Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2019 11:06:03 GMT -5
US Catholic priests describe
turmoil amid sex abuse crisis
CHICOPEE, Mass. — More than a century ago,
waves of Catholic immigrants from Ireland, Poland
and Quebec settled in Chicopee and other western
Massachusetts mill towns, helping build churches,
rectories and schools to accommodate their faith.
Today the priests leading those churches are
under siege due to stresses, challenges and sex
abuse scandals complicating their lives and those
of their fellow priests across the United States.
The Rev. Mark Stelzer is among those trying to
persevere.
He’s a professor at a Roman Catholic college in
Chicopee, and its chaplain. He travels frequently
to out-of-state events organized by a Catholic
addiction-treatment provider, recounting his own
recovery from alcoholism.
Last year, his busy schedule got busier.
Amid a worsening shortage of priests, the Diocese
of Springfield named him administrator of a parish
in Holyoke, Chicopee’s northern neighbor, where
he lives alone in a mansion-sized rectory while
serving as spiritual leader to the 500 families of St.
Jerome’s Church.
“I’m at an age where I thought I’d be doing less
rather than doing more,” said Stelzer, 62.
This is the ripple effect the church’s long-running sexual abuse crisis has had on many honorable
priests: heavier workloads, increased isolation as
multi-priest parishes grow scarce and an erosion
of public support.
It has led some to question the leadership of their
bishops.
Many priests see trauma firsthand. Some minister
in parishes wracked by gun violence; others preside
frequently over funerals of drug-overdose victims.
Stelzer loves being a priest, yet he’s frank about
the ever-evolving stresses of his vocation that leave
him nostalgic for the priesthood he entered in 1983.
“It was a lot simpler then,” he said. “There’s a
real longing, a mourning for the church that was —
when there was a greater fraternity among priests,
and the church was not facing these scandals that
are now emerging every day.”
Stelzer’s concerns echoed those of other priests,
and some of their psychological caregivers, who
were interviewed by The Associated Press.
Burnout has been a perennial problem for clergy
of many faiths. But Thomas Plante, a psychology
professor at California’s Santa Clara University
who has screened or treated hundreds of Catholic
clerics, sees new forms of it as the sex abuse crisis
persists and many parishioners lose trust in Catholic leadership.
“You’re just trying to be a good priest and now
everyone thinks you’re a sex offender,” he said. “If
you walk in a park with your collar on, people think
you’re on the lookout for children. ... Some have
been spat upon.”
The Springfield diocese, like many across the
U.S., has a long history of sex-abuse scandals.
In the early 1990s, priest Richard Lavigne was
defrocked and several of his victims received cash
settlements. In 2004, a grand jury indicted Thomas
Dupre on two counts of child molestation soon after
he resigned following a 13-year stint as Springfield’s bishop.
Stelzer had hoped the abuse crisis was abating but
it resurfaced dramatically over the past two years.
Abuse allegations led to former Cardinal Theodore McCarrick’s ouster from the priesthood and a
Pennsylvania grand jury report asserted that about
300 priests had abused at least 1,000 children in the
state over seven decades.
“It opened up an old wound and now we’re back
to ground zero,” Stelzer said in an interview at
the College of Our Lady of the Elms.
The wound is self-inflicted, said Rev. Philip
Schmitter, 74, who has served for 50 years in Flint,
Michigan. His stance endears him to an African
American community where he lived in public
housing for three decades to maintain close ties.
“This cover up, this ‘Let’s protect the institution’ was just a heinous, utterly unchristian kind
of behavior,” he said.
---
Two miles north of Stelzer’s campus, on a recent
Sunday, the Rev. William Tourigny was getting
ready for the 4 p.m. Mass — his fourth and last of
the day — at Ste. Rose de Lima Church.
When Tourigny, now 66, was ordained in 1980,
the Springfield diocese had more than 300 priests
serving 136 parishes. Since then, the ranks of priests
have shrunk by more than half and nearly 60 of the
parishes have closed.
