A Letter to a Parish Priest: Obviously, You Don't Get It

Dear Father,

We need to talk.

You don't know me, and there's a reason for that: As a 50+ older gentleman who grew up in the Church, I learned long ago to steer clear of you. And I do. I don't attend the pot luck dinners. I don't hang around for coffee and donuts. I don't volunteer. I don't even shake your hand at the end of the infrequent masses I attend. I steer clear. In fact, I usually attend a different church denomination entirely.

I don't want to know you, and I don't want you to know me. Had you any clue what happened to me at the hands of people like you so many years ago when I was a child, you would understand.

I told my story once. I was dismissed as a liar. I was told that "men of God" could not possibly do the sorts of things that were done to me. I was told it would be gravely sinful to embarrass the Church by talking about what happened, that I should keep such things to myself "for the good of the Church." I was told to get over it, that I had brought it on myself. that it was a sin to besmirch the "good" reputations of priests and religious brothers, and that my pain was such a trivial matter I should be embarrassed to even mention it. I was laughed at, ridiculed, shunned.

So I will not repeat my story here. First of all, you've heard it before. A hundred times. A thousand times. Secondly, it has become increasingly obvious to me that you do not understand. That you - and your bishop and your cardinals and even the pope himself - have no clue what has happened to so many of us, your children. Perhaps you have an intellectual understanding of what sexual abuse does to a child. Perhaps you've counseled a lot of victims. Perhaps you have a heart of gold and really, really want to help. But .... you don't understand what's been done.

As the recently-released massive report on predator priests in Pennsylvania has made clear to me, the only people who actually DO understand are those of us who got hurt. In this report, I have read story after story of the difficulties victims face later in life, how the wounds don't heal, how the hurt goes on and on, how the shame endures, and how difficult the healing process is.

When victims talk about how their lives were destroyed, I get it. When they talk about how much it would mean to just get an apology or any sort of acknowledgement, I get it. When they talk about how they can't believe that something like this could happen to them at the hands of a priest they trusted and loved, I get it. When they talk about years of fractured relationships, addictions, a general failure to thrive, how their lives have been diminished, the deep shame they feel, the rage, the hurt, the inability to trust, the problems with authority figures, the sheer incomprehensibility of the whole thing -- I get it.

Years wasted. Years gone. Years spent in counseling. Relationships that failed. How they can't pray. How they can't believe God loves them. How they can't even believe God exists. I get it.

Do you?

The Church has inflicted a demonic horror on so many of its most vulnerable members. It has introduced a darkness into our lives, a sorrow in our souls, a cancer that rots in our bones. The price we've paid to be your victims has been tremendous. We carried your shame. We bore the weight of your sins. We paid the price for your iniquities. The most you have to worry about is being embarrassed while trying to figure out a way to keep your fellow priests from raping little kids. What we worry about is how to get through the day and how to have a relationship with a God who let this horror loose in our lives.

One of the things that most infuriates me about this report is the care and solicitude -- for the offending priests! How they continued to receive their medical insurance, their dental insurance, their vision insurance, their car insurance, their living stipends, how they spent months on end at "treatment centers," and never once had to worry about where their next meal would come from.

What did their victims get? In a few cases, there were settlements and some had their counseling paid for, but for the vast majority of us, we got the shaft. We were left to deal with the aftermath on our own.

This report has ripped open gaping wounds -- and perhaps that's a good thing. And perhaps we need to keep ripping open these wounds until you get it. Until you understand. That this must not be allowed to continue. That no church should ever be allowed to destroy so many lives.

Perhaps someday you will see me in the back of your church. I think you know who I am. I think you can see it in my eyes. Perhaps someday you will come up to me and say you're sorry about what happened. Perhaps you will realize that abuse not only destroys lives and potential and happiness, it destroys our faith. Our ability to believe that God loves us.

I want to close this letter by saying that I don't hate you. I believed in you. I loved you. I did what I was supposed to do, but you repaid my love with an unimaginable horror. If I don't show up for mass, if I don't shake your hand, if I don't have much use for you -- I hope you will understand.

The ball is in your court, not mine. I didn't break this relationship. You did. And I think you -- and every parish priest in the world -- need to understand that. The ball is in your court. This is something you did. This is on all of you. And now you need to find a way to fix it.

• Nick Wilgus is the best-selling author of MINDFULNESS AND MURDER and several other novels.