by Janine Phillips
(O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.)
Call them Legion, for they are many.
Through the centuries
legions of holy men thumbed through tomes of dogma
-The Word of God-
recited prayers, memorized verse, and
looked down on us from their pulpit.
While all the while
this legion of many
pretended not to know.
Priests, Bishops, Cardinals, Popes.
Eyes squinted shut in prayer
they pretended not to know
they were doing something really, really wrong.
This legion of men
wore God like a gold chain and crucifix around their necks
and did dirty things
and kept soiled sinful secrets
hidden beneath their robes and behind their collars.
No acts of contrition offered freely
for what went on in
movie theaters, darkened dens, and Great Adventure,
in vestibules and rectories
before Mass, after Mass.
During Confession.
The aftermath is evident
as diocese after diocese hide in bankruptcy court,
clinging to their pious righteousness
without an apology or accountability,
paying millions to lawyers
to avoid retribution
and the admittance of guilt.
No Act of Contrition in sight- just empty words.
They immobilized us with the fear of disappointing god.
(who art all good and deserving of everyone’s love)
They protected their holy establishment and gold-filled coffers.
and gave the nod of approval
by relocating pedophiles
from parish to parish
dismissing accusations
like bags of trash
set out by the back door
with the order from their Order
to keep silent or
go to hell.
Silent victims.
Shamed victims.
Suicidal victims.
Suppressed victims.
Carrying the weight of
thinking all along
It’s my fault.
It’s NOT your fault!
Pedophile Priests protected
through millennia,
overlording over confessions,
coaxing us to admit our deepest darkest deeds,
into the darkness,
hard wooden benches cutting into the backs of our skinny little thighs.
So afraid to disappoint God.
I didn’t make my bed.
I yelled at my sister.
I said no to my mother.
Condemnation and judgment
eeked through the Confessional partition
with the solemn direction
to kneel in the pew and say the Act of Contrition,
ten Hail Marys,
and five Our Fathers,
and to not skip church.
Sunday dinners would come
and Father Joey
would slip his hand
between my thighs
shushing away dissent
with a silent nod of his head.
At ten years old I’d push my baby sister between us,
never dreaming she was a victim too.
Silent victims.
Silent abusers.
Silence upheld
or be crucified like Christ
-he died for our sins, remember him?
Wait. Whose sins?
Our Father who art in heaven
where were you
when we needed protection
from your legion of pedophile priests?
Yes, call them legion. For they are many.
~end~
Janina Grey 