Survivors' Voices: Meeting with the Bishop, Part 2
Today’s post continues on the topic for November, a topic that feels especially timely to me after a conversation I had with a dear friend last week. This survivor just had a phone call with a bishop, and it did not go well, to say the least. My heart breaks all over again every time I hear stories like hers, stories of those who are meant to be shepherds of the Church only inflicting more harm.
If you need a little dose of hope today (don’t we all?), scroll down to the final reflection on this post - one small glimpse of what is possible when bishops truly behave like loving shepherds.
(In case you missed it, you can find Part 1 here.)
If you have experienced sexual abuse in the Catholic Church, I would be honored to include your perspective in this “Survivors’ Voices” series. You can find more information and express your interest here.
My meeting with the archbishop came after calls with the attorney general, my local prosecutor's office, the diocesan coordinator and the Diocesan Review Board (Interrogation Panel). The meeting with the archbishop was really at the end of another meeting. Someone told me that he knew I was there and wanted to meet me. It was awkward at best. He stared into my eyes, said sorry, stared some more. I just said thank you and backed away.
Initially, I wrote a letter to the archbishop. My heart longed to hear my bishop tell me it wasn't my fault and that I wasn't going to hell. Instead, I got a voicemail from him saying he had shredded my letter. I was devastated. When I reached out a second time, asking to meet with him, he told me someone from his office would be getting in touch with me to schedule a meeting, but that never happened. I was so discouraged and angry. To this day, whenever I see his name or people mention him as a "good and holy bishop," I can feel my blood boiling.
I talked to one of our regional bishops about the fact that there is still a bust of my abuser in the church vestibule. This is two years after I reported, and after at least three other victims came forward. The street and a meeting center are still named after him. This bishop’s answer was that there are some other priests under investigation in the diocese, so they do not want to release new names until these cases are settled. Needless to say, I am very disappointed.
I was nervous but happy to be able to meet with the bishop in 1997. He had a very good reputation, and I was confident he would handle my case of multiple rapes by a Catholic priest. I had become pregnant and gave my baby up for adoption. He listened, and I provided the proof. He wept and assured me the priest would be put in a monastery for the rest of his life. When this did not happen, I wrote to the bishop over a two-year period. He always wrote back reassuring me of his decision (just long enough for the statute of limitations to expire). Finally, the priest was moved to another country to avoid criminal or civil action. I finally went public on YouTube in 2020 and have been threatened and intimidated by other priests and laity. I have since spoken to other victims from the group, the Society of St. Pius X. This bishop has covered up hundreds of cases.
In 2014, I reached out to my diocese and several local newspapers to report what I knew about an abusive cardinal and heard absolutely nothing from anyone. When the news broke in 2018, I was asked why I didn’t say anything. I DID.
While it was an extremely difficult thing, and it did not have the ultimate outcome I wanted, I am incredibly grateful for the meeting I had with my archbishop. While it was very tense, and I didn’t see the compassion or care I had hoped to, there were moments when I know that I saw his heart. Past all the fears and defenses, I saw a man who was trying to understand. I saw a man who was woefully uneducated about trauma and abuse, who now was tasked with making these decisions. I saw that it wasn’t that he was trying to cover things up or brush things a way, but that he was genuinely trying to make sense of the situation. I think he believed me - or wanted to - on one hand, but he also believed his priest. I think the face-to-face meeting was such an important thing. It allowed him to see who I am, to know me as a person and therefore, not someone he could just easily dismiss. It allowed me to have a glimpse into his heart. Through all the struggle and ugliness that has come since then, it has helped immensely to be able to hold on to that.
After going through my savings, my IRA, and my husband’s IRA in order to pay for treatment to help me with the fallout of ten years of rapes by Catholic clergy and others they were associated with, I ran out of money for the out-of-pocket treatment costs I required, so I applied for the diocese compensation fund. They accepted my claim, but only offered me $25,000 as full and final settlement… for ten years of rapes. I had no choice but to reject that offer as it wouldn’t last even two years. I considered approaching the diocese where the abuse occurred, but I’d heard so many horror stories from other survivors who had attempted that route - where the bishops and/or their representatives or associates had shamed, blamed, or used other forms of intimidation tactics on them - that I decided to not add to my already crushing trauma. I am 69 years old and have required intensive treatment for decades. I’ve worked hard to survive and become at least minimally functional. The last thing I need is to be set back to the stone age by an institution whose track record for meaningfully helping survivors has been dismal at best, and destructive at worst, based on what several other survivors have told me. If the Church truly cared about us survivors, they would not beat us up with manipulation, intimidation, and other methods meant to minimize our plight or reject our pleas for help, nor would they offer such inadequate recompense.
One of my greatest regrets in the whole reporting process was that I complied when I was told not to go into the details of the abuse in my meeting with the archbishop, because it “would be too much for him.” I didn’t realize fully at the time how wounding that was, how isolated it made me feel, that they were unable to even hear these things that I lived through, that I still deal with everyday. If I could do one thing over, I would tell him the whole story. It might not have made any difference, but I think I would feel better, having spoken my truth, and not given into the idea that I had to hide what had happened to me.
I reached out to our new bishop. I sent a simple e-mail explaining I was abused by a priest and asked if I could meet with him just once. He replied to me that very day and said yes. I was soooooo nervous. I had never met with a bishop at the chancery before, and I was all alone. To my delight (and healing), he met me with humility and treated my story with great gentleness. He gave me the time I needed. My heart breaks for the thousands of survivors who have been treated like garbage and/or a burden/inconvenience by bishops. What started as a one-time meeting, has turned into monthly meetings since January of 2014. I have experienced tremendous healing and freedom. My bishop has heard the most vulgar of language from me and the deepest cries of my heart. He has held my pain with deep reverence. I wish all the bishops would learn from his example.
Dear readers, I am grateful for your presence in this space and for your willingness to listen to these stories of pain and resilience and disappointment and hope.
May we all keep listening and learning.
~ Sara