Pope Francis has issued a public apology for comments made
against sexual assault victims during his papal visit to Chile. Former victims strongly assert that Chilean Bishop
Juan Barros knew about sexual assault allegations against the infamous abuser
Father Fernando Karadima and did nothing. Pope Francis originally called such
accusations calumny, a spiritually
charged term referring to the sin of spreading false and damning rumors. He also said their accusations were without proof.
When I first read about the incident on Twitter, I felt the familiar,
cold, pit in my stomach. Not again. I
prayed. And, please not this pope. I,
like many young Catholics, love Pope Francis. I once waited nine hour for the opportunity to
see him for thirteen seconds. And it was worth it. So you can imagine the crushing, sinking
feeling when I read that the man who I’d pinned so many hopes on took such a massive
step back on an essential, basic, moral issue.
(To be fair, Francis has been far from perfect on this issue in the
past. But this statement struck me as
especially callous.)
Then, I read a headline that he had apologized. Well, he sort of apologized. He recognized that his wording was
wrong. Lack of “proof” was the excuse
that Catholic bishops had given for decades for protecting serial abusers,
despite the fact that proof is almost impossible to produce in cases such as
this. So Francis said that he shouldn’t
have used proof, but rather evidence. Is
that better? I’m not sure. What did
strike me as relevant was that he appeared sincere in his regret for hurting
victims. He regretted appearing to “slap
them in the face.” He knew he had erred and
his sorrow seemed genuine. Nevertheless, he still believes Barros to be
innocent.
This indicated two things to me.
1) Pope Francis is willing to listen and admit
when he is wrong.
This is the essential difference between the
current pope and religious leaders of the past.
The willingness to apologize and the humility he has shown will set many
Catholic hearts at ease. No, he is not
trying to silence victims.
2 )He's still wrong.
These people have been proven honest once
before when all of their accusations turned out to be accurate. There is no
reason to believe they are mistaken now.
Pope Francis’ apology does little to change the reality for them: they
are bringing their needs to the Church and the Church isn’t listening. It’s the
whole disgusting cycle replaying over again.
Publicly declaring a “zero-tolerance policy” isn’t enough. Acknowledging victims as trustworthy- no, as worthy at all- this is what is
needed. Such a simple step, but somehow
so hard.
As a practicing Catholic in a largely secular community, I
know what comes next: the gauntlet. How can your religion let this happen? Again. Why can’t the just do the right
thing? What else are they hiding? I can normally dodge theses type of questions
with the simple assertion that Church leaders are people too and I don’t have
to answer for their choices.
But this only leads to the harder questions. If Church leaders are just people, why do you
follow the Pope? Is he special or isn’t
he? What’s even the point of being
Catholic?
At their root, the questions all boil down to a single
argument: If your religion were true,
the people most practiced in it wouldn’t lack basic morality. They do lack
basic morality, so your religion is false.
To be clear, in no way do I wish to imply that the worst
effects of the pope’s actions are my discomfort. The true fallout is the added
pain, suffering, and humiliation experienced by countless victims who only want
to be acknowledged and treated justly by the Church. But I can’t imagine that I
am the only Catholic who feels a sense of mounting frustration when Church
leaders commit these sins. Because I
wouldn’t do something like that, and I’m no moral hero. And now they’re
doing something publicly immoral and I’m
going to have to answer for it. This is
the stuff that has made many Catholics simply give up and leave the Church and
frankly, I don’t blame them. There’s
nothing like genuinely good people confronting you with spiritual questions to
which you have no answer to turn you off to your own faith. And it’s especially trying when the leaders
of our faith are the ones putting you in that position.
How can you believe someone is an infallible holy man if he
does something so obviously wrong? And
if he’s not infallible, doesn’t that take down your entire religion? Do you have to support blatantly corrupt
behavior in order to justify your faith?
And if you do, how do you do it?
More importantly, why do you
do it?
These questions often feel discriminatory and its easy to be
defensive and lash out in response. But
the truth is, they bring up feelings of anger and resentment not because they
are essentially wrong to ask (although not always asked in the kindest manner)
but because they are good questions. And we do
have to answer to them.
Here are a few things I say in response to common criticisms
of Church hierarchy.
1) The pope is only infallible under very
specific circumstances.
The doctrine of infallibility is one of the worst
understand of all Catholic doctrines, even amongst Catholics themselves. The pope is only infallible when defining a doctrine concerning faith or
morals, and then, only when he does so in a very specific way. The last time a pope spoke with doctrinal infallibility
was 1950 when Pope Pius XII declared that Mary was Assumed into Heaven. In other words, Pope Francis can easily be
wrong about his stance on Bishop Barros.
Popes can be wrong about most things, which is why the Church can and
has reversed its teachings on several issues throughout history.
2)
To be spiritually
ordained and morally good are not the same thing.
When a man becomes a priest, he undergoes the sacrament of Holy Orders,
in which he is anointed by the Holy Spirit as a priest of the Church. Christ then works through him to perform the
sacraments that are the bedrock of our faith. Because it is Jesus who works
these miracles, not the man, the moral state of the man has no bearing on their effectiveness. This means that if I receive communion from a
priest who protected a sexual abuser, or from an abuser himself, I am still
receiving my sacrament. (Although his own spiritual state is in no way redeemed
by this.)
This is the power of ritual. This
is the ancient pull that draws me to Catholicism and leaves more modern iterations
of Christianity feeling empty. What any
human being says or does will never compare to sacramental grace. It’s best for
all of us to just get out of the way and let that happen.
3) The Church’s ability to endure despite
humanity’s best efforts to destroy it is evidence of God ultimately being in
charge.
Look, at the end of the day, the Catholic Church really
shouldn’t still be around. Human beings
have done their best to run it into the ground for centuries to no avail. I’d posit they’ve gotten a lot of help from the
-um- other guy. And yet that Catholic
Church continues to grow worldwide. Perhaps it’s best to spend less time
answering for the sins of other people and more time marveling at God’s infinite
goodness.
I once met a young man who became a cloistered Catholic monk
after the minister at his Evangelical church was arrested for some financial
crime and the church closed after the scandal.
I had to laugh. “Your Church had a scandal so you became Catholic?”
He shrugged. “You guys never
close.”
No. We don’t.
So yes, I can be angry at the Church without having to leave
it. I can be outraged on behalf of
victims and still defend the institution wholeheartedly. And yes, I can still think the pope is fundamentally
morally wrong while falling at his feet in spiritual awe as he passes.
Because that’s how simply complicated genuine faith is. It’s why Catholicism is so essentially…
human.
