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A shepherd's trials
O'Malley's skills were widely noted, and in 1984 he was made a bishop and sent to the US Virgin Islands. Colleagues say fidelity to his faith and to people, and an immense sense of responsibility for the spiritual welfare of his flock mark his work as a bishop. On St. Thomas, he encouraged women to start a center dealing with domestic violence. Hurricane Hugo hit the islands in 1989, causing widespread devastation. Warned of the storm's approach to St. Croix, O'Malley headed there so a local disabled priest would not be on his own.
"The island was practically wiped out - 85 percent of roofs gone, not a leaf left on a tree," says Conway, who had gone to St. Thomas to help start a diocesan newspaper. O'Malley personally drove to every parish to check on people. He took on the task of raising funds for rebuilding, and even cooked a macaroni-and-tuna casserole for a reporter who flew in to do a story.
Yet the energetic friar does have his quirks. His sister teases him about his un-Franciscan lack of fondness for cats. Nuns who worked in the St. Thomas chancery owned cats that were free to roam, she says. One day, a poor man came in off the street and was pouring out his heart to the bishop, when a cat jumped onto the man's lap. The bishop pulled a squirt gun out of his desk and sent the cat scurrying. "I told him St. Francis would never do that," Alexsovich recalls with a laugh. "He said, 'I know, they didn't have squirt guns then.' "
When he's not being a shepherd, O'Malley likes to gather friends for a movie and popcorn, and he loves sharing music, particularly classical and opera. "He took me to my first opera, 'Madame Butterfly,' when I was in sixth grade," his sister says. He used to play piano and harpsichord, but no longer has time. Reading is his great solace, friends say. He's an avid scrounger in bookstores.
When the major sexual-abuse case of the Rev. James Porter broke in 1992 in Fall River, Mass., O'Malley was moved to the heavily Portuguese-speaking diocese. There he won plaudits - even from plaintiffs' lawyers - for reaching out to victims, gaining a quick settlement, and instituting a diocesan policy to prevent future abuse. He visited victims in their homes and listened to their stories, a pattern he has continued.
He also showed that "he's not afraid to put his toe in turbulent waters," says Krysten Winter-Green, a psychologist who ran homeless shelters for the diocese in the Virgin Islands. O'Malley asked her to come to Fall River and set up an HIV/AIDS ministry. "That was a very brave step then," says Dr. Winter-Green.
When the Boston scandal broke in 2002, abuse victims began coming forward from across the country, and the pope sent O'Malley to Palm Beach to take over after two bishops had to resign for their own sexual misconduct. A mere 10 months later, after getting repairs under way, he was tapped for the Boston job.
Calling the challenge "overwhelming," he appealed to Boston Catholics to work together "to repair the church."
Further than ever, perhaps, from his ideal job, the archbishop faces immense tasks in simultaneously seeking to reconcile a deeply hurting Catholic community while putting the archdiocese's fiscal house in order in the face of declining attendance and contributions and a serious clergy shortage. But he was handed yet another challenge when the state Supreme Court last fall called it unconstitutional to disallow same-sex marriage, shifting the national spotlight again to Boston.
O'Malley waded into the emotional waters, working with other church leaders to take a stand on marriage and press the legislature to support a state constitutional amendment. The church's lobbying arm waged a vigorous campaign in parishes and at the State House, and O'Malley spoke at a rally on Boston Common.
"The pressure from the church has been higher than anything previously experienced, even on abortion or assisted suicide," says Maurice Cunningham, associate professor of political science at the University of Massachusetts in Boston. "The archbishop spurred an unusually strong effort to get priests to speak from the pulpit, and legislators heard not only from constituents but [in some cases] from their own parish priests."
