Tears on the Pulpit

This is not about the facts -- it's just about my feelings: I've done only a little reading about the scandal involving priests who are alleged to have been pedophiles in the Philadelphia area. Just some print coverage over the weekend (including "the list") and a browsing of the news indexed on the Web. But I'm a Catholic who grew up in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, and I have an evolving point of view.

I feel sorrow and shame for the priests who have attacked and molested children, to be sure. Also anger and pity. I am appalled that children, who are supposed to be worth just as much as -- if not more than -- adults in the Church's stated values system, were allowed to remain at the mercy of those who would do them harm. A culture of respect for life does not just mean helping fetuses set foot on this planet and keeping old folks safe from those who would pull the plug on them for the sake of convenience. And, yes, I ache for the families that were victimized by these apparent crimes. Not only the obvious victims: the targeted children, their immediate families and possibly their progeny. But also the families of those who were too troubled or sick to restrain themselves from attacking the most vulnerable among our population.

But as utterly repulsed as I am by their choices and their behavior, I am -- though my anger -- able to feel pity, compassion and concern for those accused of committing what are without a doubt egregious wrongs. The ramifications of their sins and crimes will never be completely known, and I pray that they'll be able to live healthy lives at some point.

Almost all of those involved as victims or perpetrators are fellow Church members of mine. As a result I bear part of the shame though I have never been molested by priest or religious and, as far as I know, have never known anyone who has been either a molester or victim.

I am ashamed, I am disgusted and I am rocked to my core. This crisis will change the Church -- and I don't just mean the Church will see less money come in in the form of donations, although that certainly will be the case. I, for example, was extremely reluctant to donate when I was a divorced Catholic, as I began to work through my feelings on the permanence of marriage. No small number of Catholics are certainly starting to muster their indignance and vitriol to justify reducing or eliminating their regular contributions to the Roman Catholic Church.

Yet I don't know how I thought my church -- or any religion or region -- would be immune to this kind of aberrant behavior. People are human, and they sometimes act in a manner that seems subhuman. I had hoped for better, and I feel like a fool.

I was up North when the story came to light about the Christian Brothers molesting youths. Now if I hear that someone I know went to any sort of Christian Brothers school, I must admit my gut instinct is to try to approach them with a sort of tender what-did-they-do-to-you-and-how-can-I-help attitude. That isn't the way it should be.

I used to have priest friends, had the pleasure of occasionally stopping up to the rectory for a sweet, even traveling with a member of the clergy or sharing a meal. Should people automatically think that I may have been a victim? I was not, and I don't like having to look at my Church that way.

I am trying to maintain faith in Church leaders and role models, from priests, religious and deacons to those who have achieved a position of greater authority in the hierarchy of the Church. It made me very sad to hear that at least two priests in my home parish in Pennsylvania cried as they discussed recent events during Sunday Mass this past week: Yet tears are not an inappropriate response from anyone who loves the Church and its people and anyone who loves God and seeks what is right in this world. As a Catholic -- and as an admittedly flawed human -- I want to be part of a productive dialogue and process that sees the church achieve more holiness and compassion for all, not less. And I, though I am lazy sometimes, want to be holier and to do the right thing. None of that is easy. In fact, I hesitate to post my thoughts here, because I don't want them taken out of context, and I don't want to needlessly inflame a very emotional issue.

Many years ago, I made a decision as a teenager to stay within my Church even as I questioned some of its theology. Those adolescent questions seem so insignificant as to be trivial now. I reaffirmed my decision to be a Catholic when I was a young adult. I do not expect to be outside my chosen faith, but I no longer expect my Church to turn like the giant ship of state I thought it was when I was much younger. I expect the impossible because this religion does, at this point in history, need to turn on a dime.

I was getting pretty preachy recently in my Gracie Manion/ADA posting, I thought. At the risk of sermonizing again, though, I would like to share my thoughts -- and my evening prayer -- with you tonight. I hope anybody who might happen to read this might take these words for what they're worth, and I hope they do someone some good: Lord who knows all things please try to understand me, and please help me try to know myself better, too. I suppose understanding you completely is supposed to come somewhat later.

I've never blogged about someone while sitting next to them. Until now.

The allegedly superlative man is a declared candidate for local public office, and he has told me privately that he wants to win.

Of course he does. I always feel that one should never enter a lottery like the ballot box unless they'd welcome the winning result. He has begun some, apparently smart and consistent, knocking on doors. He has gone to exactly one fund-raiser for a local nonprofit group that achieves public service. More will no doubt follow. I hope they're all at least as enjoyable as the one at Memphis Pigout.

Speaking of which, he and his running mate will be having a party to celebrate the launching of their campaign -- at the Ocean Club on the Atlantic Highlands Harbor, on October 2.

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On another topic: I hope to at least eke out at some point the post I briefly discussed with to you. You know, the one about how one of my main hopes these days is to become less cynical and no less wise?

Two Anniversaries to Remember

Gotta play catch-up: Two blogworthy events happened recently, and it's taken a little bout with the flu for me to have much time to say anything about them. I'll put them both under the category of difficult, but beautiful.

I was lucky enough to catch up with one of the city's hardest working men about town, Brian Andersson. And I was also lucky enough to be invited to an event celebrating the 15th anniversary of the ADA at Gracie Mansion back on August 16. Talk about inspirations! Not only is Brian running everywhere and doing everything, it seems, all at one time, but a more than significant portion of those in attendance had physical issues obvious enough to be recognized upon meeting them. And many of the folks at the event seemed to have transcended those issues completely enough that they made someone like me look as if I were standing still. It was a humbling experience, to say the least.

Brian himself pointed out what might have seemed to have been a blog-snub of the event after checking out my site. I beg a little indulgence because of the daunting nature of the considerable folks I met that evening. Some things take a little longer than others to seep through one's consciousness. My apologies to my most gracious hosts!

Speaking of daunting, I also recently attended the dedication of my home county's September 11 memorial, which was unveiled just in time to commemorate the 4th anniversary of the terrorist attacks in New York, Washington and over the skies of Pennsylvania. I took a day off without pay. I hitched a ride with some nice strangers (don't ask -- but I can give you the name of an excellent quick lunch place in Montco that delivers!) In all ways, I basically moved heaven and earth to be there, just barely on time.

I was afraid I'd have to hold my tongue about the artistry or the appropriateness of the memorial, which incorporates a 1,200-pound steel beam from the Lower Manhattan site. But, while the statue is not a traditionally uplifting, feel good memorial, I must say I liked it much more than I thought I might.

It depicts a pair of rough, hard-working hands cradling the ragged beam in an almost prayerlike gesture. It's a challenging statue. When I heard its creator, Sassona Norton, speak about the relationship she developed with the twisted metal she inherited for a time after being commissioned I began to wonder a bit about the wholesomeness of the its message. But, as difficult as the piece may be and as bizarre an undertaking the artist undertook -- to live with the remains of such a storied attack -- I can still say the piece was well-conceived, well-intentioned and that it has something positive to say about the attacks and their aftermath.

For someone who had to look at remnants of the site and smell the smells of the charred earth and worse, the statue's not easy to look at. But not everything difficult is bad.

Don't take my word for it. The statue sits at the Swede St. entrance to the courthouse in Norristown, Pa. Go there and make up your own mind.

Update: I'm told that the peaceniks mentioned in my previous post have stepped their efforts against the Grand Old Party. Apparently unsatisfied with the impact they've had using their constitutionally-protected avenues, they've taken to breaking the law. I'm told they fraudulently represented themselves to federal authorities to have enlistment material sent to at least one YR officer. Is *this* what is passing for intelligent discourse these days?