In God's House (30 page)

After spending most of the day at Hope House with Father Patterson and Father McDougall, we were on a first-name basis, and there was an ease I felt with them I'd not experienced with anyone associated with the Catholic Church the past five months. When I met Desmond and Matt at the restaurant, they had changed clothes since our meeting at Hope House, though neither wore a priest suit. However, many other diners in the huge restaurant were clothed as clerics.

“Lot of priests here,” I said.

“Yeah, and Mafia too,” Desmond said. “This place is about as festive as a Russian funeral. The Mafia modeled itself on the Church. They looked around Sicily and Italy and realized the Church was the most powerful, secretive organization in Italy, a cabal that could get away with anything. The Mafia is actually better run than the Church. The Church – the Mafia – it's the same food, same secrecy, same everything.”

I laughed.

Desmond said, “What impressed me about you, Renon Chattelrault, why I wanted that Monsignor Moroux character in Thiberville to order you to come up here is this, quite frankly – it seemed clear that you are persona non grata with the bishop, vicar general and all those people down in Loooooosiana. The cliché is true. You can judge a man's character by knowing his enemies. The monsignor told me over the phone that he thought you were
a loose cannon rolling on the deck, someone whom they had no control over. For the longest time, Moroux didn't even think you would ever call Matt or come up here.”

“Yeah. I never could see a reason to come here. I don't want a priest treating a priest.”

Desmond nodded. “I have been monitoring this business involving your client in Thiberville since they first paid over three million to buy the silence of victims and their families and lawyers. Reports from the diocese come across my desk. I knew the diocese, through Monsignor Moroux, were lying their asses off in reports filed with my boss, and obviously so. But I didn't know what they were lying about. For instance, in every report Moroux filed he said that no adverse publicity existed; there was no scandal to the Church. He said people down there were only interested in LSU football and duck hunting.”

I laughed. “The part about football and duck hunting is not far off the truth. But obviously, there's been tons of adverse publicity.”

Desmond said, “When a bishop through his vicar general lies to me in writing, they are lying to my boss. Who is the Pope's personal representative to this country. Which means they are lying to Rome, lying to the Pope.”

The conversation paused as a round of drinks was delivered. Matt Patterson took over. “After our meeting this morning, Des and I decided to roll the dice and trust you. We need your help. Between us we know of hundreds of priests that are time-bombs waiting to explode like Father Francis Dubois, with the same consequences for the Church. I treat sexually dysfunctional priests. Bishops consult with Des about problem priests. From LA to Boston and everywhere in between, there are priests like Dubois, and complaints being made to their local dioceses.”

“Are there any other lawsuits or criminal prosecutions?” I asked.

Des shook his head. “Not yet. But there could be hundreds, maybe thousands of cases one day. There is no policy to deal with the problem because the position of the American Church and
the Vatican is that the problem simply does not exist. To develop a policy and put it in place would make good sense to most people, but not bishops, because to adopt policies would be an admission that the problem exists.”

“Let me ask you,” I said. “You really gonna jam all those newspaper articles down Monsignor Moroux's throat?”

“Or stick 'em up his ass? That jackass knows better than to lie to the Pope.”

I laughed. “Funny, no? Moroux forced me to come up here against my will and all I've accomplished so far is I've put Moroux's ass in a sling.”

“You worried about those people down there in Louisiana?”

“Naw. What can they do to me that they've not already tried?” I said. “Screw 'em.”

“Well, Renon, when you start dealing with people higher up the hierarchy than a diocesan chancery, when you get to the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, and then all the way to the Vatican, you're treading in treacherous terrain where men have careers rather than vocations. Bishops will lie to popes to protect themselves, and popes will lie to the world to protect the Church.” Desmond sipped his Bloody Mary and continued. “The truth here, like Matt said… the truth is, there are hundreds of other situations like the one with Father Dubois in Thiberville. It's just a matter of time before the whole Church blows itself up. And there are no policies in place to deal with any of this. The things you told us this morning about the criminal and civil issues are damned important.”

