Category Archives: Abuse

Vatican attorney: Lady Justice peeking?

lady justice taking a peek

Sometimes hot air outweighs anything you care to enter into evidence…

Priests deserve basic justice, too – by Mauro Visigalli [August 26, 2016] // [Here with the [comments] of Father George David Byers. I am acquainted with Mauro, having spoken with him and emailed back and forth a number of times on behalf of a priest friend.] //

I am an Italian “avvocato rotale” [attorney on the Roman Rota, a kind of appeals court in the Catholic Church over in Rome]. I usually work in the Roman Curia of the Catholic Church where certain canonical crimes arrive for consideration from all over the world [such as having sex with a minor, etc.]. For this reason, I often look at American newspapers online, sometimes printing out their pages for my folders [I guess we have many canonical crimes!].

I was doing that the other day, searching for news about a priest who entrusted his case to me, when I found in The Providence Journal an article about a different priest, unknown to me (“Priest prohibited from serving,” news, July 1). His story made me want to share some thoughts, based on my professional experience.

What amazes me is that in a country like yours, where the rights of the accused are considered so important [perhaps in the Constitution, but that basically no longer exists; in reality, in the case involving a newly examined rape kit, those accused of a rape/murder are treated as guilty and are forbidden by the Supreme Court to be exonerated by DNA evidence that proves their innocence; we simply execute everyone regardless of guilt or innocence because we don’t give a damn], that rights do not seem to count when a priest is accused of a sexual crime [because going that far makes it all better]. Such is the paradox of a 95-year-old priest who is prohibited from serving based on “credible” facts of an incident that happened 60 years before [“Credible” for The National Catholic Risk Retention Group means that a priest is guilty because he was ordained; nothing else matters. They hold that paying settlements regardless of guilt, whereby the defendant is not the priest but the diocese, saves money, for it is 15 times more expensive to lose one litigated claim than it is to settle fifteen other incidents. Who cares if even all the priests are innocent of the accusations and are now removed from the priesthood for life.].

I would simply ask: How could someone defend himself against such old charges? [He cannot] And is the “presumption of innocence” a mere option [This is explicitly forbidden!], or has it been replaced in these cases with a “presumption of guilt?” I can find this same expression – “credibly alleged” – on the websites of many American dioceses, with attached blacklists of priests smeared forever after having dedicated their whole life to the church (sometimes dead priests, too). Some websites include a red button and phone numbers with the list, so that everyone can easily send in his or her accusation and everyone can infer, however wrongly, that such crimes are absolutely normal in the church! [It’s all actually more cynical than all that. Some priests are known to be innocent, but even one innocent priest is too much for a system that depends on all priests being guilty because they are ordained, so that we’re only waiting for an accuser to pay. If one priest is given due process then all priests must be given due process, but that makes settlements impossible, and litigation necessary. All too expensive when we could save thirty pieces of silver. This is “The Judas Crisis” as I call it. Sell the priests for money, with chancery rats and bishops prostituting themselves to the opinions of the media, whom they hope will call them heroes for “being tough on priests.”]

Do you know how many of those “credible accusations” started with a simple anonymous letter? Do you know how often the letter was sent from someone who was in a position to gain from the denunciation? Do you know how many priests weren’t found guilty but are still suspended because their bishop is frightened about public opinion? Do you know how long the accused priests, immediately suspended from their ministries with a simple letter from their bishop, live under the double pressure of a civil and a canonical tribunal? [It’s worse than that, my friend. Do you know how many times priests have been given the ultimatum whereby they will be laicized unless they agree to be treated by those treatment centers which have a long history of raping priests with plethysmography as mentioned many times in the John Jay report? It’s demonic, at the highest levels of the Roman Curia, but there it is, and this is ongoing.]

Don’t misunderstand me: I’m not denying the meaning of the word “credible” [as used in dictionaries, but not as used by certain money hungry ecclesiastics…]. When an accusation is credible, church authorities have the duty to communicate the matter to the police and to start their own separate inquiry. But until the process ends, no one can say that the priest is at fault or should be blacklisted. Whoever is guilty of certain crimes should be effectively punished, but only after an exacting procedure giving him all the rights that the law offers the accused.

What really hurts me, as a jurist, is the knowledge that church law in this area is very good, and Vatican judges are very skilled jurists. However, such excellence is not always available because exceptions are made, and the Vatican has limited resources to handle these cases. Many of the cases are thus entrusted to lower tribunals, where judges are not always as skilled as their Vatican colleagues. Often those called upon to judge in such cases are the same ones who initiated the formal accusation! [Right. The conflicts of interests and acts of fraud for self-aggrandizement are rampant and actually well known, and, sadly appreciated as precious and necessary for looking like heroes.]

I hope my words will make readers reflect: It is wrong to get into the habit of stoning someone who is accused of a crime, rather than seeking justice.

I thank you for your attention and I warmly greet every reader.

Mauro Visigalli, of Codogno, Italy, is a lawyer in Italian courts and at the Vatican. [Good for you, Mauro. Excellent article.]

===== My comment =====

Here’s the deal: When settlements are made regardless of innocence or guilt, forbidding priests to be defendants or have any due process whatsoever, giving all control to the accuser and making the settlement as soon as possible hopefully without lawyers, often not knowing the accusations or even whether the priest was even born when the alleged actions were said to have occurred, when this happens, and it does all the time by way of strictly enforced policy, the consequence is that this actually encourages more abuse even while bishops and chancery rats look tough and advance their careers. People get sick of innocent priests being accused and soon not even real victims have a voice to complain. When false accusers get payments on the suffering of real victims the real victims are raped again. The rapists are then the chancery rats and bishops who have sought hero status. But they can’t see clearly any longer, so full are their eyes with the blood of the priests who throats they have slit. And when they have congratulated themselves long enough for having no incidents for a number of years, then they will hesitate to call out any real abuse, and simply reassign a truly abusive priest so that they can continue to grant themselves hero status. The same abuse of power by which a rape occurs is the same abuse of power by which no due process is granted. The cycle will continue until the powers that be stop their Promethean self-referential self-absorption and realize that they are to serve Christ Jesus and not themselves.

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Suicide attempt of my best friend priest

GORDON MACRAEHere’s my comment on the article My Darkest Night of falsely accused and wrongly imprisoned Father Gordon J MacRae (About) on his suicide attempt. By the way, after 22 years in prison, he is still a priest in good standing with all his faculties. He was never “chartered” under the Dallas Charter. Why? Because he’s actually innocent, and everyone knows it, including the Holy See on the one hand and SNAP et al on the other hand.

Here’s the deal with the guilty:

Those who are guilty of such things [sexual abuse] are so incredibly narcissistic that they couldn’t possibly take their own lives. That’s just not how it works. When they are caught out, it’s no big surprise. They’ve been expecting it. They take it in stride as all part of the game. There may have been some priests guilty among those 26 who committed suicide, but it’s surely not more than a few, if any.

Here’s the deal with the innocent:

Those innocent of such crimes, who were dedicated to their priesthood, who were even accused because their love for the truth and pastoral generosity were not appreciated, those priests who wanted nothing more than that their parishioners would be temples of the Holy Spirit, enjoying the freedom of a chastity according to one’s state in life that provides purity of heart and agility of soul, those who were seen to be easy targets for false accusations leveled to extort settlements, those priests who had not been prepared in their seminary training for the “As the Master, so the disciple” dynamic because their seminaries were all about politically correct academics and niceness, those priests who didn’t buy into that politically correct one-upmanship because it distracted from pastoral charity, those priests who understandably but unfortunately mistakenly put too much of their hope on the much hyped idea of team spirit, these priests were, when they were betrayed with accusations and then abandoned by their best friends, abandoned by their families, abandoned by their work friends in the chancery, abandoned by their chancellors and vicar generals, abandoned by their bishops, abandoned even and in some cases especially by those who work in the various offices of the Roman Curia, all insisting in their own ways on a lack of due process as a policy to be followed, those priests who were said to be rapists of the worst kind, accused of everything which was the exact opposite of who they were before God and man, those whose very existence was now an embarrassment to the self-referential, self-congratulatory, narcissistic church of Promethian neo-Pelagian self-absorption… these priests, who were so concerned about not giving scandal to the innocent people in the pews, these priests are the one’s who committed suicide with a reasoning that defies the light of day, but which made perfect sense to them in the night of darkness into which they were thrown like trash, as if they actually were the refuse and garbage and scum of mankind. And yet, in all their suffering, these priests are the unsuspecting true heroes whom we will see shine brighter than the stars of heaven for all eternity, for Jesus, who died that we might live, knows what it means to be betrayed, and knows how weak we are, how devoid of logic when we are smashed down and bludgeoned even after we think we are already long dead. Jesus will surely welcome these souls as martyrs into the joys prepared for them before the foundation of the world. Jesus will say to them: “I know you! Welcome home!”

Father Gordon survived. Oh my! Now he would have to face how logic in the night of darkness doesn’t hold up in the light of day. How embarrassing! How much failure! But, no. In going through this ignominy he learned to walk with Jesus, now fully cognizant of all that which he didn’t learn in the seminary nor from his fellow priests, that is, about the wounds of Jesus, wounded in His hands and feet, in His side, His Sacred Heart of Divine Mercy. Now he knows redemption from the perspective of Jesus, from the Cross. After all, Jesus had said that when He was lifted up on the Cross He would draw all to Himself. When we are in solidarity with Jesus even while He is in solidarity with us, Jesus gives us His own Heart with which to love.

Thank you, Father Gordon.
You are a priest’s priest.
Thank you.

Father George David Byers
Missionary of Mercy of Pope Francis

Now, go read Father Gordon MacRae’s article: My Darkest Night.

