Church Scandal

I haven’t known what to say about the vile things happening in my church or the people who covered it up. There is no way to reconcile a belief in the Gospels with the horrors I have read. These men are no fathers of mine. What I have heard this last week makes my face twist up in disgust. I am so so so angry.

I’m angry that these men have made me question my faith. I’m angry that because of them, the world sees sin over a Savior when they look at our church. I’m angry because there are still so many priests I love not saying anything. (WE ARE IN CRISIS AND YOU ARE A SHEPHERD.) I’m angry because I’ve had to have difficult, grown up conversations with my kids about sex and their bodies, my kids who can’t even reliably wash all the conditioner out of their hair. Mostly, I’m angry that there are people in this world who have suffered so greatly at the hands of people they were brought up to trust, people who carry misplaced shame they should have never had to experience. It is so devastating.
In an effort to do more than yell and scream and feel outraged, I went to church on Saturday. Because I didn’t want to go I threw on something easy to wear. An oversized, full length, black maxi dress that I often used this summer as a cover up. I was hesitant to go to church because I was afraid we wouldn’t talk about what was turning us all inside out and I didn’t know if I could belong to a family who refused to talk about how dysfunctional it was. A family pretending to be perfect, each member protecting their own rank... I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I could stay. Instead, our dysfunction was all we talked about. We sat there, together, screwed up, and cried our eyes out. We handed each other tissues and passed the peace way longer than usual.
Half way through mass I looked down and realized I was wearing what I imagine a sackcloth would look like and it just so happened to be black. So I sat there in my sack cloth and ashes and wept with my brothers and sisters and lamented the latest reprehensible crimes. 
I still don’t know what to say about the vile things happening in my church. I know only to weep with those who weep. But I will say that... of all things... I feel... stubborn. If these men are bringing my church to its knees, I’d like to commit to be there to help raise it back up, working alongside and fighting with holy warriors making noise and demanding change. I would like to be a part of the Healing Church, walking beside victims if they would allow me to. 
As painful as all of this is, it is so much better than pretending we are perfect. Expose us, God, and keep exposing us. Root out this evil! If it’s only a truth that makes me feel better and not the Full Truth, then I don’t want it! Bring light where there is darkness, God, and please, please help us heal.