There were sobering reflections also from non–Catholics. The Reverend Peter J. Gomes, a black minister of the American Baptist Church and longtime Harvard chaplain, wrote in the Boston Globe: “When lawyers, the courts, and the media all seem complicit in the cycle of vengeance and blood and no closure short of decapitation seems acceptable, then we have reason to worry about the climate for justice, mercy, and charity; and Salem in 1692 seems not so far removed in moral climate from Boston in 2002.” Then there are those who all along have attributed the Boston storm, and the entire scandalmongering of the past year and more, to anti–Catholicism. That view gets impressive scholarly support from Philip Jenkins’ book, The New Anti–Catholicism, out soon from Oxford University Press.

There is no doubt that the Catholic Church has been “singled out”; that the incidence of sexual abuse in other religious communities, in public schools, and in social services is as high, and possibly higher, than it is in the priesthood. Those institutions, however, are not subjected to a sustained storm of public scandal and outrage. Some Catholics complain about the double standard; others take the targeting as a perverse compliment, remembering comedian Lenny Bruce’s quip that “The Catholic Church is the church we mean when we say ‘the Church.’” Outside the South, a toppled Methodist bishop or Baptist superintendent makes the news on page sixteen below the fold. Anti–Catholicism is an old and complicated story. It is, as Jenkins notes, the last respectable prejudice. Others, paraphrasing Peter De Vries, have observed that anti–Catholicism is the anti–Semitism of the cultural elites. Then there are those who claim that the targeting of the Catholic Church is not anti–Catholicism but simply reflects the fact that people expect more of the Church. That may be true in some limited instances, but as an explanation of what is happening it is, I am sorry to say, a sweet delusion.

The View from Rome

As interesting and important as such considerations undoubtedly are, at the end of the day the fact is that Cardinal Law brought down Cardinal Law. Already last April he had offered his resignation to the Pope, but it was not accepted. The approach in Rome was, and apparently still is, that bishops should stay on the job to clean up the messes for which they were largely responsible. Of course, there was also the fear that the Church would be perceived as caving under pressure from the media and, especially, from civil authorities. That concern looks very different when viewed from Rome than from New York or Boston. Of the 180–plus countries in the world, many have governments that are overtly hostile to the Church, and media that do the government’s bidding. Over the centuries, the Church has contended fiercely for the freedom to govern itself (libertas ecclesiae), and what happened in Boston and may be happening elsewhere in this country cannot help but send shivers down the backs of those who were formed by that corporate memory. When the attack comes from the outside, even bad bishops are sometimes kept in place. As a demonstration of the Church’s resolve. As a lesson to them that they must bear the cross of dealing with the consequences of their mistakes.

But in December the decision was made that Cardinal Law had lost his ability to govern the Archdiocese of Boston. The Cardinal concurred in that decision. It was a long time coming. Priests credibly accused of abuse were given new assignments where they could, and did, abuse again. Perhaps most damaging were public assurances by the Cardinal that every case had been addressed, which assurances were then followed by the public exposure of yet further instances of wickedness. I do not think it is true that, as his critics charge, the Cardinal intentionally lied. All who know him know him to be a man of great integrity, talent, and devotion to Christ and the Church. That cannot be gainsaid. I, for one, am among the many who pray him well with what I hope will be his continuing ministry in a position appropriate to his considerable gifts.

But he could no longer lead the Archdiocese of Boston. It is right that he stepped down. His “mistakes and shortcomings”—that is what he calls them, and I believe that is what they were—were confusedly entangled with his virtues. He was too modest in his deference to the “expert” opinion of psychologists and others who assured him that abusing priests could be safely returned to ministry. (The deeply dubious role of St. Luke’s in Maryland and other treatment centers for offenders in this Long Lent, now extending beyond 2002, has yet to be adequately told.) He understood the need for priestly fraternity and trust, but did not see how insidiously fraternity and trust can become clericalism’s habit of protecting what must never be protected. He cared passionately about the reputation of the Church, but did not understand how practices once thought judicious are now ammunition for destroying that reputation in a new world where confidentiality is condemned as secrecy and discretion as dissembling. Especially odious were the attacks occasioned by the Cardinal’s letters of sympathy to priests removed from ministry. Critics exploded in high dudgeon because he wrote to one priest who was apparently guilty of serial abuses that his ministry had been a blessing to “many people.” No doubt his ministry, despite all, had been that. The repentant priest is still a brother in Christ and ontologically—as in “a priest forever”—still a priest. The critics would not forgive the Cardinal for not being as mean–spirited as they are.

Think Low

Yet it was right, and it was necessary, that he step down. He had lost his ability to communicate effectively, and communication, as in being a teacher, is the first responsibility of a bishop. In addition to the pressure of hundreds of lawsuits and a financial crisis pointing toward bankruptcy, there was the relentless, indeed merciless, determination of the media to give him every blame of the doubt, led by the Boston Globe, which is salivating to outdo its parent company, the New York Times, in the winning of Pulitzers and other plaudits bestowed by journalistic peers. We should and should not blame the media. On the one hand, without the media we would not know what went so very wrong in Boston and elsewhere. On the other hand, they have been vicious, dishonest, and guilty of violating the most elementary rules of journalistic ethics, if indeed one can still speak of journalistic ethics with a straight face.

