Clergy Abuse and the Healing Process
A Room With A Pew
  • Blog
  • About
  • Contact

The Redemptive Wound

9/8/2014

 
Picture
"It is difficult to imagine that individuals and societies governed by the seeking 
of pleasure--as much as or more than by the avoidance of pain--can survive at all.” 
       --Antonio Damasio, from his book Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain

          Back in 2004, the mother of a boy who had been abused while a student at Saint Anthony’s Seminary in Santa Barbara in the eighties, contacted me through SafeNet out of concern for her son’s mental health. His condition worsened after he began menacing a local parish priest (unrelated to his abuse) with veiled threats. Upon meeting with the family at their home in Northern California, immediate care for the son was obtained with the help of county health officials and professional evaluations. At the mother’s insistence, the Franciscans were never formally notified of the abuse. But it was the emotional state of another family member, an older cousin who had also attended Saint Anthony’s at the same time, that helped me realize how deeply the wounds of clergy sexual abuse had affected other former students who were secondary survivors.  
Picture
            The son first revealed the details of his abuse through family interventions and later in sessions with his therapist. It was during his freshman year at the seminary that his family learned how a Franciscan friar, who would later be implicated in a number of alleged assaults of minors, had sexually molested him on several occasions in a music room on campus and in the friar’s bedroom. The survivor’s mother, a devout Catholic, immediately began offering up her son’s pain (and her own) with daily intentions for the promise of deliverance. 

            The older cousin, Raymond (not his real name) had long since rejected the Catholic faith and dismissed any belief in the church’s teaching on suffering and redemption. He no longer felt any connection to the man on the cross who suffered and died for the sins of others. For years he wrestled with guilt and remorse as he watched his younger cousin slip slowly into mental illness. He had been a couple of classes ahead of him at Saint Anthony’s and, while he himself had not been molested during his time at the school, had come to blame himself for what had happened to his cousin. 

            “I didn’t know any of it was going on,” he told me, “but I should have.” He believed if he had been looking out for him he could have prevented the abuse. He remembered how some things weren’t right with his cousin, like his withdrawal from school activities and his sudden loss of weight. But he thought it was due to the usual homesickness most freshmen experienced during those first few months. “I ignored the obvious,” he said. “I was too wrapped up in myself.” 

            Years later, after speaking with some of his former classmates, Raymond discovered he wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Others who had not been molested had also experienced confusion, anger and regret after they began taking a closer look at the days they spent at Saint Anthony’s. Some admitted witnessing the strange behavior of certain friars, listening to their inappropriate stories, or hearing the distressed voices of students from behind closed doors. 

But no one said anything about it at the time.   

            “I think a lot of us just skated around the issue, and some even joked about it. It was a defense mechanism,” explained Raymond. “It was something we did to make ourselves feel okay.” He eventually tried therapy and, for a time, volunteered with SafeNet, speaking privately with other secondary survivors who, as former students of Saint Anthony’s, had experienced similar trauma while attending the school. But Raymond found himself in a spiritual quandary, a sort of no-man’s land in search of vanishing mystical borders as he nursed what he called “a wound that wouldn’t heal.”

Just Beneath the Surface

            The issue of former seminarians who were not sexually assaulted by the clergy, but who suffered from the effects of the institutional abuse, was briefly touched upon in my column last month, “No Bad Memories Allowed.” This was enough to prompt many alumni from Saint Anthony’s to contact me. In a way, I was not surprised that this singular mention of secondary survivors produced more informed and positive responses in private emails from former students than any other column I’ve written to date. The emotional fallout and collateral damage was like a sleeping giant. 

            A great many men who attended St. Anthony’s, from the twenties until it closed in the late eighties, and who escaped the actual physical abuse, were, nonetheless, deeply impacted most of their lives by what happened to their schoolmates. Last month’s column served to remind those who’ve been confused and disturbed by the whitewashing of their school’s history, that they, too, had a voice and played an integral part in this complex tale. Their anger with and bitterness toward the Franciscans and the church, combined with feelings of responsibility and regret, was balanced only by their sincere and pointed attempts to examine, understand and heal. 

