Strange, isn’t it, how decisions evolve, even with something as straight-forward as to how to proceed after last week’s article on Bernard Cardinal Law?

One morning, I awakened with the conviction that the laity in the United States is honor-bound to do something about Law’s high standing in Rome’s bureaucratic circles, because the scandal threatens the faith of millions of Catholics, poised before the bottomless pit of a faithless Ground Zero.

Then, I spoke aloud: “Self, a large pond separates us from the Vatican. Do you think Rome is going to turn around and demote Law because of something said in the United States?”

Second question: “Well, no. But who can correct this scandal of high honors as a reward for Law’s deviant behavior of ignoring the safety of children in covering up the sins of priest pedophiles?”

Third question: “How about Law’s rescuing Law? He could come back home, lay aside his Cardinal’s robes, and ask Rome for an appointment to a poor parish.”

None of this living in a convent setting with Sisters to care for him, either. Most Sisters have spent their entire lives faithful to their vows, good times, bad times, and they should not be asked to work for a member of the clergy who has had so little respect for children as to place them in harm’s way year after year. Better he should hire workers from an employment bureau, free to quit any time they wish, while the nuns would have life-time sentences.

How would Law survive in the ordinary world of ordinary folks? He might do very well. Think about it. All the honors, the power, the finest of food and beverage in Rome’s finest restaurants, the kisses of peace with the church’s powerful at High Mass, what do they mean? He knows that behind the fine living, his life is without true honor or peace or joy. When the curtains are drawn at night, and the phone is silent, the TV a mockery of the peace he seeks, the cardinal might long for a modest rectory, a daily Mass in a frame church, where the goodness of the parishioners is like a cool breeze wafting in from the Atlantic.

You may recall from last week’s article, Our Man in Rome, by Francis X. Rocca, the writer described a poignant scene at the Mass celebrating the 45th anniversary of Law’s ordination. Law thanked everyone, embraced the canon, yet appeared detached from the joy expressed by the congregation, and in his
homily, we are told:

“He did not share a single reference to his own life or to the career his parishioners honored that morning. For a listener aware of the fierce controversy that brought him here, that omission was conspicuous , and underscored the unlikeliness of his present post.”

Despite all the pomp and circumstance, Law must know he is in the midst of the crimson and gold under false pretenses, feeling far from the holy expectations of his Ordination Day.

And he must also know that the honors bestowed upon him by the powerful, spiritual brokers in high places, are an albatross around his neck, chains around his ankles, making freedom from the hypocritical state he finds himself in
an impossible dream.

Not impossible, Cardinal. “ All you need is a prayer,” my Irish aunt would tell you. A prayer could pay your passage back home. It could touch the hearts of the faithful from coast to coast, and bring tears of joy to many a cheek.

Beyond all else, it could restore faith in the hearts of young people throughout our country, who wander in the desert of doubt, confusion and near-despair, as thousands prepare to be redeployed to the hell of Iraq.

It’s your call, Cardinal. God’s blessing be with you, and us.

Amen.

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