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Chapter FIVE 'You Will Suffer'
By G. Wayne Miller
1. As he entered his fourth month as the newly installed bishop of Youngstown, Ohio, the Most Rev. Thomas J. Tobin sent a letter to his 200 priests, who served the diocese’s approximately 275,000 Catholics. He would soon publish it in the diocesan newspaper. Candor was a hallmark of his young episcopacy. It was May 6, 1996. “When a new president or governor is elected,” the bishop wrote, “it is not unusual for observers to watch and evaluate the first hundred days in office. In that tradition, as I approach the 100th day of my work as your new bishop, I wish to share with you a report on some of my activities, my first impressions, some plans for the future, and my observations on a number of important issues.” In nine pages, the bishop wrote of his intention to visit all of the diocese’s 115 parishes; already, he had visited a quarter of them. He was reviewing — and revitalizing, when warranted — the diocese’s advisory groups, including the Priests’ Council, the Priest Personnel Board, and the Deans and Consultors. He was seeking ways to increase vocations. He was examining the annual Catholic Charity appeal with the aim of making it more productive. He noted that he had started writing a column for the diocesan paper under the title “Without a Doubt.” “Your comments and suggestions about these articles are always welcome,” he wrote. The new bishop had learned before arriving in Youngstown that the central offices of the diocese had accumulated a debt of $2.5 million, which he found unacceptable. He was equally displeased that the diocese was running an annual operating deficit of $1 million in its $5-million budget, making up the shortfall by transferring money from insurance accounts and other non-operating sources — a perilous course that sooner or later would spell ruin. He’d inherited a financial house of cards. In his 100-day letter, the bishop noted that on his first full day in office he had implemented a hiring freeze. That was just a beginning. A task force that Bishop Tobin had appointed was studying ways of making the central offices “smaller, simpler and less expensive.” Over the next few months, the bishop would lay off nine people and consolidate departments, trimming $364,000 from the operating budget. Although praised by many, these cuts, and other changes the bishop ordered, did not win universal acclaim. “You are a religious political despot,” a woman wrote. “You are just like the allatolya[sic] in Iran, a political religious dictator. Why don’t you go back to Pittsburgh.” A man wrote that Youngstown had received “a corporate manager and not a shepherd of souls.” The bishop was not dissuaded. He did not believe in deficit-spending. But it was another matter in his 100-day letter that prompted the most public controversy — one that some of his own priests ignited. The bishop wrote of the practice in some parishes of allowing people at Mass to stand during the Eucharistic Prayer, which precedes the ritual Catholics believe transforms bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. “Permit me to clarify that the liturgy of the Church directs the faithful to kneel during the Eucharistic Prayer,” the bishop wrote. “In this, as in all other liturgical matters, our own personal preferences and theological viewpoints must defer to the common good of the Church as reflected in the laws and directives of the sacred liturgy.” Some priests disagreed: Who was this new guy to tell them what to do? The old bishop, who’d retired after 30 years, had no problem with standing. When a priest rebuked Bishop Tobin from the pulpit, the dispute hit the news. The Rev. Nicholas R. Shori said a requirement to kneel signified inappropriate submission to the clergy. “While most in this parish choose to stand, and a few to kneel, the beauty in their choice is that they have and continue to respect each other’s choice. They have never sought to impose their own desire or persuasion on each other. The tone and expectation of the 100-day letter deals a severe blow to both devotion and dignity.” 
