CHAPTER 1
Enough!
* * *
Hearing the term "the addicted church" always made me feel uncomfortable because it paints everyone in the church with the same brush. I was more comfortable referring to the addicted hierarchy, the one percent who suffer an addiction to power and control while priests and the ninety-nine percent enable them to remain in their addiction.
The signs of an addiction are often obvious to others but not to the addicted. Most of us know someone with an addiction. If we approach someone with our concern about their drinking, overeating, codependency, gambling, or sexual addiction, they will often insist they don't have a problem. They'll say that we are the only ones who have a problem with whatever they are doing.
This scenario would be the same if we were to approach someone within the one percent and, not fearing excommunication, express to them our concern about their abusive addiction to power and control.
Shortly after arriving at my first parish as an assistant pastor, I felt like I was back home with my mother. I was not happy. I felt trapped and wanted to run away. I had to justify everything, live up to another's expectations, and endure ultimatums and constant criticism. I was isolated, on edge, humiliated, submissive, and childish.
Every few years after that I displayed signs of withdrawal, depression, and aggressive behavior. My body tried in vain to tell me I was in an unhealthy situation. I tried to escape, but I felt trapped on a treadmill of trying to live up to an impossible ideal, stuck in religiosity, clericalism, and guilt. Like an abused housewife, I always went back for more.
I often saw myself in the young couples I met in the parishes who were also caught between expectations. I enjoyed their independent spirit and rebellious outlook. I found them refreshing and wished I could serve them without strings attached, but I could not.
Hence, because of the church's expectations, a lot of those young couples did not get involved, preferring to take a passive role and be aloof within the church.
Many priests can relate to the pain of having no one to speak to about their feelings of isolation, humiliation, helplessness, fear, and vulnerability. Many of us have seen the impact of that on others, and how the situation affected our own thinking. Many of us have been silenced.
When I finally saw that those who abuse do not change, I said, "Enough!"
Danielle
* * *
Early one August morning in 2012, I opened my e-mails. One read:
Congratulations on your book, and thanks for adding your e-mail to the press release. While you were in the Interlake area, you performed our marriage about thirty years ago, and ten years ago, I also lost my title as "Mrs." I'm living in Winnipeg now and am hoping to meet with you. I'd be grateful to hear from you.
Danielle
I was intrigued. I contacted Danielle shortly afterward, and we set a date, time, and place to meet. The day quickly arrived, and after politely acknowledging that neither of us looked anything like we had back then, we enjoyed a long chat that covered many things beyond our mutual delight in meeting and how we moved on after our respective "survivals."
It wasn't long before I realized that our conversations were probably the best way to illustrate just how similar my life as an abused person in the priesthood was to that of an abused housewife.
Danielle admitted having longed for a time when she would be able to share her experiences with someone she had known during the time of her abuse.
We agreed to meet at least a few more times, but to focus each meeting on a different aspect of our experience of abuse. It would be an additional bout of catharsis for both of us, but we wanted it to be a structured learning experience as well as just a friendly sharing.
So we agreed we would focus each get-together on a different aspect of abuse and talk about it from our respective perspectives. Our next meeting would be a luncheon, and the topic would be isolation, whether physical, emotional, or social.
We were also going to try for better coffee.
Isolation
* * *
Danielle and I had agreed to meet at the Paddlewheel Restaurant in downtown Winnipeg. It was a favorite place of mine to meet friends for lunch, with good food and an environment that was conducive to relaxed chatting. I arrived a tad early and laid claim to a secluded table for two against the far wall, away from the buffet area and most of the other guests. During the week, most of them tended to be business people, doctors, and lawyers from the immediate area with its jungle of office buildings and clinics. They were in a hurry to eat and run, so they generally took up the tables nearest the buffet.
I returned to the entrance area to wait for Danielle. She was right on time.
"Hi, Danielle," I said as she approached from the nearby elevator. "Good to see you again."
"Hi, Ray," she replied with a wide smile. "Same here. Do you think we would have recognized each other after thirty years if not for that last meeting and the e-mails?"
I laughed and said, "Probably not."
"That hat you're wearing today would not have helped," she added, "but it looks good on you."
"Thank you," I replied as we headed for different areas of the buffet to make our choices.
"A word of advice," I said before she got too far away. "When piling the salad plate, just remember you will be charged by the weight."
Back at our secluded table, we settled into our lunch. I asked Danielle if she was happy with her life—if she had adequately come to terms with everything. It had been years since she got out of the abusive relationship with her husband, Doug, just as it had been a few years since I had gained my freedom from abuse.