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World Youth Day 2016 sex ed sex abuse

World Youth Day 2016 Pope Francis and Jesus

After reading about the hard core XXX porn video recommendations being made to 16-18 year olds at World Youth Day 2016 as put together by the Pontifical Council for the Family’s sexually abusive sex-education program being promoted among these youngsters I feel like vomiting and that I’m about to have a heart attack.

I could say some pretty rough things and use some pretty rough language to assist the intent of my comments, but that doesn’t do me any good, nor would it do you any good.

But I will say this: If any priest were to promote those recommendations of the Pontifical Council for the Family to 16-18 year olds, such a priest would forthwith be dismissed from the clerical state (laicized) by Pope Francis and then sued for sex-abuse and thrown in prison for the rest of his life in these USA.

But if any priest were to argue against such an abusive program and not comply with some sex-crazed (Arch)bishop’s sex-abusive sex-ed program based on this rubbish at “The Pope’s World Youth Day”, he would soon find himself without any assignment, without any means to live. After a few years he would be laicized just to get him out of the way.

Here’s the deal: I would rather be a priest forever in heaven even though having suffered on this earth, than to go to hell as a priest where I would be tormented worse than anyone else forever.

Perhaps those who ram this diabolical scandal in the faces of youngsters should be reminded that Jesus, BECAUSE of his mercy will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by the fire of His love, which will burn ardently in those who are with Him, but which will be a source of the most intense and burning frustration for those who did not welcome children with the respect which is their due.

Meanwhile, I am going to continue being the priest I am happy to be. I will keep up with the Sacraments. I will pray. I will follow the love and goodness and kindness and mercy and truth and justice of Jesus. I will fend off all attempts to destroy souls in my parish. I will pray for the Roman Pontiff and those in the Roman Curia. But I am God’s servant first.

– Father George David Byers – Missionary of Mercy of Pope Francis

P.S. Dear Pope Francis, if a mutual friend shows you this post, why not consent to the interview I would I like to have with you? I have some questions for you.

= I need to write a post with the title “Flores for the Immaculate Conception”…

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Father Gordon J MacRae my best friend – The 54 day Rosary begins TODAY

GORDON MACRAEFather Gordon J MacRae (about) has been writing for his blog TheseStoneWalls from prison for seven years (Seven Years Behind These Stone Walls), something he’s done at the request of Cardinal Avery Dulles. There was no case presented against him in court, and the prosecutors (one who disappeared the next day and one who committed suicide) begged him to take a plea deal (at one point for no time at all), but, since he was innocent and couldn’t live with the lie, he was given a life sentence for crimes that by the reckoning of all never happened. He was wrongly convicted and wrongly imprisoned for now going on 23 years.

The CDF knows that he is innocent but does nothing to prosecute those who scapegoated him. Father Gordon knew too much of the wrong doing of those at the epicenter of the abuse crisis: Bishop John McCormack, Bishop Francis Christian and, now, imprisoned for untold numbers of crimes, Monsignor Edward Arsenault.

The conflicts of interest are many which drive this case, each one of which would make for a blockbuster film. These include the bishops and chancery officials and their various relationships with various members of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, The National Catholic Risk Retention Group, pretty much all the lawyers on whatever “side”, Attorneys General, U.S. Attorneys, Governors, priests who are guilty, the accusers and their dollars.

There has been a wide array of those writing about his case including many times The Wall Street Journal. But, you can read the stunning summary at Seven Years Behind These Stone Walls. At the end of that article, that paradigm reset button, you’ll find this Editor’s note:

Editor’s Note: Long-time TSW reader, Maria Stella, extends this invitation,

“As the next TSW post will probably be June 29, could you please add a note at the end of the post to invite supporters of Fr. MacRae to join in a 54 day rosary novena that will start on June 30, the day the first martyrs of the Holy Roman Church are commemorated? The intention is justice for Fr MacRae and that he be released from prison. Other readers may want to add their particular intentions.”

As it happens, the beginning and ending days in the Novus Ordo and the Extraordinary Form are Feast days that are most fitting:

Novus Ordo:

  • June 30 Feast of the Martyrs of the Church of Rome
  • August 22 Queenship of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Extraordinary Form

  • June 30 Commemoration of Saint Paul
  • August 22 Immaculate Heart of Mary

Father Richard Heilman has a great presentation of the provenance of the 54 day Rosary novena, made up of 3 novenas of petition and 3 novenas of thanksgiving: Roman Catholic Man.

Please, do join us. In doing so, you are also helping out true victims, who hate nothing more than the self-congratulation of those who pocket money and prestige based on hysteria over their own actual sufferings. Remember, when people get sick of false accusations, they won’t listen to real ones any more. And the whole thing begins again. No! We must take each case individually, grant due process (which has almost never been done, especially by those who trumpet loudly that it has), and respect justice. Mercy, mind you, is based on justice, and if we throw out justice, you will never see mercy, only fraud. And people suffer.

Meanwhile, Father Gordon is an instrument of grace in his prison pod, “Bravo Pod,” which is reserved for only the worst criminals. Many of them convert. Many of them belong to the Militia of the Immaculata of Saint Maximilian Kolbe. Pray for his strength and holiness. He points more people to heaven than most all priests on the outside of those stone walls.

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“can you confess statutory rape – catholic” (search entry logged in stats) A Missionary of Mercy responds

just me 04

Back in the day, when I was a freshman at a brand new gargantuan public high school, with between one and two thousand kids, the incoming class was broken up into small groups so as to have a special instruction. It amounted to telling us what statutory rape was in my home state. At the time, they said, it amounted to sex with anyone under sixteen years of age, regardless of consent of the other, regardless if one was also under sixteen years of age. “Just don’t do it!” was the advice. “Isn’t that obvious?” thought I. I’m sure all those laws in all states have been radically revised in any number of ways, and not necessarily for the benefit of the other person.

I almost never ever look at the stats page. I used to do that once in a while, but now not so much. I just happened to see this search query on my stats page: “can you confess statutory rape – catholic”. An entire spectrum of motivations are possible for someone to do such a search. Leaving aside motivations of a journalist, et alii, let’s just take two scenarios.

Let’s say a minor girl “confesses” that someone not a minor has taken advantage of her sexually. Kids can get confused and feel guilty in a situation in which they were victims. The priest is to set the youngster straight about this and speak to the possibilities of revealing the crime to proper authorities, making sure the youngster knows that this is a good idea, and that because of the seal of confession, the priest can’t do this himself, not having been told this outside of confession.

As an aside, I would say that a priest is NOT always to encourage that the victim reveals the crime to the proper authorities. For instance, in Islamicist countries, such a girl, claiming rape, would simply be stoned to death by “pious men.” I bet that Islamic State rape lovers will complain that I’m not being nice to them and should be ashamed of myself for not breaking the seal of confession and turning the girl over to them for stoning myself. Really, I won’t do that.

Diversely, let’s say that a middle-aged man confesses that he took advantage of a minor girl in a sexual manner. The priest is to give all the proper advice about turning himself in to the proper authorities and getting help to sort out any psychological idiocies that would open himself up to doing such a crime. But, then, as far as the sin goes, yes, he can confess that under the sacramental seal of the sacrament of confession and, all things being equal regarding true repentance, amendment of life, etc., he may be given absolution for the sin.

As an aside, again, I would say that a priest is NOT always to encourage that the criminal reveals himself to the proper authorities, depending on the local circumstances. Say, for instance, that he is in a jurisdiction where most if not all those on an offender list were put to death sooner than later by other prisoners.

Anyway, it seems that some people go bat-**** crazy (bats go all over themselves as they hang upside down, filling up their caves in this way, really crazy) over such an absolution since they think that it is a kind of permission to those who are not repentant to go ahead and repeat the same behavior. No. Anyone seeking absolution under those circumstances, or any priest giving an absolution in such circumstances, commits a sacrilege and is risking going straight to hell.

I’ve said this before on this blog, but no priest is going to turn anyone over to the police. Priests are not police in the confessional. They have a different role to play. You might well be encouraged strongly to turn yourself in, but your absolution does not depend on your agreeing to that. You’ll just be given a penance that you can do, and then given absolution, again, all things being equal.

And things are not “always equal.” For instance, someone may not be willing to give up their porn addiction which, among other things, has clearly led them to do such crimes, with them saying only that they promise not to go out and do such a crime again. No. That doesn’t cut it. No absolution for that one. The seal of confession cannot be broken even in this case.

Look: one turns away from sin by being turned to the Lord Jesus, who doesn’t tolerate any such impurity of heart, any such lack of agility in the soul. If one has no fear at all of the Lord, who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire, then that person is well and truly risking going straight to hell. It’s better to go to heaven, is it not? Jesus is good and kind and true and just. He will make a radical conversion possible, for it is then His grace gained in His own justice on the cross, not anyone’s stupid determination to use a strength he doesn’t have in the first place.

Conclusion: Yes, return to the Lord for an absolution; return with repentance. You will be shown the goodness and kindness of Jesus Himself. If you have no repentance, you’ll be given quite the reprimand. But that will do you good as well, preparing you for a proper confession of sin and change of life. Praise the Lord.

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Update: Suicide: “two knives to the heart.” Trending murder of priests for $$$?

seven dolors

“Brother Stephen Baker, the friar at the center of the abuse allegations, killed himself in 2013 — with two knives to the heart.”

… “two knives to the heart” …

Yeah… right… suicide… sure… two knives… to the heart… two…

Sorry, but, that just raises some doubts about the autopsy. Was there one? Any forensics? Maybe a bit of messing around with all that?