On March 14, Bishop Tobin gives out communion to students of St. Cecilia's in Pawtucket at a Lenten Mass for abotu 600 students from 20 Catholic schools around the state. Journal photo / Mary Murphy Bishop Tobin did not respond publicly to Father Shori, nor did he privately reprimand him. Some shared Father Shori’s sentiments. In newspaper articles and letters, others defended the bishop. The controversy dissipated, but Bishop Tobin continued to make news, notably for a speech in which he said that all students in Catholic schools ought to be able to recite the seven sacraments and Ten Commandments. By year’s end, Bishop Tobin had made enough of a mark that Youngstown’s daily newspaper named him one of the “People Who Make a Difference.” In a look back at 1996, another daily in the diocese wrote about him under the headline: “New bishop scores big as Valley leader.” TWO MORE YEARS passed. Bishop Tobin continued to pursue the goals he’d outlined in his 100-day letter. He wrote his columns, and he began to give thought to publishing a collection of them in a book. He was often in the news. He had no formal media training, but he was becoming comfortable in his dealings with the press. In May of 1998, Bishop Tobin flew to Rome. Pope John Paul II had summoned his American bishops to visit the tombs of the apostles Saints Peter and Paul, in St. Peter’s Basilica, and meet individually with him to report on the status of their dioceses. These ad limina visits, as they are called, are required every five years of every bishop who heads a diocese; along with his visit, the bishop must submit a comprehensive written report. In ordinary circumstances, this quinquennial obligation and two shorter annual reports are the Vatican’s only means of monitoring the Church’s 3,050 dioceses around the world. Bishop Tobin was staying in a room at Pontifical North American College, his alma mater, when a Vatican messenger hand-delivered a letter. The pope would see him on the next day, Friday, May 22, at 11:50 a.m. It would be Bishop Tobin’s first private audience with the pontiff. The bishop was thrilled. Friday came, and Bishop Tobin was shown into the pope’s chambers. He kissed John Paul’s ring and they sat facing each other. “You are very young,” the pope said. Bishop Tobin had just turned 50. “Holy Father,” the bishop said, “with all due respect, that’s your fault. You named me bishop!” The moment was light, and then the pope turned somber. “You are very young,” he said, “but you will suffer a great deal.” Bishop Tobin was dumbstruck. The pope did not explain. He moved on to another subject. He had a map of the United States in front of him. The pope asked Bishop Tobin to point to his diocese. “Holy Father,” the bishop said, “it’s Youngstown, not far from Pittsburgh, which is my home.” “Ah, Pittsburgh,” the pope said, “Bishop Wuerl.” He named other Pittsburgh bishops he’d known over the years, and the session then turned to Bishop Tobin’s report on the status of his Ohio diocese. The meeting ended a few minutes later. Another bishop awaited his moment with the pontiff. As time went by, Bishop Tobin wished he’d had the composure to ask John Paul II what he meant: You will suffer a great deal. Was it a general prophecy about these being difficult times for any bishop? A general statement about the human condition? Or did the pope see something dire in his young prelate’s personal future? 
Bishop Tobin, right, greets his predecessors, Bishop Robert Mulvee, center, and Bishop Louis Gelineau, in the sacristy of the cathedral, prior to an ordination ceremony for priests on June 2. Journal photo / Mary Murphy Bishop Tobin was reminded of the Italian priest Padre Pio, son of shepherds, who had died in 1968 and later been canonized by John Paul II as Saint Pio of Pietrelcina. Padre Pio’s many followers believed that he had performed many miracles and received the Visible Stigmata, the five open wounds of the crucified Christ — which, they said, bled copiously every day, without infection, prompting him to wear black gloves on his hands. On his deathbed, witnesses claimed, the stigmata disappeared without leaving a trace of blood or scars. Padre Pio believed that suffering was the way to heaven. He was said to have the power of bilocation — being in two places at the same time — and the ability to predict the future. In 1947, he told a young Polish priest that one day, he would ascend to “the highest post in the Church.” The priest, Karol Józef Wojtyla, became John Paul II. 2. On Sunday, Jan. 6, 2002, The Boston Globe published the first of a long series of articles on priests in the Archdiocese of Boston who had raped and fondled children in their parishes, sometimes over the course of decades. Church officials, The Globe found, knew of many of these cases of sexual abuse — and responded by moving the perpetrators to other parishes. The current archbishop, Cardinal Bernard F. Law, one of the American Church’s most prominent prelates, was among those who knew. As the weeks went by, The Globe’s investigation intensified. News outlets in other parts of the country had published similar stories for years — but The Globe’s exhaustive coverage of abuse in America’s fourth-largest diocese propelled the issue to international headlines. Law would resign before 2002 ended, and The Globe would win the Pulitzer Prize in Public Service reporting. Priests would go to prison. The costs of legal settlements in some dioceses would be so great that bishops would seek bankruptcy. In Youngstown, Bishop Tobin watched the scandal unfold. He was fortunate. His predecessor may not have been a financial wizard, but he’d had the foresight in 1994 to implement a firm policy against priests accused of sexual abuse: rather than transfer them around, the Diocese of Youngstown removed them from active ministry and contact with children. After review, Bishop Tobin had strengthened the policy, in 1999. The United States Catholic Conference of Bishops would soon commission New York’s John Jay College of Criminal Justice to study the impact of the sex-abuse scandal in every American diocese. The report for Youngstown would reveal that since 1950, accusations of child sexual abuse were made against 19 priests serving in the diocese — 2 percent of all priests, half the national average. Of the 19, 4 were dead, 4 had left ministry, 2 had moved from the diocese, 8 were retired, and 1 was the subject of an allegation that could not be substantiated. Since 1950, the diocese had paid about $200,000 for counseling and therapy, and $300,000 to settle claims. Three cases were still before the courts. No allegation had surfaced since 1991. In a letter and an interview accompanying publication of the report in the diocesan newspaper, Bishop Tobin expanded on the study. “While the situation in the Diocese of Youngstown is not as severe as it is in some other places,” he said, “we know that even a single incident would be too many. Once again, therefore, I want to express our sincere regrets and apologies to any member of the Church who has been harmed by the actions of a priest or bishop, or any other member of the Church. And with the hope of assisting in the process of reconciliation, I continue to be willing to meet with any individual or family who has suffered from past incidents of sexual abuse.” The bishop asked his Catholics to “recognize all the good work the Church has done and continues to do,” and to put the scandal in context. He cited a report from children’s service agencies in the diocese’s six Ohio counties that showed of the more than 12,400 allegations of sexual abuse in the previous 10 years, none involved a Catholic priest or deacon. “What that says is that the Catholic Church is working hard to clean up its act, but that sexual abuse remains a very serious stigma in our society. If we are serious about the issue, we have to deal with it there. It’s not just a problem for the Church.” ON MAY 23, 2002, Mary A. Tobin died at the age of 87. 
