Church's Cross to Bear / LI Catholics weigh effects of allegations

The cross at St. Sylvester's Church in Medford stands

crooked and rusty, a pile of concrete blocks and barbed wire at its base.

Originally designed to symbolize the crumpled shell of the World Trade

Center, the cross, used in Easter services, took on new meaning during Holy

Week. To the church's co-pastor, the Rev. Edward Kealey, and some of his

parishioners, it became a symbol of a troubled Roman Catholic Church.

"To me, it says that the church is in trouble right now, and we all need to

work together to put it in the right direction once more," said Kealey, a

small, silver-haired man, standing in front of the 14-foot-tall cross towering

over him.

In recent weeks, Long Island's nearly 1.5 million Roman Catholics have been

stunned by media reports of pedophile priests and the church's failure to

report them, including some close to home.

Some priests openly talked about the sexual crimes from the pulpit, while

others scolded them for doing so. Some parishioners said the actions of a few

won't affect their feelings about their faith, but others said the allegations

have shaken their belief in the church.

Still, nearly all said they would remain Catholic. "I'm terribly upset and

shocked ... but that does not shake my faith," said Lorraine Bustamante, 61,

who teaches a special education religious class at Our Lady of Grace in West

Babylon. "My faith is in God, and nothing that anyone else will do can hurt

that."

While there have been cases of child abuse in the Catholic Church

previously, experts say recent events - starting with the January trial of a

priest accused of abusing more than 130 boys in Boston - mark the biggest

crisis the church has experienced in recent history.

The Boston case has prompted dozens of people nationwide to come forward

with allegations of abuse, including several on Long Island.

"It's certainly the biggest scandal for the Catholic Church in several

generations," said Scott Appleby, a historian at the University of Notre Dame

in South Bend, Ind., where he directs the Cushwa Center for the Study of

American Catholicism. "The real depth of this crisis is in the response, or

lack of appropriate response, from too many bishops."

While there have been instances of child abuse by other religious leaders,

from the Hare Krishnas to Jewish rabbis to Protestant ministers, some experts

say the difference with the Catholic Church is the hierarchical power

structure, which enables priests to be shuttled from one parish to another.

"What's happening now ... is the death of a mystique," said Daniel Maguire,

a former priest who teaches moral theology at Marquette University in

Milwaukee. "Why have they defended felons and deceived people? ... Because the

issue is not children, the issue is the collapse of the power structure."

Among those feeling the sting of current events most acutely are the

priests themselves, who are experiencing a range of emotions, from sorrow for

the victims and their fallen brothers, to anger at their leaders for allowing

such behavior, to a fear of false accusations, looks of scorn and words of

abuse.

Msgr. Thomas Hartman, who hosts the television show "God Squad" and writes

a Newsday column with Rabbi Marc Gellman, is accustomed to being respected. So

it took him by surprise recently when he entered an elevator with his clerical

collar on and someone shot him a spiteful look.

"I saw a look of suspicion, and I realized what it must feel like to be

betrayed," said Hartman, 55.

In response, priests are addressing their congregations in church bulletins

- where remarks on sexual abuse run alongside information on first communions

- taking extra precautions in confessional booths and other interactions with

children, and holding informational sessions.

Most of all, priests are taking to the the pulpit, airing a mixture of

emotions, some questioning the actions of their leaders in pointed homilies,

others tying the current scandals to biblical stories.

The Rev. Thomas J. St. Pierre struggled for days with what to say in his

Holy Thursday homily, the day when Catholics observe the founding of the

priesthood.

"There has been no more difficult year in my life to celebrate priesthood,"

St. Pierre, 48, the co-pastor of St. Anne's Church in Brentwood, said a week

before his homily.

Last Thursday, arms flapping and eyes bulging with energy, St. Pierre

strongly denounced the sins of his brothers and the curtain of secrecy put up

by his leaders before the hundreds of parishioners filling the pews of the

simple and spacious church.

"What you are watching now is a cancer operation on an unwilling patient,"

he said. "The patient is the priesthood and the surgeon is the media, and I

personally hope that the operation does not stop until all of the tumors are

removed, until every priest who has abused a kid is out and until you have the

confidence that your kids are safe here ..."

St. Pierre and the Rev. Gerald S. Twomey, St. Anne's other pastor, held

open forums for their large congregation two weeks ago, one in English and

another in Spanish.

"There was a lot of frustration, anger, hurt and disappointment with the

lack of leadership in the hierarchy," Twomey said. But the forums were

successful, he said, noting that one middle-aged man was able to speak about

how he was molested by a priest while in Catholic high school in Colombia,

South America, an incident which he had never revealed to anyone until last

month.

In family Masses last month, Twomey and St. Pierre spoke in detail about

appropriate and inappropriate touching with children, drilling into their heads

the importance of telling an adult if someone abuses them or hurts one of

their friends.

Some priests also have become more sensitive in their interactions with

children. Twomey, for example, made sure he left the door open when he was

hearing confessions last month. Another priest purposely opened the blinds in

the children's room, which are normally closed for privacy.

Jeanne Monsees, 41, of Central Islip, who attends the Church of St. Thomas

More in Hauppauge, where her three eldest children are altar servers, says the

priest there is extremely careful to avoid awkward situations. "He's very

careful to avoid situations where things would come up that would be

questionable," she said.

Despite the extra caution taken on both sides, many Catholics stressed that

the abusive priests are only a tiny sliver of the total priest population.

"The way I see it, only 3 or 4 percent of priests have done wrong," said

Hernando Hoyos, 51, a parishioner at St. Mary of the Isle Church in Long Beach.

"And the rest of them are paying the price."

Polls and experts say the current crisis will not result in a large exodus

of people from the Catholic Church.

But a small minority, including Mary Ellen Adams, say recent events have

left such a bitter taste in their mouths that they are considering leaving.

"I would hope that they learn from this, but I think that their first

reaction would be to continue that whole philosophy of don't air the dirty

laundry and try to work from within," said Adams, 36, who teaches catechism

classes for her church, Our Lady of the Snow in Blue Point.

Greg Cooper, who attends the Church of St. Anne in Garden City, said he had

been extremely angry since he learned that two former priests at his church,

Brian McKeon and James C. Miller, have since been accused of molesting

children. The alleged abuses did not involve children at St. Anne, according to

church officials.

"The trust has been broken. They lied to us," said Cooper, 42, who has two

daughters, 10 and 14. "My children and my friends' children weren't being

protected."

But even Cooper, like most others, says he'll probably never leave the

church, or even his parish. "Catholicism is just something that goes back to my

roots," he said. "It's the way I was brought up."

Holy Week left many Catholics with hope. This was, after all, the week

marking Jesus' death and resurrection, a holiday marking new life.

At St. Sylvester's, the rusted cross that stood between the church's altar

and front pew from the start of Lent through Easter was moved to the rear of

the sanctuary.

It stands there now, surrounded by a bank of white lilies, pink azaleas and

hydrangeas.

The crooked cross can now be viewed as a symbol of resurrection and

rebirth, Kealey said. He hopes, he quickly adds, he can only hope.