Being part of a Church broken by sex abuse and lies

Imagine you were violently attacked and dropped off a balcony into a dark alley, and somehow you survived. Your body is broken, bloody, mangled; you are twisted and contorted into a mess upon cracked asphalt. Your arms and legs are shattered. The most private parts of you have been violated. All of your muscles ache as if they are being stabbed with a thousand spears.

You are gasping for life, for help. You feel all alone. You are helpless. You see no way out.

This broken body is yours. It is everyone’s who is a member of the Roman Catholic Church. The horribly broken, disfigured, wounded, twisted and mangled Church. The Church is the Body of Christ and we are the Church; we are the broken Body of Christ.

This body, the broken and disfigured and hurting body, is the Church that I have dedicated my life to as a Franciscan Sister. This is the body I love. I would not be me without my participation in this body: at this point, I can’t imagine my life in any other form.

And, when all the wounds are festering, infected — when it is apparent that this body is disfigured and ugly — it is only appropriate for each of us to struggle. To lament. To feel violently angry. To weep. To demand change.

The wounds of the body of Christ — the Church that I love dearly — have been exposed over and over in my lifetime. They first appeared when I was a college student and falling in love with the body, when I was being fed and experiencing a sense of belonging in its arms. And now, again, within the past week, when the results of the Pennsylvania Grand Jury investigation into sexual abuse and cover-ups became public, it has become visible to the masses how truly sick and broken this body is. It can be an ungodly sight, too awful to look at that. So ugly that a temptation nudges me to turn away, to decide that I can’t be part of it, that I want nothing to do with it, that it simply hurts way too much to be near the brokenness, the festering wounds.

But I can’t divorce myself from the body to which I belong. And, I know that the body cannot heal or become strong again without tiny little me being a part of it, either.

I am disgusted. The corrupt state of my body is due to the failure of those who are meant to be representatives of its head. Made sleazy by power and sickened by an evil that twists the sacred and holy — sexuality, service, sacramentality — into demons of torture and doubt, these men have damaged the body that helps me know meaning and belonging.

And for other members of the body, their pain is greater than anything I could know. They have been made powerless by those in power, they have been tortured by those who were supposed to be instruments of healing and peace. No attempt to make things right by any other member of the body will ever be an adequate response to their pain. Their voice of courage is a gift of hope to the rest of us. My chest aches with the sorrow of loss as separation is inevitable.

The body is likely to remain permanently disfigured. I don’t know how I could ever defend its goodness and beauty to the little ones again — to the members who have been hurt the worst; to those who have lost their faith and trust that the body is made for healing, not harm. They have every reason to argue with me if I try to teach them that the body is good and holy. I wonder if the body will ever be strong again, but I can’t stop thinking about how the body is made whole only through its weakness. The agony of paradox is disorienting and frustrating right now.

Except, somehow, below all the pain and misery is a feeling that is deeper and stronger than any other: I still love this body. I do believe in its goodness, its holiness. I know that many —most — of its members are willing to love to the point of self-sacrifice, they are willing to lay down their lives for their friends and enemies. Joy and love radiate from the face. A mercy flows from the wounds. Compassion runs through its still beating heart. Its lips are uttering constant prayers for forgiveness, for help, for reconciliation and peace.

Eventually, grace can uplift the body and help it from the concrete. But it will take a lot of work and repentance, a lot of restructuring and consideration of what caused the body to get to such bad shape. It will take a rescue from the Holy Spirit and all the angels and saints, before it goes off for a stint in reconstructive surgery and rehab. No matter how the recovery process goes the scars will be ugly; the body will forever wear the history.

Those days are a long way off, I am afraid. For now, we pause to admit the truth. We are broken and disfigured. We need help and healing. Much must change. But for now, the body is broken. The body is weak. The body is a mess of struggle. And it’s awful.

Photo by Ricky Turner on Unsplash
RESOURCES FOR READERS ON CATHOLIC SEX ABUSE

Pope Francis’ Letter to The People of God about the sex abuse crisis. August 20, 2018

Pennsylvania Grand Jury Report

LCWR Statement on Sexual Abuse by Clergy

Statement of Catholic Theologians, Educators, Parishioners, and Lay Leaders on Clergy Sexual Abuse In the United States

U.S. Church’s Response to Sex Abuse Shows Progress, but Questions Remain (A Timeline of the Catholic Church’s Response to Abuse Allegations Dating Back Several Decades) Catholic News Service. August 17, 2018.

“Prayer for Angry Catholics” by James Martin, S. J. America. June 6, 2012.

“For Catholics, Gradual Reform is No Longer an Option” By Kathleen Sprows Cummings, NY Times, August 17, 2018

Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests 

Take Action: Stop Child Sexual Abuse

If you see child sexual abuse, have a reasonable suspicion of sexual abuse or your child has been sexually abused, call 911 or your local police immediately.

If you suspect abuse, call the National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-4-A-Child or visit the Child Help Hotline. Trained crisis operators staff the lines 24/7 to answer your questions. If necessary, they will show you how to report in your local area.

Child pornography is a federal crime. If you see or suspect images that may be child pornography, report it to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children CyberTip Line.

Remember! The antidote to spiritual amnesia

Recall a moment from your life when God felt very close; when you had a powerful experience of God’s presence. It might have taken place at home, at work, in church, in a classroom, on a retreat or in nature. What do you remember of the experience? How old were you? Where were you? Did it involve others? What gift did God give you in that experience?

The great feast the Church celebrates — the Body and Blood of Christ — places great importance on memory and invites us to remember all the things God has done for us, especially what God has done for us in Christ.

