The reviews are in and now it's official: The bishops bombed in Dallas.
According to a Washington Post poll, conducted by Richard Morin and
Claudia Deane, the U.S. bishops failed to strike a chord with their
simmering congregations. More than half the Catholics felt that the
bishops fell short in dealing with their big problem in the pedophile
scandal, namely, themselves.
It's not what they did but what they failed to do -- whether from a
reluctance to judge one another or a fear of Rome. No further proof of the
gulf between the priests and the pews is needed than the poll figures
about accountability in the hierarchy, which did not make it as an item on
the Dallas agenda. Large Catholic majorities said bishops should step down
if "they had ever transferred troubled priests to other churches rather
than report them to authorities." If they refuse to leave, they should be
removed, said the furious faithful.
Boston's Cardinal Bernard Law, who was present and voting at the
conclave, fits that profile perfectly. His serial transfer of brazen child
abusers, one of whom is on trial in Boston on rape charges, precipitated
the current scandal. The Boston Globe laid bare his record of coverup and
hush-money payments, which he has blamed on subordinates, parents and
victims. He has also claimed to have farmed out complaints to inattentive
helpers -- an act at variance with his wonted heavy hands-on approach to
his pastoral duties: He has decreed limits on the time and number of
eulogists at Catholic funerals and forbidden the singing of "Danny Boy,"
the anthem of many Boston Irish.
Cardinal Law's presence was a confusing and complicating factor in the
Dallas sessions. The new policy for pedophile priests manifestly did not
placate furious or anxious parents who love their children more than their
church. They had defrocking in mind. The bishops designed a kind of
Coventry for offenders: They are forbidden to wear the Roman collar, say
mass in public or undertake any ministries. The bishops' pledge to report
molestation charges to the authorities may make their promises
academic.
Nobody expected too much of the parley in Dallas, because a draft
issued in advance rejected the doctrine of "zero tolerance," much favored
by Catholics since they first heard of what was going on in rectories,
sacristies and even confessionals.
The primary problem was not the 252 bishops who gathered to hear
themselves scolded and humiliated before the whole world and to listen to
the stomach-turning testimony of victims who had suffered terror and pain
at the hands of men of the cloth. The overwhelming preoccupation of some
of them was St. Peter's.
The meeting began on a high note. The opening speech of Wilton Gregory,
president of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, was little short of
majestic. Father Gregory seemed to understand fully the gravity and
dimensions of the problem. In the name of the bishops, he made a handsome,
fervent, unconditional apology to the victims and their families: "How can
we bishops dare to look you parents in the eye and tell you that your
children are your greatest treasure if we do not also treasure them and
protect them?" he asked memorably.
But some of his eloquence fell away when he was asked on "Meet the
Press" about the failure to address the problem of culpable bishops. He
fell silent for a minute and then explained, starkly, that the Holy Father
does the hiring and firing of bishops.
The underlying problem, of course, is Rome. The bishops fear the papal
veto and the embarrassment, not to mention heresy, that could result. John
Paul II has been notably silent about the scandal of late. U.S. bishops
have registered with apprehension the signals from the Vatican. The pope's
inner council has suggested that the crisis is exclusively American and an
example of typical U.S. overreaction.
The pope, although he has trouble walking and talking, is dragging
himself to Canada and Mexico next month, and will no doubt demonstrate,
with spectacular crowds, his great charisma and the pull of faith. It
would be wonderful if, on his way from Canada to Mexico, he would stop off
at Ground Zero -- Boston -- and clear up a major mystery: Why is Cardinal
Law still in office? Is his handling of the scandal regarded in Rome as
exemplary?
One of the two brilliant lay speakers at the convention, Scott Appleby
of Notre Dame -- the other was Margaret Steinfels, editor of Commonweal --
urged the bishops to cast aside their fear of Rome: "Let Rome be Rome; it
will be, in any case."
The Holy Father would find another reason to minister to the devastated
Catholics of Boston: The good news in The Post's poll is that they, like
the faithful elsewhere, still believe in God and the church, although they
have lost faith in its present leadership.
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Mary
McGrory
