Recently my parish celebrated its 25-year anniversary. I didn’t expect that it would be an occasion of so many mixed emotions for me. It has turned out to be quite bittersweet. After all, the merger that joined four parishes in my hometown is what set in motion the events leading to me being sexually abused by a priest. While I never intended to say anything about how I have been feeling as of late, something has been stirring in my heart, urging me to write my thoughts down.
Will my fellow parishioners actually see and read this letter? Probably not. Honestly, I’m not sure how many members of my church read this blog let alone know about it. That’s not really the point. As Catholics, we know that our faith isn’t all about the social aspect of things. Rather, it centers around Jesus and the Eucharist. That being said, parish communities can have big and lasting impacts on its members. This includes clerical abuse victims. Catholics either serve as the hands and feet of Christ on earth or not. Their responses to abuse situations can oftentimes “make or break” a victim.
This letter only relays the experiences of one Catholic directly affected by the abuse scandal. Others have had different experiences. I recognize that, all things considered, I came out of my own trauma relatively “lucky.” Even if everyone in my own parish wasn’t always loving and supportive, I was at least surrounded by love and support in my home during my times of greatest need. Sadly, not everyone has that.
My hope and prayer in sharing this letter is that other clerical abuse survivors who are struggling might be validated in whatever they are feeling. I also hope that Catholics (victims or not) can read this letter and 1) gain a better understanding of what victims go through and 2) understand more clearly how the actions of a church community can help or hurt a victim.
Dearest Fellow Parishioners,
I never intended to write this letter. Yet, here I am pouring my heart out to you, my All Saints Parish family, and it is most unexpected even to me. Over the years, I have discovered that God oftentimes calls us to do the very things that we have tried to talk ourselves out of because we are afraid. I read somewhere that the phrase “do not be afraid” is found in the Bible 365 times as a daily reminder to focus on Our Lord and trust in Him. With that in mind, I speak to you openly, freely, and without fear as, not only a lifelong member of All Saints Parish, but as a survivor of clerical abuse.
I love my Catholic faith. By the grace of God and with the help of many holy people, I have held onto that faith despite many obstacles that have nearly caused me to abandon it. I have been keenly reminded of this as our parish celebrates its 25-year anniversary. Some anniversaries are beautiful. Others can be full of pain. Still others are bittersweet, a mix of joy and sorrow. For me, our parish’s anniversary is a bittersweet one.
It hardly seems possible that so many years have passed since the four parishes in town merged to form our community. We said painful goodbyes to St. George’s, St. Rita’s, St. Michael’s (and to a much lesser extent St. Joseph’s) and came together under one roof to form All Saints.
Even though I grew up as a part of St. Joseph’s Parish and so maintained the church building of my childhood, saying goodbye to all the churches that I had grown fond of was painful. Even as a 14-year-old, I found the changes that followed to be a bit overwhelming. I can only begin to imagine how painful the closings were for those of you whose families had been parts of those communities for generations! There was a lot of pain, hurt, and uncertainty as we celebrated our first Holy Mass together as the All Saints community.
While our relationship with God should always come first as Catholics and the sacraments keep our flame of faith alive, we do form special bonds with the people within our church communities. They become our spiritual families. We share traditions and form new ones. We pray with one another, celebrate together, worship together and, most importantly, participate in the sacraments together. Yet, when something so familiar such as our parish home (with all its traditions and memories) is taken away to make way for something new, it is truly painful. Sadly, with a shortage of practicing Catholics and good, holy priests, this has become all too common.
I am sure that the 25th anniversary of All Saints Parish has been met with mixed emotions for many within the parish. Certainly, it is a joyous occasion for a community that has endured and overcome so much. Yet, I am also certain that many of us can’t help but also grieve. This is certainly true for me. After all, the merging of the four parishes was the start of the most painful years of my life. However, those years (however painful) were also the years that led to tremendous beauty and growth.
Many of us have suffered, not only for the church, but because of the people from the church.
In the bulletin commemorating the parish’s anniversary, our pastor, Fr. Chris, who has become both a spiritual father and like a brother to me, wrote something that struck me to the core. He said,
“There have also been sorrows, disappointments, and defeats. Some of us may have a lived experience of the great Catholic author Flannery O’Connor’s insight: ‘You will suffer as much from the church, as you will for the church.’
