The Whoopi Cushion
. . . Whoopi Goldberg now ridicules the case against Roman Polanski, inferring that it is unjust to impose a penalty in a case from so long go. Moreover, and most shockingly, she minimized the child’s victimization with the astonishing statement, “It wasn’t really rape, rape!” The inference here is that the victim “consented,” despite being drugged, and despite being thirteen years old. If Roman Polanski was a Catholic priest, Whoopi Goldberg would want his head presented to Herod on a platter. . . . As the national priesthood scandal unfolded seven years ago – at which point I had already been wrongly imprisoned for eight years – my bishop wrote the following to a Vatican official: “Whatever the truth is about [Father MacRae’s] guilt or innocence, the Diocese of Manchester was in a difficult situation during his public trial. I do not feel that the Diocese can publicly advocate on his behalf without risking grave public misunderstanding.” . . .
To the Readers of These Stone Walls
. . . Recently, I obtained the great honor of celebrating weekly Mass in my prison cell. Sometime soon, I will write about, the struggle to bring this about. At Mass, I like to use the First Eucharistic Prayer - the Roman Canon - the most beautiful and ancient of the Canons of the Mess. It affords an opportunity to pray for people by name. I pray there for the readers of These Stone Walls, and I keep a list of those who left comments so I can pray for each of you by name. . . . I want to call your attention this week to , “Pornchai’s Path to the Narrow Gate,” a new article by author Ryan Anthony MacDonald. It can be found under “Commentary” here at These Stone Walls. If you have been reading These Stone Walls, then you know of Pornchai - my friend and a fellow prisoner - who will soon be received into our Faith. . . .
Clerical Claustrophobia Part 2
. . . At the time I was accused and faced trial in 1994, my attorney sought the help of my Diocese to defend the case. I was sitting in the attorney’s office on the day he called the Chancellor of my diocese asking for details of the protocol for reporting accusations of abuse to state officials.The Chancellor, a monsignor, said that the diocese had never had to make such a report until accusations emerged against me. I was the only one, he said. Months later as I prepared for trial, the Chancellor and a diocesan lawyer issued a press release about me. Knowing that I refused “plea deals,” maintained my innocence, and struggled to mount a defense, the press release declared: “The Church has been a victim of the actions of Gordon MacRae just as these individuals.” My trial, from that point on, was but a farce. . . .
Clerical Claustrophobia Part 1
. . . Many bishops and brother priests have been in denial about how easy it is to be accused. As one astute prisoner said to me at the height of The Scandal in 2002: “Let me get this straight. If I say some priest touched me funny twenty years ago, I’ll be a victim, I’ll be paid for it, and my life will be HIS fault instead of mine. Do you have any idea of how tempting this is?” (“Sex Abuse and Signs of Fraud,” Catalyst, November 2005). I cannot pretend that I am not angry about the distance and risk aversion practiced by many of my brother priests in my regard. Over time, however, that anger has dissolved into sadness, not only about them, but about the climate of fear and dismay created by The Scandal and kept in motion by people with axes to grind. As more than one reader commented here on These Stone Walls, “Satan has targeted the priesthood.” . . .
Naked in the Public Square
. . . As I was led into the lobby with all my prison hardware clinking and the two armed guards at my sides, I felt the cold stares of dozens of wary eyes upon me. There had been a lot of idle chatter in the bustling hospital lobby, but everyone suddenly fell silent as I was led through their midst feeling … well … like a prisoner. I tried to stare straight ahead, a tactic that was not as easy as the silence quickly evolved into a torrent of whispers. I thought I even heard a gasp or two. . . . In the patient waiting area, an elderly woman smiled at me from across the room. I tried to smile back. I was trying hard not to look like Hannibal Lecter. . . .
Anatomy of a Sex Abuse Fraud
. . . It turned out that a year before making the claims, Sean Murphy and Byron Worth were inmates together at the Massachusetts Correctional Institute in Shirley, MA where they concocted the scam and rehearsed the details of their stories. Sean and Byron were indicted for fraud and larceny, and faced a 2-year return to prison for the scam. Sean’s mother was also indicted for the fraud. The Boston news media buried the story in the emerging tsunami of settlement demands for claims against priests. Sean Murphy’s return to prison was, for his own interests, time well spent. After his release, he made news again last year for masterminding a scam involving the heist of Super Bowl rings. . . .
Witnesses to Hope
. . . In his stunning and deeply moving book, People of Auschwitz, published in association with the United States Holocaust Museum, Auschwitz survivor and historian Hermann Langbein wrote:“The best known act of resistance was that of Maximilian Rajmund Kolbe, who deprived the camp administration of the power to make arbitrary decisions about life and death.” In June, 1979, Pope John Paul II knelt on the floor of Cell 18 . . .
The Catholic League Just Published Due Process For Accused Priests
The Catholic League just published Due Process for Accused Priests. Please take a moment to read . . .
A Measure of Truth
. . . There I was, a 41 –year-old Catholic priest strapped to a chair in a dank office surrounded by electronic equipment with sensors on my fingers, and probes monitoring my heart rate, respiration and blood pressure while a poker-faced examiner asked me graphic questions about sex. When it was over, he told me we would be repeating the test with “re-phrased” questions in a week’s time, and then again a week after that. “Don’t even think about it,” I was told. . . .
Kill the Priest Again!
. . . She had lots of comments in her friendly letter, but in the end she wanted to know only one thing:“Are you mistreated there? I would hate to think you are mistreated.”As I read her letter, my cell mate, Pornchai, was studying for a Catholic Distance University exam. I looked up and said, “This nice lady in the UK wants to know if I’m ever mistreated.” He didn’t even look up from his book when he said, spontaneously, “Does she mean by us or by priests?”I was stunned by the irony of his question. When I didn’t answer, he looked at me. I expected sarcasm in his eyes, but there was none. He thought it was a good question. . . .
Take a Hike!
. . . Growing up, Scott refused to be left behind. My older brother and I were blind to the strength of Scott's relentless tenacity. He may have struggled to keep up with our mountain climbing skills, but I now see that we lagged far behind him in determination and sheer strength of will.In March of 1970 the three MacRae brothers climbed New Hampshire's Mount Chocorua during a treacherous Nor'easter . . .
A Day in the Life
. . . Still a regimented life, to the extent possible, is essential. So many prisoners give in to the throes of depression by sleeping half the day and ruminating most of the night. Such depression feeds itself and leads to an empty life devoid of meaning. It is tempting to fall into it at times, but it is spiritually toxic.And so no matter what keeps me awake at night, and that list is sometimes long, I am out of my steel bunk with its two inch thick mattress every . . .
Field of Dreams
. . . As I rounded a bend on the 1/4 mile track near the outfield, I was overwhelmed with a sense of the foreign. I was alone for a few moments for the first time in years. I was surrounded by silence after all the years of senseless prison din, and I was in the company of trees. It was a setting that I instantly knew could save me from Dostoyevsky's despair. . .