Did law enforcement cover up a murder so that there would be no investigation? No due process? Just some questions. I don’t know. It’s just that the two knives thing with a suicide claim bothers me. The suicide claim so as not to have to deal with the complexity of murder is commonplace.

Is this a new trend starting up? Murder a priest; call it a suicide so that there’s no due process possible but the guy looks guilty of whatever misdeed; then get money? Sounds like some serious RICO. In dubio, pro reo.

But maybe they were itsy bitsy one inch blade key-chain knives! Or an itsy bitsy one followed by a butcher knife! I can’t imagine that.

switchbladeLook, I’m not saying he didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know. But I do know that pushing a knife into your own heart is pretty much impossible. When’s the last time you heard of someone in real life doing that? People find other ways. But a second knife? I mean, have you ever seen the state someone is in when he has a knife in his heart? On the floor, right?

switchbladeIf it was you, you just wouldn’t get a second knife. You can’t move. If you do, the knife moves, and you die instantly. You would just mash the first one around, ending it that instant, or take it out, ending it that instant. But a second knife? I can’t see it: “Let me see… which knife should I use now?” No. The most probable scenario is that two people attacked him, having each agreed to shove a knife in his heart like he was some sort of sacrifice, perhaps knowing in advance that the murder would be covered up as a suicide.

MAFIA OMERTAIf it’s not a suicide, but a murder, possibly purposely covered up, then, what else might be wrong with this story? Just a question. Look, I’m not trying to cast doubt on anyone, not even on the multitude who jumped into the fray afterward. Maybe he admitted to guilt to those making the settlements. I’m just asking some questions trying to get at the truth. These settlement procedures almost always have zero due process. Treating most all cases with no due process leads to such scenarios as murder for ease of getting settlement money (even if this case actually was a suicide, which I just can’t imagine it was). I promise to edit or take down this post if it is proven to me that this could not possibly have been a murder, that it had to be a suicide. Anyway, the death really makes the settlements conveniently easier.

Update: Question: There were about a dozen accusers. After that, it was decided to make settlements. After that, the suicide which I think may be a murder took place. After that, about another 100 accusers jumped on the case. If it turns out to be a murder (and the suicide claim may just be a ploy by the police to see who has done what), I wonder if the first accusers or the bandwagon accusers or others on the side who might have an interest in big dollars might be investigated for murder or conspiracy in murder or some such implication in the murder itself, and go to prison until they die. Just wondering. Really, the two knives in the heart bothers me.

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(5) Father Byers at 15 years old, meeting up with two suicide rapists

just me 15

Below, some bits of my autobiography are provided which speak to more aggression from others who are hurting to the point of suicide. I include these experiences here for the express purpose of speaking to some few individuals who should know better, who really need to stop their corruption. People are hurting, and they need to help them instead of encouraging them to hurt themselves and others all the more with all their social engineering and self-congratulations in their lust for power and, it would seem, their lust for lust. Here are the previous articles in this series:

It was now the Summer before entering my sophomore year in what was already my second high school (we had moved). I was in a sauna with a couple of boys of the same school, who were just a year older than myself, with whom I had been swimming at the University’s brand new athletics building sporting an Olympic sized pool. One of them all of a sudden got aggressive and was getting ready to do the rape thing on me, saying that I needed to be “initiated” into my new school, but his friend, horrified, grabbed him and gave him the lecture of his life, stopping him. Poor kid. He was killed in what was reported officially as an accident the next Summer in an equally untoward circumstance. People conjectured that he might have taken his own life. They should know. He had done what he did right in front of them.

boyPeople suffer in hidden agony, crunching in on themselves, and sometimes try to draw others, for self-comfort, into their misery, sometimes with great alacrity and niceness, sometimes with violence and aggression, almost always, if young like this, in an effort to make sense of the hell they are living in because of circumstances imposed on them. He was one of the most popular kids in that entire region, in that entire part of the state. All that those who suffer need to know is that any misery, however hidden by popularity it may be, can be understood and thus sorted out by letting Christ into one’s life. He’s always with us. Always. We need but look up. And speak to Him.

The stats are now – what? – one in thirteen kids attempting suicide in the United States? Yep (at the writing of this, some years ago). That’s skyrocketed proportionate to the sexualization of kids from pre-school onward, right? Also that. Anyway…

The following Spring there was a man in perhaps his early forties who had been stalking me for some months. You have to understand that this was all perfectly legal back in the day. No longer, thank God. Now that we had moved out into the country, with rolling hills and forests and dirt roads and really long stretches between houses, this kind of thing could easily happen. If I would be walking in the forest, anywhere, there he would be. If I would be walking along the road, there he would be. He had attacked a neighbor boy (a few miles away through the woods) a couple of years earlier, dragging him off his horse right on to the front lawn of the boy’s own house. The police were called but nothing really came of it.

truck redI was wary. He was a real predator. For the umpteenth time, he was now trailing me along a dirt road cutting through the forest. He was driving an unbelievably filthy red pickup truck only as fast as I would walk. If I stopped, he stopped. If I ran, he sped up. I hoped he didn’t have a gun. I was really getting sick of these shenanigans. I had already fired warning shots for his benefit many times in the past when I just happened to have a rifle with me. I had already evaded him many times by running into the woods, almost literally flying around trees, down ravines, across swamps and creeks. But every time I did this I would be covered with a severe rash of poison ivy, which was pretty much everywhere in central Minnesota. That might not sound so bad, but I really suffered from it, with whole patches of skin falling off, oozing with clear yellow liquid. And besides, running on the wings of the wind with my somewhat crippled legs didn’t help my mobility for quite a while after any such escape. It really destroyed me. So this running was just no longer an option for me. I had to end this, right here, right now. But I did not have a gun with me.

I figured I could just beat him unconscious with my bare fists if I had to, leaving him to be found by the police. For all of my being a bit cripplely in the legs, I was in excellent physical condition and extremely agile = able to get out of any situation. I never learn. As in years gone by with the Cadillac Limousine stalker, I turned and walked straight to the truck. Stupidly, I figured I was getting good at this kind of thing. The first thing I did was taunt him to run me over. I knew I could easily jump out of the way. Things could then turn ugly, but I was again filled to overflowing with adrenaline. I really was very sarcastic.

When he offered me a ride – as I had suspected – I jumped in and he immediately started driving just a bit faster than I could run, making jumping out quite dangerous. His driving slowly was a thousand times more annoying than my being followed. What a horrifically filthy vehicle. I tried in any number of ways to interrogate him as to why he was always following me, but he never said a word. But then I gave him what was perhaps the lecture and reprimand of his life. But then my mind was racing as to what to do when we came up to where my house was another mile down the road. Would he stop? Would I jump, regardless of consequences? To my surprise, and dismay, he turned up the long drive. This could get nasty, thought I. We had guns at home. I knew how to use them.

As soon as we arrived I got out, but so did he. I continued lecturing him, and told him to leave. He didn’t answer. He refused to go. I went into our garage. But he wasn’t going anywhere, not for five minutes, not for ten. What was he plotting? I had a family to protect. I should have called the police, but we lived way, way out in the middle of nowhere. And stalking was not illegal. And I had accepted a ride. Right? I’m so stupid.

rifleSo, instead, I got our trusty Remington .22 and brought it outside, filling the rifle with plenty of bullets in plain view, inviting him to leave and never come back. He wouldn’t go. Just as I was raising the rifle to shoot the gas tank of his pickup truck for as many times as it took to make it explode, my mom called me in. Rats! Ever obedient, I went in. Her presence, after all, put him off. Just when I was starting to have a bit of fun. After that, I never saw him again. That was smart on his part.

pickup burningYet, I still regret not having pulled the trigger a few times. Sometimes people need to be woken up. And it would have been cool to watch a vehicle blow up. Now, having said all that, I actually didn’t want to hurt him if I could help it. I had met enough hurting people in my life to know that he might well have suicide on his mind. Indeed, I think that this was his bid to commit suicide, you know, like someone who aims a plastic water pistol, though realistic looking, at police officers, threatening them, charging them, aiming at them with obvious intent to kill, only to get shot to death, just like they wanted.

I told my father about all this, and his response surprised me somewhat, but what he said was good advice. The sum total of his remarks was this: “Pray for him.” He said this with a bit of sternness. It was not a suggestion, but a command. My father, you have to understand, knew something of the power of prayer. O.K., so… Our Father, who art in heaven…

I think that if victims of sexual abuse would pray for their abusers, there would be a great deal of healing going on, at least for the victims, whose act of charity would bring them the blessing of no longer being controlled by any emotional scarring that whatever abuser may have left behind. Just a thought.

I suppose I could recount another hundred stories just like these, but all so very different. I’m sure our Lord had something in mind for each and every one of these experiences, both for my good and the good of others, both at that time and forever after that. I can’t help but thank my guardian angel for giving me the wherewithal to know what to do in such situations. I was escaping one drama after the next and at the same time learning so much about the fallen human condition and how the Lord, nevertheless, wants us for Himself. My guardian angel was guarding a sense of the greatness possible to the human soul within my own soul. There is hope. God loves us. I know He loved me. He loved everyone. I wanted to see His love in others. I wanted to see the greatness possible to the human soul in this way in everyone I met. That didn’t mean I couldn’t bust someone in the chops if that’s what he needed to bring him to his senses. And sometimes one does need to pull the trigger and watch a truck explode.

Later, as a priest, I was to see the Lord’s love in others from up close, seeing the greatness possible to the human soul, especially when I would impart the absolution during their confessions. The Lord is so good to people in confession, bringing them back to Himself. What great dignity people have in their friendship with the Lord. I can’t think of anything more noble than someone making their confession, even of the very worst of sins. “Look at how they are being carried along by the Lord’s grace!” is the exclamation any priest makes. The Lord’s work in the Sacraments brings light into the darkness. I thank God that I’ve witnessed His work among those He brings to Himself. He is so good, so kind.

