A shepherd's trials

But it wasn't to be. Sean Patrick O'Malley never got his dream posting in Papua New Guinea, and today he holds the biggest job in the troubled US Roman Catholic Church - at perhaps the most critical moment in its history.

Related stories 03/08/04 Church closures may alter city's rhythm 09/11/03 How Boston settlement alters landscape for church 07/31/03 New guard in US Catholic church

Get all the Monitor's headlines by e-mail. Subscribe for free.

E-mail this story Write a letter to the Editor Printer-friendly version Permission to reprint/republish del.icio.us [ What's this? ] digg [ What's this? ]

By all accounts, he's still the humble friar with a thirst for prayer and a clear sense of mission, but after several jobs bearing increased responsibility, he's been thrust into a demanding role played out under a merciless spotlight.

"Being Archbishop of Boston," he recently wrote in the diocesan newspaper, The Pilot, "is like living in a fishbowl made out of magnifying glass."

When the pope named O'Malley archbishop a year ago, Boston's Catholic community was dispirited and alienated by the sexual-abuse scandal that had dragged on for 1-1/2 years without sign of progress. Addressing that crisis, which had undermined the moral authority of the American church, was O'Malley's urgent priority.

But he was soon embroiled, too, in the clamor around the Massachusetts court decision legalizing same-sex marriage. And then, another layer: The shifting fortunes of the Boston Archdiocese made it imperative, he decided, to move quickly with the largest "reconfiguration" of parishes yet seen in the US, a plan that will close some 60 churches by the end of 2004.

"Archbishop O'Malley has taken the people of Boston on an emotional roller coaster," says James Post, president of Voice of the Faithful, a Boston-based national lay organization.

One year after his arrival, O'Malley has shown a decisiveness that those who know him call very much in character. But while aspects of his performance have been hailed by both laity and clergy, that decisiveness has also stirred strong emotions in its wake - particularly with regard to the ongoing parish closings.

Heading the fourth-largest archdiocese in the country may not be a job O'Malley would have chosen, but some people insist he is the right man to do it.

"If anyone in the American hierarchy today can do what needs to be done, it is he," says Russell Shaw, a former spokesman for the US Conference on Catholic Bishops. "He's a bona fide pastoral bishop who readily and gladly reaches out to people, which is important in the healing and reconciling process."

Indeed, O'Malley had already acted to right the ship in two other dioceses roiled by clergy abuse cases - Fall River, Mass., and Palm Beach, Fla. - and his arrival in Boston in his trademark brown robe and sandals to sit down immediately with victims of abuse brought an almost audible sigh of relief.

Hopes rose even higher when he switched lawyers and showed up at a late-night negotiating session to break the logjam and reach an $85 million settlement with more than 500 abuse victims.

O'Malley then moved out of the opulent archbishop's residence into a city neighborhood near the cathedral, and sold the mansion and surrounding property for $107 million to pay for the settlement.

"We needed a leader who could bring people together and resolve things as quickly as possible," says Philip Moran, a prominent lawyer in Salem, Mass. "He bites the bullet and does what he thinks needs to be done. That's the sign of a true leader."

Boston Catholics are now watching to see how their leader will go about the longer-term process of restoring trust. Archbishop Sean, as he prefers to be called, clearly was sent to Boston to set things in order pastorally and financially. The question for many is whether he will go beyond that and grapple with the deeper issues many see troubling the church, issues which may have contributed to the crisis. The US bishops themselves seem divided over what is required, discussing it behind closed doors during their semiannual meeting this month in Denver.

One key to the man can be found in the Latin motto he chose for his coat of arms as archbishop, which reads in English: "Do whatever he tells you." Those are the words of Jesus' mother to the servants at the wedding in Cana, before the changing of water into wine. They are a guiding principle of his life, O'Malley once told a Franciscan magazine. When a superior asks him to do something, he added, he interprets it as God's will.

Such an unwavering stance leads some people to the conclusion that O'Malley is unlikely to apply his renowned problem-solving skills to effecting deep reform.

"The man is not doing stuff to ingratiate himself with Rome so he'll get a promotion - nobody suspects that," says Thomas Groome, director of Boston College's Institute for Pastoral Ministry. "[But] he's significantly to the right of center ... and I don't think he will lead a great renewal or a program of reform in the Boston church."

Others are more critical. "The appointment of Archbishop O'Malley has been successful for the institution, but has done little to resolve the problems of victims and their families," says Bill Gately, coordinator of SNAP (Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests). "The settlement is a positive step ... but the problem is [church leaders] don't see it for what it is - a systemic problem in the governing body of the institution."

Still, many who know this obedient son of the church well say he's exceptionally capable: a highly educated man who speaks six languages and knows how to get things done, and a holy man who finds his joy in prayer and in helping people.

Jack Healey, founder of Amnesty International, was a fellow seminarian in the Franciscan Capuchin order in the 1960s, and says he admired O'Malley from Day 1.

"The rest of us were like ballplayers hoping to become priests; he was like a little priest growing into a big one," Mr. Healey says. While classmates were studying extra hours, "he also reached into the community and started a painting company for ex-cons."

Healey also recalls that "Shags," the name bestowed on O'Malley when he grew his beard, took the several thousand dollars of an inheritance from his grandmother and "literally gave that money out on the street."

It was during the 1960s that the Second Vatican Council initiated reforms in Catholicism - in areas such as the roles of clergy and laity, liturgy, and church governance - that spurred deep division within the church; O'Malley has remained a conservative while Healey became very progressive. Yet they've stayed lifelong friends.

"I'd like him to be more progressive, but he's the real thing - a holy man on a holy journey. He disarms you with his humility," Healey says.

While O'Malley is conservative on doctrine and issues of morality, most would call him liberal on social justice - a man very much in the mold of Pope John Paul II. He hasn't missed an antiabortion march in Washington, even if it meant plowing through snow in his sandals and socks, friends say. He has also championed the rights of immigrants and the marginalized throughout his ministry. The weekend after his installation as bishop in Palm Beach, "he was not celebrating Mass in the cathedral, but in the fields with migrant workers," says longtime friend Mary Conway, a Catholic journalist.

Born in Ohio and schooled in Pennsylvania, O'Malley went to Washington after seminary for a master's degree in religious education and a PhD in Spanish and Portuguese literature at Catholic University. (So strong are his linguistic skills that the pope once took him to Cuba as his interpreter.)

O'Malley's hopes for a foreign assignment were dashed when he was asked to head the Spanish Catholic Center in Washington, providing social services to the burgeoning Latin American immigrant community. Yet he found that made him happy, says his sister, Mary Alexsovich. "My father always said [Sean] would have made a wonderful diplomat in the State Department, but he's much happier in his sandals and robe flying down the street answering calls from immigrants who need a hand."

Concerned about the abuse faced by many Latin American women who worked as domestics, "Padre Sean" started an underground railroad for battered and exploited women, which was featured on ABC's "20/20."

His work with the homeless attracted the attention of Raymond Flynn, then mayor of Boston and head of the US Conference of Mayors' committee on hunger and homelessness. "He's not someone who looks for the limelight; he just goes about the job," says Mr. Flynn.

"A Puerto Rican friend used to joke that when Father Sean was first named to the [Washington] job, the Hispanics said, 'Why do we need an Irishman?' " Ms. Conway says. "But by the time he was sent to another post, they all had little statues of St. Francis in their homes because they looked like Father Sean."

Next: Profile of Sean Patrick O'Malley continues