Years later, McCarrick became the focus of clergy sex abuse accusations himself after stories and allegations of inappropriate behavior and sexual abuse came to light. Finally, at the end of 2021, he was put on trial for child sex abuse charges. He pleaded not guilty, but was laicized by the Vatican in 2019.

In this issue, Father Boniface Ramsey discusses how he sounded the alarm over McCarrick’s behavior years ago, only to be ignored. When Ramsey was serving on the faculty of the Immaculate Conception Seminary at Seton Hall University in New Jersey during McCarrick’s stint as archbishop of Newark from 1986 to 2000, he began to hear stories of McCarrick’s troubling behavior. He took his concerns to people higher in the Church, but to no avail. You can read more about his fight for justice in the article “The Whistleblower.”

We offer our prayers for all those who are survivors of sex abuse and thank those, like Father Ramsey, who have used their voices for justice.

An Islamic tradition sheds light on our own season of repentance.

John Dunne, longtime theology professor, writer, and campus legend at the University of Notre Dame, wrote often and well about “passing over” to another’s viewpoint, culture, or religion and then “passing back” to one’s own with greater understanding and deeper compassion. It’s an imaginative process that can move a person from hostility to tolerance to respect, and from isolation to community, an experience of intellect and heart Dunne called “the spiritual adventure of our time.”

I’d like to share a personal experience of “passing over” to another religious tradition and “passing back” to my own, enriched yet humbled—a spiritual adventure I trust you’ll find interesting and suggestive of ways Christians and Muslims might better appreciate the shared mystical origin of both religions.

Adventures are for adults as well as kids, I’ve learned, and are times for trying on new ways of thinking and living, for testing and learning, for change and growth.

Most Catholics and other Christians who come from liturgical traditions know what Lent is. Quiz them and they’ll likely tell you it’s a once-a-year period of penance when they’re encouraged to give stuff up, pray more, increase their almsgiving, and perform more acts of charity.

Similar, Yet Different

Lent has admittedly lost some of its former penitential punch, but, despite changes in external observance, it remains for many a season for practicing the heartfelt reformation of life that the Gospels call repentance. “To me, it’s when you pray and fast and repent for having taken crooked roads, the ones that take you away from God,” is how my friend Alaa described it.

He’s a Syrian native whose wife comes from Islam’s holy city of Mecca, and he was talking about Ramadan, not Lent. But after we talked about Lent, he admitted the two seasons sounded similar. And they should.

Both are similar, yet distinctive, ways two religions practice our spiritual instinct for remembrance and repentance, abandoning crooked roads in favor of straight ones, and allowing God to touch hard hearts, adventures that always come as God’s gifts.

The call to repentance in Christianity and Islam is due in part to their shared identity as “Abrahamic religions.” Together with Judaism, Christianity and Islam trace their origins to the transformative mystical experience and subsequent religious quest of Abraham, a desert wanderer who appears in Genesis, the Bible’s first book, and in the Koran, Islam’s holy book that Muslims believe God revealed to Mohammed, Islam’s major prophet.

Abraham was a monotheist, a believer in one rather than many gods, a theological perspective that, as tame as it seems today, signaled a revolutionary turn in the history of religions. Not only is Abraham in the Koran, but Jesus and Mary, his mother, are there, too. Muslims consider Jesus a prophet and also hold Mary in high regard. That’s why most Muslims know more about Christianity than Christians know about Islam. On the other hand, few Muslims know about Lent, but most Christians have at least heard of Ramadan.

What most Christians know about Ramadan—that it lasts a month and involves fasting—and about Islam comes from popular media, sources notorious for highlighting conflicts and exaggerating differences between religions rather than pointing out what they have in common or how they might complement each other. My “passing over” helped me see what the two religions have in common, and my “passing back” forced me to confront the deep differences between them.

Although I had flirted with reading the Koran for a long time, it was only in June 2014 that, either by grace or chance, I finally did something about it, by undertaking my adventure of “passing over.” That’s when I saw a notice in a church bulletin about a local mosque that was inviting Christians to join Muslims for iftar, the daily evening meal that breaks the fast during Ramadan. After I read the notice, I was eager not only to read the Koran, but also to observe Ramadan.

Since it started in a week, I quickly bought a copy of the Koran, and read about Islam and Ramadan, mainly to see what it would require of me. I was no religious malcontent shopping for a new religion; I just had a hunch that Ramadan would let me look at repentance with fresh eyes and help me gain a deeper appreciation of the shared spirituality that unites the Abrahamic religions.

Lessons of Ramadan

Islam has “five pillars” or core beliefs that function for Muslims the way the Creed—a statement of the “pillars” of Christian belief—does for Christians. Observing Ramadan is one pillar, the others being faith, daily prayer, almsgiving, and pilgrimage. Devout Muslims pray five times each day, a style of prayer similar to the Liturgy of the Hours in the Christian tradition. Another pillar for Muslims is hajj, a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to Mecca all Muslims are urged to make.

