BishopAccountability.org
	Murphy Admits Mistakes, Promises Reform By Melanie Lefkowitz The Newsday [Long Island] June 3, 2007 http://www.newsday.com/news/specials/ny-libish0603,0,5565926.htmlstory?coll=ny-main-breakingnewslinks Nestled into Bishop William Murphy's prayer book is a photograph of an alter boy dressed for church. Murphy says the boy's mother sent him the picture after her son, abused at the hands of a priest, killed himself at age 22. "I see that every single time I open my breviary to pray. And I do that purposely, to remind myself of how seriously tragic and horrific this has been," Murphy said. "The last picture I see before I go to bed is that young man. And please God, I'll have that in there with me until my dying day." Like the photograph, a portrait of betrayal pressed against pages imprinted with Catholic text, many things associated with the church has become melded with the priest sex abuse scandal that engulfed it. And so it has gone for Murphy. His tumultuous 51/2-year tenure as leader of Long Island's 1.4 million Catholics has been seared with the anger arising from decades of hidden abuse and secrets kept. Murphy spent much of his first few years here on the defensive, derided for everything from accusations that he'd shielded predatory priests at his previous posting in Boston to a $1.1 million renovation of his residence. The controversies kept coming. Murphy's feud with the local chapter of Voice of the Faithful, a group of prominent lay leaders advocating openness in the wake of the sex-abuse scandal, escalated to their call for his resignation. More than 50 priests signed a letter indicating concern — an extraordinary act for a organization rooted in hierarchy. And for the first time, the diocese missed its fundraising targets. All in his first three years. Looking back The bishop, during a wide-ranging interview that took place in Rockville Centre's vast and soaring St. Agnes Cathedral, admitted he made mistakes and said he wished he'd done some things differently. "I wish that I had spent more time listening to some of the people, including some of the Voice of the Faithful, back in 2003," he said. "My reason but not my excuse is that I was trying to build up something that was just so vast and was coming at me from every single angle. I was doing the best I could, but I'm a limited person." Recently, he said, he visited a parish that conflict had led him to avoid. "I went out to apologize to them. And I said, 'I was so battered at that point personally, I didn't know where I was turning,' " he recalled. "But I said, 'I put me ahead of you.' That's not right. I'm a priest, I'm a servant, I'm a shepherd. I have to put them ahead of me." On Sept. 5, 2001, Long Island was on the brink of spiritual and secular upheaval. Four hijacked planes would soon cleave history into "before" and "after." Smoldering anger over priest pedophilia was about to explode into a conflagration. That day's ceremony installing Murphy as the fourth bishop of the nation's sixth-largest diocese was vivid with pomp and ritual dating back 2,000 years. But the challenges he faced were mired deep in the modern age. Murphy unveiled an ambitious agenda: A Eucharistic congress, an event, usually more than one day and including Masses and lectures; a diocesan synod, a council to chart the church's future. The establishment of an order of Benedictine nuns from Nigeria in a house of prayer. Though Murphy was a stranger in a role traditionally filled by familiar faces — Bishops Walter Kellenberg and John McGann were both well-known on Long Island before their installations — his warm personality and signature charm seemed likely to help ingratiate him quickly among his new congregants. Gregarious and outspoken "He impresses me as what you'd imagine a Tip O'Neill type, Boston politician to be, but I say that in the best way possible," said former Nassau County District Attorney Denis Dillon. "That's what a bishop should be. He should be gregarious, outgoing and the kind of person that people like to meet." But in his new placement, Murphy's bonhomie failed to win over everyone and some of his initiatives have stalled. So far only the Eucharistic congress has taken place. The synod, intended to coincide with the diocese's 50th anniversary, may not occur for another year or more, and the plan to bring the nuns to Long Island — which offended some local nuns and ran into practical hurdles — is now on indefinite hold. What Murphy has accomplished includes: a revamp of adult and child education; a deal with organized labor to pay workers on major construction jobs prevailing state wages plus benefits; and the creation of a system of checks in response to the sex-abuse crisis. "I think the bishop is a man of a lot of energy, a lot of enthusiasm, and a lot of ideas. And I think he came in with a lot of that and met resistance in the sense that people felt, 'He's already announcing this and that and the other thing and he doesn't even know us,'" said Msgr. James McNamara, the pastor of the Church of the Holy Cross in Nesconset and a friend of Murphy's for 25 years. "I think he realized then that he would need to back up a bit." Murphy, 67, said he has had to learn to check his impulsiveness after offending some priests and congregants on Long Island. Since then, he has worked to repair some bad first impressions. Priests said they appreciate his commitment to them, his diligence in