of my favorite Zen teachers in the world, a wonderful woman with whom I share a deep love for music, flashes of koan insight, and many friends. After briefly exchanging personal updates, I mentioned that a mutual Zen friend and I had lost contact since the Ice Age. I made a mental note that it was at least three girlfriends ago, but he has not faded from my world. How could he? He’d had an enormous effect on my practice.

I’d recently posted a short piece, “How do they think they can get away with it?” The teacher accused of misconduct was a friend of our mutual friend and teacher. In my post, I repeated the wording of the complaint of some female students: [he suggested that] “meditating while naked in his lap (based on the yab-yum image) would help their spiritual practice,” a bit of secret oral tradition that should probably best be kept secret.

Then I was hit by the whack of insight, seeing exactly what was in front of my eyes--let’s just call this discussion by its real name--porn. Webster’s third definition is “The depiction of acts in a sensational manner so as to arouse a quick, intense emotional reaction.”

I started to laugh. I’d written many thousands of words to describe and analyze the sexual misconduct of teachers, as well as Catholic priests, over the course of my blogging. I decided to review some of that writing to see if it contained any of the hallmarks of pron: compulsion, obsession, titillation, mindless habitual storytelling, and being ultimately unsatisfying. Was I giving porn a bad name? I chose nine posts over 16,000 words to review. That’s roughly 25% of a standard non-fiction book. 

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“Sex, gossip, religion? Can we talk?” The subject makes many people uncomfortable. After reading one piece, a very dear woman friend I’ve known since my days with Claudio Naranjo decided to cut all ties. She complained I was opening the door to rumor and innuendo (and maligning our mentor). She had become very protective of Naranjo as she grew older for reasons I do not fully understand. Her words were that I “verged on gossip.” After being very upset and not knowing what to say or how to address the situation, I decided to write about it.

Honestly, her assessment had a ring of truth. I am open to listening to accusations from sources who feel they must remain anonymous because they fear for their reputations and personal safety or have obligations to their own sources. There are legitimate reasons. But the fact that these people will not, or cannot, publicly verify what they’ve heard or witnessed means that the information will always be hearsay.

I wanted to defend myself from attacking a person’s character without any factual basis. Were there legitimate reasons to rely on innuendo, rumor, or even whispers and use them to make a judgment and take action? This led me to examine a whole category of complaints I called “privileged”: class, gender, race, religious tradition, or even taboo placed them outside criticism or even discussion. 

One of my examples, a case study, was the defrocking of *Cardinal Theodore McCarrick in 2019. There had been, of course, rumors and speculation about his conduct for years. For the community of disaffected gay Catholic men looking for proof of the hypocrisy that had caused so much pain, we found secretly recorded conversations at McCarrick’s New Jersey beach house that left no doubt that they were gay sex parties. This evidence was circulated on the internet in the early 2000s. “Uncle Teddy’s” canonical trial would be in 2019. 

Would the world be a better place if Cardinal McCarrick’s hypocrisy had been exposed during his influential tenure as Archbishop of Washington? How many young men and priests might have been spared sexual and emotional abuse? We cannot say, but I will say that truth is always the best choice. I argue that sometimes, the only way to get to the truth is through examination of gossip, rumor, and hearsay. Not only was this evidence admissible, but it was also necessary. I used Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple in my closing argument about the legitimacy of gossip in the search for who done it. She set the Aristotelian methodology of English mystery writing on its ear.

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However, the Catholic Church does not provide a clear view of what’s happening in real-time, even if you have a front-row seat. The internal mechanisms for deceit and subterfuge have been honed for centuries. If you are a member of a subgroup at risk, either as a victim or perpetrator, demanding transparency can also be dangerous. 

In 1964, United States Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart described his threshold test for obscenity: "I shall not today attempt further to define the kinds of material I understand to be embraced... [b]ut I know it when I see it ..." When I saw “Spotlight.” in 2015, I had to ask myself why I didn’t see it when it was going on? 

