Hope Never Fails

Hanging on while reliving anniversaries

I had a rough day yesterday, on top of a rough few weeks. I lost my job last month, a job I was very excited about and thought was going to be a long-term answer. I put my writing to the side during that time, and learned the hard way that I should never be putting aside my work for a job; it gained me nothing. I’ll write more in my next post about what happened with my job, but right now I’m struggling to figure out my next move while battling a lot of feelings of betrayal and worthlessness.

On March 10th, 105 years ago, Marcial Maciel was born. The founder of the Legion of Christ was so revered in the order that we called him Nuestro Padre ("Our Father"), and his birthday was something of a feast day. While I don't remember the dates of my abuse at the seminary, I do remember how much I felt dirty and unholy on that day 25 years ago, comparing myself to him, wishing I could be holy and chaste like him, certain he was the holiest man I ever met (insert Ron Howard voiceover: "He wasn't.").

He visited the school that year, and I thought I was meeting a living saint. We all lined up to meet him, with the rector, who was also my spiritual director and abuser, introducing each of us to him in Spanish. He made a joke when he met me, saying I must be the tallest kid in school. (I was in 9th grade at the time, but I was still shorter than any of the 7th/8th graders.) Having only just started learning Spanish, I attempted a response: "Oh no, Nuestro Padre! Muy poquito! Muy poquito!" I bragged to my classmates that he smiled at me and touched my cheek, and while we argued amongst ourselves whether it was a tap or a slap, either one was a badge of honor. It creeps me out to think about it now, like I could have been another statistic in a long list of boys and young men if the situation were different. My left cheek still feels dirty.

Immaculate Conception Apostolic School, Center Harbor, NH

I don't remember the exact dates my abuse occurred when I was at the school, but the sessions with my spiritual director were frequent, sometimes multiple times a week, in the winter of 2000, when I was 14. I remember conversing with him in February about the corruption of Valentine's Day, that Saint Valentine was actually a martyr, not some love guru who founded Hallmark. I had confided that I was struggling with chastity in a note around that time. (We had to write notes every night to our spiritual director about our struggles.) This got me immediate attention. It wasn’t even anything that serious. It wasn’t code for anything. I was simply at that age where intrusive impure thoughts would happen and I didn’t like it. After rarely ever being called out of Mr. McCarthy's very dry history course, I felt lucky to be singled out in the middle of class to go with "Father." Sometimes I got called out of chapel at night to meet with him. These rendezvous led to conversations about how our bodies are a gift, and that was the point of Valentine giving up his body, just as Jesus said, "This is my body, given for you". What will you give your body toward? This led to “tests”, tests that I failed, tests I now understand I was expected to fail.

I've been struggling mightily lately. Last year, the first year I walked this contemporaneous journey, I had drugs and a job. I started ketamine therapy in February of last year, and it was a very big part of my recovery. I’ve been doing much better, and it’s now been 6 months since my last ketamine infusion. It would be helpful to revisit once I have the money, but it’s not necessary anymore. Despite how difficult things are right now and how painful the journey is, I’m not struggling with suicidal ideation or thoughts of self-harm anymore. Even when everything hurts, there’s hope in that.

I continue to hold onto hope. Hope that things will get easier, hope that things in my life and in the world at large turn out okay. I even hold onto the hope of salvation for everyone. Call me a Dare-We-Hoper in the school of von Balthasar. Years ago, in an argument I was having about whether this is even a position a Catholic can hold, the priest brought up Matthew 26:24 where Jesus speaks of Judas: “It would be better for that man if he had never been born.” Is this not clearly a verse that indicates that Judas was damned? At the time, I actually didn’t understand his argument. Perhaps it’s a byproduct of being around so much pro-life content from a young age, but I was very conscious about the fact that we are living humans before we are born. I didn’t hear Jesus say it would have been better he was never “created”, or that he never “existed”. That, to me, does sound like there’s only room for damnation. But not being born? Is that not a mercy for anyone who would go down the path of betraying Jesus? If our faith is meant to be a relationship with God and not a game, how can there not be woe to someone who would betray that friendship? My marriage may not end if I choose to cheat on my wife, but woe to me indeed if I betray her. It’s also worth noting that the verse doesn’t specifically name Judas either. Jesus says, “Woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed.” That’s not just Judas. That’s my abusers. That’s Maciel. That’s countless priests who betrayed Him. That’s the bishops who betrayed Him.

So yesterday, I reflected on the day’s meaning to me and I felt pity for the man Marcial, who used to be the boy Marcial, who used to be the infant, tarnished by nothing but original sin. It would be better for that man if he had never been born.