That profound statement is full of truth! I can personally attest to that. I know many of you can as well.
As the opening procession for the anniversary mass moved down the aisle, I saw my own precious son (a dedicated altar server) holding the candle followed by the current and former priests and deacons who have served All Saints Parish. Bishop Reed (who I have known since the merger back when he was still Fr. Reed) briefly stopped by our pew with a cheery smile and greeting before processing onwards. As soon as he walked on, I broke down in tears. It was as though all the sadness, the agony, and the joys of the last 25 years came rushing to the surface in that moment.
I recalled the good and the bad. I fondly remembered the years I spent as a child growing up around a loving church family – the masses, First Saturday devotions, the rosaries, Eucharist Adoration, Family Holy Hours, and being around the church “regulars” who have sadly passed on since then (Lenore, Srs. Lydia, Madeline, Gertrude, and Florence, Bob, Richard, Arline, Auria, and Al to name a few). With love (and a bit of laughter) I remembered watching my three brothers serve Mass together. They would often elbow each another awake when, much to my mother’s dismay and embarrassment, one would nod off during long homilies.
I remembered the priests and the nuns who played such pivotal roles in my spiritual formation. With such tenderness, I remembered the time spent with my family (my parents and three brothers) at that church. I remembered proudly watching my beloved oldest brother, Matthew Johnston, walking in the procession before the very first mass commemorating the newly joined parishes all those years ago. In his final years on earth, Matt was an altar server, sexton, and lector. It always impressed me that a young man like him chose to dedicate extra time to Jesus. He had the influence of our parents of course, but I also believe that the people we were around on a regular basis (especially at our parish) had a big impact on him as well.
With sorrow I remembered burying Matt from All Saints Church after his unexpected passing due to a heart condition. I remembered the church full to the brim, people coming to pray with us and say goodbye to a truly incredible young man. Matt’s life had made such an impression on so many. At the recent anniversary mass, the cantors sang “Ave Maria” after Holy Communion. It was breathtaking! Yet, the same notes from the “Ave Maria” that I played on the violin from the choir loft while looking down at Matt’s casket still seemed to linger in the air. With gratitude, I remembered the parish community that rallied around my family as we grieved Matt’s death. We did not grieve alone!
I also remembered the indescribable pain I experienced at the hands of a man who never should have been a priest. 23 years ago, I was raped. 23 years ago, my childhood was stolen from me in the cruelest possible way at the very place I loved so much. I ceased to be the innocent and carefree little girl I had been until then. For a good part of a year, I held my secret deep within my heart.
My heart aches to remember the response of the parish family I loved so dearly when the truth finally came to light. Some believed me, rallying around my family and me once again as we faced yet another a difficult path. Those individuals protected me, supported me, and comforted me. Others – people who I had loved, admired, and respected – turned against me, won over by the snares of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I remembered how parishioners gathered outside the church in my rapist’s behalf, urging people to support him. I remembered the pain, the betrayal, the anger and, yes, the hate that crept into my heart.
Accepting that a spiritual leader has not been what they should be is not easy to say the least. It’s humbling to admit that you were wrong about someone. The truth is that an abuser not only grooms his victims, but he also grooms the entire community. This was definitely true at All Saints. My rapist groomed the entire community. For many people, that kind of betrayal was probably too much to accept and so they sided with the abuser instead of the abused.
I remembered leaving my beloved All Saints Parish to attend another Catholic church in town but never feeling as though I truly belonged. Continuing to practice my faith was tough enough after what I had endured. It was compounded by the fact that, once you’ve found a place to call home, it’s really difficult to uproot yourself and start over. During that painful period, I came to realize what loving and serving God is truly all about. It’s not just about the church building and it’s not just about the people you worship with. It’s about Him. Our Heavenly Father is always the main focus. Even when human beings fail us as they do sometimes, Our Lord never fails.
A parish community led by faithful, holy priests can truly make a huge difference in your faith life. They can lift you up and walk with you on your faith journey.
I grew and matured through it all, learning to trust my Heavenly Father and surrender completely to Him. He and His Blessed Mother carried me through. They continue to do so. Even today, I am still a work in progress!
