by Pearl Solas
“Did God take away your obsession?” Fragile hope cracked in her voice.
He waited in silence until she looked him fully in the face. The compassion in his expression broke her heart and she felt seen in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Maybe ever. A very old soul peered out from his young face.
“No, he didn’t take it away,” he said softly. “But he did transform it. And me. He answered my prayer in a different way than I expected. He helped me realize that he could even use my obsession for good, if I gave it to him. I’ll pray for the same for you.”
The stress of the day caught up with Veronica. Vision blurred, she felt for her new friend’s hand. When she found it, she gripped it like a vise and the two continued smoking on the swing in silence.
Part V
Chapter Thirty-Two
Angela and Sam unpacked their meeting in the prison over the next several sessions. It was clear it would take a long time to understand all of its implications. Sam’s mind wouldn’t let go of the close of Father Matt’s prayer; he needed to know more about the person who had set Paul on his path toward redemption.
Online research didn’t yield much, so Sam started reaching out to people who had known Father Frank. Sam spoke with the prison therapist, who shared her perspective about how unique Father Frank had been among the sex offenders she had served, and Dr. Yvette told Sam about her remarkable experience with Father Frank and Paul.
Sam also contacted people who had known Father Frank in his role as a helping professional and community servant. Sam heard, repeatedly, how tireless Father Frank had been in working to improve the lives of all he served, regardless of their religious affiliation, or lack thereof, and how he helped them gain confidence in their own value and purpose.
Even years later, many of them were still shocked by what Father Frank had confessed about himself, and especially because none of them had ever seen Father Frank in the company of children. Sam wouldn’t have expected it, but the people who knew Father Frank from before he went to prison were surprisingly reluctant to disown him. His former patients and colleagues were sad and distressed that his secret sexual attraction toward children had been revealed to them, but they considered that the assistance he had given them in combating their own inner demons could only have come from a place of sincere empathy—because he himself was fighting the good fight against his own darkest nature. They just couldn’t find it in themselves to condemn him. Based on these conversations, Sam concluded that Father Frank was complex like all humans, comprised of both light and dark facets although, admittedly, his light facets were unusually brilliant, and his dark facets were profoundly inky.
One of the most interesting conversations Sam had about Father Frank was with Tavis Pereira. Years later, Tavis was still working through how he felt about Father Frank, and what he thought of the mystery surrounding Father Frank’s death. Tavis had only heard rumors about what had happened in prison with Father Frank, so he was riveted by hearing what Sam had learned about it directly from Paul Peña and others who had witnessed the events firsthand.
“I know. It’s unbelievable,” Sam agreed. “I had a hard time buying it myself, but I’ve seen the photos of both men taken by Dr. Yvette Stanwood, and I’ve spoken with her about what she observed. She’s clearly a woman of science, Tavis, not a crackpot or a religious zealot. She herself says she wouldn’t have credited the story if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, but she couldn’t be more certain about what she witnessed.”
“That’s the thing, isn’t it though?” said Tavis. “We call ourselves religious and say we believe in a powerful God, but if evidence of that power smacks us in the face, we’re convinced it must be some kind of a hoax.”
They sat in silence for a bit, and then Sam asked, “Are you familiar with the basic requirements for canonization?”
Tavis said he remembered a little bit from his catechism, but his understanding was murky. Sam relished the teaching aspect of his vocation, and jumped at the opportunity to explain.
“In a nutshell, within the Roman Catholic tradition, saints are those who are recognized as Servants of God; whose presence with God in heaven is certain. Saints are worthy of universal veneration within the Church because their service to God demonstrated heroic degrees of the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity, and the cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. Of the two forms of worship, adoration is reserved to God alone, while veneration is honor and reverence appropriately directed toward created beings.
“There are two routes to sainthood, with martyrdom providing a shortcut. Martyrs are those the Pope certifies as having given their lives voluntarily as witnesses of the Faith, or in acts of heroic charity for others. For non-martyrs, also called ‘confessors,’ it’s a long process requiring detailed information about the candidate’s witness to the faith by how he or she lived, as well as evidence of two miracles attributable to the candidate’s intercession. The miracles are viewed as a sign from God that the candidate is with God in heaven.
“Within the Anglican Communion, we developed a much broader conception of sainthood after our split with Rome. We now extend the term ‘saint’ to all faithful Christians, and we don’t jump through a maze of procedural hoops to recognize particularly Holy individuals.”
Tavis wrinkled his forehead. “Okay. Why are you telling me this?”
“Well . . .” Sam stopped, still finding it difficult to say the words out loud even though he and Father Matt, Paul Peña, and Joshua had discussed it several times. Sam braced himself; he still cared, sometimes too much, what people thought about him, but he had promised to serve a God who would sometimes ask him to do difficult and counterintuitive things, so needs must. “Some of us who have been affected by Father Frank’s life and service think that he meets the qualifications for canonization. We’re starting the process down that path. Because Father Frank lived his life within the Roman Catholic tradition, we thought it important to pursue canonization within that context.”