Muslims fast from food and water from sunrise until sunset during Ramadan, read the entire Koran, and increase their almsgiving— a practice that underscores Islam’s fundamental commitment to social justice, a concern that resonates deeply with the witness of Pope Francis. So when Ramadan started, I also fasted (something that seemed impossible when I thought about it, but proved less ominous when I did it). I gave lots of clothes to charity, attended Friday prayers in a local mosque, read the entire Koran, and joined Muslims for iftar and informal spiritual conversation each week.

I prayed during Ramadan with the first seven verses of the Koran, the Al-Fatiha, a brief poetic summary of Islamic faith. “In the name of God, Most Compassionate, Most Merciful,” is how it starts, an invocation that immediately highlights Islam’s belief in one utterly transcendent God, who is revealed to believers most directly in compassion and mercy. Unlike the God of the Bible, the God of the Koran knows nothing of incarnation or trinity. But since the Trinity summarizes Christian belief, many start our prayer, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

The Al-Fatiha then begs God to keep the believer on the “straight” path of fidelity, far from infidelity, idolatry, and self-seeking. Wandering from and looking for the straight road is an image that appears in the sacred texts of all the Abrahamic religions and also serves as a central image of the spiritual discernment required to come to religious maturity.

A Renewed Faith

Lent and Ramadan are not only seasons of repentance but are also times of remembrance, something that means more than paying casual attention to past events. Instead, religious memory brings “faithtime” to mind, allowing a believer to enter into the religion’s original formative experiences through the power of the religious imagination and ritual.

Lent’s 40 days remind Christians of the 40 years the Hebrews spent in the desert, and the 40 days Jesus was in the desert being tempted, changed, and prepared for the saving demands of his mission. Observing Lent allows us to enter into these times, making their stories of exploration and discovery our own.

When Muslims observe Ramadan, they remember when God revealed the Koran to Mohammed. In doing so, they don’t just pay lip service to this past event, but they remember how God continues to reveal words of compassion and mercy to them today. Ramadan is how Muslims keep repentance alive in fasting, prayer, and almsgiving. They fast to remember and respond to the hungers and thirsts of the less fortunate and of their own hearts, doing so with a repentant spirit, one that leads them back to the straight road and keeps them on their pilgrimage toward God.

Ramadan also helped me see how the Abrahamic religions are “religions of the road,” a theological principle— moving toward a destination rather than repeating mythic cycles—that, like monotheism, signaled another revolution in how religions imagine themselves.

As a result, Abrahamic believers see themselves on a pilgrimage in time, moving toward a personal and social end point traditionally described as eschatological, an ultimate drama in which the mysteries of life and death, reward and punishment, fulfillment or destruction, and final consolation or desolation get played out. The choices made “on the road” have eternal individual and communal consequences for believers.

This insight let me see how differently Christians and Muslims imagine the nature of God and God’s relationship to the world and history. As Ramadan ended, I noted in my journal, “In the end, I’m just not otherworldly enough to be a Muslim.” That’s when I began to see how a religion of prophecy like Islam and a religion of incarnation like Christianity are different, yet complementary. This insight signaled the beginning of my “passing back” to my own religious imagination and tradition.

Islam worships one God existing beyond human history, while Christianity worships one God who is also incarnated in human history. For Muslims, this life and human history prepare us for the next life, while Christians, because of incarnation, see the world and history as holy and significant, not just as a testing ground for heavenly bliss.

While Muslims see Mohammed as a human being like everybody else, Christians consider Jesus not only a prophet but a divine prophet. In him and in the power of the Holy Spirit, the Trinity of God meets and transcends human experience and history.

Christian theologians describe this back and forth between time and eternity, history and eschatology, as the living tension between the transcendence (beyond human experience) and the immanence (within human experience) of God. Is God involved, removed, or both? Is our religious pilgrimage in this world only toward God, or, as Christians would describe it, is it also through, with, and in the God we see incarnated in Jesus and animated in the Holy Spirit?

Ramadan offered me a deeper appreciation of my belief in God’s activity in creation and evolution, history and eschatology, and incarnation as well as transcendence that led me to conclude that I wasn’t otherworldly enough to ever be Muslim.

I also started to see how Christianity and Islam need each to balance the potentially deadly and exaggerated, hostile and isolating fundamentalist extremes lurking on the peripheries of both religions. Christians need Muslims to remind them of the transcendent dimension of our experience of God, and Christians, because of our belief in incarnation, can help Muslims keep their feet planted firmly on the earth. That way our religions can do more than compete with each other: they can actually complement and correct each other.

Lesson Learned

My adventure of “passing over” and “passing back” happened because of a notice a mosque placed in a Christian church bulletin. I occasionally wonder what could happen if Christian churches took the initiative to invite Muslims to share Lent with them. It could lead to conversation and prayer together, a way of sharing our seasons of repentance. One Catholic community I know of sponsors soup suppers and prayers every Friday evening during Lent; events offered by other Christian communities could provide productive occasions for conversation and prayer.

What my “passing over” to Ramadan and “passing back” taught me, more than anything else, is that while doctrine and ideology often divide, service and shared spirituality are opportunities for a unity that can respect differences without being incapacitated by them—a gift our divided world sorely needs today.