"Yes," she said, followed by a short hesitation before adding, "thank God! Otherwise I wouldn't have been strong enough to communicate with you, let alone actually meet with you."
"I know what you mean. That's exactly how I feel about writing my second book. I couldn't have done it back then."
She put her salad fork down, took an envelope from her bag, and passed it to me.
"What have we here?" I asked as I began to open it, but she said nothing. "Oh my ..." I said as I recognized the contents. "Your wedding-day program. And there's my name as the officiating pastor. This is pretty awesome!"
"I thought you would find it interesting," she said.
"Yes, indeed," I agreed as I looked through the document from another world, my eyes finally settling on the notorious Scripture passage that many couples still include in their marriage program.
"You too," I said after silently reading it through.
"What do you mean?" Danielle asked.
"Many couples that I performed marriages for used this same passage, and I believe that if both, not one or the other, but if both had reflected on it each year on their anniversary, as I always suggested at the time, perhaps more marriages could have been saved."
"I know I'm walking right into something here, Ray, but what passage, exactly?" she asked.
"It comes from Corinthians 1, chapter 13, verses 4 through 8. In many Christian Scripture versions, including yours, it starts with 'Love is patient, love is kind.' It's here in your program."
As I finished reading it aloud to Danielle, I could see she was fighting back tears. She composed herself and said she was fine. "I'm just realizing how true all of that was ... is," she corrected, "as well as your advice about reflecting upon it, and how regrettable it is that most couples never think about it at all after the wedding."
I smiled as reassuringly as I could and tried to lighten things up a bit. "So, Danielle, we're a couple of minutes into this and ... well, do you think we're going to be able to talk about all there is to talk about on the subject without causing a scene in this place?"
She laughed a bit and quickly went on. "Really, Ray, it's actually you I'm most worried about."
"Oh, don't be," I said. "This oversensitive fag will do his best to keep it together."
We both laughed again and went on with our meals.
We had agreed to focus our time together on sharing our experiences with isolation, and we would come prepared with written material if necessary so that we could stay on topic. We also wanted to understand where we had each come to in our lives as survivors. After munching down awhile, I reopened the conversation.
"What was it like for you living on the homestead in the Interlake area, Danielle, after your marriage?"
She held up a finger to signal she had a mouthful of food. "Excuse me," she said finally. "This is great salad, isn't it? Now, to answer your question: As you know, I am originally from Winnipeg, but my husband's entire family was living in the Interlake where I was working. Previous generations were buried in the local church cemetery." She paused and I waited.
"In some ways," she continued, "I was very fortunate. The in-laws were great, and I felt very close to his mother and sisters. But as the months passed and I got to know them all better, I began to see the family dynamics at work."
I nodded my understanding as I continued with my lunch, and Danielle went on. "At times, a tension showed between husbands and wives, but the women never said anything to me about their relationships. One day Doug and I walked right into the middle of his parents arguing but they quickly ended it when we appeared. What I found odd at the time was that he never said a word about it to me afterwards."
She paused for another bite and collected her thoughts again. "As the months went by, the way we spoke to each other changed. Doug stopped asking me when he wanted me to do something and instead just started telling me what to do ... and then sometimes he wouldn't even bother to thank me for things I did. And when we got together with family, there was laughter, small talk, and a lot of drinking, though that was never an issue for us.
"When something needed to be decided," she went on, "Doug would make the decision without discussing it with me, and if I asked him about it, he would simply say he didn't think he was supposed to confide in me. At first, I just found that a bit odd but then it began to really bother me. Because Doug never wanted to talk about anything, we didn't ... I confided in my mother.
"I had never seen that side of him before we were married," she added. "I think we had been on our best behavior during the marriage preparation classes, which we only went to for a few weeks before the wedding. With wedding invitations out, hall bookings made, and dresses on the sewing machine, it seemed like everything was all set and that it would all be just great going into the future. When we met we were madly in love. We seemed to agree on everything and we both wanted to settle down, but settling down out in the country can mean something different for each person. In our case, all eyes were on me ... expectantly awaiting the news that I was pregnant. And there was another expectation I hadn't anticipated. I was to be a stay-at-home mom. My duties were about to change. Previous women in the family had set the trend and I was expected to fall in line with what I had married into."
At that point, Danielle stopped. I could see she felt quite emotional about all that had happened, even though she had been in the healing process for a long time. I kept silent and let her compose herself.
