Monsignor’s wisdom a solace in these troubling times

All week, I missed Monsignor Oakley O’Connor. He was the pastor at St. Charles, the church and the school I grew up in on Spokane’s North Side. Monsignor called us little philosophers. He encouraged us to ask tough questions. But he believed we could figure out most of the answers on our own.

Monsignor could be brusque, even with our parents, but we trusted that he had our best interests at heart. And he did. The parish, built by all our parents under Monsignor’s guidance, thrived and grew.

The last time I saw Monsignor, in September 1993, he was 85. He appeared in the newsroom unannounced. I was busy that day, waiting on a dozen phone calls for a deadline article, but I put the work aside and we drank coffee together. A few weeks later, Monsignor died.

I don’t remember much about the article I was working on that day, but I’ve never forgotten that coffee hour with Monsignor. I want another hour with him. I would tell him many things. I would welcome his wise response.

I would tell him that I don’t want to believe the woman who says that Bishop William Skylstad sexually abused her 40 years ago. I want it all to be a fabrication. I have listened to many victims’ stories and learned much from this listening, but I don’t know how much more I can hear.

I would tell him that I hope a few rich Catholics step forward and write checks totaling $47.5 million, so the parishes and schools will not be used as collateral to pay the abuse victims.

I would tell him that I wish that people who exposed the abusers early on had been believed, before the abusers could do more damage. The damage we are paying for now, in a multitude of ways.

I would tell him that I want someone else to take care of this mess, maybe the priests. They are called fathers, after all.

I would tell him I feel sad when I look upon altars and see all the older priests. Priests like hospice workers tending to a dying church structure, as Paul Lakeland, author of “The Liberation of the Laity,” so eloquently put it.

What would Monsignor tell me in return? I don’t know, but I will imagine that he would tell me this: Catholics must behave like adults now. And then Monsignor would tell me he believes I can figure out the rest on my own.

And I would realize that adults don’t believe in magical solutions. There will be no rich Catholic saviors writing checks totaling $47.5 million. There will be, instead, a continuation of this wrenching process of figuring out how to finance the settlement.

Adults insist on being informed. They do not believe in secrets for secrets’ sake. Adults can handle the truth about the present and the past, no matter how messy. They can handle hearing this truth from the pulpit on Sunday.

Adults listen to the victims, because the healing resides there.

Adults understand that the fathers will not be solving this one. Many priests are asking tough questions now, too. The laity can no longer remain infantilized, another eloquent term used by Lakeland. They must prepare to help lead in the new church structure rising from the dying one.

Adults make decisions and live with the consequences. They do not blame. They do not pout. They do not act out in passive-aggressive ways.

When our coffee hour ended that long-ago autumn day, I accompanied Monsignor on an errand downtown. He walked at a pace slowed by age and infirmity. I forgot my deadline and slowed my pace to his. We walked as equals.

Today, I return to the memory of my final afternoon with Monsignor and find great comfort, here in the middle of the continuing story in Catholic Land.