            “I can’t shake the feeling that I somehow ignored what was going on around me,” wrote one former student who attended the seminary in the seventies. “I always suspected there was a strange element just beneath the surface of (seminary) life but I think a lot of us accepted that as normal. When you board away from home at a young age you tend to think and act more grown up than you really are.”  

            Another former schoolmate sent me pages from his personal journal written during his last two years at Saint Anthony’s in the early sixties. His recorded thoughts are an informative mix of school boy observations and disquieting concerns. In his senior year he was a self-described “know-it-all” who prided himself on matching the names and faces of every boy in the school. Years later, after he learned that friar Martin McKeon had allegedly abused seminarians in his role as teacher and prefect of discipline, certain things started to fall into place. “I can still see the agony on one boy’s face after he left (McKeon’s) room one afternoon,” he related. “I’ll never know the true circumstances but it disturbs me to this day.”  

            The comments of other former seminarians, all secondary survivors who attended Saint Anthony’s at different times and in different decades, echoed much of these same sentiments:

            “It troubles me even more today because I know now that the small suspicions I had were not small at all. They were looming large and I did nothing.” – a student of the sixties  

            “I have good memories of the seminary like everyone else. But I have also a sickening feeling about what happened when I was there. I was naïve (but) that’s no excuse.” – a student of the seventies

            “I’m angry with everyone who taught there.” – a student of the fifties  

              “If I sound bitter, I am. But worse, I regret so much the many precious days I spent socially isolated in those cloistered halls, at such a young age.” – a student of the sixties

             “I personally witnessed (alleged offender) Father Mario (Cimmarrusti) beating a student with his bare fists and dragging him into the photo lab.” – a student of the sixties

            “It wasn’t right. But back then we regarded them (medical exams conducted by friars) 
as a ‘man’ thing.” – a student of the forties 
             
             “I heard things I didn’t want to hear.” – a student of the eighties

            “I’m ashamed for staying quiet even now.”  – a student of the fifties

            “I wasn’t a kid. I was eighteen years old and I didn’t say anything.” – a student of the sixties

            “I recall standing with friends and two (Franciscan) teachers, and one of the friars made a sexual joke about a certain freshman’s (body part), and we all laughed as the kid turned beet red. I’ve always felt bad about that.” – a student of the eighties

            One response from a former student who attended the school in the sixties was especially reflective. In his email, the writer raised not just the question of those who had or hadn't been abused, but also of those who had vanished mysteriously without a word. “When a student left the seminary, or worse, was expelled, it was seen as a sign of failure,” he wrote. “There was no time to say goodbye or good luck to one who was kicked out; no attempt at understanding or reconciling the sudden disappearance of one who may have been a long-time friend.” This type of emotional and psychological wounding left many seminarians feeling anxious and insecure. Most, myself included, felt the sting of these inexplicable losses as we tried to make sense of the sight of a stripped bed or an empty desk.

            As painful and difficult as it was for these men to write about feelings long buried in their past, every one of their responses contained more than a hint of hope. Despite the anger and the bitterness, the shame and the guilt, each, in his own way, had set himself squarely on a path to recovery with all its unknown and infinite possibilities. 

Unspeakable Joy

            At the forefront of this recovery is Fred Moody, a former student of Saint Anthony’s, whose memoir, “Unpeakable Joy,” published in 2013, is a remarkable and moving account of a secondary survivor’s seminary years. Moody was one of twenty-five Redemptorist transfer students from Oakland’s Holy Redeemer Seminary who joined the Franciscan student body of Saint Anthony’s in September, 1966, after Holy Redeemer closed its doors. 

            I was at the seminary that year as a returning sophomore when Moody arrived to join the senior class. It didn’t take long for most of us to realize how different he was, in the best possible sense, as he quickly distinguished himself as a likeable character with a fiercely independent nature. I recall only two seniors that year who stood out in my mind as being the coolest guys at the seminary as well as the so-called rebels. 