For Tourigny, it’s meant many more funerals to
handle, including dozens related to drug overdoses
and heavy drinking.
Even his own family has been scarred: Tourigny
says the 27-year-old daughter of his first cousin
was killed in circumstances related to her drug
habit.
“But for her addiction, she was a wonderful
mother,” Tourigny said.
Tourigny says he’s worked nearly 40 years without a real vacation.
For years, he’s had therapy sessions, which he
describes as “crucially important,” and he strives to
minister compassionately without being engulfed
in the emotions of those he consoles.
“I can share their pain but I can’t enter into it,”
he said. “I’d be overwhelmed by grief.”
With 2,500 families, Tourigny’s parish is faring
relatively well with membership and finances.
Yet Tourigny says many Catholics now mistrust
the church hierarchy because of the abuse scandals.
“I was ordained at a time when the church was
so alive — there was so much optimism,” he said.
“Then things began to change quickly. ... The
church has lost credibility and it’s hard to get credibility back again.”
Plante, the California psychologist, says even
priests deeply devoted to their work are upset.
“A lot are angry at bishops and the institutional
church for screwing up — a lot of them feel they’ve
been thrown under the bus,” he said.
“They’re also concerned that one of these days
someone will accuse them of misbehavior, even if
they’ve done nothing wrong.”
Since 1985, according to Georgetown University researchers, the Catholic population in the
U.S. has risen by nearly 20%, but the number of
priests has plunged from more than 57,000 to under
37,000.
It means more work for priests, and more priests
living alone rather than with colleagues.
Stress, burnout, depression and addictions are
among the conditions treated at St. Luke Institute,
a residential treatment center for Catholic clergy
and lay leaders, in Silver Spring, Maryland.
St. Luke’s president, the Rev. David Songy, is
a psychologist who has worked extensively with
troubled priests.
One growing problem, he says, is that new priests
are now often assigned their own parish within
three years, instead of 10 or more in the past, and
may be ill-prepared to oversee finances and personnel as well as pastoral duties.
“Some of the younger people that come to us —
they’ve been overwhelmed and weren’t sure how
to deal with things,” Songy said.
At St. Joseph’s Seminary in Yonkers, New York,
there’s increased emphasis on screening applicants
for their ability to handle stress and avoid the burnout that’s now affecting some priests even early in
their ministry.
“There’s no doubt these men coming forward
are facing what will be a very stressful life,” said
the Rev. Thomas Berg, the seminary’s vice rector.
“On top of that, in some places, you don’t have
a sense that their bishop supports them,” added
Berg. “In plenty of dioceses, priests are essentially
treated as outside contractors.”
Police officers, firefighters and paramedics are
collectively labeled first responders. A case can be
made that priests also merit that label, given how
regularly they deal with trauma, especially gun
violence and the opioid crisis which is besieging
communities across the country.
Gun violence is the plague besetting the Rev.
Mike Pfleger’s parish in an African American area
of Chicago.
“It’s a war zone,” says Pfleger, pastor at Saint
Sabina Church since 1981. “Doing funerals of children is the hardest for me.”
Now 70, Pfleger says his health is good, and his
work rewarding. Yet he says he and his colleagues
risk being overwhelmed by the constant crises
facing their neighborhood of Auburn Gresham.
“You realize you can’t help everybody,” he said.
In Brunswick, Ohio, 20 miles (30 kilometers)
southeast of Cleveland, the Rev. Robert Stec’s priorities have been transformed, due to the scourge
of opioids, since he became pastor of St. Ambrose
Church in 2005.
In 2016, Brunswick’s Medina County reported 20
opioid-related deaths; Stec presided over six funerals of those victims in a short span.
