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	The Cries of Bartimaeus The Garden of Roses Stories of Abuse and Healing December 22, 2009 http://web.me.com/virginiajones/Compsassionate_Gathering/The_Garden_of_Roses/Entries/2009/12/21_Monday%2C_December_21%2C_2009.html Steve Theisen is a burly guy in his fifties with short, gray hair. His e-mail address incorporates the names of his two favorite sports stars--LT and Reggie Jackson. On a cold, Saturday evening in late January 2005, Steve stood outside a Marshalltown, Iowa parish handing out leaflets while officers in two police cars observed. Steve asked the nun who was the Pastoral Associate of the church about the police presence. “Sister, tell me you didn’t call the cops on me,” Steve said. “Yes, we did,” replied the Sister. “Why?” asked Steve. “For your protection,” said the Sister. “For my protection? From whom? The people in the pews?” asked Steve. “No, for their protection,” replied the Sister. “From whom? Me?” asked Steve. This incident left Steve “hopping mad.” Steve didn’t have a criminal record, but the parish did. Steve’s leaflets described three abusive priests who had served in the parish. Steve was trying to inform parishioners and encourage abuse survivors to come forward. Although the reaction by the Marshalltown, Iowa parish was extreme, Steve says that when he leaflets parishes to tell about cases of abuse, few Catholics show interest in the issue. Most are indifferent. A few are actively hostile. Steve currently directs SNAP (Survivors’ Network of those abused by Priests) for the State of Iowa -- a volunteer vocation he pursues hoping to draw attention to the pain caused by sexual abuse and the need to care for clergy abuse survivors. Many survivors are too filled with shame and pain to speak for themselves. Steve, himself, was abused by Franciscan nun starting when he was nine. I met Steve Theisen while attending a SNAP convention in Chicago in June 2005. It was a long and painful journey that brought me to that SNAP convention. I am a convert to Catholicism, baptized along with my children, at a Catholic Church in Portland, Oregon, in June 2001, by a dynamic and giving Franciscan priest. In May 2002, a man came forward alleging he had been abused by that same Franciscan priest when he was a boy. The Franciscans removed the priest from ministry three days later. His removal caused deep pain and division between parishioners who loved him and those who thought we were lucky to be rid of him. Church leadership allowed parishioners to grieve for six weeks. Then leadership told parishioners, “We can’t talk about Father; the parish is too divided”. By November 2002, attendance by English speaking parishioners had declined by at least one quarter. Devastated by the loss of the priest who had baptized me and frustrated by the lack of information, I sought my own answers on the Internet. I discovered that clergy abuse was much more pervasive and much worse than Church leadership confessed to. I also realized that few survivors had been cared for properly. I realized that clergy sex abuse and cover-up hurt the whole Catholic Church, so I started reaching out to survivors In August 2004, I met the boy who had accused my Franciscan priest of abuse. He was a 40-year-old man whose struggles with depression and anxiety were so great that he was unable to hold down a steady job. I tried telling other parishioners about what I learned. “I don’t go for this gouging the church bit,” said one woman. “Survivors need to forgive, forget and move on,” said another woman. “I don’t want to get involved.” the church receptionist told me.” “Many of the accusations are false.” said a catechist. “It’s people who won’t let go of issues who are the problem,” said a lector. “We don’t need to do anything. The bishops have taken care of everything,” said a cantor. The more my message and I were rejected, the angrier I got. Frustrated by the lack of support from other Catholics, I sought out people who could understand my pain and anger at the people and the leadership of the Catholic Church -- survivors of clergy abuse. I went to the 2005 Chicago SNAP convention. I met Steve Theisen at that convention; I also met Robert Fuller. When I boarded the airplane to fly home to Oregon from Chicago, I saw a wiry man with long brown hair wearing a baseball cap and a SNAP t-shirt – giving him away as a survivor of clergy abuse. I introduced myself. Robert told me his name and his story. “I went to a Christian Brothers High School,” he began. His teacher, Brother Raimond, invited several boys for a weekend ski trip in 1981. That weekend Brother Raimond plied his charges with alcohol and repeatedly raped and sodomized Robert and another boy. After the trip, rumors swirled among Robert’s classmates that he was gay. Authorities asked Robert if Brother Raimond had abused him. Robert strenuously denied the abuse. His denial quashed rumors about his sexuality, but did not heal Robert. For years he buried his life in drugs. “Finally, when I saw all the news stories on clergy abuse in 2002, I realized why I was committing slow suicide through drug use,” Robert concluded. First, Robert entered drug rehabilitation. Then, he sued the Christian Brothers for damages and used the financial settlement to buy a house, start a business and rebuild the life Br. Raymond shattered. Many Catholics wish the media stories damaging the church’s reputation and the sex abuse lawsuits draining church coffers would just go away. The uncomfortable truth is that these stories and lawsuits help survivors, such as Robert Fuller, understand the trauma they experienced and take steps towards healing. They remind me of Bartimaeus, whose story is told in the Gospels of Luke (chapter 18:35-43) and Mark (chapter 10:46-52). As Jesus approached Jericho, the blind beggar Baritmaeus heard the noise of the crowds around Jesus and inquired what was happening. People told him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.” Bartimaeus already knew Jesus by reputation. He began to cry out and say, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.” Many rebuked Bartimaeus, telling him to be silent, not to bother Jesus, but Bartimaeus kept calling out even more. Jesus heard him and told his disciples to bring the man crying out to him. Jesus asked Bartimaeus what he wanted. Bartimaeus said that he was blind and that he wanted to be healed so Jesus healed Bartimaeus. There is so much talk about the responsibility of bishops for covering up abuse and failing to care for survivors, but I think all Catholics bear responsibility. I found rejection by the people of the Catholic Church even more painful than when my message was rejected by the leadership of the Catholic Church. I kind of expected Church leadership to protect the institution, but what did the ordinary parishioner in the pew have to lose? Each one of us is responsible for making the choice of being compassionate or not. When we choose to turn away from a difficult issue, we become part of the problem. I believe that if we Catholics listen and support survivors of clergy abuse, we will effect great healing for survivors as well as for the Church we love. Why do I think that? Because when Franciscan Friar Fr. Armando Lopez believed me and supported me, I healed. In my next blog I will tell more about my experiences advocating for survivors of clergy abuse inside the Catholic Church, how I ended up deeply wounded and how Fr. Armando helped me heal.
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