Many Catholics cheered his effort. "It took a lot of courage to speak at the rally; it wasn't politically popular going against the trend," says Flynn, the former mayor and former US ambassador to the Vatican. Others were distressed, however, that he had shared the stage with stridently antigay groups, and worried that the effort was divisive. Almost 70 percent of the Bay State's legislators are Catholic, but many did not back the church's stance against same-sex marriage and civil unions. They passed a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage but allow civil unions with the same benefits. It must be approved by public referendum in 2006 before it can go into effect.
Today, the need persists to bring about healing in the aftermath of the abuse scandal. Programs to protect children are in place in parishes and schools, but more victims are coming forward, and lawyers say it's not clear how the archdiocese will respond. O'Malley has been meeting once or twice a week with victims, but some who have been most vocal during the crisis say they haven't been able to see him.
"We developed a list of ideas, and hoped to meet with him and say, 'We know what survivors want and can help you do the things that will help us heal,' " says Ann Hagan Webb, coordinator of a survivors' group. When they wrote directly to him seeking a meeting, she says, they were told they should work through the pastoral-outreach office.
"He hasn't met with some people because there's a feeling there are other agendas and it will be turned into a media event," says the Rev. Christopher Coyne, archdiocese spokesman. (The archbishop also has recently declined direct interviews with the media.)
O'Malley has had a cordial meeting with leaders of Voice of the Faithful, the lay group formed to spur change in the church in the wake of the scandal. He hasn't fully embraced the group, however, indicating a concern about the "ambiguity" of its change agenda. The archdiocese has responded to requests for more fiscal accountability with published financial reports, says the group's Dr. Post.
Where Archbishop Sean has enthusiastically spent time is in parish visits. The Rev. Louis Bourgeois of St. Paul's Church in Hamilton, Mass., says he was astonished to find how easy it was to arrange one last December - with a single phone call.
"We've been through a tough time, and the visit meant so much to people; it brought hope and insight into what the church can be," says Father B, as he is known to his parishioners. After his sermon, O'Malley stood at the door and met each parishioner. The church was so packed that people had to park blocks away.
The archbishop's lack of pretense, and willingness to listen, have lifted the spirits of other local priests demoralized by the scandal. He's held regional meetings with them and reformed a diocesan council, giving priests a more active voice, says the Rev. Walter Cuenin of Newton, Mass. But the parish closures have been devastating, as priests lose church homes and are shocked to find that even some financially healthy parishes are part of the downsizing. With more than one-third of parishes operating in the red, numerous churches requiring expensive repairs, and 130 pastors over 70 years of age, O'Malley said he was compelled to act. He set up a process that began with local committees of lay people and clergy making recommendations, which then went up through regional and diocesan committees. Taking care "not to place the burden on the backs of the poor," he distributed closings across the archdiocese. But many parishes are planning appeals,
and many people question why it all had to be done at once.
"Even though he gained credibility because of his actions and simple lifestyle, this is one of the toughest things a bishop ever has to do," says the Rev. Thomas Reese, editor of America, a national Catholic weekly.
One year into his new responsibilities, the "bona fide pastoral bishop" has his hands perpetually full. Friends are concerned both about what's being expected of him and his own well-being. "As a spiritual leader, he's being totally wasted on administrative things," Healey says. They've noticed he has lost weight and has no time for a private life.
"He has an inner compass which gives him a kind of serenity - he knows where he needs to go and just keeps going," says his sister. But "this job is testing everything."
Many Boston-area Catholics say they feel the turnaround has begun, but also that they are reserving judgment on the question of restoring trust in the hierarchy. O'Malley replaced Cardinal Bernard Law, but others involved in the scandal are still in place. And questions remain about why the scandal developed. Boston College involved the broader community in a two-year discussion on that question, but "the church hasn't begun to address that at the deep level," says Dr. Groome.
For his part, Archbishop Sean says every effort at communication is part of the goal of restoring trust. "The archbishop's thought is that if we do what we are supposed to do as a church - the caring, loving, and right thing in every situation - then that in itself will be the best message we can put out," says Father Coyne. "It will take a very long time to reestablish trust, but we are going to do it one person at a time, one act at a time."
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