Paulbearers transport the coffin bearing Bishop Thomas Hendricken's remains for his re-entombment Dec. 8, 2006. When Bishop Tobin arrived in the diocese in 2005, he decided that the bishop's remains needed a more prominent burial site. Journal photo / Mary Murphy Her son went home to celebrate her funeral Mass and bury her, next to Raymond, in the cemetery where he’d first realized that his priesthood was unlikely to end where it began, in his hometown Pittsburgh. In his homily, he praised his mother as a woman of God — and, with a typical touch of humor, he recalled his last visit and conversation with her, the week before. “She said, ‘Oh, I’m so sick, but I can’t even go to the hospital because I’m already there!’ ” The son closed his homily with these words: “We thank God for the wonderful life Mom had here on earth, and for the even better life she has now in Heaven. Mom, may you rest in peace, Amen.” Not long after, Bishop Tobin traveled to Dallas, for the semi-annual meeting of the United States Catholic Conference of Bishops, the highest assembly of the Church hierarchy in America. The sex-abuse scandal dominated the proceedings. The John Jay study would emerge from Dallas, along with passage of a Charter for the Protection of Children and Young People, which set new policies and new procedures for “dealing with the devastating pain and sorrow of abuse victims,” in the words of conference president Bishop Wilton D. Gregory of Belleville, Ill. “We have committed to, and established national processes for, consistently and vigilantly dealing with clergy abusers,” the bishop said, “with no tolerance for any abuse, and for barring from the ministry all abusers.” The new policies, he said, would include greater oversight by lay Catholics. Bishop Tobin returned from Dallas on a Saturday night to the house in a wooded area outside the city where he lived, alone. The house was empty. The bishop was asleep when a car pulling up the driveway awakened him. It was 4 a.m. Drivers occasionally took a wrong turn and wound up on his property, but never at this hour. The bishop looked out his second-floor window. The car stopped, and the driver stepped out. “Where are you going?” said his female passenger. “What are you doing?” The man did not answer. He ran onto the porch, picked up a large clay flowerpot, hurled it through a first-floor window, then got back into his car and roared away. Bishop Tobin called the police, but their investigation led nowhere: the man was never caught, nor his motivation ever learned. Was it a botched robbery attempt? Or was it no coincidence that the bishop had just been at the Dallas meeting, which made international news for its discussion of the scandal? Bishop Tobin was not alone in his concern; this was a time when people who would never stereotype a member of an ethnic group looked at all priests with disdain. Bishop Tobin was never personally harassed, but a close priest friend was. Dining in a restaurant one night, the priest was approached by a man who had been drinking. “How many boys did you abuse today, Father?” the man asked. The priest was humiliated, but he did not respond. He feared what the man would do if he engaged him. IN RHODE ISLAND, meanwhile, the seventh bishop of Providence, Robert E. Mulvee, was dealing with a situation considerably worse than Youngstown’s. The John Jay report would reveal that since 1950, about 4 percent of priests in Rhode Island had been accused of sexually abusing children — double the incidence in Youngstown. Fifty-six priests — seven from religious orders and the rest from the diocese — were the subject of 162 individual allegations. 