I recalled slowly coming back to the parish of my childhood. It took time, patience, and a lot of prayers and tears. I remembered the agony giving way to the light of beauty when Our Lord showed me that there is beauty in suffering and that there is always hope. Over time, I came back to my All Saints family again. I learned to forgive those who had failed me, including my rapist. Despite the sadness and uncertainly of returning to All Saints Parish, I am so glad that God gave me the grace to come home to the family I had never fully stopped loving.
I am grateful and honored to be a part of my All Saints family along with my own family. Watching my husband and children grow in their faith in the same church where mine grew in the beginning has been indescribably powerful, beautiful, and even healing. I am reminded that Jesus truly does always win and by the grace of God we are all here today. Whatever our personal stories are, we have survived, and we have thrived. Praise God! Everything (good or bad) that has come our way has been an opportunity to respond with holiness, to be saints. Truly, we are all saints. Holiness is possible.
I am certain that I don’t speak for myself when I say that being a member of the Body of Christ is not always easy. Loving others can be challenging. People (lay people and priests alike) sometimes fail us. They might even unexpectedly turn on us. We sometimes disagree. Sometimes we try to lovingly offer correction and guidance to our fellow members who have strayed. Yet, what we intend to be an act of love, winds up hurting them or pushing them away. We might even lose friendships. The truth is that no parish family is perfect. We aren’t going to please everyone. Ultimately, we are here to serve God and God alone. We can, however, always serve Him and others with love and joy.
By the grace of God, Catholics are called to persevere both personally and as communities. That’s what saints do! They don’t give up. They keep right on striving for holiness, right on loving, giving, speaking up in love when necessary, and moving forward, always keeping the ultimate goal of our Heavenly home in sight.
As I gazed around the room at the anniversary gala dinner, I saw so much joy! I was also hit by the realization that every member of this parish family has suffered. We have all suffered personally and as a community. What affects one of us affects us all. When one grieves, so does another.
The two beams of wood forming the cross remind us that we can’t have love of God without having love for others. The vertical beam symbolizes our love for God while the horizontal beam represents our relationships with others. We need both beams to be nurtured sufficiently. If they are not nurtured, the cross becomes imbalanced and can fall over. We can’t have one beam without the other because then we wouldn’t have a cross. The goal is always to keep the cross raised up high with the two beams joined together by love, love for both God and neighbor.
I love my Creator. Of course, He knows that I have not always shown it, but I am always asking for the grace to do better. Today, however, I want you, my parish family, to know that I love you.
To other survivors (whether you have come forward or not) or to anyone who has been directly affected by the failings of some priests and parishioners, please know that you are not alone. There is hope and there is healing. I pray for you in a special way.
To those of you who have been there for my family and for me, thank you. You will never know how grateful I am to you.
To those of you whose example has helped keep me focused on the path to holiness, thank you.
To those of you who chose to believe him rather than me, I love you. I forgive you for the pain you have caused.
To those of you who have taken your anger out on me, I love you. I forgive you.
To the priests who failed the flock or hurt others (including my rapist), to the priests who turned away from God and who failed in their vocation, I love you. I forgive you and I pray for you every day. Years ago, as a small child, I prayed that the Blessed Mother would allow me to suffer for priests. I believe that she gave me the grace to make that request and to this day I do not take it lightly.
To the priests who have inspired me, been spiritual fathers to me, prayed for me and with me, wept with me, brought me the sacraments, brought me closer to the Lord and His Church, I can never thank you enough. Thank you for your faithfulness, for your holy example, and for guiding me to the foot of the Cross. I love you.
Thank you, Lord, for the incredible gift of All Saints Parish and for always being with us in our uncertainties, hopes, joys, sorrows, and victories. We are grateful for the gift of your Cross and for the opportunity to become saints so that one day we can share in your eternal joy and peace.
I am grateful to you, my fellow parishioners, that we are all together on this journey towards Heaven. Let us always strive for holiness. May our parish community always be a place where God is encountered by others. Let us always run to Jesus and use our gifts to lift one another up in love, support, and prayer even in times of trial and persecution.
I am not saying that it’s going to be easy. The saints show us that the path to Heaven isn’t an easy one. Like them, let us accept the many graces that Our Lord has to offer us. Let us take courage and join with one another as we move forward towards our mutual destination. In the words of the great St. John Bosco, “Courage! Onward, ever onward!”
Love and prayers,
Faith
