The lone wolf that plagues the Catholic Church — sexual appetite
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, a universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power
Must make perforce a universal prey,
And last eat up himself.
– Ulysses in Troilus and Cressida, Act 1 Scene 3
For many decades of my life, actually over many, many lifetimes, the Catholic Church has refused to turn in priests and nuns with known pasts of physically and/or sexually abusing children, women and men. The story was known for centuries only to those who on an off chance observed it or heard whispers or experienced or knew of it first hand. I and another family member knew it firsthand. As children and then as adults. We saw theses wolves up close. Nowadays it is known in as many corners of the world as the Catholic Church exists.
The current edition of this They-Prey-We-Pray scandal is replete with media bromides about apologies and resignations. These demands are just band aids on a mortal wound. Do these white-collared, black berobed clowns think such efforts will allow them to once again escape close scrutiny and sincere public penance and true acts of contrition? These times call for millstones, not policy statements driven by media strategies.
Much, much more may yet be revealed. But will the dam be breached and a valley-scouring filth flood follow?
Democracies have their pressure valves, as witnessed by BREXIT and the election of 45.
But the poor, suffering Church? Nope, or at least not yet.
In some distant time, historians may describe the extent to which clericalism had possessed and even suffocated the modern Church with its clerics’ seamless garments seen as mere cloaking devices for infidelity to doctrine and subtle efforts to subvert that doctrine’s imposition on its sinning shepherds.
For me, it’s all about their vows. It is a damn shame that the modern form of clericalism has had a homosexual thread in it. Due to its popularity and influence in secular institutions, it makes it all the harder to combat because of the invariable charges of homophobia, etc. It would have been far easier to uproot the system had the bastard priests been rogue heterosexualists like the many — yes, I said many — I knew back in the 60s and 70s or luxury-loving thieves of the collection plates. A Rat Pack Priesthood Mafia that worshipped Hugh Hefner would have been far easier to dismantle, especially in these days of “me too.”
After all, a breached vow is a breached vow is a breached vow, whether it is with a man, (which frequently leads to a boy), a woman, (which frequently leads to a girl), or a sheep. I am not referring to the rare and exceptional and singular lapse that we call sin. I am, however, referring to a broad and systematic covering up of the habitual acts and omissions of priests, nuns, bishops, mothers superior, cardinals and popes whose depredations have destroyed their faith but not their taste for their appetites and their luxury. Even the plurality of seminarians and priests and even bishops and cardinals who remained habitually faithful to their vows knew of the others and looked the other way for fear of retribution or loss of brand power in the eyes and wallets of the faithful. All institutions, even the Church, are like that.
Some not so modest and certainly immoderate proposals in response follow.
Pope Emeritus Benedict tells all. It is his duty, a duty he ran away from.
Pope Francis comes clean as well and fires the entire Curia. As a start.
Every bishop resigns. Their replacements in perpetuity take the vow of poverty. While waiting for that to happen (do NOT hold your breath) . . .
Every bishop and cardinal vacates his luxury digs, and they are put up for sale to the highest bidder; proceeds go to the parishes. These de-mansioned clerics then take up residence in the rectory of the poorest parish in his diocese. There’s plenty of room.
Yes, the above includes the Catholic Disneyland de tutti Disneylands — the Vatican.
Yes, sell this too.
Disband their staffs and send them to needy parishes, foreign and domestic, to serve the flock.
Every bishop makes a public statement of penance on his knees with two elements:
– this is what I knew or heard and this is when I learned or heard of it, and this is why I did nothing about it.
– I am not now and never have been sexually active, or if I have been then I beg forgiveness and vow to remain true to my vows and under supervision.
Slash Diocesan budgets with funds returned to the parishes for a revitalization of Catholic education. Social justice, like charity, begins at home.
Disband US Catholic Conference of Bishops. A waste of resources.
Disband all Diocesan media efforts. A waste of resources.
Not one cent should henceforth be contributed to the local Bishops’ Annual Appeal. Starve the beast. And the beast has taken up residence in the Chanceries. Starve these bastards.
Direct action in charity. All parishes are directed to adopt a parish in the global south or a poorer area of the diocese and start funding their needs directly and with lay supervision. Eschew the collection plates (approximately 8% of which now must go to the local diocese) for independent direct transfers, keeping in the parish only what’s necessary for the parish.
Streamline seminary training. Remember the 90 day officer wonders in WWII? The battlefield needs them now. Recruit them from the mature laity, those who have been in and through the world. These wet behind the ears types are worthless for the most part.
In the absence of the above, the Church should not be just reborn, it should be leveled like the Romans did Carthage. The evils are too great to be allowed to continue breeding.
To this day, and to shock of very few of you, I describe myself as 51% believer, 49% atheist. That small differential made all the difference to me in this most imperfect of worlds and times.
I used to balance my disgust of this Church of McCarrick, Shanley, Law, etc with the thought that it was also the Church of Augustine, Aquinas, Francis, Theresa of Avila, Day, Newman, Chesterton, Weil, and Gerard. Like any family, it had its good and its bad.
No more.
Fix it or put it to the torch.
Copyright © 2018 From My Isle Seat