On Dec. 8, 2006, Bishop Hendricken High School seniors act as pallbearers for Bishop Hendricken's re-entombment at the Cathedral of SS. Peter & Paul during a Mass of the Immaculate Conception. Journal photo / Mary Murphy The numbers were new, but awareness of the crimes was not. Public reports of sexual abuse of minors by priests in the Diocese of Providence began to appear in the mid-1980s, during the episcopacy of Bishop Mulvee’s predecessor, the Most Rev. Louis E. Gelineau, who led the diocese from 1971 to 1997. As with Boston’s Cardinal Law, Bishop Gelineau was accused of protecting known pedophile priests. A Lincoln priest accused of sexually assaulting three boys was the first to be charged, in July 1984. A Bristol pastor was charged with similar crimes on two boys in early 1985. The first of many civil suits was filed in January 1986 — against the Bristol priest, the Rev. William O’Connell, who later pleaded no contest to 26 counts of sexual abuse, served a year in a prison work-release program, then spent his probation at a Maryland facility for priests with psychological and alcohol problems. In all, at least nine priests would be criminally charged with abuse. Eight would be convicted. The diocese declined to settle any of the civil suits. Years of litigation ensued. One of the accusers, a North Providence resident who said a diocesan priest had befriended and then molested him, wrote of his experience in an essay published on The Providence Journal’s commentary pages. He said that his mother, a devout Catholic who, as a girl, had planned to be a nun, had informed the diocese of the abuse of her son. Nothing, he said, was done — and the ultimately responsible party was the man at the top, Bishop Gelineau. “For years,” he wrote, “I have struggled with alcoholism, drug abuse, self-destructive behavior, major depression, severe anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. My psychological and emotional difficulties, which still plague me, have been a source of extreme pain and embarrassment. Self-hate, intense pain, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness and aloneness turned my life into a living hell. These problems and feelings, along with self-alienation from my wonderful family, drove me to the brink of suicide many times; and these thoughts of suicide still haunt me today. “Over the past 10 years or more, I have listened to the bishop’s disingenuous remarks, his nondenial denials, his lies spoken through commission and omission, and his empty expressions of care and concern for those of us who have been sexually abused by his priests…. God alone knows the totality of the destruction and pain he and others have brought to the lives of so many innocent children and their families.” Year after year, the diocese fought the civil suits in court. Then, in the summer of 2002, just days after the Dallas bishops’ conference, a Superior Court judge for the first time ruled that the diocese had to open its personnel files to show what it knew, and what it did, about abusive priests. Behind the scenes, plaintiffs and the diocese entered into mediation. Less than two months later, Bishop Mulvee and plaintiffs’ lawyers announced that they had reached a $14.2-million settlement with all but a handful of the victims. Three plaintiffs remain in litigation this year. “I reach out with deep sadness to the victims,” Bishop Mulvee said at a press conference. “Certainly in the name of the Church, I ask their forgiveness and offer an apology for the harm that has been done to them.” A plaintiffs’ lawyer turned to the bishop and said: “Your heartfelt condolences in reaching out to my clients means more to them than anything I could bring; it’s more than you had to do, and it’s the right thing…. I applaud your courage.” The already emotional conference reached a peak when one of the victims attending cried and hugged Msgr. Paul D. Theroux, who had met individually with him and many others of the abused to hear their stories. “Thank you,” the victim said. “Today meant a lot. Today meant a real lot.” Bishop Mulvee was still almost three years from retirement, but he had bequeathed a blessing to his successor. 3.As Lent 2007 continued, nearly 600 Catholic school children from around Rhode Island rode buses to Providence for a Mass at the Cathedral of SS. Peter & Paul. The theme of the Mass, celebrated by Bishop Tobin, was “Keep the Commandments.” It was March 14. The bishop began his homily by urging the children to take time after Mass to admire their cathedral. He especially hoped they would stop by the sarcophagus, to the right of the altar, that contained the body of the Most Rev. Thomas H. Hendricken, namesake for a Warwick high school that many of the students attended. “He was the first bishop of this diocese,” the bishop said, “the man who built this cathedral. So perhaps on your way out you could stop there and say a little prayer for him, and a prayer of gratitude for all that he did for this diocesan church.” The bishop then surveyed the students. How many, he asked, were Red Sox fans? About three-quarters of the children raised their hands. How many were Yankees fans? Almost as many hands went up. “Some have voted twice!” the bishop said. And how many were Pittsburgh Pirates fans? Few hands went up. The bishop’s was one of them. “I see four or five of us,” he said, pretending to be wounded. The point, the bishop