Food was ordered, and before we finished the meal one of the old ladies who owned the restaurant sent over a second bottle of wine with her compliments. Desmond looked at the wine label approvingly. “Told you the old girls were hot for Matt.”

Matt shook Desmond off and returned to the discussion. “I think Des knows all the canon law required to deal with these kinds of Dubois situations. And I believe I have sufficient resources to address the clinical issues regarding the injured
children and the perpetrators. But we don't know anything about the civil law and criminal law issues.”

“Aren't there Church lawyers here in DC?”

Desmond said, “They're mostly cocktail-party attorneys, and pompous, pious pricks, senior partners in corporate law firms. They are a lot more comfortable in golf clubhouses than courthouses.”

“You think I know more than they do about what you call—”

“The civil and criminal factors of clergy abuse. Yes, from what we heard from you today, we think you know a lot more than any lawyer here knows. We want you to write down everything you told us today in detail – your ideas for a comprehensive way of dealing with one of these incidents. Okay?” Matt said.

“I'll dictate it for my secretary, Monique, tomorrow. She'll type it and mail it the fastest way possible, a copy to each of you.”

Tiramisu was set on the table. “Who has the authority to do something about this?” I asked, pointing to Desmond. “Can your boss, the ambassador, or papal ambassador, whatever his title is – can he do something?”

“I met with my boss, our papal nuncio and ambassador, Archbishop Verriano, earlier today, after we saw you. Right now it doesn't seem to mean anything at all to him. He was very strong that the nunciature and Vatican had to rely on the reports filed by the bishop and archbishop in Louisiana. He was unimpressed even when I explained those reports were lies – that in forwarding those reports to Rome, the papal nuncio was lying to the Vatican, lying to the Pope,” Desmond said.

Matt said, “To put it mildly, Archbishop Verriano doesn't see the urgency Des and I see.”

Des laughed. “When I met with Verriano today, it was like I was torturing the old man. All he could say was, ‘We must pray over this, my son. I will pray.' Hell, I can tell you, the only time that old bastard ever gets on his knees is to kiss some rich Catholic's ass.”

As we walked toward the parking lot, Matt said, “I want to see Francis Dubois. Can you arrange this for me?”

“Sure. I'll have to talk with both the administrator and Dubois's physician at the Stalder Institute as I had Dubois sign a paper barring any visits or the release of information to anyone associated with the Church. I'll have your visit with Dubois cleared by the end of Monday.”

At 7:30 a.m., Father Desmond McDougall sat at his desk in the Vatican Embassy. Before pouring his first coffee of the day, he did what everyone in the building did each morning – he glanced at the calendar for the papal nuncio, Archbishop Carlo Verriano. It surprised Desmond to see his name listed on the ambassador’s agenda for a conference at 10:30.

When Father McDougall entered the papal nuncio’s office, the old man was sitting behind his desk, shuffling the papers in front of him. Desmond could tell he was not reading anything. Archbishop Verriano continued to look down at the paperwork, motioning with his right hand, making a kind of downward wave, for Father McDougall to have a seat. The papers that were props were pushed to one side and the old man laid his reading glasses on top of them.

“My son, I prayed over this today at Mass, asked the Holy Spirit for guidance.”

Desmond nodded. “That’s good.”

“You do not understand. I prayed that the Holy Spirit would guide you in these matters. You understand how Holy Mother Church works, my son. We have doctrines, traditions, and we have protocol. One is as sacred as the other. It is not our position, those of us who work for the pontiff, the Holy See, in this building in the United States… it is not our position to question reports forwarded to the nunciature by our bishops in America. We are only to transmit their reports to Rome.”