One was a guy who wore his hair down, defiantly, over one side of his face and dared to risk expulsion by smoking cigarettes in forbidden areas on campus. The other was Fred Moody, who wore a Sinatra-type hat almost everywhere he went on school grounds and who seemed to question any rule no matter what it was. 

            Although he was not sexually molested by a member of the clergy, Moody’s initial pursuit of the priesthood at a young age, coupled with his tireless search for meaning, had dogged him ever since he left the school in 1967. In trying to piece together the circumstances that dropped him in the middle of one of the most notorious sex abuse scandals in the history of the Catholic Church, his story has exposed, sometimes in painfully direct language, a time when boys like Moody and others believed the priesthood was preparing them for a life of honest service, social justice and spiritual enlightenment. Their disappointment in a system that failed them was reinforced by their disillusionment with the Franciscans and the very teachings of the Catholic Church. 

            Moody found it troubling to believe that a relentless truth-seeker and rule-breaker like himself could be deaf and dumb to the horrors of clergy abuse that seemed to lurk behind every sandstone wall. But his perception of unseemliness was closer to the truth than he realized. 

In one memorable passage, Moody described a feeling of helplessness during his time at Saint Anthony’s after he discovered one of his classmates from Holy Redeemer slowly retreating into despair:

            “Not that I didn’t understand—I mean, it wasn’t exactly a mystery. Anyone in his right mind would have been depressed by this place. I was pretty sure he was basically suffering the same thing I was: shock, depression, the hopeless feeling that his dream was dying and he had nowhere else to go.”  

            In an understated but convincing manner, Moody makes the case that the terrible wound inflicted on those who were sexually assaulted is one that he shares with them, not because of any false or separate sense of atonement for his or anyone else’s sins. He knows that mortification of the mind and body are distorted notions of unity with the divine. Rather, and as one who fears he let himself and his schoolmates down, Moody’s writings disclose a deep desire to connect on the most human level and to feel the wound, not as an ugly scar that disfigures and imprisons, but as a jailer’s key that unlocks and liberates. In one respect, it's significant to note that the moral compass which pointed him toward freedom and fairness at an early age would eventually be re-set during his formative years at a Catholic seminary in the Redemptorist tradition.


            Some who attended Saint Anthony’s may take exception to Moody’s frank and revealing story which he relates with dignity and humor. They might misunderstand his use of narrative non-fiction to tell parts of his tale. They may even misjudge his skill in enticing the reader to follow him down the rabbit hole. But Moody’s literary style, a smart blend of fact and fiction to explain his pain and confusion, has much to do with the power and allure of his memoir. As an honest wordsmith, it’s clear from the beginning that his journey to explore how he felt back then, more than forty five years ago, is an attempt to understand how he feels today. As fearlessness springs from vulnerability, Moody demonstrates how one’s wound can often make a person part of the truth he seeks. In an intimately human way, the concept of the redeeming nature of suffering, far beyond the realm of church theology, begins to make sense in the personal quest for a spiritual life.  

            Moody’s subtle insights are relevant to how I perceive and feel my own wound. Over the years, it’s proven to be a peculiar source of strength, acceptance and release. The struggle that ultimately freed me was in the throes of suffering, while the triumph of a much saner world rebounded from the wound that became my guide. A good part of this pain enabled me to pursue and practice ideals that served others, something I learned as a student in the very school where I was harmed. But not blindly and not without inner knowledge. For me, it has never been about the wound that won’t heal or even the wound that’s been re-opened. One paradox of making ourselves well is in the very sore we bind, pick at, cleanse and redress. It’s the redemptive wound that often redefines our personal beliefs about what we need to heal and how those needs make us whole.

Part of the Cure

            Some months ago I re-connected with Raymond, the older cousin of the survivor I helped obtain treatment for in 2004. He reported that his cousin went through some tough years after his initial clinical assessment. But further therapy and the correct medication eventually helped stabilize his younger cousin’s condition, giving him the opportunity to work and live on his own, which he’s managed to do since 2009. 
            