visiting the sick and his open lines of communication. In April, the diocese held a convocation of nearly 200 priests at Gurney's Inn in Montauk — the first gathering of its kind in almost a decade, which included a Mass at the new St. Therese of Lisieux church where Murphy addressed priests informally from a folding chair in front of the altar. "I would say Bishop Murphy has made a strong effort to engage in dialogue and communication with his priests," said the Rev. Gerald Twomey, of Our Lady of Fatima Church in Manorhaven. "If I have an issue or a concern with him, I have no hesitancy in approaching him directly." Learning from mistakes Leaders of the diocese's women's religious groups, whose relationship with the bishop has been at times fractious, recounted a day of prayer with church leaders and the bishops from the Rockville Centre and Brooklyn dioceses in March. "It was a wonderful day of coming together around prayer and contemplation," said Sister Virginia Maguire, prioress of the Amityville Dominicans. "I think we all learn from our mistakes or from what has happened, especially when you're new in a place, and I think he has tried to compensate for those areas as he has assumed his leadership role in the diocese." Over the last five years, the number of priesthood candidates from the diocese has roughly doubled to approximately 35, 26 of whom are at the Seminary of the Immaculate Conception in Lloyd Harbor, with the rest enrolled elsewhere at other phases of the process. Many attribute the increase in part to Murphy's selection of an energetic priest, the Rev. Thomas Coogan, as director of vocations, the popularity of a retreat he runs for those interested in the priesthood, and his own strong interest and rapport with young people. "You can just see it. They like him, and he likes them," said Msgr. James McDonald, the rector of the seminary. Students at St. John the Baptist in West Islip recently gave Murphy a surfboard, McDonald said. "I think that is one of his favorite things he does, when he can get away from his desk and his planned meetings, he will just go to a high school." Born and raised in Boston as one of six children of a history teacher and a homemaker, Murphy left Harvard after one year to attend seminary. He continued his studies in Rome, then served as a parish priest for five years in Groveland, Mass. He returned to Rome for about 15 years before eventually serving as Boston Bernard Cardinal Law's second-in-command. Twomey noted that Murphy has said publicly that Rome, and not Boston, is his "true home ... I think that's a very interesting, integrative key to understanding who he is and how he functions as a bishop. He has a great personal and ecclesiastical loyalty to Rome as his magnetic north." That loyalty to Rome has led Murphy to clash with those who would prefer to see the church, among other things, to offer an even greater role in church affairs to the laity. The same conservatism that some believe responsible for Murphy's swift rise earned him some vehement opposition when he fired three Long Island nuns serving as college chaplains with younger, more evangelical priests in 2005, and, in 2002, banned Voice of the Faithful from meeting on church grounds. Dan Bartley, former co-chair of the group's Long Island chapter, said the consequences of that decision have been grave, alienating many priests and some of the church's most involved members. "I don't think he fully realized what he did. We were well known as active lay leadership and had close relationships with many priests in the diocese, so he attacked the wrong group of people, and he wouldn't back down," Bartley said. "It's very sad, because it was an opportunity lost, because great things could have happened." Not everyone agrees. Frank Russo of Port Washington, state director of the conservative American Family Association, applauded the ban. "That group had a lot of objectives which are not consistent with traditional church teachings, and I think the fact that the bishop has resisted their having formal organizational status at parishes is a very good thing," he said. A willingness to listen While Murphy stopped short of saying he regretted his decision, he did say he wished he had met with members of Voice of the Faithful years ago and heard out their concerns. He added that he wishes the group would reconsider its call for his resignation and its ongoing boycott of the Catholic Ministries Appeal, the diocese's chief fundraising effort formerly called The Bishop's Annual Appeal. "I'm very sad about it. There's not a one of them I don't like, not a one of them that I do not embrace in communion," he said. "I pray for them all every day." Bartley called Murphy's willingness to listen "welcome news." "Voice of the Faithful has always been ready, willing and able to do our part in helping the diocese through these difficult times," he said. The feud with Voice of the Faithful was part of the impetus for a 2003 letter, signed by more than 50 of the diocese's approximately 400 priests, expressing concern about widespread dissatisfaction with the bishop. Another main point of contention: Resentment over the renovation of his residence, which cost more than $1.1 million and led to the permanent displacement of six nuns. A series of Jimmy Breslin opinion columns in Newsday about so-called "Mansion Murphy" helped stoke the anger of parishioners, many of whom said at the time