“But the bishop in Louisiana is lying. The archbishop too. I’ve told you this. I have documentary proof. They are lying to you and you represent the supreme pontiff in this country. The lies are designed to protect themselves, not Holy Mother Church. In protecting themselves, they could be precipitating a catastrophic crisis in the Church, bringing the greatest scandal to the Church in five hundred years.”

“No!” Verriano shouted. He sipped his water in an attempt to dissipate his anger and restore his composure, then tried to regain control of the meeting. “We will do nothing here, Father McDougall. We will do nothing but what the protocol of our positions mandates. You will continue to receive the reports from Louisiana, review them, make copies and send them to the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith in Rome. Should Cardinal Kruger want more information, he will cable us.”

Father Desmond McDougall shifted in his chair. “But… but, Archbishop… I discussed this matter with Cardinal Wolleski after the dinner for the Polish ambassador last month. We have talked a number of times since then. The cardinal is very interested and he’s spent time with Father Patterson talking about the clinical factors surrounding the issue. He has requested I write a paper for him to carry to the Vatican. I am working on this paper now. It will be brief but comprehensive. I will outline the canon law issues, Father Patterson will outline the clinical issues, and the lawyer we met with over the weekend will contribute his thoughts on the civil and criminal issues. Cardinal Wolleski wants to take the document to his friend, the Holy Father. I will show you the final draft, if you wish, before delivering it to the cardinal.”

“If such a paper is produced here and delivered to the pontiff outside of official protocol channels, I will be recalled as ambassador. Only God himself knows where they would post me next – some godforsaken place, I’m sure. My son, there is only one way for me to speak to you about this subject.”

Papal Nuncio Verriano drained the glass of water that had
been sitting on his desk while Desmond McDougall awaited his final word.

“If you prepare any paper for Cardinal Wolleski or anyone else and cause such a document to be delivered to the pontiff in the Vatican, my son, that will be the last paper you ever prepare. Your career in the diplomatic corps of Holy Mother Church will be at an end. God will call you to a new and different kind of ministry. I will end your career myself. You understand me?”

“I understand you, Archbishop,” replied Father Desmond McDougall. “But do you understand what will happen if more cases like this are reported in this country, in other countries, all over the world? The great potential for scandal to the Church that exists here? Do you understand what priests are doing sexually with boys and girls, with little children and adolescents? What devastating harm is being done to young people, and what this may mean to the Church?”

Archbishop Verriano repeated the same gesture with his right hand, this time motioning McDougall by waving him away, signaling him to take his leave from the office. “I have spoken. Do not let me hear of you speaking ill of an American bishop again or accusing a bishop of lying. You send something to Rome with Cardinal Wolleski or do anything else about this and… and God will call you to a new, different ministry. And I will be God’s instrument.”

Saturday morning, I had landed in Washington again. Matt Patterson was having brunch in my hotel suite. He said, “A good man, a retired cardinal, John Wolleski, will see us this afternoon. He’s an old friend of the Pope’s. I think maybe they were the only two Polish cardinals in their day. Des and I incorporated the stuff you sent us on the civil and criminal factors into our report. The cardinal is bringing our document to the Pope. Des is sending it out to bishops he’s close to in the US. Your stuff is the only material that could get anyone’s attention. Bishops don’t give a damn about canon law and every diocese has its own canon lawyers. They sure don’t care about psychiatric or psychological issues, and don’t want to understand any of that. But they care about losing law cases, losing money, losing priests, and maybe bishops going to prison for not reporting crimes, and they care about scandal to the Church.”

“Cardinal Wolleski is taking the document to the Pope?”

“That’s right. He flies to Rome on the private jet of Callahan Industries several times a year. He says he goes to research a book. He really just goes to hang out with his friend, eat Polish food and play cards. Cardinal Wolleski’s a good man. So good that I don’t know how he ever got to be a cardinal.”

“The Pope? Damn,” I said.

“Right. Your bishop won’t speak to you, but the Pope is going to hear you out.”

