So, today is the funeral of Pope John Paul II. His Holiness will have a grand celebration and rememberance of his reign as the monarch of the largest Christian denomination in the world. I am not Catholic, and I am no fan of John Paul II or his legacy.
I do know that he is in a much better place and being shown the love and grace that only God can give. I say this because I believe, like C.S. Lewis, that the opportunity for salvation exists not only in our lives, but shortly after our deaths. We are given the chance to take that step into the Heavenly Kingdom, or simply walk away and live forever in the darkest parts of our soul. Only the egotistical and narcissistic would reject Paradise.
But, for today, the world will focus on Vatican City and show the pained and grieving faces of Catholics who have traveled the globe to bid farewell to the pontiff.
I have one question, however: Where were all these mourners just a few years ago?
I prefaced my remarks the way I did because I am somewhat flabberghasted by the outpouring of grief and misery and sadness from the Catholic faithful. World leaders - even non-Christian ones - sang the praises of John Paul II. Religious leaders from other Christian denominations and from other faiths have trumpeted the great works this pope did.
Meanwhile, the young boys who have suffered sexual abuse at the hands of Roman Catholic clergy, are suffering, and will suffer are but an afterthought. There will be no mourning for them today. There hasn't been the widescale mourning that has accompanied the death of John Paul II. When the Pope died, within hours there were pictures of people filling churches and lighting candles and crying on each other's shoulders. Cathedral doors were opened for Catholics to enter and pray for the Pope.
However, during the U.S. Bishop's Conference in Dallas that was called to develop a policy to deal with pedophiles in the priesthood, there were no Cathedral doors propped open for people to enter and pray for the victims of sexual abuse.
In the Phoenix diocese, the scandal was brewing hot as then-Bishop Thomas O'Brien was having to deal with the fact that he shielded pedophiles in the priesthood in this city for years, moving them from parish to parish, hoping to God they wouldn't molest again. But if they did, it was no matter as there were plenty of parishes to switch them to in this growing metropolis.
In the past few years, members of the community of victims of the sexually abused by priests have been called liars, agitators, muckrakers, perverts, scumbags, and a host of other names because they dared to step forward. Even when the evidence was overwhelming that pedophilia was rampant in the Church in America, there were still people who felt that it was better to protect the Church from scandal than it was to help the victims of this wickedness.
Even now, one Latin American cardinal, Rivera Carrera, believes that the abuse scandal was nothing more than a "campaign of persecution" of Catholic clergy. No wonder why the doors to the cathedrals were not open when the bishops met in Dallas.
I do not mean to take away anything from this Pope regarding his right to have a glorious funeral so that those who loved him can express their profound sadness at his passing.
What I do not understand, however, is why these mourners were nowhere to be found 2, 5, 10, or 15 years ago when the abuse scandal was beginning to develop. Some 2 million people will be at the funeral today. Two million. I would have been happy if just 5% of that number had been in the Churches praying for the victims of sexual abuse by Catholic priests.
Today, I will not be watching the funeral of John Paul II. Instead, I will be thinking about the men and boys whose lives have been destroyed by pedophiles in the priesthood. I will mourn for them.
I do this because the Pope is long gone from this world and doesn't have to suffer from his age, illnesses, or lack of quality of life. Meanwhile, there are thousands of men and boys who only wish they could find some solace from the demons that now haunt their minds. There is no escape for them.
So, who mourns for the vicitms?
Good money says it isn't the 2 million people in Vatican City right now.