that it made them leery of contributing to church coffers. Friends of the bishop say these criticisms were overblown. "I've been there, we're talking about Long Island and by comparison with upper middle class homes in Long Island and certainly by comparison with what used to be called the bishop's palace, his quarters are by comparison quite modest," said the Rev. Richard Neuhaus, editor of the conservative Catholic journal First Things. "There was an ugliness, a nasty edge to much of the treatment of Bishop Murphy, and I'm sure that that had to be discouraging. It created a difficult circumstance for the beginning of his ministry there." Yet nothing hindered Murphy's progress like the priest sex-abuse crisis. The Massachusetts attorney general said in 2003 that although the law did not allow him to indict Law and his senior staff, including Murphy, he found their actions and their secrecy "deplorable" and decried the "massive and pervasive failure of leadership." According to that report, Murphy "placed a higher priority on preventing scandal and providing support to alleged abusers than on protecting children from sexual abuse." A scathing, 180-page 2003 grand jury report released by Suffolk County District Attorney Thomas Spota unveiled a litany of abuse allegations and cover-ups all pre-dating Murphy's arrival but, like the Massachusetts documents, chipping away at his image and enflaming anger against the church. Reforms in place Since the scandal, the diocese has instituted several educational and safety programs, including awareness training and background checks for all church personnel that Murphy said he believes are among the most comprehensive in the nation. "He said it was his intention to cooperate as closely as he could with both district attorneys in his diocese. And as far as I'm concerned he did," said Dillon, the former Nassau County district attorney. Dillon, a devout Roman Catholic, was criticized by some in the diocese for not calling a special grand jury to investigate abuse allegations, as Spota had. Spota declined to comment for this story. Two weeks ago, after a jury found the diocese negligent in the case of Matthew Maiello, the youth minister convicted of molesting two teenagers, the bishop sent a letter to priests calling for healing and closure, but also reminding them what the church has done to prevent future abuses and that the settlement money will not come out of congregants' donations. Although Murphy has apologized for the pain caused by the scandal, he, like most of the country's bishops, declined to release the names of accused priests, and criticism of him has persisted. He further angered advocates when he reinstated the Rev. William Logan after a diocesan review found accusations against him unsubstantiated, even though more than one accuser had stepped forward." Code of silence "He practices the code of silence," said Anne Barrett Doyle of Bishop Accountability, a Massachusetts-based group that collects documents relating to the scandal. "Bishops don't feel accountable to laity about financial matters or sex abuse matters, and Bishop William Murphy is typical. He's typical in his suppression of information, in that he suppresses virtually all information unless forced to disclose it, and he's probably worse than average in his public relations skills." Part of the fallout from the crisis was a new demand for accountability, accessibility and transparency from church leaders. Recognizing this, Murphy, then still a relative newcomer, said he strove to spend as much time as possible in the parishes to try to assuage the fury. "The atmosphere was tough," Murphy said during the interview at St. Agnes. "And so we've had to pray a lot, I've had to open myself up a lot more. I hope people know who I am." McNamara of Nesconset, who befriended Murphy when both were studying in Rome, said Murphy is his own best advocate in reversing negative opinions. "I wish more people would have the opportunity to meet him," McNamara said. "If you knew him as I do, you would see a person who is very down to earth. People don't see that side of him, they don't see the human being." McNamara recalled meeting Murphy recently for dinner at a restaurant in Hauppague. Murphy addressed McNamara as "monsignor," and the maitre d' apologized profusely for calling him simply "father." "I said, 'Don't worry about that, he's the head bishop of the whole diocese.' The guy didn't get it at all. It didn't compute. He kept coming to the table calling me 'Monsignor' and him 'Father.' " But McNamara said that Murphy just laughed it off. "He thought it was funny. Another person, if he was arrogant, he would have said to that man, 'Excuse me, I'm Bishop Murphy.' He would never do that." Recent rumors that the bishop could be transferred soon to Detroit or Baltimore are just talk, Murphy said. But his goals — to continue reaching out to young people; to encourage Mass attendance; to achieve a deeper unity within the church — are rooted less in geography and conflict than in God and in belief. "What we're dealing with is the mystery of God's love for us, and that can never be reduced to human groups haggling things out on preferences," he said. "This is a community of communion that is much more than just 'all together.' It's called by the Lord, it's animated by the Lord, and its ultimate goal is to bring people to him."
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