The Rev. Gomes speaks of “a climate of hysteria and manipulation that has been created and sustained for nearly a year.” He adds, “Where we might have hoped for a level of calm analysis and civic, even civil, discussion of the case in all of its humanity and complexity, we have been given little more than banner headlines, orchestrated press conferences, serial fascination with priestly deviancy, and plaintiff strategy.” Headlines routinely trumpet as “news” what is no more than the latest charge by lawyers who have lined up more than five hundred clients to bring suit against the Boston archdiocese. Think low. We’re talking money, really big money, here. Every day lawyers, reporters, victim organizations, and a passel of disgruntled priests became more and more explicit; they were set on bringing down Cardinal Law, they would settle for nothing less than blood. The Rev. Gomes again: “The victims would have themselves a victim; the lawyers would be able to proceed without credible opposition in the search for compensation; liberal voices for reform in the Church would see a nemesis removed; and the press would have brought down a mighty figure in a near–Watergate victory with Pulitzers all around.”

Boston is a peculiar place. The Brahmins who once indisputably ran “the hub of the universe” and still control the media have never really accepted the presence of the great unwashed of Irish and Italian immigration. Catholic politicians, prosecutors, and judges who want to ingratiate themselves with the establishment seem to vie with one another to prove themselves as anti–Catholic as their betters. This is the country of Kennedy Catholicism, formed by that dynasty’s creed that the ethnic accident of religion must never be permitted to interfere with the real world of ambition. Of course there are devout Catholics of influence in Boston, but, with a few honorable exceptions such as Mary Ann Glendon of Harvard Law School and Raymond Flynn, the former mayor, they were strangely silent throughout this ordeal. It is not that they should have defended the Cardinal’s errors, but they could have protested the climate of hysteria and manipulation, they could have called for elementary fairness and decency. Just once more, the Rev. Gomes: “Those who not long ago were pleased to be pictured with the Cardinal, kissing his ring and attending his charitable events and proud to be known as archdiocesan insiders, now, like the disciples on Maundy Thursday, have forsaken him and fled.” The Cardinal did not always act the role of a Christ figure in this drama, but the rest of the analogy holds. To the great shame of the Catholic lay leadership of Boston.

Media Collaborators

Then there are the clergy of Boston. The press, when trying not to be too egregious in gloating about its triumph, gives a measure of credit to others. Here is a story reporting that “the end was in sight when his strongest supporters, the priests of Boston, called for his resignation.” Not quite. Not by a long shot. Fifty–eight priests signed that call. There are 887 diocesan priests in Boston and another 715 priests of religious orders. The fifty–eight priests are, as Captain Renault says in Casablanca, “the usual suspects.” Among them are longstanding advocates of gay causes, habitual ranters against Rome’s putative oppression, and those who go far beyond respectful dissent in publicly declaring that authoritative teachings of the Church are simply false. However useful they were to the media story line, their utterly predictable opposition to the Cardinal carried no weight at all. As one veteran priest put it, “Some of us might have signed a letter asking the Cardinal to consider resignation, but in no way were we going to associate ourselves with those guys.”

Whoever succeeds Law as archbishop should, it has been suggested, keep that list of fifty–eight handy, for they represent the subculture of infidelity that is the source of priestly miscreance in doctrine and life. Why should anyone be surprised that scandals result when priests and teachers of theology make no bones about saying that the Church does not mean what it says about sexuality, celibacy, chastity, and sacred vows, or when they publicly declare that the Church is just wrong in what it teaches? And why are they still priests and teachers of theology? These are questions that Cardinal Law and too many other bishops apparently have not asked, or at least have not answered with clarity and firm resolve.

The press appears to temper its self–congratulation also by attributing the Cardinal’s resignation to lay agitations. An organization called the Voice of the Faithful (VOTF) is routinely described as “rapidly growing.” Over the months, the figure given for its national membership varies between 25,000 and 45,000. Apparently nobody knows. There is little evidence that VOTF has expanded beyond the familiar activist orbit of Call to Action, We Are Church, and similar groups pressing an anti–Rome and anti–hierarchy agenda in the name of “Americanizing” Catholicism. And there is little doubt that, if Rome had perceived the problem chiefly in terms of a bishop under attack from rebellious laity and a cabal of maverick priests, Cardinal Law’s resignation would not have been accepted. In that case, Rome would likely have given assurances of support and told him to stay at his post and fight.

Cardinal Law brought down Cardinal Law. When the troubles began in January of last year, some urged him to take the initiative, to get the full story out quickly, and explain how and why the archdiocese had done what it did. But he didn’t do that, perhaps on the advice of legal and financial counselors. It might have made a big difference. His standing and credibility were then very high. As it happened, the media, and especially the Globe, called the tunes, and the Cardinal and archdiocese were playing defense all the way. Another way of putting it is to say that the Cardinal was brought down by the system that lifted him up to such an eminent place in that system. Call it clericalism or call it the hierarchical habits of mind that too often prevent cardinal archbishops from being bishops. They are elevated to the sphere of universal responsibilities, serving on sundry congregations and councils in Rome, negotiating ecclesiastical problems among the nations. Others are left to mind the diocesan shop. On many things for which the bishop is responsible, I believe Cardinal Law when he says he did not know what was happening in Boston. This problem, too, is very insightfully analyzed by George Weigel in The Courage To Be Catholic, undoubtedly the best book on what has gone wrong and what might be done about it.

