Weather | Sports | Forums | Comics | Classifieds | Calendar | Movies
A review of local personnel files of priests and deacons is about three-quarters complete, Lynch says.
By STEPHEN NOHLGREN, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times, published June 16, 2002
DALLAS -- When Catholics build a new church in the Tampa Bay area these days, the architect pencils in glass walls for the confessional. The most intimate of spiritual moments between priest and parishioner will now be open for all to see.
There are penalties, large and small, that Roman Catholics all over the country are paying because some of their leaders so grievously misjudged the trauma of sexual abuse.
Priests are leery of hugs. Parents fear for their children's safety. Holy men once venerated for their commitment to goodness now walk under a cloud of suspicion.
"It's a tough time to be a Catholic," Bishop Robert Lynch of the Diocese of St. Petersburg said Saturday. "It's tough to see the church you believe in and love to be constantly under the gun, even a gun it has largely aimed at itself."
To halt the molestation and soothe the pain, Lynch and his fellow bishops forged a national policy last week at the annual meeting of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops. The policy professes to root out abusive priests and deacons, put bishops under a microscope and embrace victims.
"I hope that Catholics will see what we have done in Dallas as a major step, not the final step, in addressing this problem," Lynch said.
So far, the diocese has identified seven abusive priests and roughly 30 to 35 victims, Lynch said. (He had earlier put the victim figure at 15, but was referring only to victims who had sought monetary compensation).
Lynch, 61, spoke as bishops left their historic meeting in Dallas. He says many of the changes in the new policy were already in place in the five-county diocese he oversees.
An ongoing search of personnel files, begun after reports of clerical molestation of children spread around the country earlier this year, is about three-quarters complete and should be done in a few months, Lynch said. Because the new national policy also cover deacons, the St. Petersburg diocese will extend the personnel review to them as well.
A deacon is an ordained minister who can preach, baptize, witness marriages and preside at burials. There are two types: permanent deacons, who are often married and have another occupation; and transitional deacons, who are studying for the priesthood.
The records of priests and deacons who have died also need to be examined, Lynch said. About three years ago, an adult parishioner reported that he or she had been abused as a child. The priest, who is now dead, had a close personal relationship to the victim's family and was never named, at the victim's request.
With concern over sexual abuse now so heightened, the church wants to name that priest publicly so other possible victims will come forward, Lynch said. Church officials are consulting with the victim and hope to name the priest soon.
"I am 95 to 98 percent close to telling the Catholic people of St. Petersburg that the file search has shown no serious, formal complaints," Lynch said.
But that's just a start. Getting the name of every abusive priests into the public eye is also important.
"I don't think our search of personnel files is going to reveal everything," Lynch said. "The files are only partly useful."
For example, he said, the personnel file of Richard Allen contained no record of complaints. Allen, former pastor of St. Matthew's Catholic Church in Largo, resigned from the ministry April 26 after a complaint surfaced that he molested a child in the 1970s while at a church in St. Petersburg.
Each public revelation encourages more victims to identify themselves, Lynch said. Of the 30 to 35 local victims known to the church, about 10 came forward in the last few months. Most of the people who recently came forward said they were abused by Robert L. Schaeufele, 54, a former St. Petersburg area priest who was arrested earlier this month in Detroit.
"I think people feel less alone now. Many felt that nobody would ever believe them," Lynch said. "The current environment indicates that it is very believable."
The national policy opposes confidentiality agreements when the church pays compensation to victims who threaten to sue. Such agreements may reduce the church's legal exposure but contribute to the aura of secrecy that allowed molestation to flourish.
During his 61/2-year tenure, Lynch said, the diocese has paid between $350,000 and $400,000 to victims, mostly for counseling expense. The diocese entered into only one confidentiality agreement, and that was at the victim's request, he said.
If any agreements were forged under the reign of past bishops, he said, he would release any victim from abiding by its terms.
"They're not worth the paper they are written on and they did contribute to a sense of coverup."
