BishopAccountability.org
	Crises Mark O'Malley's Reign By Marie Szaniszlo Boston Herald [Boston MA] July 3, 2005 Sixteen months into his two-year tenure as head of the archdiocese that was ground zero in the Catholic Church's sexual abuse scandal, the strain became evident in an open letter Sean P. O'Malley wrote to parishioners. "At times, I ask God to call me home," the archbishop confessed. This is one tough town. You know it when even O'Malley, a bearded, 61-year-old friar with more than a passing resemblance to St. Nick, can't get a break. But then this is Boston, where the bitterness runs only as deep as the betrayal. On a frigid December morning in 2002, Bostonians learned that Pope John Paul II had accepted the resignation of O'Malley's predecessor, Cardinal Bernard Law, who repeatedly had transferred priests who had molested children from parish to parish without notifying parents or police. By the time O'Malley took over seven months later - two years ago this week - he already had become adept at damage control, having been dispatched to Fall River and Palm Springs, Fla., in the wake of similar scandals. In his simple brown robe and sandals, "Archbishop Sean," as he prefers to be called, impressed people early on by choosing to live in the rectory of Holy Cross Cathedral in the South End and selling the Brighton mansion where several predecessors had lived. More importantly, he took decisive action to resolve the abuse crisis, reaching a multimillion-dollar settlement with victims within months. "I think he was in shock and in awe of what happened to our children," said Jenny Lucie, whose son was molested by a priest and who now runs a support group for other victims' families. "He blessed us. He blessed the house. He prayed with us. He asked for our help. It meant a lot because someone was finally taking the time to listen to us." The cost of the settlement, together with a dramatic drop in donations as a result of the scandal, had given rise to another crisis, however. The archdiocese was running an annual operating deficit of more than $10 million, and it had an unfunded pension liability of roughly $80 million. In May 2004, O'Malley announced his solution to that and to a worsening shortage of priests: a list of more than 80 parishes - roughly one-quarter of the archdiocese's 357 - that would have to close. Nothing he had encountered in Fall River or Palm Springs prepared him for the backlash that followed. Although more than 60 parishes have closed since then, others balked.To head off one sit-in, church leaders had the locks changed two days before graduation at a Brighton elementary school slated to close, only to back-peddle after a firestorm of disapproval. "He has squandered all of the good will that was his at the beginning," said Peter Borre, a member of the Council of Parishes, a group that has gathered the signatures of more than 2,300 Catholics urging the state attorney general to investigate whether church officials misspent money raised for priests' retirement. Through his spokesman, O'Malley has denied that the funds were misused and pledged financial transparency. But he has yet to make available a full accounting of either the archdiocese's finances or of priests accused of sexual abuse. "What he has allowed to continue is a culture of lawlessness shrouded in secrecy," said Susan Gallagher, member of Coalition of Catholics and Survivors.