SNAP Judgements Part II: Ground Zero of the Catholic Scandal
. . . So I was not at all surprised when prisoners came one after another to my cell door during "Court TV's" coverage of the Father Geoghan trial. After some incredible testimony from the accuser, they showed up during commercials to ask, “Are you watching this?" I was watching it, and I heard what they heard. The twenty-something-year-old accuser testified that a dozen years earlier, when he was eleven, he was in a public swimming pool. He said that he recognized Father John Geoghan as someone who had visited his housing project. While trying to climb out of the pool, the young man testified, Father Geoghan came up behind him and, under the guise of helping him to climb out, squeezed his buttocks. Based upon this testimony, the 68-year old priest was convicted of sexual assault and sentenced to nine years in prison. It was a death sentence. . . . Am I defending Father John Geoghan? Not at all. Do I doubt that this accuser told the truth? Not at all. The behavior ascribed to Father Geoghan was consistent with what scores of others said of him, and an egregious example of how much his own reasoning and judgement skills had deteriorated. The Church had a responsibility to protect young people from John Geoghan and a responsibility to protect Father Geoghan from himself. Church officials failed on both counts. I don't question the truth of any of it. . . .
Protect Us from All Anxiety: Nightmares and Dreamscapes in the Desert
. . . A few days ago, Pornchai and our friend, Donald, were in our cell talking about anxiety in prison. I told them of the awful dream I had. Donald suggested that I must feel really let down by being left to face the mob alone on the steps of the Church. Then Pornchai said, "I disagree. He wasn't alone at all." I was really thunderstruck by Pornchai's insight, and I believe he was right. The dream wasn't about the obvious source of my anxiety, the mobs pointing fingers of accusation, but rather about the fact that I am not alone in my anxiety, that Christ is there with me. How could I not see it? I see the same dark dream now in a completely different light. The next day, Pornchai brought up the "Libera Nos" prayer again, and asked me about the "protect us from all anxiety" part. It is rare that Pornchai speaks about his past, but he told me about his ongoing problem with anxiety. Living in the same cell, I have been aware of some of the times he awakens in the night in the steel bunk four feet above me, and I can feel the anxiety and pain in those times. Pornchai sleeps with his Saint Maximilian Kolbe medal hanging on the stone wall just inches from his face. I have seen him clutching it in the night. . . .
In the Year of the Priest, the Tale of a Prisoner
. . . It's hard to describe the brokenness of the person sitting a few feet away staring intently, lost in a mindless TV show. Most of you do not have a category in which to understand the aftermath of such a shattered life. Skooter, his head shaved, his right arm covered in prison tattoos, looks as menacing as a wounded person possibly can. Skooter said I am the first person he has ever told of his past. I believe him. He wasn't able to tell most of it even to me. Instead, he spent all night writing, and gave his story to me in the morning. He titled it, "The Life of Skooter." It's not an easy story to tell. . . .