Each time we celebrate Mass, we gather to remember. This helps us to avoid what Pope Francis has called “spiritual amnesia.” When we have spiritual amnesia, we lose our memory of our personal salvation history and our “first love” with the Lord. When we have spiritual amnesia, we forget who we are and to whom we belong, and other things can begin to replace a living relationship with God.

Bible-flower-petals
Image courtesy freeimages.com

In the Book of Deuteronomy, Moses exhorts the people, “Remember!” (8:2-3, 14-16). “Remember how for 40 years now the Lord has directed your journey.” Moses says to the people, “Do not forget! Do not forget the Lord, your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt.” You faced dangers in the desert, and God directed your journey. You were thirsty, and God provided water. You were hungry, and God fed you with manna.

In the Gospel according to John, Jesus himself invokes this memory (6:51-58). He tells the Jewish crowds, “Your ancestors … ate [manna in the desert] and still died.” But “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever.”

At the Last Supper, itself a meal to remember God’s saving act in the Passover, Jesus said to his disciples, “This is my body. Take and eat. This is my blood. Take and drink.”

And then he said, “Do this in memory of me.”

For many years, when I heard “Do this in memory of me,” I thought of it simply as a commandment to reenact the meal, to have Mass, and to do it often. That is certainly part of it. But Jesus is also saying: I have been blessed, broken and shared. I have given my life for others.

Do this in memory of me.

You, my disciples, must also be blessed, broken and shared. Imitate me. Offer yourself to others. Love others as I have loved you.

Do this in memory of me.

This memory, made present in each Mass, is demanding. It took Jesus to the margins of his society and religious tradition where he loved and showed welcome to outcasts and sinners, and it took him to the cross.

Do this in memory of me.

Who in your life is a witness to a life blessed, broken and shared? Who offers themselves generously to others?

There are so many ways that disciples imitate Christ in this kind of generosity: in the gift of self to family, a partner, children, other loved ones or a friend; in a job or career; in the works of mercy and other acts of kindness done quietly and humbly.

At the same time, how are we called to greater love, generosity and sacrifice in memory of him? Here’s one thought: What bothers your conscience at work, at home, in your neighborhood or in our church? What do you want to do but don’t, because it seems too big to tackle or too big of a personal risk to take on? When we take that first step, the God who has always been faithful to us will be with us.

Remember what God has done for you, for us. The God who has been powerfully present in our lives. The God who frees us, loves us. The One who comes to us in bread and wine to nourish us, to give us life, at each Mass, and always.

Note from the editor: This blog post is a version of a homily that Fr. Luke Hansen, SJ, preached at the Church of the Gesu on June 18, 2017 (Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood) in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

ABOUT THE RABBLE ROUSER

Luke Hansen, SJ

Luke-Hansen-SJOriginally from Kaukauna, Wisconsin, Luke Hansen, SJ, has been a friend of Sister Julia’s since 2004 when they met at an airport on their way to serve in the Jesuit Volunteer Corps in California. Passionate about justice and peacemaking, much of his experience in ministry has been centered on serving adults and adolescents who are incarcerated. He now is studying in Rome at the Pontifical Gregorian University. (Photo credit: www.jesuits.org)

 

On Being Everywhere I Go

Credit: http://offthepage.com/2016/11/07/on-being-everywhere-i-go/
Credit: http://offthepage.com/2016/11/07/on-being-everywhere-i-go/

“No matter where you go…there you are,” stated the character Buckaroo Banzai in the 1984 cult film The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension. This troubling truism has become a bit of a mantra for me as I stumble through life.

I frequently have too much going on. In the flurry of activity, a nagging voice hums in the background, I can do this better, I could be more efficient, I should do this, I ought to do that.

One of my greatest sins is to put more faith in my ideas than I do in God. Recently, I did this when I believed if I changed a few parts of my life—the setting, my workload, my stress level—then….

[This is the beginning of an essay I wrote for Off the PageContinue reading here.]

Advent after Sandy

by guest blogger Jayne Pickett

Last night my sisters and I were sitting around the kitchen table sharing a celebratory dinner and conversation. Inevitably, the discussion turned to the effects of hurricane Sandy.

On the edges of our daily living there is a communal sadness as we hold deep in our hearts those whose lives after the storm will never be the same: the mother whose two small children were swept out of her arms, to their deaths, by the storm surge; a teacher who fights for life in the ICU, unaware that her husband and child drowned and were found dead on the lawn in their community.

These conversations are our way of grieving with those we know who have lost so much. They’ve lost memories, communities and loved ones to hurricane Sandy. While New Yorkers are resilient and determined, in our hearts, we cannot escape the effects of tragedy and devastation.

Nor do we want to.

While the news has moved on to other stories, Sandy’s story continues through the compassion of those near and far who continue to support and help the victims of the hurricane. At the high school where I teach (which was spared any damage), students decided to forego a planned celebration and instead send the money to a sister school in Staten Island that was devastated in the storm.

Other schools and universities in the area are pitching in through similar efforts or with labor for rebuilding. One of my own sisters ministers in a local hospital as a physician assistant and worked countless hours through the storm and continues to do so for misplaced and evacuated victims and patients of the city. Her story and our story are one of many efforts of generosity, caring, and concern for neighbors, friends and strangers which reveal a loving and active God mending brokenness and offering hope amidst tragedy.

In this Advent season we continue to grieve and search out ways to be hope for one another, to give to others so they can begin rebuilding, and to be thankful that we have each other and our God to see us through.

This week’s guest blogger, Jayne Pickett, is originally from Wisconsin, but has spent several years teaching high school in New York City. She is currently teaching in White Plains, N.Y., and is a candidate with the Presentation Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary.