By Alex Distefano
By Scott Snowden
By Anna Merlan
By Steve Almond
By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
DALLASOn the opening day of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops last week, the Dallas Morning News rocked the house with a lengthy investigation of child abuse in the church. Under a headline that read, "Two Thirds of Bishops Let Accused Priests Work," the paper featured 111 mug shots and rap sheets. As the men in black shuffled past a battery of cameras, the scene took on the look of a massive perp walk.
But in the end, the real story was not about crimeor even how to mete out punishment. The American Catholic church is opening itself up to the modern world, and one sign of this new mood is the power shift that was evident in palpable ways at the conference.
Despite the fact that the Vatican has to approve the new norms the bishops know that they are being scrutinized by even higher powers: the faithful they love and the media they hate.
Largely because of this crisis, the stage has been set for the kind of debate about church governance that has not occurred since Vatican II in the early 1960s. This discussion will probably not take place before the election of a new pope, but that will happen sooner than the disappearance of the scandal. The most likely outcome of such a process is a change in the character of the American church. Some power will devolve to local bishopsand even to the laity.
Just how big a gun the bishops felt at their heads was evident in the crucial question of how to deal with bishops who protected predatory priests. Bishop Wilton Gregory, chair of the conference, has said that only the pope can fire these diocesan officials. That's precisely what Frank Keating intends to propose. "It should be done," said Keating, the governor of Oklahoma, who was picked to head the board that the bishops established to deal with allegations of abuse by priests. "If someone obscures, absolves, obstructs, or hides that criminal act, arguably they are obstructing justice or are accessories to the crime." Keating has the political clout, andas a hard-line death penalty enforcer who once authorized the execution of a prisoner despite pleas from the popehe has the will to put pressure on the Vatican. As this former G-man vowed, in essence, to put cuffs on some church leaders if necessary, Bishop Gregory smiled broadly.
Bishop Joseph Sullivan of Brooklyn, widely regarded as a liberal, spoke passionately about the need to confront the larger issues that formed the context for this scandal. At the bishops' fall meeting in Washington, Sullivan said,""We ought to look at the selection of bishops, how we involve the laity, and who gets to be ordained," alluding to the exclusion of women and married men without stating a position on those issues. The alternative to that approach was voiced by the conservative cardinal Francis George of Chicago. "We can't operate as a Protestant church," one that works within "our secularized, self-righteous, and decadent culture," George said. His vote was for a much smaller but more faithful Roman Catholic Church. Yet the real power at this conference lay with bishopsand with laitywho are much more open to change.
This crisis marks "a shift from bishops setting the agenda to the people setting it," says Mary Hunt, co-director of the Women's Alliance for Theology, Ethics, and Ritual. "The bishops have met alone for the last time." Hunt and her compatriots have formed "Catholic-base communities," where they celebrate mass without priests. Voice of the Faithful, the new Catholic lay movement that sprang up in Boston just this January, is sweeping parishes across the nation. It openly proposes to "shape structural change in the church," while not yet taking on doctrinal issue. The group has criticized the bishops for setting up a board to monitor abuse with no independence from their authority.
At the conference, an event occurred that most Catholics probably thought they would never see. Bishops at their own national meeting were joined at a press conference by members of a group formed to represent abuse victims. "This isn't about a few mixed-up priests," said Mark Serrano of Survivors Network of Those Abused by Priests (SNAP). "It's about bishops keeping felons in the priesthood." Cardinal Anthony Bevilacqua of Philadelphia, one of the many leaders to whom he referred, sat next to him, staring stonily forward.
"I'm starting to feel sorry for the bishops," said Tom Fox, publisher of the progressive National Catholic Reporter. It was a remarkable statement from a member of Call to Action, the 26-year-old liberal movement for reform in the church, and a sign of how much the spirit moved in Dallas.
But before anyone gets the idea that the Age of Aquarius has dawned in the church of Rome, consider the tenacity of the Catholic right.
A group called Roman Catholic Faithful has a Web site devoted to rooting out gay priests and bishops, hunting them in Internet chat rooms and revealing the results to reporters and church authorities. They claim to have knocked off several. The conservative Weekly Standard's Mary Eberstadt calls the issue of gay priests "the elephant in the sacristy." The Catholic Family Newseven dug up a Latin document from 1961 under good old Pope John XIII that read, "Let those who are afflicted by the perverse inclination towards homosexual vice or pederasty . . . be prohibited from religious vows or ordination."
In Dallas, Cardinal Bevilacqua reiterated his stance that "homosexuals cannot be trusted in the priesthood," even if sexually abstinent. Far-right bishop Fabian Bruskewitz of Lincoln, Nebraska, tried to get support for a study of "the homosexual culture" in the priesthood. But his call was rebuffed by a voice vote. When Bishop Joseph Galante, an expert in canon law, was asked why the church would ordain men with a sexuality it officially deems "disordered," he replied that, though "God's plan is for a man and woman to be attracted," as a priest "I don't get involved in genital activity because I am a man for others. That doesn't differentiate between heterosexual and homosexual."
Dignity, the gay and lesbian Catholic group that is banned from Catholic meeting spaces, agitated in Dallas to keep the bishops from linking homosexuality with child abuseand they succeeded. It remains to be seen whether the planned apostolic visitations to U.S. seminaries will lead Rome to enact the gay purge most American bishops have resisted. They laughed heartily when someone proposed that an amendment about abuser priests wearing clerical dress "be changed to clerical garb."
Purging gays won't be easy, since they populate everything from the Vatican curia to local parishes. This may be one reason why the bishops didn't bring up the subject of homosexuality up. But they did broach the topic of chastity and celibacy. The two words don't necessarily mean the same thing to priests: Celibacy is a promise not to marry; chastity is a vow to be sexually abstinent. At the conference, the bishops made it clear that both commitments will be taken more seriously. "There will be clear and well-publicized diocesan standards of ministerial behavior," reads the bishop's document.
Most of the gay priests interviewed for this story asked that their names not be used. They don't want to jeopardize their positions or put their religious communities on the spot by speaking out publicly. One older gay priest has been sexually active, "but never with anyone who knew me first as a priest." He doesn't expect a purge of gay men, partly because bishops, if nothing else, are "protective of their priests," an impulse that did not serve them in the abuse crisis. In order to be a bishop, he said, you need a highly developed capacity for denial.
A younger gay priest predicted, "People like me will get fed up and leave. Enough is enough. It is not healthy on many levels to be a part of this family. Given the current leadership, there is no hope." This priest has a partner and is leaving, but he knows gay priests who struggle to fulfill their promise to be celibate and chaste. A Mexican priest he counseled told him that "the greatest gift in his life was being able to talk about being gaythat it meant even more to him than sexual intimacy." But the 23-year papacy of John Paul has been one in which Catholic clergy have not been able to talk about much of anything without running the risk of being silenced.
Unless more priests come out and show solidarity, bishops like Bevilacqua can pick them off one by one. But some gay activists within the church regard this as an opportunity. "This scandal is the best thing that could have happened," said John McNeill, a moral theologian expelled from the Jesuits in 1988 for opposing church teaching against homosexuality. "It's clearly going to do away with the authoritarian church, and for the first time the church is going to be forced to listen to what the Holy Spirit is saying through the people of God. It's a blessing in disguise. Too bad it had to come this way."