Read: 10 Things to Know about Islam

We all face tragedy and challenges in life. When you make the choice to heal, your spirit is awakened through a nurturing of self and faith.

When I hear the word conversion, I immediately tend to think of persons who became Catholic but were not born and raised Catholic. Those converts chose to be Catholic. Some may have done so for reasons having nothing to do with the Church. My grandfather, for example, apparently converted from the Presbyterian Church so that he could marry my Irish Catholic grandmother. There are others who became converts because they found something within Catholicism that drew them.

In its basic meaning, conversion points to a process of transformation, a change in something essential. Other words and phrases relating to conversion include metanoia (a change of consciousness), spiritual awakening, and redemption. Literally, conversion means “to turn to.”

Some indeed turn to a new spiritual path. But for many of us, the possibility of a new path is thrust upon us, arising out of a place of spiritual and psychological brokenness. In the depths of despair, we may be offered a path of healing and, ultimately, transformation. But we must choose to be open to that conversion.

For some—such as St. Paul or Bill W., the cofounder of Alcoholics Anonymous—this transformation may occur dramatically and in an instant. But for many of us, the process of conversion is experienced quietly and gradually over time. The invitation to conversion doesn’t come in a burst of light but slowly, as if through a whisper, just as Elijah experienced in his moment of fearful brokenness (1 Kgs 19:11‚ 12).

There are many different experiences of brokenness that can be a doorway to conversion. Four potential doorways are addiction, trauma, depression, and facing one’s death.

Addiction

The founders of Alcoholics Anonymous had the wisdom to point out the strong spiritual component to addiction. Essentially, when addicted, we have made something—alcohol, drugs, sex, porn, etc.—our god. When troubled, we turn to our god. When happy, we turn to our god. We look for release. We look for comfort. And, for the short term, that god works for us! But that god comes with a price: loss of family or employment, financial crisis, legal problems, isolation, shame, and especially the spiritual equivalent of cancer, self-hatred. In the midst of such turmoil, some addicts choose to confront their addictions and seek help.

Addicts soon learn that the conversion from addiction is only the beginning. For addicts, the process of conversion is ongoing; it is a process of fearless self-awareness as well as gratitude, which continues for a lifetime.

I often wonder about the story in the Gospels of the healing of the 10 lepers. Jesus heals all 10, yet only one returns to express gratitude. Jesus never seemed to me to be a person who reveled in the gratitude of those he healed. So why did he ask the 10th leper, “Where are the others?”

For me, there is an important lesson in that story. Jesus, I believe, was pointing out to the 10th leper, and to us, that the removal of the scars of leprosy was only a beginning and that, to continue to heal, the lepers would have to continue the work of conversion. This would include ongoing gratitude.

Concerning addiction, conversion involves turning to sobriety—learning how to work at a sober spiritual life with honesty and gratitude.

Trauma

Traumas are those life events that turn our worlds upside down, events that become so powerful that a day does not pass without that trauma exerting its influence through intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, and nightmares.

These days there is more awareness of the condition of post-traumatic stress disorder. Many think of combat veterans, but the sufferers also include victims of other types of violence, including sexual abuse and political oppression. There are also those who lost a loved one in a traumatic manner, and there are life traumas—divorce, loss of employment, hospitalization, etc.

With many trauma victims I meet, they may ask, “Will I ever be able to forget what happened?” My answer is always, “No, but you will be able to heal and take back some of the power that trauma has over you.” It is that hopeful step toward healing that becomes a conversion for many trauma victims. The conversion here is a turning to healing and empowerment and away from fear and anguish.

I think of a young man I knew some years ago. He had been repeatedly molested by his parish priest and was badly traumatized. He had stopped going to Mass because of crowds but also because he would feel deep anger, especially when the priest raised the host at the consecration. “I would see that priest doing the same thing on the day after he molested me!” he told me.

This young man drew upon not only his courage but also his creativity to heal. He painted a picture in which there was the headless form of a priest. But in the corner of his painting was a white disc that I assumed was the sun. “No,” he said, “that’s the Eucharist. I still believe in the Eucharist, and it gives me hope.” In choosing a path of conversion rather than bitterness, this young man opened new doors. He joined a support group and became sober. Eventually he went back to school and now works as a counselor himself.

A conversion from trauma is a turning to an inner place of safety, hope, and perhaps forgiveness.

Depression

Depression may be the most common form of brokenness. It is a place where there is no joy, energy, or motivation. It is a place where God can seem silent. Most especially, it is a dark place with little hope.

Most of us have faced bouts of depression. Some have been so depressed that they are unable to get out of bed. And then there are those for whom the light of hope is gone, and they choose to end their lives rather than continue to suffer.

Depression can be defined in many ways and can be caused by many different circumstances. For our purposes, let us simply say that depression is that physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual state where there is little hope.