            When I asked Raymond how he, himself, was doing, he responded in an email:

            “I was mostly in the dark all those years. I wasn’t a slacker or a deadbeat. Every morning I got up, went to work, paid the bills, made sure the needs of my family were met. But I was avoiding myself. When my youngest daughter almost drowned in a boating accident in 2008, I immediately blamed myself for an incident that was completely beyond my control. As she lay there in a hospital bed, sedated, but out of danger, I wept for hours and couldn’t stop. It was like waking up and leaving myself behind. I kept sensing how alive it felt to experience my own pain. It was the strangest thing. My daughter had almost died, and there I was, sitting at her bedside embracing my own suffering. I knew exactly where all this was coming from. It just took this long to realize I would be all right.”     

            The crime of clergy sexual abuse is hideous and shocking. But the wound it inflicts, in stark contrast to its dark shadow, can often be brilliant and illuminating. We know that the church is, and has been, part of this terrible sickness. What we need to acknowledge and affirm is that everyone who survives the illness is part of the cure.  

David Bennett
9/8/2014 02:34:48 am

These articles put a face -- many faces, really -- on the indignity, the arrogance, the abrogation of authority that lies at the foundation of this scandal. As an outsider, I see the church's response to unspeakable twisting of its mission as inadequate and adding salt to the wounds inflicted in its name, and I wonder how anyone can consider the church credible in light of its self-defense trumping its concern for victims. Paul's articles help explain the complexities, but still leave a chilly, disbelieving sensation, a sense that the church wants the issue of abuse of boys and misuse of power to just go away rather than seek justice and healing peace.

Vernon Bradley link
9/11/2014 12:17:47 pm

My first wife passed away in 1998. I still talk to her every morning. I still grieve the loss of her physical presence. I still stare in wonder at little sticky notes that she wrote reminders on, birthday cards from her, pictures, and at times I sob imagining how I might have been a better husband, how I might have joined her in her fight at the end. I was committed to supporting her in experiencing an honorable death, but could not join her in her desire to live another six months because I judged it impossible. But I still grieve about my unwillingness. As I share all of this, I don't imagine anyone will tell me I should just forget it and move on. There is no place to move on to and I treasure her presence and all she has given and still gives to my life. I continue to work at healing the wounds in our relationship and sometimes I do that by paying attention to current relationships. I don't imagine anyone will tell me, although who knows, perhaps, that I am really off base and should just move on. A world war two veteran told me some 14 years ago (at age 80, he has now passed) that he continued his entire life to wake up each morning nauseated at the realization of all the people he killed. He went to confession over and over again and could not escape the nausea. I am currently working with a veteran of the first gulf "war" who was caught up in a TERRIBLE friendly fire incident and the agony and the complete incomprehensibility of it not only plagues him but sends him into rages. I am working with him to weave this painful stuff into the fabric of his life, but it is not something he will ever move beyond. It is too important to move beyond. There are too too many lessons for example, who do we believe and trust and to what extent do we follow the leader, and so on. It's not about blaming, but about our brain and soul's inherent desire to make sense of and to weave painful events into the fabric of our very being.

So what is this all about? Maybe obvious for some readers. BUT I KNOW THERE ARE LOT OF FOLKS WHO WISH THAT PAUL would quit writing about the abuse. M-m-m-m-m. Not everything you write, Paul, I grasp and some comments trigger all kinds of differing thoughts in my own clinical brain, but never do I think you should stop writing about this story. There is no reason to stop writing about it. Just like there is no reason for me to stop thinking about, grieving, and even talking to Roberta who is on the other side.

Thank you for continuing to write the column and I know myself when I can write and talk, and feel the emotions, it actually allows my left and right brain to communicate and thus heal some of the pain.

I guess that is enough for today!

