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This page contains selections from Dr. Langen's books:
The Pastor's Inferno
Young
Man of the Cloth
Commonsense Wisdom for Everyday Life
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The Pastor's Inferno
Chapter 1
Have mercy on me, O God, in your
faithful love,
in your great tenderness wipe away my offences;
wash me thoroughly from my guilt,
purify me from my sin.
For I am well aware of my offences;
my sin is constantly in mind.
Against you, you alone, I have sinned,
I have done what you see to be wrong.
Psalm 51, verses
1-4.
The tinder sparked to life, igniting
one of the logs and bringing the fire to a crackle. The rectory’s front
light would stand vigil until 9:00 PM while the foyer remained dark in
hopes that there would be no visitors tonight. John looked at himself in
the full length hall mirror. He was about average height, but growing
thicker around the middle. No he-man but he guessed he was in decent
shape for a man of fifty-nine. Sometimes he wondered if he was
attractive. No one had ever volunteered an opinion in his thirty five
years of being a priest and he had never thought to ask for one. His
appearance seemed irrelevant in his occupation. His father once told him
he would be bald by age thirty five, but a few wisps of hair still clung
to his scalp.
Father John Spador eased himself into his favorite easy
chair and raised the footrest. Should he have brewed a cup of tea before
sitting down? It was a little more of an effort to get up and down these
days. He realized that he was more likely now to think of doing
something after he should have done it. Well maybe he would just sit for
a while in the quiet. He could brew some tea later.
As the fire grew brighter in the fireplace, its
reflection danced on the floor, walls and ceiling, chasing away ghostly
bands of light and shadow which flashed across the room with each
passing car. John felt most at ease when the fire provided all his light
and soothed him with its warmth. The day began to fade from his
awareness and that was just as well.
Six AM Mass, a funeral, stopping by the reception
afterwards to comfort the family, a visit to the hospital, reading the
Divine Office and jotting down some thoughts for Sunday’s homily all
scrolled through his mind. During the day, his darker thoughts had no
time to creep into his awareness. Maybe tonight he would be able to just
sit peacefully with his thoughts.
John listened to the crackling syncopation of the fire,
and watched the flames dance. His muscles began to relax, he breathed
easier and the band of tension in his scalp receded as he let go of the
day. Dinner with three fellow priests took his mind off his concerns at
least for a while. As usual, he had eaten just a little too much for
dinner. The filet mignon sat like a rock in his stomach. He really
should find something lighter to eat when he went out for a late dinner.
But steak was his favorite. Maybe next time he would try something
different. Father Mike had commented on how delicious his salmon was.
His mind kept churning. During the day he tried to stay
focused on the needs of his parishioners and his parish. He kept
thoughts about himself at bay when he could. Most of the time he was
successful. But once he reached this part of the day when no one else
had any demands on his time, his thoughts wandered back to his life, to
his decisions and to his actions and regrets.
John had tried many ways to keep his feelings from
unsettling him. Meditation on religious mysteries only increased his
discomfort. Relaxation exercises, yoga, long walks and racquetball
helped. But in the end, everything he tried fell short. His thoughts
kept turning to what he could have done differently or should have done
before his life reached this point.
Interrupting his reverie, the chimes announced someone
at the front door. Turning on the parlor light brought his brought his
train of thought to an abrupt halt. In some ways the interruption was a
relief. He did not like the direction his thoughts were taking him.
He turned on the vestibule light and opened the door to
a stocky, uniformed policeman and an equally stocky middle aged woman
carrying a black zippered portfolio. Both were stone faced, giving
nothing away. He saw neither the smiles nor deferential bows which
usually greeted him. Theirs was obviously not a social call and they
seemed an odd pair to be ringing his doorbell at eight thirty in the
evening. A twinge of discomfort started to rise but he forced it back
down.
The officer remained stony. The woman looked down at her
portfolio rather than meet his gaze. He could not read them but their
reserve unsettled him. The officer finally spoke, “I’m Deputy Sid Jerome
from the sheriff’s office and this is Mrs. Lempel from Social Services.
Are you Father John Spador?”
No point being evasive. Maybe one of his parishioners
was in some trouble and they thought he could be of service. “Yes. I am.
How can I help you?”
While the woman looked back and forth between the two
men, the officer continued. “A situation has come to our attention and
we think you might be of some assistance.”
John felt a little on guard, but still not sure he had
anything to worry about. “What kind of situation if I may ask?”