An old friend who is a seasoned Zen priest asked me what happened during those years covered by Tom McCarthy’s 2015 film “Spotlight” when well over 225 priests and religious were credibly accused of sexual abuse. I was very active and reasonably well-connected in the Boston Archdiocese in the late 60s, but I had to confess that I was in the dark. The very secretive church machinery kept it hidden. I went back to my experience as a young Jesuit and discovered that the evil of sexual abuse of minors had disastrous effects. I worked for a very dedicated young gay priest who was in no way involved in abuse but whose ministry was nonetheless curtailed simply because he joined the movement to oust Cardinal Law, who orchestrated the cover-up. His name was Monsignor Michael Groden. I recounted our friendship and told his story in “Pedophile Priests Ruined Many Lives.”

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And now we come to Zen teachers who have acted badly or have been accused of misbehaving and the consequences of this misuse of sexuality for our young, newly formed communities. Given the small size of these communities, the different nature of the teaching and practice, and the different tone with regard to sexuality, I was surprised that the list of teachers is so long and continues to grow.

The next two blogs that I chose, “Sex, Death, and Food,” and “Was Muktananda High-level Chicanery?” register as high-level disappointment. The conduct of both men, Katagiri Roshi and Swami Muktananda, was similar only in that they were discovered and made public when both men were dead. In Katagiri’s case, he had the reputation of a gifted teacher beyond reproach who had helped many people, including several friends, in the aftermath of Richard Baker Roshi’s departure from the San Francisco Zen Center. Katagiri assumed the public face of an ordinary immigrant Midwesterner who was also a Zen Master. I heard story after story of something he said or did to help a student during challenging times. I talk about one interaction he had with Issan, who used what he learned till the day he died. Many others held up similar stories. After his extramarital affairs became public knowledge, however, a kind of convulsive reevaluation shook the entire community with roots at Page Street and Tassajara. With few exceptions, the reckoning was that the man’s insight outweighed any human failings. I did not have direct experience, and I felt that there were valid reasons to suspect the judgment of others. Besides, I wasn’t losing anything. I had no pony in the race.

In the case of Baba Muktananda, his secret sexual activity involved a steady stream of young women, many underage. It was criminal and required the active participation of his inner circle to coordinate and hide the violation of his yogic vows from his vast following in India and the West. The aftermath was denial, and the focus shifted to one of his successors, the one who did not also use the power of his position for sexual gratification. The attempted justification from ardent supporters ran something like Satguru was not a lecher. He was trying to recast Brahmacharya for the West; cultural circumstances limited his freedom to act. That argument is self-serving and frankly stupid, but go ahead and sell your Siddha Yoga hogwash. I’m no longer in the market. 

When I began to examine my feelings regarding both men, it was clear that some part of me felt some relief, justification, and even redress when I told the stories, especially about Muktananda. It feels good to yell at spiritual frauds. But beyond that, is there anything of value? Both men are dead, and their followers and disciples have made whatever choices they have and continued their lives. My reaction is my reaction or perhaps mirrors some other Zen idealist howling into the wind. It is only noise. Only complain about what can be redressed—only direct requests for a change of course to those who can act. And in the Zen world, that comes down to me.

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However, there will always be a segment of followers, enthusiasts, or disciples that will hang on despite any evidence. My revelation was that I could not change that. I can only deal with myself. These people fall into the closed set that Eric Hoffer called “The True Believer.” They share characteristics, including contempt for those without a holy cause themselves and respect for fellow fanatics. I recounted my experience attending the elaborate Shambhala funeral ceremony for Ösel Tendzin in San Francisco above the Jack in the Box on Mission Street. Our choice was to get up and walk out rather than join in the adulation of a sexual predator who had infected people with a deadly virus. 