Most of us, when depressed, have tried different solutions: medication, therapy, even prayer. The conversion from depression occurs when we decide to have the slightest hope that our circumstances can improve or that at least we can feel better and at times enjoy life. But, as with the 10th leper, the decision to try some medication or therapy or healing prayer is only the beginning. A true conversion from depression occurs when we make the decision to do whatever it takes to heal. That path may include difficult decisions to remove ourselves from situations and relationships that feed depression.

This raises another facet of conversion: To truly convert requires action. It is not a passive process, even for those who experience a sudden moment of spiritual awakening; it requires some form of action. Whatever role therapy and medication may play, the depressed person is ultimately faced with the need to change something. Perhaps the person needs to work on patterns of negative thinking. Perhaps the depressed person needs to change the pattern of relationships in his or her life. Perhaps the depressed person needs to try a different form of spiritual practice. Or, as can often be the case, perhaps the depressed person needs to forgive himself or herself.

I think of a man who came to see me for help with depression. He was a deeply spiritual man who came to believe that he was a hypocrite because he would get angry at his daughter. What was worse was a dream he’d had in which there was a violent encounter with a stranger. This good man judged himself harshly to the point that he was considering stopping a rich spiritual practice.

Over time, he was able to accept that his anger and any inner violence reflected in his dreams could be embraced and healed. Interestingly, as he embraced that hope, his dream changed to the point that he ended up helping the man he’d assaulted in earlier dreams.

What did this man convert to? He was already a deeply devout and committed Catholic. What I believe he converted to was a belief that he, too, was worthy of compassion and that any anger and violence within him could be faced and healed rather than judged. As he recovered from depression, he shared that he believed his faith had shifted in a meaningful way; his depression lifted.

A conversion from depression is a conversion to a place not only of hope but also of compassion and perhaps forgiveness of oneself.

Facing Death

Facing one’s death might seem like an odd topic in discussing conversion. I have been privileged to walk with several remarkable people on part of their final journeys. They have all taught me that conversion can occur when faced with the reality of death. It is a conversion from fear, anger, and guilt to a place of peaceful acceptance. As one man said when I asked him how he wanted to face his death: “I want to look forward to stepping into the light.”

I witnessed the conversion of a man dying of AIDS. While I was sitting with him, his estranged daughter called. He responded with anger saying, “Where the hell have you been? Now you’re calling me?” Then he hung up on her.

After a moment, I asked him, “Is that how you want to deal with your daughter before you go?” He sat quietly and started to cry. “What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I want to gently help her deal with my death,” he said. He later called his daughter, and they were able to reunite before he died.

Rather than die with bitterness, he embraced the opportunity for a conversion and opened himself to a spirit of gentleness with his loved ones. He turned from a place of fear and anger to one of peace. This is the essence of conversion when facing death.

God Provides Opportunities

The beauty of conversion is that the Lord makes opportunities available to us. Much like Samuel, it is our choice as to whether or not we say “Here I am” in response. For me, thankfully, I was able to say “Here I am” on a summer morning some years ago. My conversion story is not profound, but I believe it illustrates God’s patience in waiting for us to accept the opportunity. It also shows that God can use unexpected avenues to get our attention and that the moment of conversion is only the beginning.

I used alcohol for the first time when I was 14. Even then it had negative consequences: I spoke rudely to a girl I actually liked. The next day, I was so sluggish that my basketball team lost, and I was benched. So it began.

My drinking progressed to the point that it was daily. Slowly, the disease of alcoholism took hold. Thankfully, I never lost my family or a job, but self-hatred set down its roots.

In the months approaching my sobriety, I can now see that God was putting things in place, inviting me to a conversion. Those things ranged from rereading Henri Nouwen’s The Wounded Healer to one of the Star Wars films. Finally, when I got up one morning, in what was the clearest experience of God’s grace I have ever had, I decided it was time to face my alcohol problem. I decided to accept conversion.

Given my own arrogance, I waited 10 days before reaching out for help. When I told my friend, a recovering alcoholic himself, that I was trying to face my drinking, he burst into tears, saying, “God, Rich, that’s an answer to a prayer!” Through him, I began to look for help.

That moment of conversion on the morning of June 2, 1983, was indeed only a beginning. My conversion continues today as I not only try to live each day without alcohol but also strive to live a life of sobriety based on honesty and gratitude.

A year after I quit drinking, I found out I’d suffered some liver damage. Had God not blessed me with that invitation to begin conversion, I would not be writing these words.

Hugh Kerr and John Mulder put together a wonderful book titled Famous Conversions, a collection of conversion experiences ranging from St. Paul to the great African American singer and actress Ethel Waters. They define conversion as “a mystery of God, and the varieties of conversion experiences testify to that divine initiative seeking out those who are lost, finding them, and bringing them home.” As a humble recipient of the gift of conversion, I am glad to be home.

A Lenten Reflection for Conversion

Lent provides us with an opportunity to open ourselves to conversion. It is a time of reflection, a cleansing of our spirits. It is an opportunity to face whatever within us that prevents us from fully embracing our spiritual paths. Facing addiction or trauma or depression or death is not easy. But if any of these are a part of your life, this Lent you might consider some steps that can open a door for conversion.

