Mary van Balen

As much as I would prefer to leave Sister Simone Campbell's joyful presence standing at the top of my blog posts for a few days, this story demands comment. On Thursday, Sept. 6, 2012, Bishop Robert Finn of the diocese of Kansas City-Saint Joseph, was found guilty of a misdemeanor count of failing to reportsuspected child abuse. Unlike most recent cases (see my blogpost on Msgr. Lynn's trial or the NYT's article on his conviction.) this offense occurred in 2011, ten years after the American Catholic Bishops made reporting such abuse part of their recommended policies. (I say "recommended" because in the end, the bishops answer only to the authority of the Pope.)

While this event marks the first time a bishop has been found guilty and sentenced in a civil court, something that gives me hope for future moves to accountability, the slight sentence of probation is a disappointment. Not that I take pleasure in seeing someone sent to prison, but the damage done to at least one boy and likely other children at the hands of a priest protected by his superior, is not reflected in the punishment given to Bishop Finn. It reflects a lack of understanding, putting the case in the best possible light, of children and the lifelong effects of such abuse. Bishop Finn should resign, and if he doesn't, he should be removed.  Read More 

Reading reports of the trial of Monsignor Lynn, the first Roman Catholic church official to be tried in the US in the sexual abuse scandal, I remembered a column I wrote two years ago that dealt with the issue of hierarchy culpability and the need for accountability and repentance. During that Holy Week news of widespread abuse in Europe and Ireland was making headlines. The column was never printed. I knew it would not be, yet I had to write it; I had to put into words the betrayal and frustration I, along with many other Catholics, felt.

Two years later, the news again is of complicity and cover up, but this time, an official of the Church is on trial. I say it is about time. The monsignor's defense claims that he passed the information on to the now deceased Cardinal Anthony Bevilacqua and others in the Philadelphia archdiocese. No matter. The cardinal is now beyond the reach of civil law, and the defense is the same "passing the buck" that we have heard for over a decade.  Read More 

PHOTO:MARY VAN BALEN - Saint John's Arboretum
At last. A bishop admitted that he did not report sexual abuse of children by priests and did not challenge the accepted Church practice of keeping such horrendous behavior within the institutional “walls.” Bishop James Moriarty of Kildare is not the first to resign over the abuse scandal in Ireland, but his candor and acceptance of personal culpability are refreshing, if late. He is a truthteller.

The Vatican can continue to berate the media for attacking the Pope and trying to bring down the Church, but pressure from the secular press is forcing the issue and compelling the Vatican to begin to deal with the issue.

Pope Benedict can continue to share his deep pain, praying and weeping with survivors and promising “church action,” but that is not all that is needed. We, the faithful, need more bishops to publicly acknowledge their complicity in the crimes and by implication, a longstanding accepted Church policy of cover-up and shifting offending priests around unsuspecting parishes.
We need the Vatican to admit to this institutional sin.  Read More 

"Show me where it hurts, God said, and every cell in my body burst into tears before His tender eyes."
Rabia - Eighth-century Islamic saint and poet*

When I read these words I thought of two women: Precious, from the movie of the same name and a former student whose funeral I had attended earlier that day. One was black, one was white. One still lived, one was dead at twenty-nine. Both were sexually abused and led lives overwhelmed with challenges and battles that for one, proved insurmountable.

I watched the movie with a friend I had met while working with young women, all victims of abuse of one type or another. For many of them, abuse began with sexual molestation as young children. As we walked out of the screening room, I became aware of the color not only of those of us leaving, but also of the line of people waiting for the next showing.

"Where are the WHITE people?" I asked. I have been seeing movies at this art theater for years and had never seen such lack of diversity. Does the general public think "Precious" is a movie for a "black" audience? I hope not. "Must be a fluke," I thought to myself.

“Maybe not,” I thought after I spoke to a young friend a week later. She had seen the movie at a large, multi-screen complex in the middle of an upscale shopping center. After talking for a while about the importance of the film and how moving it was, I ventured to ask the same question: "I don't want to sound racist, but I am wondering about the people in the theater. Was it a diverse crowd?"

"No, not at all. First, it was smaller than I thought. And almost everyone there was African American."

Another fluke? I hope so. The themes dealt with in "Precious" transcend race, economic status, and nationality. Being poor and Black complicates things in our society, but the reality of abuse knows no boundaries, and sadly, no one culture seems any better at dealing with it than another.

"In Black culture people sweep things like this under the rug," my young friend said. "Everybody wants to keep it a secret, and more and more people get hurt."

"All cultures sweep abuse under the rug," I replied. "Look at the Catholic Church; it did just that for years. Why? To protect the institution, the status quo? And the Church isn't alone. In some sick way, no one wants to look at and admit the scope of abuse or deal with its consequences."

That thought was reinforced when I read a newspaper article the following day about the lack of funding for women's shelters. Many abused women and their children are turned away, forced to return to lives increasingly scarred by domestic violence. In the coming year, more shelters will close, endangering hundreds of others.

We have to ask hard questions: Why is there insufficient funding to protect the most vulnerable among us? Why do we assign this problem to a particular race, faith, or nationality (usually not our own) when it exists everywhere? Why are we willing to avert our eyes rather than confront the truth?

"Precious" forces us to see a broken society and inadequacies of services for those in desperate need. The movie reveals the importance of good teachers in seemingly impossible situations. It makes us squirm when stereotypical reactions to obesity are challenged. It teaches us to look beyond surface realities to causes. It allows us to know a real human being that most of us would be happy to pass on the street and never see again. “Precious” reveals our common humanity and the dignity of those we are tempted to "write off" as a “drain on society.”

Every person has truths to teach, especially people from whom we expect little or nothing. Through all the pain, injustice, and suffering, “Precious” shows us courage, tenacity, and amazingly, hope, whose name is Love.
© 2009 Mary van Balen

* From “Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West.” trans. Daniel Ladinsky. New York: Penguin, 2002. p 2. Read More