Just to say, it was my father, who, as a kind of last will and testament, insisted with me so very many times during the last years of his life, saying, “Goodness and kindness, George, goodness and kindness!” I like that. That’s why I repeat it all the time. It’s not worthwhile living any other way, no matter what happens. The only way is the goodness and kindness of Jesus. And yet, as we know with our Lord’s exclamation… Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

That should be enough about my own experiences for those whom I’ve particularly had in mind while putting these articles up. They need to stop what they are up to, and stop it now. I’m especially speaking to those who pull the strings and those who so easily manipulate them. They know who they are. And others might just find out. ;¬)

Meanwhile, I’ll continue with the series in this way and that. A question came in about angels in these posts. I’ll tackle that forthwith. The answer should be enough to make those for whom I’ve been publishing these articles shake in fear. And if they don’t, they are fools.

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(4) Father Byers at 12 years old: world-class kiddie-porn star

north junior high school

The necessary preface: this series of articles is written with specific people in mind, the string pullers and those who manipulate them, those who are one and two steps beyond the corruption mentioned by Pope Francis, those who are lost to a corruption of the corrupt, and beyond that, are brought into a kind of tangible evil. It is evident that these articles make their way into the hands of some few of this targeted group. The purpose is to offer them forgiveness, even after all that will be related here about those much more insignificant in the scheme of things than they are themselves. After all, those who are more important, the string pullers and their manipulators, take on the guilt of everything that goes on under their influence. I hope that thought puts the fear of God in them, and that they repent, for the Immaculate Conception’s Divine Son, Christ our God, will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Here’s a list of the preceding posts in this short series:

pinocchio stringsRight away I have to say that the title of this post is misleading, the bit about kiddie-porn, for this is about the filming of young and naked teenage boys evidently for the use of older homosexual men. But I’ll leave the title as it is for the sake of the main stream media mentality we have in this world, which calls even the abuse of adults “pedophilia” with the malicious intent of not ever speaking about the stats regarding abuse, that it is largely homosexual, that is, involving (post)pubescent young men. That would interfere with certain aspects of social engineering, of certain aspects bringing about a persecution of the Church. That social engineering is itself a symptom of the crisis of the identity of men after the total rejection of their fatherhood by society and by so very many in the Church as contraception and abortion and self-abuse and porn and homosexuality were condoned by the so-called pastórally minded among the clergy and episcopacy of the 1960s and 1970s. But then, as I say, then there are the ones I’m aiming this series at, that is, a certain class among them, a group which has learned to pull the strings on a global level, involving manipulators even more interested in money and power than they are. They are really quite few in number.

just me climbing treeAnyway, the swimming pool at North Junior High School would be a source of trouble time and again. When I was eight and nine years old, the older neighborhood kids were saying that swimming trunks were not allowed by the gym teacher. Everyone had to swim, and swim naked, saying that this had already been going on for some years. I would soon be towards the end of my twelfth year of age, and would be attending there myself. Many schools were starting to do this I was told, so no adult questioned it in what was now a Woodstock society. But don’t be fooled, all the kids hated it, at least at the beginning. They thought that the instructor was going after the boys. But I thought that I could handle myself, and there was no question that I had to go to school, and to that particular school. When the time came, I did go.

camera reel to reelWhat I found, at twelve years of age, was that the teacher’s office, with its large bay window overlooking the locker room, was always jam-packed with naked boys, whom he seemed to be totally ignoring. But then I saw a very expensive movie camera – very professional looking – set up on a large tripod facing the bay window from the locker room, with its on-air light lit up. He was filming the whole thing. The boys, so eager to be around him, were part of a “secret club” that – as one boy told me as if I were entirely stupid – could only be opened up to membership by the gym teacher himself.
Poor kids. They fell for what they thought was the excitement of immodesty and the sense of belonging to a group. I was disgusted by the kind of spirit that seemed to have blinded them to all but a tiny set of arrogant, self-centered emotions, which were lit up so brightly in them that they were blind to everything else, having no agility of spirit whatsoever. They were like deer willingly mesmerized by their own headlights, being shot down by an unscrupulous hunter. I knew that something was terribly wrong with all this, and was taken aback by the very public nature of it. It was the old trick of flaunting it like its normal so that people will think that it is normal. It worked in society then just as it does today. Some few of the kids didn’t fall for it. Neither did I. But what could a little kid do back in those days, so very different from today? Of course, there will be those who blame me for the whole thing. There’s nothing I can do about that. I thing those perpetrating the crimes should be the ones to be blamed, not the kids. Just my opinion.

studio camera 1960sI could try to avoid that camera. But the cameras were everywhere. There were more cameras throughout the locker room, with heavy cables all over the floor. There were cameras in the open room showers, and out in the pool area. There were very large movie cameras, Hollywood cameras I would call them, up in the empty swim-meet bleachers high above the pool, lights blinking away, another in an open storage room at the end of the pool next to the locker room door, and, it seems, below, inside the underwater window at the deep end of the pool. A mafia operation with the school being paid off to turn a blind eye? I think so. The gym teacher made everyone march around naked, sit in certain areas facing certain ways, sit in groups on the diving board, dive from the board in certain ways, and so on, like scripted scenes that would fit some sort of porno story. He even had us swim to the bottom of the deep end of the pool two at a time in order to fetch a block of heavy rubber matting, asking us to fight for it underwater. That’s where an underwater window was located.

just me 04He must have taken thousands of large reels of film over the years that this continued, from the mid-1960s into the mid-1970s. I can only guess that this was a fraction of the operation, another part of which was surely the “secret club” of the gym teacher’s naked boys. I can only guess that the fellow with the Cadillac Limousine mentioned in a previous article was financing all this. I can only guess that the school and police and the Feds had all been paid off to keep quiet. I can only guess that these films still make up by far the largest source of “kiddie-porn” still circulating among the perverted until this very day throughout the United States and around the world, with enough footage for millions of still photos, uncountable DVD’s, pay-per-views, and a multitude of internet formats. In other words…

just me 03I had been prostituting myself and didn’t even know it. I was a kiddie-porno star and surely I still am so today, with dirty old men doing unspeakable things while gaping at images of myself and all those other boys. It only hit home when it was too late. Abuse of minors is always abuse, because, no matter how worldly wise they are, or however much they think that they can take care of themselves (with me being in first place in that category), still, when one is going through a situation as a kid it really is hard to imagine the immense evil of some adults. Sure, I saw the cameras. Yes, I knew they were rolling. So did everyone else. But we just could not imagine for what reason. It just didn’t make any sense. None of us could fathom the depths of the evil at hand, and so mindlessly went along with it, especially because it all seemed condoned by the most trusted adults, the teacher and the school’s administration. I had told my parents about it. I think my dad tried to do something. But the power behind this operation seemed to be beyond anything he could do anything about.

pool lifeguard chairThere was some grumbling among the boys, but only one bit of real, though only momentary rebellion. The occasion for this was one boy being singled out. I felt so sorry for him, and angry and confused right along with him, as did we all. He was made to climb up an inordinately tall life-guard chair and stand there, naked, standing, the gym teacher insisted, with his hands to the side. This boy noticed the cameras up in the bleachers, and mentioned them, pointing to them. You could see the scars of hatred being seared into his heart, as if someone was dragging a dagger right through his chest, deeply, right through his very soul. Overwhelmed, he threatened to jump from the chair so that his head would hit the tile edge of the pool below, breaking his neck, smashing his skull open, killing himself. “No! Don’t do it!” we said. “No!” We just couldn’t believe what we were witnessing. We almost lost our voices. He didn’t jump, thanks be to God.

With that, the “game” was over for the day, even though there was still some twenty minutes left for this “class” in the school schedule. The gym teacher knew that if he didn’t let us go now, he himself was going to pay a heavy price. He let the boy climb down. I don’t know how the boy didn’t fall while climbing down, so much was he shaking with anger.

There was a big difference, thought I, between this gym teacher/kiddie-porno-film director, and my friend with the switch blade in an earlier post, though both may have had similar histories. I want to think my friend had remained with a shred of hope in his soul, even in his darkest moments, a hope which manifests the power of the grace of God in the midst of the hell some live through on this earth. The kiddie-porn director, instead, had chosen not to have any hope. It is how low the human soul can sink. But I will insist, even this kiddie-porn operation isn’t the lowest of the low. The Mafia isn’t the lowest of the low.

Sorry, but I insist: there are always others pulling the strings, and manipulating those who are pulling strings. Those are the ones I’m aiming this series at. And, yes, after all that, I tell them that mercy is theirs for the asking. No one can commit any sin which is so great that if one sincerely asked for forgiveness it could not be forgiven. Let this be a sign to you: I forgive you if you want that forgiveness. Don’t bring that offer with you to hell, which always comes sooner than later, much sooner than any time later. When you face all of eternity as you enter hell, you will know what I mean, and my words to you now will haunt you for eternity. Now’s the time to change your ways and go to Confession.

Now, having said all that, back to the more local culprits. I’m sure the statute of limitations has run out, or not? There are hundreds of witness to what I speak about here. So very many in the “secret club” of which I, however, was never a part. Would they know also of any murders, disappearances of kids? Time for them to come forward, but to what, if everyone was paid off, if this involves the big names in the Twin Cities and elsewhere? What I would like to hear is that huge stashes of kiddie-porn have been destroyed, with whole networks of abusers being brought down with all their servers brought down. That would be really cool.

