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  Their Faith in God, If Not Men, Unshaken

By Natalie Pompilio and Joseph A. Slobodzian
Philadelphia Inquirer [Philadelphia PA]
September 25, 2005

They are among the Catholic Church's most devout: regular Mass-goers, generous givers, people who have made religion a centerpiece in their family lives.

And this week, they learned that some of the people who led Masses have admitted to molesting children, that their families may not have been safe within hallowed walls.

The 418-page grand jury report says the sexual abuse of hundreds of children was covered up by church leaders, including Cardinals John Krol and Anthony J. Bevilacqua. It details the acts of perversion allegedly executed by certain priests. Even a confessional was not a safe place for child, according to the report.

If an institution is only as strong as the people who support it, just how will the priest-abuse grand jury's findings of institutionalized misdeeds affect Catholicism in the Philadelphia Archdiocese?

Among the area's 1.5 million faithful, there was a range of emotions this week, including sorrow and anger, disgust, and a feeling of betrayal. Some say they are lost forever.

And that saddens people like Rita Ungaro-Schiavone.

Ungaro-Schiavone, 70, works with many churches and priests through her organization, Aid for Friends, which provides free meals and companionship to the housebound. A parishioner of St. Jerome's Roman Catholic Church, near her home in the city's Winchester Park section, she is personally acquainted with some of the priests accused of sex crimes. She has decided not to contact them to ask them about the allegations.

But she also knows "that the majority of our priests are good priests, moral, compassionate, caring," she said.

"If someone decides to not go to Mass anymore, that's like cutting off your nose to spite your face," she said. "We go to Mass to worship God, not to make a statement.

"Some people are saying, 'I won't go to church again. I'll stop giving money.' What good does that do? The leadership knows that problems existed, and they're trying to do everything they can to correct it."

Maryann Baranek of Northeast Philadelphia also said the idea of leaving the church was unfathomable. Her faith in God, she said, is still strong.

"A church is a lot of people," said Baranek, 69, who sent all eight of her children to Catholic schools. "There are sinners in every group, and here they are a small minority. I'm just sorry they were not brought to task and stopped."

Baranek said that church leaders were the focus of her anger. On Sunday she will be in her pew at Christ the King Church, she said, and she wants to see archdiocesan leaders there. She wants them to apologize, to promise that the church will protect children, and to tell parents what they should do if something horrible happens again.

"I'm not ashamed of the church at all, but I am ashamed of those leaders. I find them crueler than the perpetrators," she said. "The perpetrators are obviously sick. Those who covered up for them are sicker."

Mario Mele, 64, said his Catholic faith is part of his being, as much a part of him as his Italian heritage. Born in the Calabria region of Italy, he moved to Philadelphia at age 11 and attended Cardinal Dougherty High School.

There were 10 alleged abusers teaching at Cardinal Dougherty over the years, more than at any other archdiocesan facility. Among the accused was its principal in 1991-92.

Mele was taught by priests and said they always did well by him. His strong education helped catapult him into a successful career as a dental-insurance executive, former Montgomery County commissioner, and member of the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board.

Now he is one of the high school's top donors.

"Cardinal Dougherty was a very strong force in my life," said Mele, of Glenside.

The grand jury's report does not undo that good, he said. Although Mele is pained by the findings - "We're dealing with children. It's bad. It's hurts me, it hurts you, it hurts anyone," he said - he does not blame the Catholic faith. The sins were those of men, not deities.

"Whether we're priests or judges or physicians or lawyers, we're all human beings, and no one is perfect," Mele said.

Robert "Mike" Michalowski, 59, agreed. But his voice quavered when he spoke of the acts alleged in the report, some of which are credited to priests he knew from his school days.

"I feel betrayal," he said.

The Catholic Church, always part of his life, became essential in 1967, when he returned from the Navy permanently disabled after a shipboard gunnery accident. He settled in Port Richmond, where three Catholic churches along Allegheny Avenue serve different immigrant groups: St. Adalbert's, Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and Our Lady Help of Christians.

For 25 years, he has volunteered as a handyman at all three churches and participated in parish programs. He knows his Bible. He can't believe the church's spiritual guides do not.

"Don't they know their own Scripture?" Michalowski asked, citing the warning in the Gospel of St. Luke about introducing children to sin: "It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he shall give scandal to these little ones."

Michalowski will go to church Sunday to hear the letter from Cardinal Justin Rigali that is supposed to be read to congregations throughout the region.

But he doesn't know whether he will stay.

"Maybe I'll have to walk out," he said. "Maybe I have to go and sit in the park and say my prayers and forget the rest.

"When I die, anyway, I'll die alone."

 
 

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