Man at the center of Catholics' maelstrom

He's close to the Bush family, yet talks on occasion with Fidel Castro. He has supported homes for AIDS patients in neighborhoods that didn't want them. He once faced death threats for his civil rights stand in segregated Mississippi – but has prevented those who want women in the priesthood from meeting on church property.

Over the years, Boston's Cardinal Bernard Law has moved easily between the halls of power in the Roman Catholic church and the poorest of US parishes.

Now, Cardinal Law finds himself at the center of a clergy sex-abuse scandal that has not only weakened the moral authority of clerics but, according to some, also threatens to shake the hierarchical underpinnings of the church. Increasingly, even supporters are questioning his ability to restore trust.

Calls for Law's resignation from some prominent Catholics in Boston and elsewhere are reaching a new crescendo over his alleged negligence in handling sex-abuse cases. How Law responds to the growing demand for reform and greater openness may well determine the outcome of what, by most accounts, has been an illustrious career.

Cardinal Law, a staunch advocate for Pope John Paul II and the most senior prelate in the United States, clearly wants to be part of the solution, vowing to rectify his diocese's policies and point the way for the church to fully address the issues relating to sexual abuse of minors.

Indeed, his refusal to pass the blame and his quick revision of policies suggest to some that Law should stay on the job.

"He's one of the most compassionate and caring men I've ever known," says Jack Shaughnessy Sr., chairman of Shaughnessy & Ahern Co., who serves on the board of several Roman Catholic charities. "I would say his leadership is indispensable to the healing."

Others question whether he can regain his credibility or press within the church for the kind of reforms many are now seeking.

"I hear people in the pews – solidly mainstream Catholics – calling for married men to be ordained, and women, and for a more participatory church," says Jan Leary, a member of the Catholic reform movement, Call To Action.

Some critics argue the bishop must resign, accepting responsibility for deeply wounding the faithful he sought to serve.

This is not the first time Law has been under great pressure. He took up his first parish assignment in Mississippi in 1961 amid the turmoil of the civil rights movement.

"He became a superstar immediately in the Vicksburg parish, and was soon called to Jackson to edit the diocesan newspaper," says George Evans, a Jackson attorney. Law received death threats for the paper's civil rights stance and his efforts to convene religious leaders of all faiths and races in a "committee of concern" during a summer of 40 church burnings.

Despite persistent hostility, the charismatic young cleric succeeded in moving older religious leaders of several faiths in a new direction, says Mr. Evans, who was an intern at the paper.

"He's a man of deep spirituality," says the Rev. Patrick Farrell, pastor of St. Peter's Cathedral in Jackson, Miss., and a life-long friend. "After graduating from Harvard with a history major, he could have been anything he wanted; but he chose the church, and then the poorest diocese in the US to begin his ministry."

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