“We weren’t trained for this in the seminary,”
he said.
file:///C:/Users/Bill/Downloads/uticaobserverdispatch_20191210_UticaObserver-Dispatch.pdf
I can't imagine the shame they must feel. Hopefully that is.
turmoil amid sex abuse crisis
CHICOPEE, Mass. — More than a century ago,
waves of Catholic immigrants from Ireland, Poland
and Quebec settled in Chicopee and other western
Massachusetts mill towns, helping build churches,
rectories and schools to accommodate their faith.
Today the priests leading those churches are
under siege due to stresses, challenges and sex
abuse scandals complicating their lives and those
of their fellow priests across the United States.
The Rev. Mark Stelzer is among those trying to
persevere.
He’s a professor at a Roman Catholic college in
Chicopee, and its chaplain. He travels frequently
to out-of-state events organized by a Catholic
addiction-treatment provider, recounting his own
recovery from alcoholism.
Last year, his busy schedule got busier.
Amid a worsening shortage of priests, the Diocese
of Springfield named him administrator of a parish
in Holyoke, Chicopee’s northern neighbor, where
he lives alone in a mansion-sized rectory while
serving as spiritual leader to the 500 families of St.
Jerome’s Church.
“I’m at an age where I thought I’d be doing less
rather than doing more,” said Stelzer, 62.
This is the ripple effect the church’s long-running sexual abuse crisis has had on many honorable
priests: heavier workloads, increased isolation as
multi-priest parishes grow scarce and an erosion
of public support.
It has led some to question the leadership of their
bishops.
Many priests see trauma firsthand. Some minister
in parishes wracked by gun violence; others preside
frequently over funerals of drug-overdose victims.
Stelzer loves being a priest, yet he’s frank about
the ever-evolving stresses of his vocation that leave
him nostalgic for the priesthood he entered in 1983.
“It was a lot simpler then,” he said. “There’s a
real longing, a mourning for the church that was —
when there was a greater fraternity among priests,
and the church was not facing these scandals that
are now emerging every day.”
Stelzer’s concerns echoed those of other priests,
and some of their psychological caregivers, who
were interviewed by The Associated Press.
Burnout has been a perennial problem for clergy
of many faiths. But Thomas Plante, a psychology
professor at California’s Santa Clara University
who has screened or treated hundreds of Catholic
clerics, sees new forms of it as the sex abuse crisis
persists and many parishioners lose trust in Catholic leadership.
“You’re just trying to be a good priest and now
everyone thinks you’re a sex offender,” he said. “If
you walk in a park with your collar on, people think
you’re on the lookout for children. ... Some have
been spat upon.”
The Springfield diocese, like many across the
U.S., has a long history of sex-abuse scandals.
In the early 1990s, priest Richard Lavigne was
defrocked and several of his victims received cash
settlements. In 2004, a grand jury indicted Thomas
Dupre on two counts of child molestation soon after
he resigned following a 13-year stint as Springfield’s bishop.
Stelzer had hoped the abuse crisis was abating but
it resurfaced dramatically over the past two years.
Abuse allegations led to former Cardinal Theodore McCarrick’s ouster from the priesthood and a
Pennsylvania grand jury report asserted that about
300 priests had abused at least 1,000 children in the
state over seven decades.
“It opened up an old wound and now we’re back
to ground zero,” Stelzer said in an interview at
the College of Our Lady of the Elms.
The wound is self-inflicted, said Rev. Philip
Schmitter, 74, who has served for 50 years in Flint,
Michigan. His stance endears him to an African
American community where he lived in public
housing for three decades to maintain close ties.
“This cover up, this ‘Let’s protect the institution’ was just a heinous, utterly unchristian kind
of behavior,” he said.
---
Two miles north of Stelzer’s campus, on a recent
Sunday, the Rev. William Tourigny was getting
ready for the 4 p.m. Mass — his fourth and last of
the day — at Ste. Rose de Lima Church.
When Tourigny, now 66, was ordained in 1980,
the Springfield diocese had more than 300 priests
serving 136 parishes. Since then, the ranks of priests
have shrunk by more than half and nearly 60 of the
parishes have closed.