“Can the Pope do something? Stop this stuff?”

“History provides the answer. The first papal edicts and decrees from Church councils against priests sodomizing boys were issued centuries ago – in the fourth century, I think. The sick sexual behavior in the priesthood involving the rape of children by priests is nothing new. Some popes have been appalled by clerics sodomizing young boys, raping young girls. Some popes tried to stop this behavior. Some popes enjoyed sodomizing boys and raping girls themselves.”

Father Matthew Patterson and I stood before the twenty-foot-high bronze doors in the inner sanctum of Washington’s vast Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Desmond was running late. Cardinal Wolleski had asked to see us before he celebrated 6 p.m. Mass.

Desmond joined us just as the doors were opening. “We’re not going to have but five minutes. Let the old man take the lead.”

Matt and I nodded.

Inside, we encountered Cardinal John Wolleski dressed in beautiful emerald vestments. The cardinal dismissed the priest who was with him by nodding to the door and motioned us to take chairs in front of him.

“And you are Renon Chattelrault?”

I nodded.

He extended his hand. I thought I was to kiss his ring. He read my mind. “Let’s just shake hands, Renon.”

I was amazed at how unhurried the cardinal was. I knew he had to be on the altar in a few minutes. He seemed to have some kind of internal clock that told him he was on schedule, that there was no rush.

“What I want to say to the three of you is this. This problem of priests sexually abusing children is not new and my personal belief is that it is far more widespread than any of us can imagine. The problem is as old as the Church itself. Why this has always existed in the Church is a question I have no answer to. I want to confess to you now, old as I am, that as long as I have been a priest, I have always known about men like this priest in Louisiana. A priest anywhere who says he has not known of men like this in our midst is not being truthful. He is lying before you and before God. There is no excuse for the manner in which I handled this problem as a priest, pastor, vicar, bishop, archbishop, or after they put these heavy robes on me. It was not until Matt explained things to me in clinical terms that I began to understand the behavior of these priests and the lifelong devastating consequences for the children. I did what all people in the hierarchy do – I hid behind morality, told myself it was a moral failing for a priest to sexually abuse children. It was denial, for I never wanted to see it as an incurable addiction. However, there is no excuse for my own conduct when I was confronted with these sins against God and these crimes against children. There is no excuse or explanation for what I’ve done and not done.”

A cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church was confessing in my presence.

“Whether the Church can or will act to save children, to save the very soul of the Church, is something I don’t know. Now I will go on the altar and pray that you will continue this work.”

The deep drone of the basilica’s organ started to sound through the stone walls.

“Do you have children?” the cardinal asked me.

I nodded.

“Please write their names on this paper.”

I did and he placed the paper in a pocket inside his robe.

Turning to Desmond, Cardinal Wolleski asked, “Do you have the final draft of the document?”

“Yes.” Des opened his briefcase and handed the cardinal a
sealed envelope. Wolleski placed the package in a worn satchel and snapped the bag shut.

“Tomorrow this old man flies to Rome. I ask for your prayers. I will keep you in mine.”

The three of us stood, thinking the cardinal was going to the altar.

“Enjoy Rome,” Matt said.

“I always enjoy my work in the library there. My research never ends but it’s not as important as carrying your document to my friend. This is the first important work this old man has had in many years. Renon was right when he wrote the Church must try to find every child damaged by one of our priests, every single victim no matter what age they may be now. Bishops will not want to do that. Bishops will want to ask people to pray. Praying over this would be sinful hypocrisy. This is something the Church created and the Church is bound by every civilized covenant that ever existed to heal the innocents it has injured. If the Church does not heal the children, then hellfire should rain down upon us.”

Outside the stone-walled cathedral, dwarfed by its massive dome, the three of us stood in a tight circle. These were not the same men I had met only seven days ago. Last week they had both been relaxed, even joking at times. Now the obvious tension in Desmond’s face was mirrored by concern in Matt’s expression.