1. Take a moral inventory of your faults and strengths. Share it with a person you trust, perhaps a spiritual director.

2. Open yourself in prayer and meditation to God’s guidance to those areas of your life in need of conversion. You might not like God’s answer.

3. If you are battling any of the issues discussed here, take Lent as an opportunity to begin a path of healing by seeking counseling and/or spiritual direction.

4. Lent has been a time of giving something up. So consider this Lent to be an opportunity to give up any fear, self-hatred, shame, or resentment that clouds your spiritual path.

5. If you’ve experienced conversion, then pause in gratitude this Lent: gratitude for the opportunity to convert and gratitude for the people, places, and things God may have put in your path to help you embrace the invitation to convert.

Father Boniface Ramsey raised red flags about Theodore McCarrick for years before the media and Church leaders took notice. While some call him a hero, he hopes to be remembered first as a good priest.

It’s near the end of Lent 2021, the Church busy season, and Father Boniface Ramsey, 75, bounds around St. Joseph of Yorkville Parish in New York City amid a hectic schedule.

On this warm, early spring day as the city seemingly emerges, slowly and cautiously, from a yearlong pandemic, students at the parish school are playing on the street. The neighborhood, with its tidy Upper East Side brownstones and apartments, looks as if it could be placed on a Hollywood back lot representing old New York.

Father Ramsey has just returned from bedside prayer with a dying parishioner. There will soon be weekday Mass at noon, with a few dozen congregants reflecting on the final days of Jesus’ life and the prophetic Book of Jeremiah.

“I love being a priest,” says Father Ramsey during a lull in the day’s activity. “The sacraments mean everything for me.”

Ordained a Dominican priest in 1973, Father Ramsey was once a seminary professor and scholar with a focus on patristics, early Christian art, and history. Besides German, he is fluent in French. In 2004, he became a priest of the Archdiocese of New York, his hometown. Father Ramsey’s career reflects a record of accomplishment as a scholar and urban pastor. But when the time comes to write his obituary, he realizes that little of that will matter. He is sure to share the first sentence with the scandal-scarred former Cardinal Theodore McCarrick. They remain inextricably linked.

For decades, Father Ramsey knew much about McCarrick’s sexual misconduct but found few willing to listen and fewer still willing to do anything about it.

“It would come up on occasion,” Father Ramsey recalls, particularly when McCarrick was up for an ecclesial promotion or was the subject of a laudatory story. “Something would irritate me on all this. I would feel frustrated and not listened to.”

McCarrick’s story has been told in numerous media outlets, as well as in the landmark official Church report on him issued in 2020. Coupled with the Pennsylvania grand jury report detailing decades of priest sex abuse, the events disheartened and dismayed Catholics.

The Beach House

But it was nothing new for many in McCarrick’s circle. Father Ramsey knew about the harassment McCarrick directed toward students at Immaculate Conception Seminary in South Orange, New Jersey. From 1987 to 1996, their paths crossed, at a time when McCarrick was archbishop of Newark and Father Ramsey was a professor at the seminary.

It begins with the beach house. McCarrick—their superior, who would ultimately decide their path to ordination—would arrange for seminarians to join him at the Jersey Shore for what was billed as a respite of rest, recreation, and contemplation. The invitees would always exceed the number of beds available, so McCarrick would share a bed with one of the seminarians. It was an open secret among the staff and students at the seminary at the time. He asked his favorites to refer to him as “Uncle Ted.”

That was not all. When Father Ramsey argued against advancing a seminarian personally recruited by McCarrick—a former flight attendant whom the then-
archbishop had befriended on his many travels—he was taken off the committee that made such decisions.

Father Ramsey tried to get the word out about what was happening at the seminary. Few wanted to hear, he says. He spoke to a fellow Dominican, the late Archbishop Thomas Kelly of Louisville, around 1993. Father Ramsey says that Archbishop Kelly indicated that many of his fellow bishops knew of McCarrick’s behavior.

After the funeral of New York Cardinal Edward Egan in 2015, at which McCarrick was an honored guest, Father Ramsey wrote to Cardinal Se√°n O’Malley of Boston, the prelate in charge of the Catholic Church’s sex abuse response. That letter remained unanswered.

Cardinal O’Malley, after the scandal broke, blamed an administrative error that resulted in his not seeing the letter. He later apologized. In a statement posted to the Boston Archdiocese’s website, Cardinal O’Malley wrote, “I apologize to Father Ramsey for not having responded to him in an appropriate way and appreciate the effort that he undertook in seeking to bring his concerns about Archbishop McCarrick’s behavior to my attention.”

_{Father Boniface Ramsey chats with students at his alma mater, St. Joseph School, located in Yorkville, a neighborhood in New York City’s Upper East Side.
Photo: Dennis Livesy}

Frustrated by inaction by Church officials, Father Ramsey tried to attract media attention. In an email to a journalist in 2006, he wrote that McCarrick had a “history of Michael Jackson-like behavior with his seminarians when he was archbishop of Newark.”

Six years earlier, Father Ramsey had written to Archbishop Gabriel Montalvo, then papal nuncio, just as McCarrick was being mentioned as a prime candidate to become the new archbishop of Washington, DC. It was a position he eventually secured.