“It’s about a family who recently came to my office to
report a matter of concern. May we come in to discuss it with you?”
John’s discomfort started to gnaw at him but he could
not think of any way to refuse them admission to the rectory without
arousing their suspicion. “Of course, if you think I can be of help. I
just lit a fire in the parlor. Even though it’s mid September, it’s
starting to get chilly at night. Come in and sit down.”
They followed him to the parlor with none of the usual
comments most new visitors made on the Victorian décor. They removed
their coats, folded them over their arms in unison and sat on the edge
of their seats, a bit odd for two heavyset people. Looking in all
directions, they seemed to be taking mental notes on his surroundings.
John thought the officer and woman were taking quite a bit of time to
organize their thoughts. The silence was becoming uncomfortable. “Would
either of you care for some coffee or tea?”
“No thanks,” the deputy replied for both of them, “I
know it’s a little late in the evening and I would like to get right to
the point.” Deputy Jerome cleared his throat and seemed to be deciding
how he would get to the point. John wished he would just get on with it.
Mrs. Lempel unzipped and opened her portfolio, folded it back, and took
out her pen. He talked. She wrote.
He had no idea what this was all about. Well, maybe he
had some suspicion, although he didn’t think he really wanted to know.
The tension in his muscles dissipated by the firelight just a few
moments ago returned, accompanied by a gnawing feeling in his stomach.
He could only wait for the deputy’s next move.
Deputy Jerome cleared his throat once again and finally
started. “This afternoon I had a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Anton who
brought their fourteen year old son Seth to see me. Is it true he acts
as an altar server in your church?”
The gnawing gave way to bile working its way up toward
John’s throat. It was all he could do to choke it back and keep his
dinner from reappearing. He could only manage a thin-voiced reply. “Yes.
It’s true. He is one of many boys and girls who help out with services
in the parish.”
“I will get right to it. Mr. and Mrs. Anton related an
account of some disturbing events involving Seth which took place during
times he was alone with you. Seth confirmed their statements. We want to
hear what you have to say about his allegations.”
John was not used to being confronted in this manner.
If he were not so busy being frightened, he would have been annoyed. He
was unprepared for it and had no easy comeback. He tried to keep his
voice steady. “What kind of allegations if I may ask and why is Mrs.
Lempel with you?”
The deputy, unfazed by the priest’s reply, continued in
what seemed to John as his best professional manner. “It is the practice
in this county that concerns about inappropriate behavior with minors be
investigated by a team consisting of representatives from the sheriff’s
department and Social Services.”
“Are you accusing me of a crime involving Seth?” John’s
muscles tightened even further. His face burned despite his struggle to
stay calm. His voice was almost a squeak and he found it difficult to
appear indignant.
“So far we are not accusing you of anything. We are
just here to discuss the allegations with you to help us decide how to
proceed. What can you tell us about this matter?”
“I don’t know what matter you are talking about. There
must be some mistake. I don’t understand what your concern is or what he
might have told you. Seth has been an alter server in my parish for
about three years. He is one of my most reliable boys. I can count on
him whenever I need him, even for funerals which are obviously hard to
anticipate. What did he say happened? What am I supposed to have done?”
Deputy Jerome maintained a calm appearance in the face
of the panic John felt continuing to rise within him. “Father, what is
the nature of your relationship with Seth?”
“Well, like I said, he is a quite reliable and dependable
boy. I have become quite fond of him over the past few years. He has
taken to spending some of his free time around the rectory and seems to
have developed an interest in the priesthood. It occurred to me that he
might well have a vocation and I have been spending some extra time with
him recently to explore this possibility.”
Mrs. Lempel noted his comments on her pad while the
deputy seemed to take them in stride, continuing in the same even tone.
“Thank you, Father. Can you think of any reason why the boy would have
asked his parents to bring him to see me about his relationship with
you?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Seth has never expressed
any discomfort about being around me. I have spent a little more time
with him than with the other boys, but as I have said this was to give
him a chance to explore his vocation. We have engaged in some
recreational activities together like swimming and camping at my cabin
in the mountains. Do you think he might have misinterpreted something
about my interest in him?”
“What do you think, Father? Is there something you
could have done which he might have seen as inappropriate?”
John’s mind raced, trying to think how to phrase his
reply to stress the normality of their relationship. “I have no idea
what it could be. Let me see…No, I can’t think of anything he might have
viewed as being inappropriate.”