said, was that athletes at the beginning of every season have to get in shape. So, too, should Christians as Good Friday and Easter approach — by fasting, praying and practicing good deeds, he said. “Lent,” he said, “is spring training for Christians.” THE FIRST Bishop of Providence, an Irish immigrant, spent years planning, raising money, and building the Cathedral of SS. Peter & Paul, which he envisioned as a symbol of the Catholic Church’s growing importance in what was still a predominantly Protestant state in the latter half of the 19th century. The building was nearly complete when he spoke his last words, “Thy will be done,” and died of complications of a cold and the severe asthma from which he had suffered for much of his life. He was 59 years old. His funeral, in June 1886, was the first Mass celebrated in the new cathedral. The wake and funeral drew 30,000 mourners — and was front-page news in the Providence newspapers, a sign that the Catholic Church had indeed become a force in Rhode Island. “The record of a life whose good works and great achievements will stand as an enduring monument to his memory closed when the Right Rev. Thomas F. Hendricken, Bishop of Providence, passed quietly away from the scene of his earthly labors,” began a Providence Journal story. But Bishop Hendricken’s final resting place turned out to be less grand than what headlines suggested, and when Bishop Tobin, his seventh successor, learned that his remains lay moldering and all but forgotten in the cathedral’s basement crypt, he was bothered; surely, such a man deserved a more dignified fate. It was early 2005, and Bishop Tobin had barely set foot in Providence. Onto his list Bishop Hendricken went. Over the next 18 months, plans progressed for a better ending. Workers with jackhammers removed Hendricken and five other forgotten bishops from the crypt — as someone recorded the moment for a video about Bishop Hendricken that would be posted on the Diocese’s Web site and YouTube. One bishop was returned to his original diocese, Hartford; four were buried in a diocesan cemetery; and Bishop Hendricken was temporarily stored in a mausoleum, a second, more secure casket encasing his original. By late 2006, Bishop Tobin was ready to honor him. Details were finalized at a meeting on Monday, Nov. 6, at One Cathedral Square. Bishop Tobin decided that after Mass on Dec. 8, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, Bishop Hendricken would be re-entombed in a custom-built, green Brazilian-granite sarcophagus. Before the ceremony, Hendricken’s body would be brought to his namesake high school in Warwick, where the student body would assemble in a gymnasium to pay their respects. The Rev. Marcel L. Taillon, diocesan vocations director and chaplain of Bishop Hendricken High School, had special fondness for the late bishop. He thought that Hendricken someday could be canonized a saint. Someone at the Nov. 6 meeting mentioned that a plaque for the late bishop’s sarcophagus had been designed — but Bishop Tobin had not seen it yet. Everyone knew what a stickler Tobin was for details. “As long as it doesn’t have my name on it,” he said, “I’m OK!” The question turned to invitations and limited space. Small contingents from the diocesan schools could be accommodated, along with four people from every parish. Father Taillon noted that the founding bishop had caught his final cold at Holy Name Parish. “We won’t invite them then,” the bishop kidded. “They killed him.” But the bishop saw great value in the re-entombment, which would fill the cathedral on Dec. 8 and be covered by print and broadcast journalists. An item would appear on “Whispers in the Loggia,” the Catholic blog that records some 10,000 unique visitors daily. “It’s a great spiritual, pastoral and educational opportunity for all of us,” Bishop Tobin said. “Interesting, interesting moment for us.” THE MARCH 14, 2007, Lenten Mass for schoolchildren at the Cathedral of SS. Peter & Paul ended. Wearing his purple vestments and white miter and carrying a gold crosier, Bishop Tobin stood outside, greeting the students as they returned to their buses. It was an unseasonably warm day that teased of spring. “I would give you the rest of the day off if I could…. God bless you now!... Thanks for coming today…. Bye bye!.... Hi, sweetheart…. Have a good Lent!... Nice to see you all!” He shook many hands. The crowd thinned and Bishop Tobin moved to where a local TV crew had set up for an interview. The reporter wanted the bishop’s thoughts on Pope Benedict XVI’s 131-page reflection on the Eucharist, released the day before. One passage reaffirmed Church teaching that Catholics who had divorced and remarried without annulment should not receive Communion — but bishops should be receptive to annulment requests. Through their diocesan marriage tribunals, the pope wrote, dioceses should process annulment requests “in an expeditious manner.” As the bishop was being wired, a high school boy, perhaps on a dare, approached the bishop. “Can I wear your hat?” he said. “Just for a minute?” “No,” the bishop said, firmly but with a smile. “Please?” “No. Become a priest, and then a bishop, and then you can wear it.” The boy retreated. The bishop would not give him his hat — but he did return his high-five.
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On Monday, Oct. 29, Journal staff writer G. Wayne Miller hosted 
