It’s a story at once byzantine and utterly evil. There is a man, a Father Maciel, who commits horrific acts of abuse against seminarians in his own seminary, in the seminary he has founded. This fact was acknowledged by the Vatican in a statement in 2010. Here’s Wikipedia on the matter:
The "very serious and objectively immoral acts" of Maciel, which were "confirmed by incontrovertible testimonies" represent "true crimes and manifest a life without scruples or authentic religious sentiment", the Vatican said.[31] The Vatican also stated that the Legion created a "mechanism of defense" around Maciel to shield him from accusations and suppress damaging witnesses from reporting abuse. "It made him untouchable," the Vatican said. The statement decried "the lamentable disgracing and expulsion of those who doubted" Maciel's virtue. The Vatican statement did not address whether the Legion's current leadership would face any sanctions.[32] Actions taken by the current Legion leadership will be scrutinized; but no specific sanctions were mentioned, amid suspicion that at least some of the current leaders must have been aware of Maciel's sins. The Vatican acknowledged the "hardships" faced by Maciel's accusers through the years when they were ostracized or ridiculed, and commended their "courage and perseverance to demand the truth."
“No, Marc,” you are groaning. “enough with the sexual abuse scandals in the Catholic church. Basta ya!”
Well, you may have a point. But this is a story that hasn’t been much heard. The YouTube clip—actually four clips of 15 minutes each—has only been seen by some 1900 people. That’s nothing in YouTube terms. And this is a story that, yes, is as saturated with abuse as a wet dog. But it also is about something often linked to sex…
…money.
Father Maciel, born in Cotija de la Paz, Michoacán, Mexico in 1920, barely made it to the priesthood—two seminaries kicked him out, and no other seminary would touch him. So he was tutored privately, and then wealthy connections greased his way into the priesthood. And he was on the Vatican’s screen early on—in 1956 he was hospitalized for drug abuse in Rome, and suspended as a priest. But he slipped back in during the interregnum between popes—the Secretary of State for the Vatican reappoints him head of the congregation.
What congregation, you ask.
Maciel founded the Legion of Christ in 1941, with the help of his uncle, a bishop. And Maciel was a charismatic leader, who followed a well-established tactic for gaining power. Go after the rich, especially the rich women, and better yet, old rich women.
And he certainly did well. Here’s a statement from the National Catholic Reporter: “By 2004, the Legion had a $650 million budget and $1 billion in assets for the prep schools, seminaries and universities in Latin America, Europe and North America.”
Macel also was, according to another source, the greatest fundraiser to the Catholic Church in modern times.
That makes you friends, and friends he had. Certainly in the Catholic world—the prominent Catholic thinker Richard John Neuhaus defended him, called charges against Maciel “scurrilous.” Carlos Slim, the world’s richest guy is a pal, as is William Bennett, the former Secretary of Education turned-CNN commentator.
And the biggest pal of all was John Paul II, who praised him lavishly on the first trip ever of a pope to Mexico.
Money, Dear Reader, doesn’t talk—it’s sings, it lures, it clouds and befuddles the intellect, not to mention the moral scheme, as effectively as those vials that filled a large suitcase that Maciel showed to a legionary.
Yes, by the 80’s or 90’s, Maciel no longer had to send seminarians to the hospital, to plead for more drugs for the founder of Legion of Christ. A doctor had given him carte blanche to mix as much of the opiate as he wanted.
He was “sick,” went the story, and in great pain.
Well, the sick part I believe, though not quite in the sense intended.
He also fostered sickness. The legionaries are told never, ever, to criticize Maciel, and to snitch on those who do. They are taken as teenagers and told only to send letters once a month to their parents. Worse, they are allowed to see their parents once every seven years, according to one parent, a heartbroken woman form Elk Grove, Wisconsin. Their Internet access is restricted, their letters home are censored.
Remember—this was the thing that got the Moonies in trouble—or at least earned them a few black marks, in the public eye.
This would be bad enough—the abuse, the cultism that prompted the bishops of Cincinnati and Columbus to ban the Legion from their dioceses. And speaking of abuse, it seems that Maciel swung both ways, fathering as many as—perhaps—six children.
What’s worse?
The Vatican knew all this.
It’s the familiar story. Nine victims of Father Maciel lodged a formal complaint in the Vatican. Incredibly, even as the investigation was continuing, the Vatican then announced that it had stopped the investigation. Later, the Vatican announced to the victims that the case had been shelved.
In 2004, the victims get a letter—the case has been reopened. The letter is from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, headed by Ratzinger, who, as I wearily point out, had directed that ALL cases of priestly abuse be sent to his desk.
And Ratzinger has a little moral dilemma. Here’s the Catholic Reporter again on the subject:
"Ratzinger wanted to elevate John Paul to beatification," said Barba, coauthor of La Voluntad de No Saber ("The Will Not to Know"), an analysis of Vatican documents on Maciel. The book's publication last March and Benedict's refusal to meet with Maciel victims on a trip to Mexico ignited an onslaught of bad press for the pope. Benedict had to reckon with the embarrassment of John Paul's praise of Maciel after the 1998 case, in essence scoffing at allegations against one of the most notorious sexual criminals in church history. By keeping a lid on Maciel's secret life, Barba said, Benedict hoped "to defend the sainthood case against the accusations that John Paul protected predators."
Well, it’s another case of a morally bankrupt man who heads a church of 1.2 billion people of doing anything to promote his church. This man, who meets with abuse survivors, who prays with them, sheds tears with them, values a canonization over the truth.
Which had it been told might have swayed the mind of a devoted legionary, a widow named Gabrielle D. Mee, who left 60 million bucks to the Legion in 2008. The family is suing, stating that Mee would never have given the money had she known that the founder of the organization was a pervert who had fathered children as well.
That’s interesting, but hardly the point that concerns me.
At three this morning I was eating pizza and reading a piece by John Cornwell, a writer and Catholic known for his book Hitler’s Pope. He points out that the death—and now resignation—of a pope doesn’t remove just one man, but the entire curia, the administration of the church. The top guys all lose their jobs, and new guys are put into their place. And yes, Cornwell completely buys in to the theory published in the Italian press that the report commissioned by the three cardinals reveals sexual and fiscal misdeeds at the top level of the curia.
Which may be the reason Ratzinger isn’t returning to the beloved Germany of his birth. He can’t. He has to stay, and work with the new pope.
Here’s the question: is he staying to clean up?
Or cover up?