Also, just to say, there were a number of kids in the area who went missing at that time. Open up those cases, my FBI friends, or are you afraid? Maybe I can kick-start the thing by writing a story for the local paper, and get a local reporter to interview whoever of the survivors of those years then comes forward to speak about it…

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(3) Father Byers at 8 years old: Taking *The* Mafia Kiddie-Porn Godfather for a ride

cadillac limousine

This is one of those stories which requires one to say before beginning that no one else is ever to try this at home. What I did was stupid, though it seemed really smart to me at the time. The purpose of repeating this bit of the autobiography here is send a message to some people who pride themselves a bit in their lust for power in all their evil doing. They have a need to understand that there are certain people who will uncontrollably do stupid things, putting themselves into grave danger, truly having no fear because of having, at any rate, the idea that they can get their way out of any difficulty precisely because they have no fear that burdens them. They will do what they need to do. And they do it. I must say that what happened in this story was very formative of my own character, and terribly instructive to me as a little kid about the way politics work regarding abuse. Seeing the powerful become fearful (they are always fearful) was spectacular. Very important, this. Those for whom I am especially writing these articles should take note: No fear. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Give it up and convert. Go to Confession! For the other articles so far, see:

north junior high school

When I was just eight years old, I had made a habit of going swimming at the local Junior High School. The pool was opened up to younger kids like myself, at night. It was a pretty good hike to get there, three miles, at night. Bikes were impossible in Minnesota in February ice and snow, at night. I know. I tried many times when it was way below zero, at night. It’s a good extreme sport, but it really was faster just walking. No one from my neighborhood wanted to brave the hike. I was alone for that part. But there were plenty of kids to meet there. The trip was worth it for someone who could swim like a fish, and I was just such a one. I think I once did five lengths of the pool underwater without once coming up for breath. I was a bit of a show-off, looking for some competition in this way. Competition, if it’s just for the sheer idiocy of it, is always hilarious to those involved, and is its own reward. I found out that half-crippled legs didn’t matter so much in the water.

Also, I was used to the cold enough to know that when it’s below zero and one’s hair is still wet, the walk home will be cold only at the beginning. Wet hair freezes into a helmet as hard as rock, keeping one’s body heat insulated. I would let my hair freeze for a minute or so, and then put my hat on over that. Only I would do that, of course. But one has to know how to survive.

On my way home from a great swim, but on a particularly cold night, way below zero on the Fahrenheit scale, and with eyes seeing chlorine halos around every distant light, I noted that a very expensive looking black Cadillac Limousine started following me at my walking pace, about forty yards out. He had followed me a couple of other times, but from about 100 yards out. This narrowing of the range was creepy. I was on the road since the sidewalk had about a foot of snow cover. But now, to escape, I ran up the mountain of snow separating the road from the sidewalk, which was set back from the road about twenty feet. I walked along the sidewalk, to no avail. The car stayed exactly forty yards back. He knew what he was doing. I was just at a point where the sidewalk ended in front of a deep, culverted ditch that was being filled in with building demolition, parts of brick walls and great slabs of cement floors, with jagged metal I-beams that poked through the snow and ice with dark menace. I stared at this, imagining myself escaping along this impassable route, but being put off at the thought of freezing to death with a broken leg a half mile from the road, not to be found until the following Summer, if ever.

plowed snowI jumped back out on the road, right where my stalker would be able to grab me. Back in the day, there were no houses in any direction for about a half a mile along that stretch of road. The field next to me, blanketed with about three feet of snow, up to my chest at that time, stretched all the way to a forest about three miles away. It was pitch dark. I thought I was dead for sure.

And yet, if you can’t run, you can fight, even if you are only eight years old, as I had learned some months previously. I was braver than I was smart. I turned and walked straight to the car and, when offered a ride – just as I thought – I took it. This seemed stupid even to me, but it also seemed like the only option, and so, therefore, smart. I thought I was going to end up in the car one way or the other, but if I took the initiative, the psychological dynamics were such that I could have the upper hand, at least for a while, until I figured out a definitive escape. What a stupid eight-year old! But I was filled with adrenaline once again. And I had not forgotten the bit [mentioned in an earlier part of the autobiography] about letting people hang themselves if that’s what they wanted to do. I learned later on what our Lord did with Judas.

This fellow in the Cadillac Limousine was perhaps in his thirties, and may have been merely the driver for someone else somewhere else. His job for the evening was just to collect kids. At any rate, he knew his business; it was clear he had done this before. Today I would conjecture that his boss was the kiddie-porno king of the world, with no one equaling his volume of kiddie-porn even today. But, maybe he was the godfather. Those were different times. But I’ll get to that in the following article of this series. At any rate, this fellow interrogated me about exactly where I lived in town and then what my name was. When he heard the name, he asked me to repeat it, again and again. I told him, and said that my dad had been the mayor of the city (of 48,000 people at the time) and was now an attorney at law, and also worked at the State Legislature, and headed up the biggest law firm in central Minnesota. He asked me repeatedly if I was sure that was my father. Sure? I almost broke out laughing. But instead I also mentioned my uncle by name, since he was the chief emergency responder in the city. At that point, he stopped the car abruptly, right there on the icy street, far from anywhere, at night, way below freezing, commanding me to get out. I mocked him with a sing-song voice, saying he could meet my dad if he wanted to drive me the rest of the way. That wasn’t very intelligent on my part, but he sped away, thank God. I tried to get the license plate number, but it was too dark. I was dumb enough to be a bit too happy with myself, having gotten 1-1/2 miles closer to home in a nice car. I had no idea that I had been in most grave danger, out of which few come out alive.

I wonder how many youngsters’ lives he had destroyed and is still destroying. I wonder if my ever so troubled friend had been a victim of his. I told my parents right away, and my dad got on the phone immediately. I can only think that this fellow was run out of town for a while, but, in those days, I suppose, only that. The kiddie-porn operation was so massive that very many people had to have been paid off to look the other way.

Just when you think you’ve run into the ultimate evil, you find out there is something even worse. It would be a grave error to think that the politics of abuse, the string pulling behind the scenes, is simple. It’s not that it’s all so much more complex than money and the lust for power along with a perverted, inverted lust for lust. Instead, the difficulty comes in being put off by thinking that there can’t be anything more evil than what one has already found. But that judgment of the state of affairs does not then take into account the passion and death of the Son of God Incarnate. If He suffered like that, things really can be very, very evil. But that’s when we see Jesus’ mercy shining most brightly. O.K., so, my participation as a kid in kiddie-porn up next. Stay tuned.

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(2) Father Byers recalls being almost murdered and “gay” raped at 7 years of age, then stopping attacker’s suicide with angels

just me 06

About 7-1/2 years old. I’m on the right, holding two snakes. This is on Burnt Island, on the Canada/USA (Minnesota) border, in the Lake of the Woods. Those fish tasted mighty good around the fire on those cold Summer days, better than snakes, which, fried up, taste just like chicken!

The purpose of this second installment of bits and pieces from my autobiography (1) is to demonstrate how it is that just because bad things happen to people, it doesn’t mean that they have to be controlled by those bad things, and doesn’t mean that they are “damaged goods” (as they horrifically say in Queen’s English), necessarily turning into what they have experienced; and (2) it is to show any doubters, any atheists, any string pullers and manipulators, anyone involved in social engineering because they themselves are in despair because they in fact did become “damaged goods” as it were, that God is in charge, and will lead the way to heaven for those willing to go to heaven, so that they can leave the “damaged goods” bit behind. As with the other posts in this short series, this is all aimed especially at some people who should know better, for their conversion, as was mentioned in Flores for the Immaculate Conception (utterly inappropriate edition). So, let’s move on to some preliminary comments, and then jump right into the attempted murder and rape, and then the revelation from the angels. Like my vocation, these things have nothing whatsoever to do with me.

Just to say: however knocked about I have been in my life, however stupid I have been, I have never lost sight of the greatness to which each individual of whatever age or circumstance is called. Each child bears within himself, within herself, an entire universe of wonder and greatness, and more, so much more, needing to be filled to bursting with the indwelling of the Most Holy Trinity, being able to rejoice in all humble thanksgiving in the enthusiastic friendship of Jesus with them.

Just to insist: children are bearers of the weight of the glory of God, called to love with God’s love, with that love I first knew consciously at 28 months old when I received my vocation to the priesthood (see the previous post in this series: (1) Father Byers’ vocation: 28 months old). It is this love – greater than all the heavens and earth, a sovereign, personal love – which gave me hope, which gives me hope, for myself, for others. God is so good and so kind, however much people can otherwise be just so very evil. It is such a crime to shatter innocence…

I say that about my friend, whose innocence had been ever so violently shattered, perhaps by his own brothers, his own father. The Lord does permit real evil to happen to us, though only so as to draw an incomparably much greater good out of the evil, all for our benefit and that of others. But I find it amazing that my innocence had not been shattered then, even as this friend later tried to murder and rape me. This wasn’t a coping mechanism which the angels brought to me. It was, instead, simply an active recognition of their presence. Love cuts through the mind-games of evil.

So, here we are, in media res of a friendship of a couple of years. In that time I came to know very quickly that there was something tangibly scary about his brothers and father. I had never even met them, nor his mother, no one from his family, besides him, ever. But I was warned again and again only to come there when they weren’t around. This friend of mine was always on the lookout for their arrival, and would grab me frantically, telling me to run with any noise he heard, his eyes filled with fear, his very self shaking with fear. I was scared, but I didn’t want to abandon him. Friends don’t abandon friends, do they? This was all so foreign to me, but I stuck with him.