"Doug was never physically cruel to me," she began again. "He didn't have a drinking problem; he was involved in many community activities; and he didn't complain about going to church. He didn't complain about the in-laws or his work in farming. Actually, he didn't say anything about anything ... I know, Ray, that you know where this is going and that is exactly why I wanted to speak with you, someone who can see the bigger picture and, from what I read in your book, I knew you would be able to relate to what I'm saying. I needed someone to understand what I went through. And somehow, though you weren't involved, just knowing you were in the same town at the same time for part of it ... and actually living something similar ... well, it closes the gap between us and makes this sharing so much easier."
"Yes, Danielle, I feel very similar. It's reassuring in a way ... and I do see where this is going ... in the same direction as what I went through. I understand why you wanted to speak with me. You and I started in isolation. We were both surrounded by people who loved us but we felt that we couldn't speak with any of them."
"That's right ... and that's why I felt I needed to share my story with you. I, too, am 'No Longer Lonely,' as you put it in your book. I'm sure that sharing our experiences will help you to validate your relationship with the church."
"That's my hope, Danielle ... and I have a ways to go with that. Let me try to give you an idea of where I was at as a newly ordained priest. Of course, it all began way before working in the Interlake, and it's heady, but you'll understand where I'm coming from.
"In the seminary," I began, "I lived in a very protective environment for several years. And then, with a Roman collar around my neck, I was ready for parish ministry. As a newly ordained priest, I was thriving on hierarchical, patriarchal clericalism, without even realizing it. That clericalism was maintained through control over lay involvement, rituals and teachings. Clericalism, through power and control, is essential for hierarchical authority and represents the practice of power and control in the clerical subculture. It is maintained through brainwashing, clerical power, and the demand for obedience.
"When I became a priest, I knew that I was not entering into a relationship of equal power with the bishop, just as I would not be entering into an equal power relationship with any employer.
But, in the priesthood I was always reminded by the bishop that I was co-equal, a co-worker, and that we needed each other. But the reality is that priests are employees of an institution that is also a corporation, and the bottom line relationship is one of power and control ... so the one percent will find ways to exploit power differences in order to create fear in their priest employees, and thereby continue to create and maintain positions of power and control for themselves.
"For both of us, Danielle, I think what we saw as abusive was a gradual process that, at most times, was very subtle, but at other times, usually in public for me, was very direct. Do you understand?"
"Yaaa, I think so," she replied cautiously. "I understand most of that, but I'm having difficulty with your one percent and what you call a 'subculture.' Could you explain that some more?"
"Sure Danielle," I said. "Picture a triangle with one percent at the top point separated from the remaining ninety-nine percent ... and between those two sections is a separate little sliver. The one percent represents any man in the church who can wear a pointed hat, such as a bishop, a cardinal, or the pope. These are the men whom I refer to as being addicted to power and control—the one percent.
"Priests make up the subculture in the rectangle, that little sliver, and are under complete obedience to the one percent as enablers and are also at the service of the ninety-nine percent, who are the faithful. The parishioners and religious nuns are in this group as well. You and I both understand what it is like to live in a relationship with someone who is addicted to power and control ... It's isolating on purpose, because isolating someone is a very effective way to control them.
"You know, Ray, what struck me most way back in those ... those 'uncomfortable' years, was realizing how much my sense of isolation played on my situation. Did you have that same experience?" "Yes, for sure ... and for me the sense that I was different as a priest and separate from the community added to my sense of isolation. The one percent says that priests constitute its right hand in ministry, but most priests are not that naive. The one percent has an unwillingness to engage in self-disclosure, which makes it difficult to cultivate relationships. After a while, you just don't know who you can trust or talk to, which, as you might guess, adds to the isolation."
"I often felt that living in the Interlake, in a small community," Danielle added. "If I were to say something about what was going on at home it would get out and the entire family would hear about it, and then what would I do? I think other women feel the same way, and so we all just remain on the same level."
"In my last parish," I said, "I once received a six-page letter from an anonymous parishioner saying that I was not in the parish only for them, but that they were there for me also, and I should let them into my life. I do believe that the sender was sincere and wanted to be of support to me. The only problem was that there were many aspects of my life that I felt I could not share with them." Danielle nodded her understanding. "I always felt that our priests were somehow at a distance and that you couldn't really get to know them, not that I wanted to ... sorry about that," she said with a grin, and then asked, "May I ask what you did with that letter?"