“You ran this by the old man, your boss, Verriano?” Matt asked.

“It was like the final judgment. He said he’ll play God, remove me from the nunciature and shitcan my career if I send anything to Rome with Cardinal John Wolleski.”

I said, “Des, you have no authority…?”

“Authority? Hell, I have orders. I have orders not to do what I just did,” Desmond said.

I was confused. “Des, what is the deal? Obviously, I don’t know something.”

“The deal is this stuff is radioactive in the Church. Anything about clergy abuse is more closely guarded than they guarded the secrets shared by Our Lady of Fatima. In the sixties Pope John XXIII sent a document to every bishop in the world and instructed them to keep the document in the secret archives of their diocese and to never comment publicly on its existence.”

“Jeez, what was in the document?” I asked.

“It was sixty-nine pages long. A lot was in there, but the nuts and bolts was the imposition of a strict secrecy on those priests processing cases of clergy sexual abuse in Diocesan Tribunals. Everyone aware of any case of clergy abuse was bound by the Church’s highest degree of confidentiality, something called the Secret of the Holy Office.”

“What was the penalty for speaking about this?”

“Excommunication. Only the Pope could lift the excommunication.”

“Excommunicating priests, Des?”

“Yeah. And the priests in the tribunal were to inform the victim and his or her family members that they too would be excommunicated from the Church if they ever spoke about the clergy abuse to anyone.”

Matt said, “Pretty severe, no?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “A child who was raped by a priest was to be told they would be excommunicated if they spoke to anyone. A policeman?”

“Yeah.” Des shook his head too. “Even a therapist.”

“It’s a blueprint of obstruction of justice in every country in the world,” I said.

“Right. Same as the Mafia,” Matt said.

“How many people know about the existence of this document?”

“Not many have read it.” Des held his hand up. “Including me, I can probably count those who’ve read the document on one hand, and last year we redacted the code of canon law and whether the new code supersedes Pope John XXIII 1962 edict is arguable.
But no one needs to read the document because everyone knows never to mention anything about clergy sex abuse to anyone. That’s why my boss hammered me when I told him we were putting something in writing about this.”

“What if someone in the Church is questioned under oath about a case of clergy abuse?”

Des spoke softly. “My friend, an oath to the Church is sacred. An oath to a civil court is secular. Means nothing.”

“So, you’re telling me under these guidelines any cleric to the rank of the Pope is supposed to lie if asked about clergy abuse?”

“Men of the cloth don’t lie, Ren,” Matt said. “We have something more clever than lying. It’s called mental reservation.”

“Mental reservation?”

Des took his turn. “This is beautiful. You’re gonna love it, Ren. Mental reservation is a nuanced concept that can be employed to embargo the truth about a sex scandal involving a cleric. Though the concept has never been adopted formally or approved officially by the Church, it has been relied upon by some in the Church since it was first introduced in writings of moral theologians in the Middles Ages. Mental reservation is a form of ‘moral lying’ about matters that could bring scandal to the institution. With this, one can lie and at the same time tell the truth. The truth is told to God, mentally reserved for God only, and the lie is spoken for human ears.”

I was stunned by what I’d just heard.

“You think maybe we ought to rethink this, Des?” Matt said, after a long pause.

“Nope. Wolleski can get to the Pope in Rome. The cardinal is one of a handful of people in the world with both access to the Pope and the trust of the Pope. The Vatican has to know the truth. Cardinal Kruger and others in Rome have been receiving the lies coming out of Louisiana. They’ve been told everything’s under control in Louisiana. Rome has no idea how close Louisiana is to blowing up. The flames of a big fire down there could create a fire that could engulf the whole Church. If Louisiana goes, the whole
damned country might go, every diocese, maybe every diocese on earth.”

“You’re gonna end your career to get this document to Rome?” I asked.

“Nope. That prick, the papal nuncio, is going to end my career.”