We were the same age, though I don’t ever remember seeing him at any school. I asked him about that once but he just mumbled something incoherent and I thought I had better leave it alone. At any rate, whenever we would go on an expedition to look for innocent trouble, so to speak, climbing the steep banks of the Mississippi or investigating construction zones or rummaging through airport hangers, he would erratically run away. Perhaps he was afraid of being punished for making trouble. Perhaps he was afraid of real friendship.

bike stingray schwinn

He once stole my little Schwinn Sting-Ray – perhaps to run away from home – but then he returned it two weeks later, letting it drop on the driveway in a heap in front of me, under his feet, almost as a kind of challenge, looking at me defiantly. He insisted with a strained, high-pitched and loud voice that he wanted to go to our basement. “Basement…” thought I to myself. I hesitated, noting a sort of madness in his eyes, a madness I didn’t give much heed, however, since I wanted him to see I was looking indignantly at the condition of the bicycle. He ignored this, as if nothing material in this world had any relevance to anything. He was incredulous that I would waste time on the bicycle. Odd for a 7-year old, thought I, 7-year old that I was. He was hardly able to contain himself, glaring right into my soul, almost shrieking that we had to go to the basement… now! This scared me. I was hesitant.

toy chestBut, O.K., I told him to follow me, never having had experience with such behavior. He had never been inside my house, much less the basement. It was our custom to make trouble outside, after all. I must say that I didn’t trust him in the least at that moment. My adrenaline levels were maxing out as I led him down the steps, trying to think of how I would flip him if he should jump me, trying to knock me down the rest of the way. I pointed to the small chest of toys that I myself hadn’t looked at for a number of years, to make fun of it, but he didn’t even look in that direction. He was scanning the room for something else.

pianoI opened the cover to the keyboard of the small upright piano we had, explaining that some of the keys didn’t work. He slammed the cover back down shaking his head in disbelief at my lack of comprehension. He was mumbling something, but I couldn’t understand. He was wild-eyed. As he scanned the room again, I had a sinking feeling that something very bad, very evil was about to take place that very instant. I tried to ignore this, stupidly, opening the cover to the piano once again to see if there was any damage. That’s when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that he was reaching out to the light-switch (what he had been looking for) with one hand, even while taking a switchblade out of his pocket with the other, flipping it open, lunging for me at the same time, wildly swiping with the blade this way and that.

windowThank God there was a tiny window high up in the adjoining laundry room, which let in just enough light to enable me to evade his slashing. What kind of life did he live that I didn’t know about that he was already so handy with a switchblade? thought I. Although I would often fight with my older brother (though only once sending him away in tears), this was something altogether different. If I ran, I would get stabbed in the back. That was certain. Going into battle was the only way. But I didn’t know how to jump into this fray without getting killed.

switchbladeAs he lifted the knife to his shoulder so as to plunge the blade into my chest, with both hands I somehow grabbed his knife hand, and immediately commenced smashing the back of his hand which still clenched the knife against the metal corner of the chest freezer we had next to the piano. This went on for some minutes and I was using up all my strength. He would switch from hitting me with his free hand to using both hands on his knife so as to try to stab me. He had an iron grip on the knife, the point of which, incredibly, he turned in on my forearms even as I continued to smash his knife hand against the corner of the freezer. I thought I was a dead man, that I was going to die right then and there in a pool of blood, and was asking God and the angels for help. Had I let up for one second, even he wouldn’t have been able to stop the knife going through my heart and out the back of my chest so great was the strain. I couldn’t believe I was holding my own, but I was dismayed that he didn’t seem to be tiring at all. Although I had to keep on fighting, this was secondary compared to — how to say it? — an evident awareness of the encouragement of my guardian angel. And I was encouraged that I would not die, that my angel was making sure of at least that.

freezerAt one moment, when he was punching me with his free hand, with me seeing stars, he dropped the knife on top of the freezer with the other. I must have fractured quite a few of the bones of his hand on the corner of the freezer by this time. I managed to push the knife behind the freezer, but that made him go into an absolute frenzy of hitting and punching, at least with his one good hand.

This wasn’t about wanting a sparring partner. I did that with my next-door neighbor to learn techniques. I’ll say it plainly: in the midst of this, he tried to rip my jeans off. At first, I thought he was after the few coins any seven-year old might have in his pockets. But then I was utterly stunned. This fight was not in the least about fighting, though I think he would have repeatedly stabbed me, right to death, if he had had the chance. This was, instead, about something that, at that time, I could not understand.

I was completely flummoxed. I listened, but I could not believe my ears. He was begging me again and again – with such a hellishly despairing desperation in his voice – begging me, half mumbling, half shouting, half shrieking, half crying out for help, begging me to hit him even as he continued to flail away with incredibly powerful punches. I mean, I thought I was holding my own pretty well, though I was stunned into hesitation not because of the violence, but because of this beastly spirit inside of this, this… 7-year old. What in the world had happened to him? Who was this? Despite all my naïveté, I understood that this was about the trauma that was happening to him at home, that he was somehow having me role-play himself while he played the part of, I don’t know, his brothers and/or father. This was crystal clear to me, at 7 years old. He was a predator in the making, right then, right there, at 7 years old.

And yet, he realized this as well, and hated it. He was fighting for his own life, flailing away in trying to get my attention as he was doing so. He was trying to let me know that this was his last-ditch effort to be understood. He was at the end of his life right then, right there. He knew it. He was screaming for help. Screaming. For help. He could not go on anymore, not like this.

In all of this – however filled with adrenaline I was, however stressed all my muscles, however turbulent my emotions, however many stars I saw under the continuous rain of blows – I continued to be immediately aware that my guardian angel was going to get me through this, that I wouldn’t die right then and there, that I needed only to persevere in the fight. The Lord let the horror take its course even while preparing to draw such good out of such evil.

Since the knife was now out of reach, I tried to back off and run up the stairs, which took another few minutes, during which escape, he tried to rape me – a 7-year old trying ever so violently to rape another 7-year old mind you – though he had never succeeded in pulling my jeans off nor did he ever lower his own trousers. This wasn’t about sex. Of course not. It was about him trying to figure out what happened to him at his own house. This was about his having been violently raped for the umpteen zillionth time surely just minutes before coming over to my house. Though a  predator in the making in this way, it seems to me that he was wanting to know if goodness and kindness was possible in this life, if mercy was possible, if hope was real, testing someone he trusted to know the answer, showing his worst to see what would happen. We’ve all done that, by the way, crucifying Jesus with original sin, with our own sin. Should you doubt that hope is what he was really looking for in all this mayhem, just keep reading. Meanwhile, I escaped.

I waited at the top of the stairs for him, utterly exhausted, not a little upset at such an experience, regardless of any feeling of security I had coming from my guardian angel. I was in pain with so many punches to my head. Some minutes went by. I was afraid for him. I was angry for him. What happened to him at home? But, all the same, he was the way he was, and I didn’t want to let him find his knife, but there was no way I was going down the steps again. My only objective now was to coax him outside of the house. I was on edge in anticipation of his coming up from the basement, but this time I had no fear. I had survived and knew I could do it again. He, of course, was trying to face what he had just done, terribly bewildered I’m sure. And I knew that. Eventually, he emerged from the darkness, asking, incredibly, to take the bike again as I ushered him to the outside.

His question about taking the bicycle angered me for some seconds and I let him know about it, asking him if he remembered what he had just done. But then, as we got outside… it happened… a terrifying-in-a-good-way rush of understanding, an enlivening dread terror before the magnificent, awesome, crushing weight of the glory of its truth, ripping me up into heaven even while shoving my face into the reality of man’s horrific situation before God all the more violently, a new kind of extreme sport for me. It was not a brightness. Yet, it was. The only way I can describe this glory is by praising the agility this truth had in letting itself be carried in all charity right into the midst of the hell I now saw. The living truth is powerful. It cannot be lessened, cannot be weakened. My guardian angel, it seems, was enlightening me about how he saw things.

The turmoil of the past few minutes was nothing compared to what I now beheld in front of me. Looking at this friend of mine, into his eyes… oh my… I can see them now, absolutely wide open, and him, sitting on the bike… disheveled, bleeding a bit, holding on to the handlebars of the bike with but one hand, holding the other hand, badly injured, in front of his chest that was heaving with hoarse, deep breathing, silent tears screaming with emotion streaming down his face, his whole body shaking quite violently, he being scared out of his mind at the hell he was facing in his life and the inadequacy of his own reaction to that hell, literally cringing away from himself as he sat there. He was suffering all of hell’s minions attacking whatever hope he had left. I hadn’t noticed his face so very much when he had arrived, being more interested, as I said, in the condition of my bike, which now I could not care less about, the same attitude he had when he had first arrived. Looking at him now just as intently as he was looking at me, I realized that I was afraid for his life as much as he was.

truck

His words about riding the bike, with his one remaining good hand, into the front of a speeding eighteen wheel truck just one street over as soon as he left me added nothing to what I could already see of his spirit. He was utterly shaken – a mere shell of a little boy – at a loss now as to how to keep any shred of conscience he still might possess, at a loss of how not to take his own life. And he was looking pleadingly into my eyes.

My sudden understanding in such horrific circumstances did not come from a been there, done that, condescending projection of self as is always hailed by psychologies of the lowest-common-denominator of self-referential stupidity. Instead, I understood because, then and there, I was drawn to put all this before the love of God that I had already known for years. God always uses our experiences – and I also had suffered some bad things – but what God uses is not anything that we suffer, but the hope we have gained in being brought into His love and mercy, perhaps also in conditions of suffering. He has us put others before that love and mercy, before that hope, not before our own ineptitude. This friend of mine knew all of my idiocy, and could not have cared less about that. He saw something else in me that he was trying to get to understand. The living hope which guides us is not distant, not cold, not ideological, not a mind game, not a coping mechanism, but is ever so personal, so… true, so… alive... It is a friendship with God that cannot but be manifested at such times despite ourselves. God wins out. Every time. If we are at all with Him.