The Quiet Hero

At the time, McCarrick’s behavior was known to be directed solely toward other adult males. Father Ramsey had not heard of any minors being physically abused. But when the Archdiocese of New York in 2018 revealed that McCarrick had been credibly accused of abusing a boy while he was a young priest, Father Ramsey’s suspicions found a wider audience. The priest’s name became linked to stories about McCarrick, and he was credited as a whistleblower, finally getting heard.

“There really wasn’t much courage involved,” says Father Ramsey, noting that his involvement created frustration but little personal risk. At the time, he was a Dominican Order priest, outside the direct purview of McCarrick’s authority.

While the McCarrick revelations created an uproar, some blame those who looked the other way. Father Ramsey is not among them. “They were good people who were horribly flummoxed about this. They just didn’t know what to do about it,” he says.

Those who work in advocacy for victims of sex abuse credit Father Ramsey for his persistence and truth-telling.

“Ramsey is a hero,” says Robert Hoatson, a former Newark seminarian, priest, and student of Father Ramsey’s, who is now a layman and founder of Road to Recovery, an organization that assists sex abuse victims. Father Ramsey, says Hoatson, provided a quiet, often unrecognized witness to the truth.

“I had no indication at the time that he was working in the background to protect the seminarians,” recalls Hoatson. He describes how seminarians at the time were aware of McCarrick’s beach house activities, with an atmo-sphere of fear and secrecy covering up the behavior. While others remained mum, Father Ramsey spoke up, says Hoatson, because “he believed that the priesthood was sacred and holy and should not be tarnished.”

Terry McKiernan, president of BishopAccountability.org, which compiles information on the sex abuse crisis in the Church, says that Father Ramsey played an admirable role in the McCarrick case.

The priest was “an insider willing to take some risks to address the situation that he thought was wrong.” He also acted amid the constraints felt by Church whistleblowers, says McKiernan. Much of what Ramsey described later surfaced in charges raised by former apostolic nuncio Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigan√≤, who in 2018 issued a jeremiad accusing Pope Francis of ignoring McCarrick’s abuse.

McKiernan notes that Father Ramsey was careful to distance himself from the most inflammatory and unproved accusations issued by the former nuncio. In an atmosphere where some have blamed homosexuals for the Church sex abuse crisis, Father Ramsey says he is respectful of the struggles of gay clergy and seminarians and thinks they should not be targeted simply because they are gay.

Donna Doucette, executive director of Voice of the Faithful, formed in response to the sex abuse crisis that emerged in Boston early this century, credited Father Ramsey for persistently working through a system that didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “There were bishops who looked the other way because it would cause them trouble,” she says.

While its effects still linger, the McCarrick sex abuse scandal is no longer front-page news—with Father Ramsey and others grappling with its long-term impact.

_{Father Boniface Ramsey preaches at St. Joseph Parish in Yorkville. Photos: Dennis Livesy}

A Parish Priest

As a result of the scandals, bishops have taken a hit in public credibility, Father Ramsey says. Still, after more than a dozen years at St. Joseph Parish, he realizes that Catholics generally still admire their parish priests, who are the closest to them and whose strengths and human weaknesses are regularly on display. He says there are parishioners who love him and those who don’t, a situation that remains as it has always been.

Still there are other things he would like to be remembered for beyond his ongoing confrontation with McCarrick. Father Ramsey fought unsuccessfully for the restoration of a facade of an old orphanage, formerly run by the parish, now owned by a posh private school. A headline in the New York Times described it as a case of “The Private School v. the Radical Priest.”

The facade was plastered over, but Father Ramsey was able to negotiate a scholarship in memory of the orphans. “I won as good as I could have won under the circumstances,” he says.

Father Ramsey also preached against drug dealers in the parish. One of them responded by sending the priest a threatening letter. He says the open drug scene in the parish has largely faded.

Still he realizes he will not be remembered in the public realm for those struggles, or for his work as a patristic scholar and author of books and articles on the Fathers of the Church. He will remain forever linked to McCarrick, now living in quiet exile, laicized and no longer a cardinal.

Despite the apathy and sometimes outright opposition from Church higher-ups, Father Ramsey says his faith never wavered during his time as a seemingly lone whistleblower. “The story was frustration,” he recalls. “No one seemed to care about what seemed so obvious to me.”

He remains no biblical Jeremiah, castigating the authorities for their failures. Father Ramsey says they all had reasons for acting, and not acting, the way they did. Father Ramsey has navigated the transition from being a Dominican priest, with its strong sense of community and a superior who is elected by and lives with other priests, and that of an archdiocesan priest who, for the most part, lives alone.

He describes himself as enjoying the autonomy. He asked to extend his ministry beyond the usual 75-year-old retirement age, keeps reading regularly, and takes long walks, sometimes as much as 10 miles back and forth to Brooklyn, to dine with priest friends. He remains lanky and slim.