Lynch also vowed to cooperate with prosecutors. The national policy calls for bishops to report all allegations involving minors to authorities, whether or not the victim wants them to. It's a crime.
When victims come forward as an adult, saying they were molested as children, the church need not report those allegations, but will encourage the victims to go to police.
In either case, the church will remove offending priests and deacons from the ministry. Under the new policy, priests can't say Mass, wear clerical garb or hold themselves out as priests. Deacons also are barred from their duties.
As far as reporting to authorities, Lynch said, he would go a step further than the national policy. If the criminal statute of limitations is still in force, he will report the abuse, even if the victim is over 18.
In an effort to make Catholics feel more comfortable with their church, Lynch said that in late July or early August he will hold "listening sessions" around the diocese to give people a chance to express themselves about the new policy.
Rose Dean of Tampa is among the chorus of local Catholics who wonder what took the church so long to decide that priests who molest children even once must leave the ministry.
"If they do it once, then they're sick, and they're going to do it again," Dean said. "It's not like one time you shoplifted, and maybe you'll never do it again."
Dean said her 9- and 10-year-old children, who attend St. Jude's Catholic School, recently asked her why priests were in trouble. After much consideration, she told them "they should never be alone in a room with a priest."
Monsignor Laurence Higgins, pastor of Tampa's St. Lawrence Catholic Church, said Dean's situation shows how much work the church must do to re-establish trust with parishioners.
"We have to start healing the wounds," Higgins said. "To build up trust again is going to take a long time."
Higgins, who has a been a priest for 49 years, 44 of them at St. Lawrence, said he is pleased with the policy bishops agreed to, but as far as he is concerned, "Zero tolerance is a gimme."
The bishops' new national policy was on the minds of parishioners attending Mass on a sunny Saturday afternoon at the Cathedral of St. Jude the Apostle in St. Petersburg. They prayed for their families, for military personnel overseas and for the priests shepherding God's flock. Parishioners say they support the new policy.
"They're trying to straighten everything out," said Roy Deeb, who has attended St. Jude's since 1955.
"It's a job I wouldn't want," parishioner Ethne Stokes said of the bishops' work in Dallas. "No matter what they do, there'll be some people who don't like it."
The St. Petersburg diocese has 96 active priests and 93 deacons. There are also 117 "extern" priests who are attached to other dioceses but are working in the Tampa Bay area. Religious orders include 134 priests, who teach school and perform other chores. They don't come under direct control of Lynch or the diocese, but he may hear of any complaints against them.
That's more than 400 ministers. The great majority of them presumably treasure children, not use them. What of them?
"They are very uncertain about ministering to children," Lynch said, "where in the past, they considered it part and parcel of their ministry."
Physical affection is always a problem.
"If a 5-year-old kid comes out of church and throws his arms around you and the parents are there, you hug them, but we all think about it. I'd be lying if I told you I don't think about it, even when I'm surrounded by people," Lynch said.
Lynch has seen his own name tainted of late. The diocese paid $100,000 to an adult former employee who said Lynch had sexually harassed him. Lynch has denied the charge and says the money was severance pay. But it was on his mind last week in Dallas.
He sits on the conference's five-man executive board. The board created a national panel that will monitor how individual bishops carry out the new policies. The panel will be led by Oklahoma Gov. Frank Keating, who said he would publicly call for the resignation of any bishop who slips up.
When Lynch arrived, he was greeted by a Dallas Morning News story chronicling troubles around the country. His photo and the $100,000 payment were displayed along with vignettes about dozens of other bishops.
"I would be less than honest if I said it was never on my mind," Lynch said. "My brother bishops . . . let's just say it gave me unaccustomed moments of uncertainty."
Lynch said he has felt gratifying support from church members. "It's been a difficult time, but I do feel I have the trust of the priests and the people."
He said he harbors no political ambitions toward national church leadership and expects to retire in six years or so. He likes to read and sail.
-- Staff writers Mike Brassfield and Amy Wimmer contributed to this report. Stephen Nohlgren can be reached at (727) 893-8442 or nohlgren@sptimes.com