“Okay. Did other boys always accompany you and Seth to
the cabin?”
“Most of the time, yes. A few times the other boys were
busy with family activities so Seth and I went alone.”
“I understand there were at least two occasions when
you went swimming with Seth in the evening. Were other boys present on
those occasions?”
“Usually. But as I said there were a couple times when
the other boys were busy and I was at my cabin alone with him.”
“ I see. Seth told me that on two occasions when you
and he were alone, you suggested you both take off all your clothes in
the cabin before going swimming nude in your pond. Is that correct?”
“…Yes. I believe so. Those were on particularly hot
nights and I thought it would be refreshing to go skinny dipping.”
“In your view, was this an acceptable activity for an
adult and an adolescent?”
“I didn’t see anything wrong with it. No one else was
around.”
“And when you were finished swimming, did you return to
the cabin naked.”
“Yes, we left our towels in the cabin and came back in
dry off before going to bed.”
“Okay, on the nights you and Seth swam nude, where did
you both sleep?”
“We usually slept in separate beds.”
“I don’t want to know what you usually did. I was
asking about the particular nights in question.”
“Well, a couple of times we slept in the same bed on a
particularly cold night to keep each other warm. I believe we did so on
those two nights.”
“Father, you said a few minutes ago that you went
skinny dipping only on particularly hot nights and slept in the same bed
only on cold nights. If it was cold, why did you walk back to the cabin
naked?”
“I don’t like the tenor of this conversation. I would
like to review this with my lawyer before we proceed any further.”
“Fine, Father. We will stop here. Based on what the boy
and his family reported and your admission that you were alone with him
naked at the times he alleged being abused by you, you are under arrest
for suspicion of sexual abuse. Anything you say can and will be held as
evidence against you. You have the right to a lawyer. If you cannot
afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these
rights as I have related them to you?”
“Yes, I do.” What was happening? John felt railroaded
during the conversation, or as he saw it, the interrogation. He had not
admitted to anything like abuse.
“Okay, Father, get your coat. We are going to the
sheriff’s station. You can call your lawyer from there. In deference to
your position in the community, we will not resort to handcuffs as long
as you cooperate.”
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Young Man of the Cloth
Prologue
One night before bed when I was in the third grade, I asked my mother if
I could be a priest and something else at the same time. She told me my
Uncle Bob was a priest and also a physics teacher, whatever that was. I
wanted to be a priest and a doctor. I knew that priests and doctors both
helped people. I had always enjoyed helping people and had made friends
with a number of elderly people in the neighborhood, visiting and doing
chores for them. I thought that by being a priest and a doctor I could
do the most good for people.
I grew up in a family where all
of my relatives were Catholic. The one exception was my Uncle Charles,
whom my Aunt Bea married, and who was somewhat suspect because of his
lack of any identifiable religion. Most of our family functions revolved
around religious feasts. We would all go to Mass and then enjoy the rest
of the day with each other. For many years, my father went to daily Mass
before going to work. Two of my uncles became priests and there were a
number of nuns who would show up at family functions, described as
cousins once removed in some manner.
My Uncle Bob was my
father’s oldest brother. He was the only one in my father’s family who
did not have a hot temper or was quick to criticize anyone who acted
contrary to his expectations. He was even tempered, the voice of reason,
when others became hotheaded and was able to diffuse anger with humor.
He was intelligent and had written two books, Behold the Man and
The Constant Cross. He was an important figure in my life, having
married my parents, baptized me and given me First Holy Communion.
My Uncle Dick, one of my
mother’s younger brothers, was a man of peace. I knew he had been in
World War II in Europe. He rode in a truck with a rifle, stopped for a
battle, got back in his truck and moved on to another battle. He was the
last person you would expect to have been in a war. He never talked of
his war experiences and was as calm and peaceful as his father, my
grandfather. The two things I remember him bringing back from Europe
were a German luger, his one souvenir of the war, and a stuffed Scotty
dog for me which was my constant companion for years. I could always sit
quietly with him and he would be interested in whatever I had to tell
him. Teresa, a woman across the street, waited for him to return from
the war so she could marry him. When he returned home and thought about
his life, he headed for the seminary and the diocesan priesthood.
I attended two Catholic
grammar schools. Holy Rosary preceded our move from the city of
Rochester to the suburb of Greece and St. Charles followed. I was in
fourth grade in 1951 when we moved. All of my teachers were nuns who
imbued us with faith before facts.