Tavis stared at Sam blankly. The friendliness drained from his face. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, I admired Father Frank. It creeps me out that I still admire him even after what he told me—what I heard, from his mouth, with my own ears. Maybe part of the reason I admire him is because he told me even though nobody ever would have known. Because he provided a little bit of justice, way too late, to that little girl. But a saint? Like, people are going to light candles asking for his help? Shit, I don’t know, man . . .” He puffed air out of his mouth in disbelief.
“I know, but hear me out. The way Father Frank died was the first miracle. Technically, he should qualify as a martyr on that basis alone. Even if he didn’t qualify as a martyr, though, there is a second miracle attributable to him. Admittedly, there’s less corroborating evidence. But I’m part of that evidence. The impact of that second miracle changed my life for the better, and there are many others like me.”
Tavis’s arched eyebrow was sufficient encouragement for Sam to continue. “You know more than just about anyone else how dangerous and unrepentant Paul Peña was.” Sam leaned across the table. “I’m sure you know that this man’s behavior and attitudes were deeply entrenched. He had convinced himself of his own bullshit.”
Tavis remained silent, considering. He nodded and Sam continued, “According to Paul, Father Frank appeared to him in a vision after his death and commissioned Paul to be God’s instrument of repentance and reconciliation in this area of blight within the Church. Paul says the substitution of Father Frank’s life for his own created space for a new humility and change of perspective. More critically, Paul developed genuine empathy for his victims as the result of a long series of vivid dreams. Every night for well over a year, he vicariously experienced every instance of abuse he had inflicted, from his victims’ perspectives. He dwelt in our thoughts and sensations, and he experienced our physical and emotional pain. I believe God sent Paul those dreams so that Paul would really un
derstand what he had done. I believe it because Paul knew exactly what I was thinking as he raped me when I was fourteen.”
Sam saw that the hairs on Tavis’s arms had prickled, and Sam continued to explain how Paul finally accepted responsibility for the full scope of what he had done. After Father Frank’s showing, Paul waited for direction about how he could possibly satisfy Father Frank’s prediction that he would be God’s tool for reconciliation. Sam explained how he had been led to meet with Paul after the New York Times letter. Tavis nodded again, remembering.
“I was so afraid to meet with him, Tavis.” Sam’s voice suddenly wavered. “I was terrified that I would be so overwhelmed by anger that I wouldn’t be coherent. I was afraid that, although offering him forgiveness could speed my own healing, I would be unable to forgive him. I had prescribed the antidote of forgiveness to so many of my parishioners who had been poisoned by their own resentment against those who had wounded them, but I wasn’t sure I could stomach my own medicine.
“When we met, it was immediately apparent that Paul was fundamentally a different person than he had been when I knew him. He fought through his obvious shame and regret to confess what he had done to me and how he had manipulated me. When I left that day, I wasn’t sure how I felt. With some time and space, so many of the negative emotions that had been blighting my life at a static, subconscious frequency, lessened.
“As an acolyte of the Master who led his followers to aspire to his own example of mercy, forgiveness, and reconciliation, it might be less difficult for me than it would be for others to accept that grace and divine intervention had worked such a transformation in the monster of my adolescence. I think it also helped that Paul didn’t ask anything of me—not even forgiveness. As I reflected in the days and weeks following the meeting, I realized that something Paul had previously robbed had been returned to me: choice. His apology revealed how his manipulations had once stolen my ability to make uncoerced choices. By unmasking his actions without making demands, he returned that ability to me.
“I was released from my prison of self-blame and shame, but I still held plenty of rage in reserve. But having regained the ability to make free choices, I came to understand that I could either grasp tightly to my anger and allow it to continue eating an acidic hole through my life, or I could experience the joy Our Lord experienced through crucifixion. Having every justification for holding onto his righteous wrath, and being fully defensible in condemning all of humanity for choosing self-gratification over the joy of divine relationship, he chose forgiveness, redemption, and reconciliation.”
Tavis continued to listen encouragingly, but Sam could also see that Tavis was still uncertain about the reason for Sam’s visit. It was time to bite the bullet.
“Look, Tavis, you are one of the few people who has met both Father Frank and Paul Peña. You know, more than most, who Paul was and what he was capable of.”
“Yeah. It feels weird to say it about a pedophile, but I do think Father Frank was a good man. I would need a whole lot of convincing to say anything positive about Paul. It’s like saying a tiger can change its stripes. That guy is the most arrogant, manipulative shit-heel I ever came across.”
“I get it. Absolutely. Would you be willing to meet with him, to see for yourself whether he’s changed?”
Tavis considered, then cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t do it for him. I would do it for you, though. But I guess I still don’t get why it matters to you if I think he’s changed.”
“Well . . . those of us who are making the case to canonize Father Frank think it matters. We think that if you see how he affected Paul, then maybe you’ll help us with the canonization effort. If you wrote a report, the Congregation for the Causes of Saints would use it to make their recommendations.”
“Jesus!” exclaimed Tavis, rubbing his forehead with his hand.