For Tourigny, it’s meant many more funerals to
handle, including dozens related to drug overdoses
and heavy drinking.
Even his own family has been scarred: Tourigny
says the 27-year-old daughter of his first cousin
was killed in circumstances related to her drug
habit.
“But for her addiction, she was a wonderful
mother,” Tourigny said.
Tourigny says he’s worked nearly 40 years without a real vacation.
For years, he’s had therapy sessions, which he
describes as “crucially important,” and he strives to
minister compassionately without being engulfed
in the emotions of those he consoles.
“I can share their pain but I can’t enter into it,”
he said. “I’d be overwhelmed by grief.”
With 2,500 families, Tourigny’s parish is faring
relatively well with membership and finances.
Yet Tourigny says many Catholics now mistrust
the church hierarchy because of the abuse scandals.
“I was ordained at a time when the church was
so alive — there was so much optimism,” he said.
“Then things began to change quickly. ... The
church has lost credibility and it’s hard to get credibility back again.”
Plante, the California psychologist, says even
priests deeply devoted to their work are upset.
“A lot are angry at bishops and the institutional
church for screwing up — a lot of them feel they’ve
been thrown under the bus,” he said.
“They’re also concerned that one of these days
someone will accuse them of misbehavior, even if
they’ve done nothing wrong.”
Since 1985, according to Georgetown University researchers, the Catholic population in the
U.S. has risen by nearly 20%, but the number of
priests has plunged from more than 57,000 to under
37,000.
It means more work for priests, and more priests
living alone rather than with colleagues.
Stress, burnout, depression and addictions are
among the conditions treated at St. Luke Institute,
a residential treatment center for Catholic clergy
and lay leaders, in Silver Spring, Maryland.
St. Luke’s president, the Rev. David Songy, is
a psychologist who has worked extensively with
troubled priests.
One growing problem, he says, is that new priests
are now often assigned their own parish within
three years, instead of 10 or more in the past, and
may be ill-prepared to oversee finances and personnel as well as pastoral duties.
“Some of the younger people that come to us —
they’ve been overwhelmed and weren’t sure how
to deal with things,” Songy said.
At St. Joseph’s Seminary in Yonkers, New York,
there’s increased emphasis on screening applicants
for their ability to handle stress and avoid the burnout that’s now affecting some priests even early in
their ministry.
“There’s no doubt these men coming forward
are facing what will be a very stressful life,” said
the Rev. Thomas Berg, the seminary’s vice rector.
“On top of that, in some places, you don’t have
a sense that their bishop supports them,” added
Berg. “In plenty of dioceses, priests are essentially
treated as outside contractors.”
Police officers, firefighters and paramedics are
collectively labeled first responders. A case can be
made that priests also merit that label, given how
regularly they deal with trauma, especially gun
violence and the opioid crisis which is besieging
communities across the country.
Gun violence is the plague besetting the Rev.
Mike Pfleger’s parish in an African American area
of Chicago.
“It’s a war zone,” says Pfleger, pastor at Saint
Sabina Church since 1981. “Doing funerals of children is the hardest for me.”
Now 70, Pfleger says his health is good, and his
work rewarding. Yet he says he and his colleagues
risk being overwhelmed by the constant crises
facing their neighborhood of Auburn Gresham.
“You realize you can’t help everybody,” he said.
In Brunswick, Ohio, 20 miles (30 kilometers)
southeast of Cleveland, the Rev. Robert Stec’s priorities have been transformed, due to the scourge
of opioids, since he became pastor of St. Ambrose
Church in 2005.
In 2016, Brunswick’s Medina County reported 20
opioid-related deaths; Stec presided over six funerals of those victims in a short span.
“We weren’t trained for this in the seminary,”
he said.
file:///C:/Users/Bill/Downloads/uticaobserverdispatch_20191210_UticaObserver-Dispatch.pdf
I can't imagine the shame they must feel. Hopefully that is.