One day in fifth grade, I
was assigned the male part in a story we were reading aloud. Rose Marie
was assigned the female part. I had never taken much interest in girls
before but enjoyed reading with her. After school, I walked her home and
stayed for milk and cookies. It seemed strange, but nice, that neither
of her parents were home from work yet.
We could sit talking with
each other for hours about not much of anything. We also tried kissing
but nothing more. We stayed friends off and on over the next few years
until eighth grade, but could not have been said to be dating.
I spent much of my
time riding bikes with my friend Gene from across the street. My brother
Bob joined us when he got old enough to keep up with us. I was also in
scouts and enjoyed our camp-outs, with the exception of one winter
camp-out in January in tents. I thought my toes would never warm up
again. I especially enjoyed camp Massaweepee in the Adirondacks.
My father went along as
one of the leaders one year. He did not fit in well with the other
leaders, especially when they got around to drinking beer after we were
supposed to be asleep. That camping trip was the time I felt closest to
him. I worked for over a week to pass the swimming test so I could go on
a canoe trip and finally did pass it at the last minute. My father and I
piled our packs in the canoe and set off for Beaver Lodge, which
involved paddling to one end of Massaweepee Lake and then portaging to
the next lake. We paddled on to a camping spot where beavers had been
busy building dams. They were not in evidence until the next morning and
then only if we got up early enough. I had no awareness of how many
other scouts or leaders were in the group for that trip. All I knew was
that I was off on an adventure with my father who, for once, was not
preoccupied with where I had left a tool he was looking for.
The pastor of St. Charles
Parish, Monsignor Robert, seemed like a somewhat distant, crusty version
of a God we did not wish to upset. The assistants or curates tended to
come and go while the pastor seemed to stay forever. The assistants were
gentle, kindly men who took an interest in us boys in ways I wish my
father had. They seemed to be there for anyone who needed them. They
also listened with interest to things that excited or concerned me. They
were spiritual men but also quite human. They were capable of enjoying
themselves and having fun. They were paternal and understanding rather
than punitive. I liked their easy manner, calm temperament and openness.
Occasionally one of them
would ask what I might like to do with my life. I admitted that being a
priest had crossed my mind. When I thought about them, I could imagine
being like them in the future and much preferred their personalities to
that of my father. I think my decision to join the priesthood was based
more on identifying with them and the ideal of being able to help
people, rather than on a strong attraction to religion.
As school went along, I
decided to try out to be an altar boy. We had classes after school,
learning how to pronounce the Latin prayers we would be required to
memorize and recite during Mass. It took quite a while to master and,
even then, I did not really know what I was saying for the most part,
concentrating on getting the pronunciation right. I was finally put into
the rotation, serving at Sunday and weekday Masses. I enjoyed serving at
funerals since they were usually during school hours and at weddings,
where it was customary to give the altar boys a tip.
Serving Mass was the one
big responsibility I had outside my home. I began to become dependable
for regular Masses, also filling in if someone did not show up. I got to
know the assistant priests and they got to know and rely on me.
I also identified more
with my two uncles, who were priests, than I did with my father, my
other uncles or my friends’ fathers. I suppose the bottom line in my
choice of the seminary was that I saw it as a place where I could become
the kind of person I wanted to be, without my father’s harshness
appearing from nowhere when I least expected it.
I was about as involved
with church as others my age and memorized my catechism lessons,
although I did not always understand the questions. As long as we knew
the answers, there didn’t seem to be much concern about what the answers
meant.
By the time I reached
eighth grade, I had pretty much decided on the seminary. There was a
diocesan seminary in Rochester but I chose instead to apply to Holy
Cross Seminary in Dunkirk, where I had visited my Uncle Bob several
times while he was stationed there. I was born in Dunkirk and many of my
relatives still lived there. My impulsivity and knack for upsetting my
father made Dunkirk seem a place of refuge and peace for me as well.
I managed to get promises
of a letter of recommendation from Monsignor Robert, probably based more
on input from his assistants than on his personal knowledge of me, and
one from Sister Juliana, the principal of St. Charles School where I
attended.
Then something happened
in eighth grade which almost brought my whole plan to a crashing halt.
One day on the way home from school, a friend of mine and I were teasing
a girl who lived near us. For some reason I could not explain, we tied
her hands behind her back with her scarf, although we had no intention
of hurting her or doing anything else to her. She panicked and started
to run, slipping on some stones and scraping her face.
