Several weeks ago, our parish priest spoke with anguish about the pedophilia coming to light in the U.S. Catholic Church. Of course, the church has to take decisive, effective action for the protection of everyone who is vulnerable to the sickness or selfishness of any member of the clergy.
At the same time, the whole discussion makes me remember and be grateful for the great priests who have ministered to us so well over the decades: Danville’s Monsignor Charles Motsett, who used to round up high school drivers in the 1950s so we would all enjoy impromptu summer day trips to a park in Champaign; the high school teachers who accepted their teaching orders with disappointment (they wanted to be missioners in Peru, China, Africa) and then made themselves exceptional instructors in and out of the classrooms during the 1960s; my uncle Terry, a priest whose day is hour after hour of small, steady services to parishioners and friends needing everything from a blessing to a half of his dinner; and the enthusiastic, hardworking priest who gave the sermon that prompts these thoughts. They are all good people and I am glad that God sent them to help us.
I am not worried about the church. I am worried the good priests will not know how effective they have been.