We ended up in a long, but halting discussion, full of awkward silences, about family life and encouragement. The silences seemed so graceless precisely because they were filled with grace, leading, as they did, to honest, if only half completed remarks, which were cut off by his heart almost visibly being jammed hard into his throat with such a roller coaster of emotions.

It was one of the single most painful conversations I have had in my life, truly excruciating, because every word of understanding and advice that I was offering was coming to me for the first time, second by second, and not from me. I was very conscious of my inadequacy on the one hand, but had a very strong realization that my guardian angel was helping me on the other hand. The urgency of my listening to my guardian angel was wearing me out, even as my emotions and my brain were working way, way overtime. There was a life and death urgency and, of course, I myself had come literally within inches of having been stabbed to death, and raped. And I was physically exhausted.

But God is good. He made the conversation a success. My friend (and I still thought of him that way) didn’t want it to stop. He was changed by the time he left. Much calmer. Overwhelmed. He got what he was looking for. Hope. The problem was that he was headed straight back into hell. But he had a temporary reprieve. I only wish we had had the discussion firstly, skipping all the rest, but that’s rarely how things work. It is what it is.

Friends are not so easily offended when they can distinguish between being dissed as opposed to someone crying out for help, for life itself. We stayed friends, of sorts, in that seventh year of my life. And, as far as I know, he didn’t ride himself into a speeding truck, not that day.

There was nothing at all heroic on my part about any of this.If the Lord wanted to use me, that was up to Him. I had no say in the matter. And this gives one a certain freedom. I imagine that this is what makes martyrdom possible. It has nothing at all to do with our strength; everything is from the Lord, while the angels rejoice as they witness love that is stronger than death, a good introduction to heaven. This love is made clear with the forgiveness that the martyr holds out for the taking. It’s all about humble thanksgiving. Any of us could be in anyone else’s circumstances. There, but for circumstances and the grace of God go any of us. Anyone holding himself out to be better than others lies to God, to others and to himself, and is a danger to himself and others, giving himself a licence to kill or whatever else that is not new under the sun. I saw how much the Lord loves each of us.

My friend had gone back home, and, I’m sure, was subjected to more hell. Not good. And then it seemed like he disappeared from the face of the earth. I had asked some friends about him now and again, but they only repeated with much darkness and much fear that something unspeakable had happened in his house. None of them would ever say what it was. I don’t know to this day. Just the question would make them wide-eyed, frightened. Poor kid. I have to wonder if he had killed one or more members of his family. I had been thinking that if he wasn’t killed by his own family, or if he didn’t kill himself, he might have been snuffed out in a porno film. I don’t know, but as I myself was to find out, there was much of that going on in town, indeed, in that end of town, my end of town. But that’s for another article to follow in this series where you can read about how I myself became a kiddie-porno star at 12-13 years of age.

Think of this series of articles like moves in some sort of surreal chess game, but this isn’t a game, and it’s not surreal, though it may seem so at first to those who are playing opposite. They have lost the plot; they have destroyed souls; they; think that they themselves are irredeemably lost because of that, and so wreck havoc the way they always have, continuing to jack up the stakes to make it all the more interesting for themselves, holding the Church to ransom. They won’t stop at anything in what has developed into a lust for power, merely a game of pulling strings and watching the pieces move, but allowing themselves to be manipulated ever so very easily. They need to know that their victims might still have hope just as my friend was provided with hope seemingly impossibly in the midst of his living hell. They need to know that God, the Lord of History, gets His way, and that they can have hope in repentance before the Immaculate Conception’s Divine Son will indeed come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Amen.

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Flores for the Immaculate Conception (utterly inappropriate edition)

flores7

These are weeds, I guess. As a little kid, I could easily pick such nuisance plants, put them in a jug of water, and give them to my mom. I wouldn’t notice the lack of grass whose place the weeds usurped. I would instead imagine that I was looking at miniature Snap Dragons, tiny Jack-In-The-Pulpits. My mom would smile, of course, regardless. I guess Jesus’ mom is like that. These “flowers” are in the backyard of the new rectory.

I have the intention of putting up some autobiographical posts in the next few days, bits of what long time readers of my other blogs have read before but said they would like to see again, but now tweaked for length and clarity. These are weeds, if you will, utterly inappropriate, it would seem, for the end for which they are intended, that is, as a kind of thank you to the Immaculate Conception, but which may just contain some beauty, a flower to be given to her, who is the mother of the One who is coming to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire.

This is a kind of response to my being dumbfounded the other day when doing a bit of investigation of the double murder in the Vatican last month. Discussions lasted 5 1/2 hours firstly in a restaurant and then in the home of one who knows more than just a bit about such things. I got the idea during those discussions that there are some few who had allowed themselves to get into a position of string pulling, but actually have only been manipulated into lusting for power, fulfilling in themselves what is predictable at the end of Romans chapter 1:

“They are senseless, faithless, heartless, ruthless. Although they know the just decree of God that all who practice such things deserve death, they not only do them but give approval to those who practice them” (Rom 1:31-32).

I commented that…

“Our struggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12).

How is it that such people have gone astray? How to call them back? Jesus called Judas “Friend” at the very moment of the kiss of betrayal and death, no? Since it is evident that the posts of this blog make their way also to these very people, let me invite them to see in the autobiographical articles to follow a pathway out of their own hell, even if they should think they are too far gone, that the way of Judas is the only way left for them now: It is not the only way remaining. I lay out part of my own life for you as a call to you to return to the Lord with repentance. It is not too late. Hell is forever. You don’t have to go there.

shepherd boyLet me tell about my vocation at 2 1/2 years old, about almost being raped and murdered at 7 years old, about being stalked at 8 years old, about starring as a 13-14 year old in perhaps the largest kiddie-porn operation in the history of such things right around the world to date, about the time I pointed a loaded rifle at another stalker when I was 15 years old. Let me tell you about how I forgive you on behalf of all who have suffered the kind of idiocy you vomit out on others, that is, if you want the forgiveness, because I think that that is what you think is impossible. Forgiveness is not impossible. It is yours for the taking. Do it. Jesus has the wounds to prove that He’s deadly serious about His love, yes, even for you. And in that case, of you accepting this offer of forgiveness, all thanks be to Jesus Christ, Son of the Immaculate Conception, who accepts such small and utterly inappropriate efforts such as these as flowers given to Him to give to His mother.

P.S. The last time I put this kind of thing up on a blog there were those who thought rather ill of me, calling me damaged goods. Instead, I suggest that one might find out how it is that the Lord was giving me from the very beginning some reference points by which I could understand the true state of affairs in the Church and the world today. That’s a strength. But truly the only far reaching strength comes with accepting a hand up from our Savior. Amen.

Update: A reader emailed this:

THE WEED

A weed is but an unloved flower!
    Go dig, and prune, and guide, and wait,
    Until it learns its high estate,
    And glorifies some bower.
A weed is but an unloved flower!

All sin is virtue unevolved,
    Release the angel from the clod—
    Go love thy brother up to God.
Behold each problem solved.
    All sin is virtue unevolved.

Poems of progress and new thought pastels by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago: W. B. Conkey Company [1909].

At first glance, your beautiful weed seems to be a wild bergamot: Monarda fistulosa. If you bruise a leaf, does it smell minty? [No.] The Monardas are my ‘Sweet Mary’ flowers. Butterflies and hummingbirds love to feed on the nectar (I imagine the butterflies and hummingbirds as visitations from the faithful departed).

Update: With more research: I took a closer look at your photo with my magnifier and checked in my Peterson wildflower field guide … is this what you have in the garden? [Yes!] If it is, make of this what you will –it’s ‘Purple Archangel’. Only called dead nettle because it won’t getcha like stinging  nettle.

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Letter from a fallen but redeemed priest about the mercy of justice

MAFIA OMERTA
Dear Father Byers,
[…] Well I hope there is some due process for people [priests are people, too!] in the future.  Sadly it almost seems like Rome is adopting the Dallas Charter. The lawyers and insurance people are dictating [it’s all about money], and the bishops are scared to death of the media [it’s all about self-referential, self-hero worship].  When Father Gordon was criticizing the movie “Spotlight”, Church officials were falling all over themselves to praise the movie as a wonderful thing!  It was a hack job against the Church! You know, I learned that one of the priests who was my pastor when I was a kid had been accused of sexual misconduct in the 1980s or 90s.  He is now deceased to the best of my knowledge.  I firmly believe that I could go to the Diocese where I lived at that time [not Boston or Manchester] and make an allegation of abuse and they would simply throw money at me and condemn the priest!  And any allegation I might make would be a lie because no matter what that priest did, he never did anything wrong to me!  So yeah, if there is going to be justice there has to be due process.
The priest who sent this in is a great guy, making spectacular contributions to society. I know that some refuse to hear that, but I would ask them to think about this: We’ve all of us crucified the Son of the Living God with our sins, without exception. And so?
Immediately after all this, Cardinal O’Malley followed suit with the highest of praise for the film. What a crock. The best way to get along in a witch hunt is to join the witch hunt right? Oh, I forgot, the Archdiocese of Boston paid big $$$ into The National Catholic Risk Retention Group. They’re tough; they’re heroes! TNCRRG is not the Dallas Charter, but it represents what the Dallas Charter is about and has a multitude of member (arch)dioceses. And if Rome accepts this, then there seems to be a guarantee that there is to be no due process for priests. Due process is specifically forbidden by TNCRRG. And yet, there is hope: Pope Francis, the Mercy of Justice. I realize fully that that article leaves canon lawyers wondering what the reference to administrative judgments is all about. It is what it is. Those involved and Pope Francis will have to thrash this out as time goes on. I do have my opinions about it. Since I was asked recently what my opinions were, I might say a few words about it. Meanwhile, I continue to be dumbfounded. Anyway, off to Graham County for Mass and Communion calls.