This short post generated a lot of negative feedback: it’s ancient history; Chögyam Trungpa was a brilliant teacher, and we all got a lot out of “Spiritual Materialism.” Trungpa and Ösel marked an important, “auspicious” event for the birth of Buddhism in the West. My response: Avoid Zen Porn. Calm down and chill out. There will be others whose work will surpass Shambhala. There will be teachers who can do it sober without appeals to crazy wisdom. Throw your lot with kindness and compassion.

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However, the question of how to best respond remains open. Let down by the promise of quick bliss in the world of Zen porn, I find myself still waiting, alone, lonely at times, but as long as I stay engaged, I have not lost hope. Intimacy seems still within reach. And to pass the time, I happened to pick up Foucault’s Histoire de la sexualité, 1: la volonté de savoir in French. This is where this former celibate Jesuit sought refuge. I began to turn my attention to the conversations about sexual misconduct rather than focusing on the blatant or alleged misdeeds. As Socrates said: “The misuse of language induces evil in the soul.” We have to be clear about what we are talking about, or we risk serious errors. 

 

In the first nine pages, Foucault lays out his thesis and methodology. He says that despite the modern liberal claim that sex has been repressed, forced into silence, or even neglected, the truth is that the level, frequency, and specificity of our conversations about sex have increased. When I moved to Hartford Street Zen Center in San Francisco, I jumped into a controversy with definite camps. I also noticed that, as Foucault notes, the conversations, even though ancient history from my point of view, went on and on. Some people wouldn't or couldn't shut up.

If I followed Foucault’s argument, this was to be expected. Talking about sex does not create a problem; the way we’ve been trained to talk about sex, specifically in the West since the 17th century, has created a conversation that didn’t exist before and, I would add, certainly one that didn’t exist in the Lord Buddha’s day. 

Some of the comments on the post accused me of trying to create some kind of off-ramp for leaders who had not faced up to the full impact of their actions. I was not aware of doing that. Instead, I was looking for my off-ramp in a conversation where I knew I had to take action to save myself.

There were practical reasons for wanting to avoid the blame game. As Executive Director of Maitri Hospice, I had to work with the Zen Center Hospice Volunteer Program. When Issan, Philip Whalen, and Steve Allen returned from Santa Fe, they managed to maintain some level of civility with the senior priests who assumed leadership roles at Zen Center after Baker’s resignation. In Heels Outside the Door, I suggest that there was deliberate compartmentalization. The term usually refers to the defense mechanism of separating conflicting thoughts and emotions to avoid anxiety and discomfort, but at least in Issan’s case, there was no hesitancy to deal with consequences.

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But I also had a pony in the race. More than 20 years before I moved into Hartford Street, I was sexually abused by a New Age guru. Some of the effects still felt fresh, and as I began to learn and practice zazen, they even intensified. They existed like #metoo porn, sensational flashes of emotional memory that produced a quick, intense reaction. I knew that I would have to deal with it and that it would have to wait until I was relieved of some of the pressure of dealing with the pandemic. 

I’ve finally managed to close the chapter of my personal abuse, but it was not a simple forgive-and-forget. It is not perhaps as clean as purists might like it, and there was no magic formula. I don’t think there is. You can read about my struggle. A Very Personal Question: Can I Forgive Bob Hoffman?

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The blog posts on Buddha S.J.

How do they think they can get away with it? 

Sex, gossip, religion? Can we talk? 

Pedophile Priests Ruined Many Lives 

Sex, Death, and Food.

Was Muktananda high-level chicanery? 

The funeral of Ösel Tendzin. Deliver us from cults.

La Volonté de Savoir, Foucault on Sexuality

Heels Outside the Door

A Very Personal Question: Can I Forgive Bob Hoffman? 

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*“Theodore Edgar McCarrick is a laicized American Catholic bishop, former cardinal, and former priest who served as Archbishop of Newark from 1986 to 2000 and as Archbishop of Washington from 2001 to 2006. In 2019, McCarrick was defrocked after having been convicted of sexual misconduct in a canonical trial.”