“I mean . . .” Sam pointed to his clerical collar.
“Sorry, Father,” said Tavis, chagrined. “Seriously, though!”
“You don’t have to decide this minute. Just meet with Paul, and then pray about it. I get it if you end up not wanting to do it.”
Tavis held Sam’s gaze for several seconds. Sam did his best not to fidget or look away. Finally, Tavis nodded.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Veronica stepped back, assessing the flowers she’d just placed near the steps leading to the altar. She bent down and adjusted them, then looked again, finally satisfied.
“They look lovely, Veronica,” said a voice behind her. Thinking she had been alone, Veronica startled at the voice that carried in the cavernous acoustics of the cathedral. She turned and smiled as she recognized the speaker.
“Oh, thank you, Bishop. I think they’ll do. Are you the celebrant for tomorrow’s Mass?”
Bishop Cólima nodded and then, uncertainly, asked, “Veronica, I wonder whether you might take a short walk with me? It’s a lovely afternoon and there’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you.”
“Of course. Just let me run to the ladies’ room first. Meet you near the west door in ten minutes?”
“Perfect.”
* * *
As she washed her hands, Veronica wondered what the bishop wanted to talk about. Considering her lawsuit against the diocese and outspoken criticism of the Church’s handling of the clergy abuse crisis, the cordial relationship between the two of them was somewhat surprising. Veronica appreciated, however, that when Bishop Cólima had taken over from his predecessor in the wake of Paul Peña’s trial, he had instituted reforms and safeguards even though such measures had not been adopted, or even meaningfully considered, by the global Church. Some of his reforms even ran counter to the Church’s formal policies. His employment of Tavis Pereira, for example, and his commitment to report all substantiated allegations against clergy to law enforcement, was implemented at a time when the Church’s official mandate was that all allegations must be kept absolutely secret. Only recently, and only in response to overwhelming pressure, had the Vatican released guidance permitting, but not requiring, Church officials to coordinate with law enforcement when they became aware of information pertaining to sexual assault against children.
Veronica appreciated Bishop Cólima’s willingness to flout official policy because it was the right thing to do. He, in turn, appreciated her determination. They had formed an unlikely relationship that was something just shy of friendship.
During the pendency of her short-lived lawsuit, Bishop Cólima had happened upon her praying a rosary in the cathedral. He had sat down next to her, and they had talked after he waved away her warning that, as the current head of the Colberg diocese, he should not interact with the woman who was both the lawyer and plaintiff suing his diocese.
“Let’s put that aside for now, shall we, and just agree to speak as brother and sister in Christ?”
She agreed, and they had had an edifying conversation. The bishop explained that, while he held a great deal of autonomy within the diocese, the archbishop heading the ecclesiastical province had demanded consistency in the handling of civil lawsuits relating to clergy abuse. Bishop Cólima speculated that the archbishop had, in turn, received a similar mandate from the Vatican. While the Church’s secrecy strictures had only recently relaxed sufficient to allow bishops like Cólima to report suspected abuse to law enforcement, the Church still refused to allow any voluntary sharing of information in the context of civil lawsuits. The upshot, Bishop Cólima had explained, was that his hands were tied with respect to her lawsuit.
“I figured as much,” responded Veronica.
“What interests me,” admitted the bishop, “is finding you here praying a rosary.”
Veronica looked at him curiously.
“So many people in your situation have left the Church. But here you are.”
“I guess I’m just not willing to allow one more thing to be taken from me. I grew up in the Church; it’s always been and still is a huge part of my life. Paul Peña and t
he men who enabled him took my boy from me, but they can’t take my Church. The Church isn’t the men who administer her, it’s the body of Christ. I’m still part of that body. I love her. I want the men who act on her behalf to do better.”
Bishop Cólima smiled his approval. “You and me both.”
* * *
Veronica met the bishop at the cathedral’s western entrance and, after they had walked in companionable silence for more than a block, Bishop Cólima said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you what you thought about the abuse summit at the Vatican a few years back.”
“Too little, too late,” responded Veronica drily. “Just more hand-wringing and asking for forgiveness without admitting responsibility or actually doing anything about the problem. I’m sure it was some PR phenom’s idea, and that’s exactly what it appeared to be—a PR stunt.”“I don’t disagree,” said the bishop. “You probably read in the news that our bishop’s conference had planned to develop and implement detailed procedures the year before the summit, but the Vatican told us to stand down. We were told that the summit in Rome would result in some kind of unified approach from the global Church. I’m sure you can imagine our disappointment.”
After several paces in silence, Bishop Cólima blurted, “Veronica, there’s something I wanted you to hear from me. First, we’ve known each other for a while now. Do you think I’m a man of conscience?”
She did not need to think about her response. “Yes. From what I’ve seen, you do what you think is right even if it might make it more difficult to advance in your vocation.”
“Good. I’m going to tell you something you’re not going to like, but I’ve prayed about it, I’ve agonized over it, and my conscience is convinced it’s the right thing to do.”