No “Domino Effect”

Boston is Boston and, contrary to media hopes for a string of ecclesiastical Watergates, is not likely to precipitate a “domino effect” across the country. In some other dioceses, things will unravel in their own way and on their own schedule, depending in large part on the plans of prosecutors and of lawyers bringing suit. The legal action, including possible criminal actions, along with huge financial claims, is now gravitating toward the other coast, with the Archdiocese of Los Angeles being the prime target. One watches with interest whether West Coast scandal will sustain or revive such intense national interest. Both there and in the rest of the country, people are not easily scandalized by what happens in California. As important—and although the Los Angeles Times is no doubt hungry for a share of the journalistic prizes—there is not on the coast the concentration of high–powered media that dominate the Northeast, and the nation.

When Can We Move On?

This will go and on, and we must be braced for the duration. Bishops will cope as best they can. Archbishop Charles Chaput of Denver has provided a model of the vibrant orthodoxy that addresses the doctrinal deformations at the source of the scandals, provides a shepherd’s care for all the flock, and preserves the necessary bonds of trust between bishop and priests. Chicago, the archdiocese next largest to Los Angeles, has been relatively unscathed, and Francis Cardinal George has clearly emerged as the senior voice of the Church in the U.S., now that Cardinal Law and the late John O’Connor of New York are gone. Bishop John D’Arcy of Fort Wayne–South Bend has become an example for others. He had been an auxiliary in Boston and early on warned the archdiocese about the dangers of reassigning priests who had been “cleared” by St. Luke and other centers of putative expertise on sexual pathologies. Along with Anthony Cardinal Bevilacqua of Philadelphia, D’Arcy has been outspoken in warning against homosexuality in the priesthood. As the scandals began to break last year, he took the initiative in publishing a series of very persuasive articles in regional newspapers. (They are available free in booklet form by writing him at 150 East Doan Drive, Fort Wayne, Indiana 46806.) Then there is Bishop William Lori of Bridgeport, Connecticut, who was a member of the group that worked out with Rome the rules for dealing with abusive priests, and has demonstrated how they can work in a way that is both responsive to victims and fair to the accused. Other bishops might be mentioned, but suffice it to say that every diocese is different, and no other diocese is Boston.

There is Baltimore, for instance. William Cardinal Keeler released to the press a long list of names of priests who had over the decades been accused of some kind of sexual abuse. Many of them were retired and in nursing homes, many of them were dead. There were names of priests who had not been found guilty of any wrongdoing; nor was it claimed that the accusations were even credible. It was simply publicized that they had been accused, of something, by somebody, as long as forty years ago. Then there is the interesting Baltimore case of Father Maurice Blackwell. A black priest, he is something of a maverick and is popular with many, as mavericks often are. A young black man, Dontee Stokes, now age twenty–seven, walked up to Fr. Blackwell on the street and shot him three times. He claimed that when he was a teenager he had been sexually abused by Fr. Blackwell. Fr. Blackwell has not been charged with wrongdoing.

After the shooting, Cardinal Keeler very publicly befriended Stokes and his family. At Stokes’ trial for attempted murder and other serious charges, Cardinal Keeler testified on his behalf. Stokes was acquitted of everything except a couple of minor gun offenses and is expected to serve several months of probation. All agree that the national scandal of priestly sex abuse weighed heavily with the jury. The prosecutor was outraged by the decision. The word is now out, he said, “In Baltimore City, if you have a difference with someone, you can settle it by shooting [him].” Others observed that in Baltimore it is now open season on priests. After his release of the list of infamy and his role in the Stokes trial, Cardinal Keeler is receiving very favorable reviews in the press. The Baltimore Sun has declared him “an example of openness and transparency.”

And so it is that bishops are—with varying degrees of competence and ineptness, of courage and cowardice, of forthrightness and pandering—responding to sins, crimes, and other shames in their local churches, none of which is Boston but none of which is unaffected by what has happened in Boston. Out of all this, one continues to pray and hope, will come purification and renewal, although the signs of that springtime are still far off. I see that the editor of Commonweal is weary of my “mantra–like” call for fidelity, fidelity, fidelity. I’m sorry about that, but I can’t get over the idea that, if priests and bishops had been faithful to the teaching of the Church and their sacred vows, there would have been no scandal in the first place. And the closely related idea: that the responsibility for the shameful fact that some, and not just a few, were not faithful rests primarily with bishops. Until there is evidence that more of them are seeing it, I suppose some of us will just have to go on saying it. Fidelity, fidelity, fidelity. I think of it not as a mantra but as a prayer. Everybody is eager for healing, reconciliation, and moving on. But none of that will happen except on the far side of an answer to that prayer.