The two of us, as well as
our parents, were summoned that night before Sister Juliana at the
convent to face the girl and her parents. It was a venue more daunting
than any court or police setting could have been. We were commanded to
explain our actions and what we were thinking. We had no logical
explanation, since neither of us had planned what happened or considered
the consequences.
My estimation in Sister
Juliana’s mind plummeted. She threatened to withdraw her recommendation
which would mean the end of my seminary plans. We were assigned various
punishments and many hours of work at the school through the end of the
school year and into the summer. Over the course of the work, Sister
Juliana and I got to know each other and even became friends. I could
not recall ever having a nun for a friend but it happened, and, in the
end, she wrote the letter and I was accepted to Holy Cross.
I went for an interview
with several priests at the seminary. Most of the discussion centered on
my Uncle Bob and how much he had contributed to the Passionist Order.
There did not seem to be any question that I would be accepted. I was
given a list of things to bring and was expected to be at the seminary
right after Labor Day.
I spent the last couple
of weeks organizing my clothing and marking them with my name as I had
done when I went to scout camp. Several of my friends were quite curious
about the seminary, but there was not much I could tell them. I had only
seen it briefly and did not really know much about it yet.
About a week before I
left, I ran into Rose Marie coming down the street on her way to
Cramer’s Pharmacy. We had seen each other off and on since fifth grade,
and I had not told her I was definitely going to the seminary, although
I suppose she knew I was thinking about it. I told her I had decided to
go the seminary and would be leaving soon. I probably would not be able
to see her again since I would be a seminarian. I was excited about the
adventure and only realized later that she had looked sad and that I
would miss our long talks.
The day finally came when
I loaded all the required clothing and other effects into a steamer
trunk, which had been in the family for many years. We got it into the
back of the car, but just barely. It didn’t allow the trunk lid to
close, but we managed to tie it down.
We set out for
Dunkirk the day before Labor Day, driving along Route 33 through
Batavia, which seemed to take forever. My father avoided the thruway,
refusing to pay the toll on principle. We visited with both sets of
grandparents, and other relatives who were around for Labor Day,
gathering in the evening on my grandparents’ porch for old family
stories. Late at night, my aunts and uncles laughed in the parlor as my
brother and I whispered in our beds upstairs.
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Commonsense
Wisdom for Everyday Life
Personal Perspective
We all have our ways of looking at our own
lives, each other and the world around us. Sometimes our views limit us
or make our lives more complicated. Other perspectives sometimes serve
us better. This is a chance to consider your outlook on life and decide
whether you need to make any changes.
Choosing to Entertain Thoughts
Ideas are running through our minds all the time. Some arise in the
course of conversation, some through TV, radio or reading, and some just
show up in our minds without invitation.
All sorts of ideas arrive everyday and each idea
has a message. War news may incline us to think the world is falling
apart. Stories about arrests may lead us to think everyone is turning
criminal. Criticism of others may encourage us to join the attack,
finding fault with whoever is the topic of conversation. There are also
positive ideas, but sometimes the negative ones drown them out.
We do have some control over what ideas end up in our
minds. We can choose not to read or watch sensational news and not to
associate with people who bombard us with criticism of public figures
and everyone they know personally.
There are times when we don’t have control of our
thoughts. We don’t always know what will be in the news, what someone
will say or what might pop into our heads without apparent provocation.
Although we may not always have control of what thoughts come to our
minds, we do have a say in how we respond to them. We may say to a
thought “Thanks for stopping by” and let it pass out of our minds as
quickly as it entered. We may ask a thought to sit down for a cup of tea
and entertain it for a while. We may also adopt a thought, make it our
own, and introduce it to everyone we meet.
Our fears and prejudices, as well as our
personalities, may make us more susceptible to negative thoughts and may
make it more likely we will entertain or adopt them. Still, we have some
choice in how to respond to them. In addition to limiting the thoughts
to which we expose ourselves, we have several other tools. We can be
aware of the negative ideas which tend to sneak up on us and make a
conscious effort to shoo them out the door rather than entertaining or
adopting them. We can choose reading and TV shows which are likely to
provide us with constructive thoughts. We can be more judicious about
the people we allow in our lives. If there are people we can’t avoid, we
can find a polite way to tell them we don’t want to share their
negativity. While it is hard to change our personalities or ingrained
tendencies, we can examine our fears and prejudices and work to
eliminate them from our lives. All of this takes conscious effort, but
the effort can usually be well worth it for our peace of mind.
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