“God gave me a certain ease,” Father Ramsey says, leaning back in his chair in a rectory meeting room. He remains convinced that despite its all-too-human blemishes, the Church “is the bride of Christ. I truly believe that. I love the Church.”

BishopAccountability.org: A ‘Digital Archive’ of the Clergy Abuse Crisis

While the sex abuse scandals surrounding Theodore McCarrick and the Pennsylvania grand jury report have faded from the headlines, one organization works daily to prevent future cover-ups.

BishopAccountability.org describes itself as “a digital and brick-and-mortar archive of the Catholic clergy abuse crisis.” The organization tracks assignment histories of accused clergy and religious, maintains a database of accused, and tracks the lists of accused that the dioceses and religious orders have published.

The organization’s mission is to hold bishops accountable for abuse that occurs under their watch.

“It is a matter of public record that US bishops have knowingly transferred thousands of abusive priests into unsuspecting parishes and dioceses, placing fear of scandal’ ahead of the welfare of children,” according to BishopAccountability.org. “The bishops themselves have apologized for what they call their mistake,’ but they say nothing about the crucial actions that constitute accountability.

“For accountability to occur, two things must happen: 1) There must be a full account’ of the bishops’ responsibility for the sexual abuse crisis, both individually and collectively, and 2) bishops who have caused the abuse of children and vulnerable adults must be held accountable.'”

BishopAccountability.org “makes publicly available more than 63,630 pages of Church files; over 121,000 news articles; a collection of investigative and other reports and studies totaling more than 100,000 pages; and over 1,880 archived copies of lists of accused, created by more than 150 dioceses and more than 25 religious institutes and provinces.”

The website also includes an “abuse tracker” with links to media reports of clergy sex abuse coverage.

The Bible has advice on everything under the sun, even the words we speak. We can use its guidance to forge more peaceful interactions with others.

In today’s world, it’s admirable to speak your mind and argue your cause, and sometimes it’s appropriate. Recently, though, I had a few opportunities to spout off quick and clever remarks that in retrospect were unkind and uncharitable.

I know I’m not alone. We’ve all spoken words that make us feel superior and witty at first but later make us ask ourselves, Why did I say that? And it’s not only those sarcastic remarks that get us in trouble. Our words can take us down paths of gossip and lying too.

It turns out our tongues can be weapons, and in this time of political conflicts and COVID-19, it’s even more important we learn to wield those weapons carefully. Here is a simple five-step strategy that will help.

Perfect the Pause

Sometimes our mouths get ahead of our brains, and we spout off snarky remarks before we catch ourselves. Or worse yet, we don’t even realize what we’ve said until hours later, after the damage has been done.

The first step in training our tongues is perfecting the pause; everything else flows from that. If we stop before we speak, the Holy Spirit can help us choose our words well. Silence isn’t a bad thing, and we don’t have to fill every pause in a conversation with words.

Pausing helps us make better decisions. By reflecting before an automatic reply, I avoid saying yes when I don’t mean it. I avoid saying no about something to which I would have agreed with more consideration.

Another benefit of the pause is that it can help us become better listeners. It’s a common practice to interrupt others in conversation: “I know just what you’re talking about! Here’s what happened to me.” And even if we don’t say it out loud, we are thinking it, ready to jump in as soon as the other person takes a breath. Knowing I will pause before I speak allows a different approach. I can listen thoughtfully when someone else is speaking and give my full attention. I can stop thinking ahead to my response. When the person finishes, I can pause, carefully choosing my words before I say them.

Examine Your Expectations

Once I have taken my simple pause and then decided to speak, the second step is to consider the “why” of my words and assess my intentions. Am I seeking revenge or retaliation? If so, I do best to hold my tongue. Am I bragging? The sin of pride is often a subtle one. If I am giving advice, is it to make myself look better—or maybe trying to make the other person look worse? If so, I should skip the comments.

And even if my response is well-intended, is it wanted? Will my words actually help the situation? Unsolicited advice can often come across as criticism. “The next time you cook this dish, you should cook it longer” sounds a lot like “You didn’t cook this right.” I ask myself, How would I feel if someone said this to me?

Monitor Your Method

The third step is to consider how we deliver our comments, including words, posture, and timing. Our remarks should always be gentle and respectful, considerate of the other’s feelings. Sometimes our motives are kind, but our word choice is insensitive. Harsh words are rarely productive and generally put others on the defensive. Again, how would I feel if someone said this to me?

We communicate not only with words, but also through body language and facial expression. Am I saying something mean but delivering it with a false smile? Am I saying something nice but revealing my real thoughts by the look of contempt on my face? Other people can read our true feelings easily, and when our words and feelings contradict each other, we will not be trusted. Our words will not be helpful.

Finally, we should consider our timing. For example, I don’t have to share details about my great promotion right after my neighbor loses her job. I don’t need to tell a friend about my daughter’s scholarship award the day after her son gets his college rejection letter. Yes, people I love will want to celebrate my good news, but it is more considerate to choose the right time to share.

Build a Bridge

Words have the power to wound and hurt, but they also have the power to inspire and heal. Our sweet comments can do immeasurable good in this wounded world. There are opportunities each day to recognize and appreciate each other.