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The Lying, Scheming Altar Boy: “Credible” to the tune of $5,000,000.00

newsweek-

Father Gordon J MacRae writes:

As journalist Ralph Cipriano reveals in Newsweek, Father Engelhardt refused pre-trial plea deals including one deal on the eve of trial that would have resulted in no time in prison and a sentence of simple “community service.” Father Engelhardt chose the truth, and he chose to suffer for the truth. He instead was sentenced to a term of six to twelve years in prison “because he would not perjure himself by pleading guilty ‘to make a deal,’ to admit to a crime he did not commit.” In “Handcuffs and a Hospital Bed,” a November 17, 2014 posting at his “Big Trial” blog, Cipriano wrote: “For Father Charles Engelhardt, the ordeal is finally over. The 67-year-old priest died at 8:30 PM Saturday night [November 15, 2014] an inmate at the State Correctional Institution in Coal Township [PA] where he served nearly two years of a 6-to-12 year sentence.”

See Father Gordon’s take on the rest of Cipriano’s article here: The Lying, Scheming Altar Boy on the Cover of Newsweek. Indeed, this became the Newsweek cover story: “Catholic Guilt? The Lying, Scheming Altar Boy Behind a Lurid Rape Case” (Jan. 20, 2016).

All told, the Archdiocese of Philadelphia paid out some $5,000,000.00 to the accuser. In the interests of transparency, shouldn’t the Archdiocesan review board publish just how it is that they found Father Engelhardt and whoever else to have “credible accusations” against them? They can’t, even if findings are published, for “credible” doesn’t mean proven. It doesn’t mean due process. It simply means that a story from which one excuses all improbabilities, contradictions and inconsistencies can be said to have been physically possible, however otherwise impossible from every other point of view. When it comes to the Dallas Charter, it is not justice which is desired, merely self-congratulations at the cost of justice. In this case, the judge admitted into evidence a case which took place years before the accused was even born. But you have to understand, truth and justice are not important. It is only civil officials giving Church officials knives to slit the throats of their priests which is important, because that kind of violence makes the Church officials look like heroes in their own eyes. That’s what’s important.

But the Lord will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire.

Strange, isn’t it, that a Missionary of Mercy keeps repeating that the Lord will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire? It’s not so strange if you understand that mercy is founded on justice, and if justice is denied, there can be no mercy.

JOHN HARDON SJ TRUTH

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VIRTUS® and Porn: No concern? Today…

VIRTUS

When I was teaching up in the Josephinum, I sat through the VIRTUS® course that was obviously tailored to seminarians and priests. I objected to the statement that on a list of questionable and evil behaviors there had to be at least two which presented with an individual before it would be considered enough of a concern to do some reporting. I objected because one of the items listed was showing porn to minors. That, said I, was more than enough on its own to do some reporting. It would be more than enough for me to knock the idiot unconscious, regardless of any laxity in civil law, regardless of any laxity in local diocesan chancery personnel policy. However, for VIRTUS®, it’s Continue reading

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Pope Francis’ Jewish Missionary of Mercy writes about his experience with porn

hell is real

This Hell is Real billboard along I-65 in Kentucky is near one of the umpteen zillion Adult Super-Stores making a swamp of despair in America and beyond. I don’t know if it’s still there, but it was when I was travelling back and forth on this highway when I was teaching in the Pontifical College Josephinum. That hell is real is a merciful reminder for those prostituting their souls to pornography. Thanks to whoever put up the sign. Anyway, I put up a longer version of this post a few years ago on the now famous because defunct blog called Holy Souls Hermitage. There had been quite a number of calls for me to write an article on pornography. I’ve been intending to republish this ever since Arise! Let us be going! has been up.

First of all, let me say that Continue reading

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Pope Francis’ Missionary of Mercy and an abuse victim to team up for the Year of Mercy?

DONALD NOHS AND FATHER JOE NOHS

There’s a lot of skepticism about the need for any Missionaries of Mercy, about the need for a Year of Mercy. It’s easier to forget about it than to think hard and do something. But, actually, it’s only the provision of mercy which makes everything better. The Missionaries of Mercy themselves have to come up with ways to facilitate the manifestation of Jesus’ mercy among us.

Those who have been abused are in desperate need of forgiving their abusers. The provision of mercy in this Year of Mercy is to come especially from them. Forgiveness is frightening, and the first reaction by the main-stream media is mocking rejection, filled with bitterness, enough to make many in Church fear to have anything to do with mercy and forgiveness.

But this is the Extraordinary Jubilee Year of Mercy, and we must simply rid ourselves of the grip that political correctness has on us. Otherwise, we fail ourselves, fail our neighbors, fail the world, fail God.

The ten videos below the page break of this post comprise an e-book personally read by the author, Donald Nohs, an abuse victim bringing a message of mercy and forgiveness to all who will listen. Donald knows that it’s all about Jesus.

In fact, his main preoccupation in life is to give a presentation about the Passion and Death of our Lord (the Shroud of Turin) so as to accentuate the depth of the mercy Jesus brings to us all with such goodness and kindness. Suffering knows suffering.

It is in seeing the suffering of Jesus that Donald is empowered to see his own suffering in the light of Christ. His testimony is about how he was brought to forgiveness of his abuser by Jesus Himself. This is a testimony which will help bring victims to forgiveness of their abusers.

As Donald points out,  it’s not possible that there be a reconciliation with a personal encounter between victims and their own abusers on this earth. The reason for that, of course, among so many other reasons on so many levels, is that there could be a grooming-ulterior-motive on the part of the abusers, right? But that doesn’t mean that the victim cannot at all forgive his abuser. Here are some quick thoughts that I jotted down while listening to Donald’s testimony:

  • Forgiveness doesn’t necessitate saying this to the abuser’s face or sending any kind of message whatsoever. In fact, as I say, that’s a bad idea.
  • Forgiveness doesn’t mean that the abuser can now or ever in the future receive this forgiveness into his soul. That’s up to him.
  • Forgiveness doesn’t mean that you are giving anyone permission to treat you with disrespect.
  • Forgiveness does mean that you avoid the total hell of bitterness and darkness, of being controlled by your abuser. In his lust for power, he wanted you to be in and remain in that total hell, which, for whatever reason, he was going through. His cowardice of projection is death dealing. One must leave such death of the abuser behind, doing this by the grace of God.
  • Forgiveness does not mean that you are automatically necessarily relieved of feelings and emotions which would have you lash out against your abuser, nor does it mean that you are necessarily immediately relieved of any possible temptation to replay the abuse, as it were, by hurting oneself in whatever way. It does mean that you are spiritually free of the abuser’s suffocating control of your person.
  • Forgiveness means that you are inviting the very love of God into your heart and soul, bringing you healing even as you desire this for others.

Donald dropped a comment into the comments box of the post I put up entitled: To (Arch)Bishops: Pope Francis’ Missionary of Mercy’s invitation to Victims of Abuse and to Treatment Centers for Priests. Could it be that we might be able to have some Year of Mercy events in Cathedrals right around the country? We shall see! We talked for about an hour and a half.

Donald sits on a diocesan accusations review board and has helped to write the policy dealing with accusations of abuse for his diocese. His bishop is right with him. The bishops will be able to see some aspects of my own ministry in the biographies of all the Missionaries of Mercy that the Holy See is sending to all the bishops, but I’ve included the required autobiographical paragraphs below the page break of this post, right at the end.

I’m very enthused about this. All (Arch)Bishops in the USA and territories have or will soon have the contact info of all the Missionaries of Mercy. The ball is in your court, your Eminences and Excellencies. Whoever it is who provides this presentation on our Lord’s mercy regarding the healing of abuse also by way of forgiveness, this is THE presentation of mercy that our people need so very desperately during this Jubilee Year of Mercy. The liberation of forgiveness and mercy is the way to go, the only way to go. This has been neglected the whole time, as if non-forgiveness were sacred, the new sacrament of our political correctness. We’ve forgotten Jesus in all this. We want Jesus! We want mercy! Let’s do this. Just make it happen. Make your cathedrals available for Jesus, for forgiveness, for mercy. Indeed, use your cathedrals for this, your cathedra, for this teaching on mercy for your people is one of the most important you will provide as shepherd of your flock.

Donald and I will have to think this out, but what immediately comes to mind is a Sunday afternoon and evening of adoration of the Blessed Sacrament with prayers of reparation and mercy, with the powerful testimony of Donald’s forgiveness of his abuser (all about Jesus!), along with some other testimony from a prisoner (all about Jesus!), as well as some words about how mercy works out in such situations from yours truly (all about Jesus!), along with, as circumstances permit, other guest speakers, even while the sacrament of reconciliation is provided throughout that time by however many priests are able to come, even while, if circumstances permit, counselors approved by whatever diocese also make themselves available for personal encounters which can deeply touch people’s lives. Mind you, not everyone who has been abused is Catholic. Then, a procession of the Blessed Sacrament around the church, Benediction and then Holy Mass.

Your Eminences and Excellencies. We will try to make this easy for you.

And to help ensure that this article gets into your hands, I’m asking my readers to print it out and give it personally to their Cardinals, Archbishops and bishops.

O.K. Now, if you dare, here are those ten videos of Donald’s testimony. Be prepared to meet Jesus. I started the first and let it roll through the rest, pacing about my little rectory, listening intently. Set aside some time to do the same, thinking about clearing the schedule of your Cathedral one Sunday afternoon and evening during this Year of Mercy, the sooner, the better. Don’t let it slip away…

Continue reading

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