So – the world is without a pope. Sort of. We have a pope emeritus, whatever the hell that means. I’ve spent entirely too much time reading up on this topic (google search – Pope Resignation Conspiracies) and have a developed a theory about this situation:
- There’s some bad, bad financial stuff that’s going on within the Vatican bank. Vatican BANK? Whatever.
- That evil Cardinal Bertone is behind a bunch of what’s been happening. If one were to believe in the devil, he’d be the most likely candidate. I think he’s been running everything since Benny was elected (i.e. chosen because he was weak and could be manipulated). I believe that he’s a bad, bad man.
- There’s a bunch of Vatican sex scandals – and for a change, it probably won’t focus on priests diddling/raping little boys or girls – just waiting to bust wide open.
- I hope what I read about Benny’s chances of being arrested for his role in the cover up of the child abuse scandal is true. Hope, hope, hope. I’d pray, but hoping for it is equally as impactful.
- Catholics around the world are going to put their foot down and slam their pocketbooks shut. The innocence is gone, or should be.
It is the end of the world – the end of the Catholic dominated world. And it will be a better planet for it.
I’m going to reveal something that I’ve only shared with a very few people in my life. I was molested by a seminarian at a novitiate near where I grew up. My parents were supporters of the order and the priests there and we spent many Sunday afternoons at the ‘compound’. It was a beautiful place located on the bluffs along a river. The grounds were beautiful, filled with gardens and flowers. There were lots of buildings, all built in the 1920s in Spanish style – stucco, rounded doorways, etc. This novice - or priest in training – was from England. I’ll never, ever forget his name – Aiden Murray. He must have been about 19 or 20, had longish Beatle-esque hair and seemed so exotic. I was 7 or so. He took me on a walk one afternoon and we went into one of the barns to see some baby kittens. We saw the kittens, alright. And he fondled me, beneath my panties. I was confused and couldn’t figure out what on earth he was doing. I don’t remember any words being exchanged at all. He didn’t tell me not to tell, but I didn’t. We went back to the main hall and I ran to my mom and grabbed her and held on tight. If my parents ever knew or suspected or discussed it with me, I have no memory of it. It seems to my child memory that the next time we went back, he was gone. I remember Mom telling me that he’d decided that he didn’t want to be a priest and had gone home to England.
I’m not saying this dramatically affected my life. It wasn’t traumatic or violent. I don’t remember any ‘grooming’. I do remember being glad that he left and I wouldn’t ever have to see him again. Sometime not long after, the Novitiate closed and the property sat empty for many years. I feel a twinge, deep inside, when I read about the child abuse that has gone on for decades. I was part of that. A small part, a secret part, but a part of the whole all the same. Just another statistic.