Robert Millick
9/12/2014 12:31:46 am

My late wife urged me to persevere in holding my ground about what I knew to be the truth of the abuse I and others received. And, yes, we struggle to find an integrating sense from evil. Sadly, there has been a lack of unity among SAS alumni about the abuses. Not every man who went to SAS was abused, but many were and the institutional culture supported the disunity among us. We alone who walked those halls and strove for a common dream are the most effective healers in these matters. Despite denial and confusion, the truth remains. Psychology has its place and those prefers signals have helped us to understand, but pastoral outreach is scandalously absent. I would like to see less arguments and more brotherhood. We don't all have to agree about every detail of every issue. They are endless. All we have to do is reach out and embrace a fellow brother, listen, and wipe away tears when necessary. Paul should not be silent and his ongoing remarks provide discussion points that tend to make it difficult to ignore matters we usually avoid. Avoidance, as I have seen over the years, is not always the healthiest choice.


Comments are closed.

    Author

    A Room With A Pew is a thought-provoking column on clergy abuse and the healing process. Its content reflects the observations, opinions and experiences of Paul Fericano, a former student who attended Saint Anthony’s Seminary in Santa Barbara in the sixties, and a survivor of clergy sexual abuse. Fericano co-founded SafeNet in 2003, and returned to Santa Barbara that same year to assist the community in recovery. As a poet, satirist and author, he is actively engaged in advocacy, social justice and reconciliation efforts. He supports and encourages those who have been harmed by the Catholic church to explore the healing process, pursue justice with compassion, and to reclaim their past. He is the editor and co-founder of Yossarian Universal News Service (YU News Service), the nation's first parody news syndicate established in 1980. His spiritual practice includes challenging himself to look for humor in the shadows.

    Archives 
    A Room With A Pew
    Memories of Better Days Persist
    Many St. Anthony's students have contacted me, and one asked about the barbershop, where he had sought refuge one day after his offender beat him. Read story.
    by PAUL FERICANO
    TUES., APRIL 1, 2014
    ---
    No Matter How High the Hedge Grows
    The Solidarity Project memorial for clergy abuse survivors at Mission Santa Barbara was vandalized for a second time by a person employed by the Franciscans.
     Read story.
    by PAUL FERICANO
    WED., MARCH 5, 2014
    ---
    Mario (Walter) Cimmarrusti, OFM: 1931 - 2013
    The Worst of What We Lived
    My offender, a notorious Catholic priest and Franciscan friar who abused many boys at St. Anthony's Seminary, died on November 23, 2013. 
    Read story.
    by PAUL FERICANO
    THURS., FEBRUARY 13, 2014
    ---
    The Roots of Pastoral Response
    Pastoral response is the kind of outreach by the church that is absolutely essential to the healing process.
    Read story.
    by PAUL FERICANO
    WED., FEBRUARY 5, 2014
    ---
    Looking for Francis in the Franciscans
    Among survivors of clergy abuse, what puzzles, angers, and disappoints many is the shortage of moral courage among the friars in general. 
    Read story.
    by PAUL FERICANO
    WED., JANUARY 8, 2014
    ---
    From Survival to Forgiveness
    In 1965 when I was 14 I was sexually abused at St. Anthony’s, a Catholic minor seminary in Santa Barbara operated by the Franciscan religious order. 
    Read story.
    by PAUL FERICANO
    THURS., DECEMBER 5, 2013

    Categories

    All
    Angelica Jochim
    CA
    Cardinal Sean O'Malley
    Catholic Church
    Clergy Abuse Survivors
    Clergy Sexual Abuse
    Daniel Barica
    Donald Trump
    Franciscan Province Of St. Barbara
    Franciscans
    Fred Moody
    Healing
    Huntington Beach
    Idol Rumors
    John Hardin
    John McCord
    Melvin Jurisich
    #metoo
    Mission Santa Barbara
    Pastoral Outreach
    Poetry
    Pope Francis
    Province Of Saint Barbara
    Reconciliation
    Resistance
    #resistance
    Richard McManus
    SafeNet
    Saint Anthony's Seminary
    Saints Simon And Jude Parish
    Seminarians
    Solidarity Memorial
    Spiritual Abuse
    Spirituality
    Survivors Of Clergy Abuse
    Ted Cruz
    The Three Stooges
    Thomas Doyle
    Vocations
    YU News Service

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.