We can use our words to show gratitude for kindness instead of taking it for granted. Try to say thank you for even small gestures. We can use our words to compliment another’s hard work instead of letting it go unnoticed. Try to give at least one sincere compliment every day. We can use our words to remind those we love how much they mean to us.

Take time to tell your spouse or children you love them. Not just a quick “Love you!” as we run out the door to work or school, but with heartfelt attention in a quiet moment. Kindness begets kindness, and our appreciation for others soothes our own hearts as well.

Learn When to Leave

Sometimes, the best choice is simply to walk away. Despite what society seems to teach, I don’t need to have the last word. It’s OK to leave a conversation without getting in that clever jab, that smart retort that will prove how right I am. I don’t have to convince everyone of my opinion.

We can learn to recognize conversations in which we’d rather not participate. Some people are debaters who love to argue, some are complainers who find the fault in everything, and others are full of sarcasm or gossip. By holding our tongues, we avoid contributing to and encouraging those negative words, criticisms, and complaints.

I don’t have to take offense at each callous comment I hear; not everything is meant to insult me. Often it’s a lack of awareness on the speaker’s part. And those people who intentionally upset or offend me often do so just to make themselves feel better. I don’t need to justify myself to them—the only opinion of me that matters is God’s!

Lessons Learned

These are tough lessons, but they are worth learning. Matthew gives us a strong warning in his Gospel: “On the day of judgment people will render an account for every careless word they speak. By your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned” (12:36‚ 37). Especially in today’s fractious times, using the Bible’s rich advice can improve our interactions and soothe our wearied souls.

When our words are kind and gentle, our spirits will be too. We will have fewer regrets and be more charitable and peaceful. Today, let’s wield our words well, confident in the guidance of God’s word.

“You have wine and food.
Why not play daily on your lute,
That you may enjoy yourself now
And lengthen your days?
By and by you will die,
And another will take your place.”

I launched into my deconstruction of the poem: In short, life is cyclical and impermanent; enjoy the days before you are replaced. I can remember my teacher’s ashen face when I finished. Was it too dark for a child? Was my choice in assignment masking some preteen angst? (The answers are probably yes and no, not really.) I love the poem still because, far from being cryptic, it encourages us to live in the moment, to appreciate the song before it’s over. It has more to say about living than dying.

Lent is the time to think about the polarities of life. Endings and beginnings. Christ died; Christ returned. Our faith tradition hinges on his conquering death so that we may have life. But death and rebirth play out daily in far less significant ways. Seasonally, winter hugs the landscape, but as it starts to yield to the warmth of an encroaching spring, new life is in full bloom. And spring is a fertile time for prayer.

Go Explore

I think we are closest to the beauty and promise of life when we have kids. Full disclosure: With a few exceptions, I am not fond of children and have none of my own. I can only relate to this miracle through my nieces. They are little women now but when they were young, I will admit, I was powerless. When my oldest niece, Rory, was placed in my arms a week or so after she came home, I can remember looking into her face and seeing someone unburdened by a cynical world. I envied this little person with a clean slate.

The world—even an uncertain one—was made for her, and she was at the very beginning of the journey. Her sister, Cameron, came a couple years later, and one of my great joys as an uncle was watching them discover the world with fresh eyes.

When we pray, I like to think that is when we are at our most childlike. When we extract ourselves from the noise of the world and quiet our minds for a conversation with God, that is when our hearts should be purest. Now that spring is starting to show her face, I see a purity in nature. The buds on the trees, the flowers poking through the chilled earth, the birds readying their nests for new life: All of it bears God’s signature.

Sometimes the greatest “amen” we can offer is simply going outside to explore a world made for us.

A Walking Devotion

I am a walker—that’s how I investigate the world around me. It’s the one time I remove myself from all distractions and focus only on the steps ahead of me. I used to run for exercise, but the onset of middle age sidelined me from that activity. It’s for the best, really. Walking is more meditative. But I have grown to rely on this almost daily outlet. For me, walking is part exercise, part exorcism: Stretching my legs casts out my demons.

Because I’m something of a masochist, I prefer urban hikes with stairs to climb, but I’m just as comfortable in nature on a crisp morning. When I look around, I like that I am dwarfed by a sea of trees. I appreciate that I am outnumbered by animals and insects who see me when I cannot see them. It puts us clumsy humans in our rightful place.

When I walk in the woods, I often think of my favorite quote from poet Rabindranath Tagore: “Trees are earth’s endless effort to speak to a listening heaven.” My prayers have a similar trajectory: They start out as saplings and grow skyward. I come to God as a child would. That’s the way it should be.

Perhaps my greatest prayers happen when I’m on foot. Perhaps it is where I feel most comfortable opening my heart to a listening heaven.

God’s Song

The leaves on the trees sway
to the rhythm of your song.
The birds are singing your chorus,
while the breeze holds the melody.
Let me stop and appreciate your symphony.
And let me add my own notes.
Because I, too, am an instrument—
and together we are an interconnected part of
your majesty, your gifts, this world, our home.
Amen.