From my morning paper via the Washington Post:
On the most solemn day in the Roman Catholic calendar, a senior Vatican priest ignited a fresh chapter Friday in the debate over the priest abuse scandal by comparing criticism of the Church and Pope Benedict XVI to the historic persecution and "collective violence" against Jews.
I don't know.
It is so hard for me, seeing this article ... The Pope's Vatican feels that the current attacks on the Catholic Church are similar to what the Jews have endured. Wow. It just doesn't seem similar at all to me. It's hard to comment on that. I think we need a moment of silence while we all ponder just how overwhelming that comparison really is.
***
My brother was abused when he was young and he was an abuser when he was old.
This is actually the first time I have ever said those words. I was supposed to be the one who didn't know, the person in the family who would treat my brother as if none of these things happened. No one told me for years until my sister felt that I should know, given that I had two young children, she felt that I should know that my brother was a pedophile.
It's all a never ending cycle. Abuse. Abuser. Abuse. Abuser. Abuse. Abuser. Abuse. Abuser. How can I separate my brother from the monster who abused him? And what is the fate of all those abused children of the priest scandal?
My brother was thirteen years old. He and our younger brother (ten) were spending the night at a much older cousin's house. Our family was in town for a funeral. The youngest was given a small room with a single bed. The 13-year old was to sleep with our cousin, in his bed. One night of fondling and a lifetime of torture.
What was that life like? Compared to our other siblings, he was very different. He never really dated. The rest of us are all married. He didn't go to college. He had occasional arrests, mostly alcohol related. He drank to excess. And, he exposed himself to children.
That's all I know. Who knows how much I was never told. I lived in another state and my mother felt that he should have one member of the family who knew nothing about his problems. I loved my brother. Of course I did. He was a good soul. He was gentle and kind. He loved to walk in the forest where he lived. He was a mushroom hunter. We occasionally had long phone conversations. But, under my love, there was also pity. My brother had no relationships that went anywhere. He told me this, alluding to his problem that we never discussed, simply by saying that he would never get married. My brother died at the age of 47 of lung cancer after decades of smoking and years of ignoring the signs.
In my heart, I know that the one incident of abuse my brother experienced was linked to his very sad life. It was linked to his exhibitionism. I wonder about the children who were involved in that. I wonder about the lives of the children of the priest abuse. If my brother's case has anything to do with it, it's a widening web of abuse. If one priest abused dozens of children, how many children were abused by them later? To quote a parable, how many WERE going to St. Ives?
The bottom line to all this is based on my understanding of the Catholic Church. Isn't it true that priests are supposed to be celibate like Jesus? Unmarried like Jesus? All men like Jesus? Clearly they can't all have beards like Jesus. They can't all live in poverty like Jesus. So why cherry pick these anecdotes from the life of Jesus, the celibate unmarried male, and impose them on all priests until infinity? Don't these caveats lead to the priest abuse problems?
Why not allowed married priests? Woman priests? Priests with families? Why not create an environment that will foster more normal priests?
I guess I just exposed something very painful to me, and probably to many others. But, I rest my case.
UPDATE: Thanks so much for the wonderful comments, tips and recs. When I posted, I thought that I would get a lot of responses that would say that my brother has nothing at all to do with this. I do think it does, because it points out how these actions do not end with one little feel or whatever. Sure, there is no proof that my brother wouldn't have been exactly the same had it not happened, but I truly feel that is not true.
He was such a wonderful person and I think about what my life would have been like if it had been me (a girl). I love him dearly and hope he knew that. Thanks so much again.