American Catholic priests in the throes of overwork, isolation and scandals

CHICOPEE, Massachusetts – Over a century ago, waves of Catholic immigrants from Ireland, Poland and Quebec settled in Chicopee and other industrial towns in western Massachusetts, helping to build churches, presbyteries and schools to welcome their faith. Today, the priests who lead these churches are under siege due to the stress, challenges and sexual abuse scandals that complicate their lives and those of their fellow priests across the United States.

One of those who tries to persevere is the Reverend Mark Stelzer. He is a professor in a Roman Catholic college in Chicopee, and his chaplain. He frequently attends out-of-state events hosted by a Catholic drug treatment provider, recounting his own recovery from alcoholism.

Over the past year, her busy schedule has become busier. Amid a growing shortage of priests, the Diocese of Springfield appointed him administrator of a parish in Holyoke, Chicopee’s northern neighbor, where he lives alone in a mansion-sized rectory while serving as spiritual leader to the 500 families of St. Jerome’s Church.

“I’m at an age where I thought I would do less rather than do more,” said Stelzer, 62.

Stelzer enjoys being a priest, but he is candid about the ever-changing constraints of his vocation that leave him nostalgic for the priesthood he entered in 1983.

“It was a lot simpler back then,” he said. “There is a real longing, a mourning for the church that was – when there was a greater brotherhood among the priests, and the church was not faced with these scandals that are emerging now every day.”

Stelzer’s concerns echoed those of other priests and some of their psychological helpers, who were interviewed by The Associated Press.

The ripple effect of their church’s long-standing crisis resulting from priestly sexual abuse is weighing on all Catholic clergy in the United States. This has caused many honorable priests to feel an erosion of public support and to question the leadership of some of their bishops. This dismay is often compounded by an increased workload due to the shortage of priests and increased isolation as multi-priest parishes become scarce. They see the trauma first hand. Some priests exercise their ministry in parishes ravaged by armed violence; others frequently preside at funerals for drug overdose victims.

Burnout is an ongoing problem for the clergy of many faiths. But Thomas Plante, a professor of psychology at the University of Santa Clara in California who has examined or treated hundreds of Catholic clerics, sees new forms of it as the sexual abuse crisis persists and many parishioners lose faith in leadership. Catholic.

“You are just trying to be a good priest and now everyone thinks you are a sex offender,” he said. “If you walk through a park with your collar on, people will think you are looking for kids. … Some were spat on.

The Diocese of Springfield, like many in the United States, has a long history of sexual abuse scandals. In the early 1990s, priest Richard Lavigne was defrocked and several of his victims received cash settlements. In 2004, a grand jury indicted Thomas Dupre with two counts of pedophilia shortly after his resignation following a 13-year term as Bishop of Springfield.

Stelzer had hoped the abuse crisis would subside, but it has resurfaced dramatically in the past two years. Allegations of abuse led to the ousting of former Cardinal Theodore McCarrick from the priesthood, and a Pennsylvania grand jury report claimed that about 300 priests abused at least 1,000 children in the state during seven decades.

“It opened up an old wound and now we’re back to zero,” Stelzer said in an interview with College de Notre-Dame des Ormes.

The injury is self-inflicted, said Rev. Philip Schmitter, 74, who served 50 years in Flint, Michigan. His position makes him endearing to an African-American community where he has lived in social housing for three decades to maintain close ties.

“This cover-up, this ‘protect the institution’ was just one type of heinous and totally anti-Christian behavior,” he said.

Two miles north of the Stelzer campus on a recent Sunday, Reverend William Tourigny was preparing for 4:00 p.m. Mass – his fourth and last of the day – in Ste. Rose Church of Lima.

When Tourigny, now 66, was ordained a priest in 1980, the Diocese of Springfield had over 300 priests serving 136 parishes. Since then, the ranks of priests have fallen by more than half and nearly 60 parishes have closed. For Tourigny, this means a lot more funerals to manage, including dozens linked to drug overdoses and heavy alcohol consumption.

Even her own family was scarred: Tourigny says her first cousin’s 27-year-old daughter was killed in circumstances related to her drug addiction.

“But for her addiction, she was a wonderful mother,” Tourigny said.

Tourigny says he worked almost 40 years without a real vacation. For years he has been in therapy sessions, which he describes as “extremely important,” and he strives to minister with compassion without being engulfed in the emotions of those he comforts.

“I can share their pain but I cannot enter it,” he said. “I would be overwhelmed with grief. “

With 2,500 families, the parish of Tourigny is doing relatively well in terms of staff and finances. Yet Tourigny says many Catholics are now suspicious of the church hierarchy due to abuse scandals.

“I was ordained at a time when the church was so alive – there was so much optimism,” he said. “Then things started to change quickly. … The church has lost its credibility and it is difficult to regain it again.

Plante, the California psychologist, says even priests who are deeply devoted to their work are upset.

“Many are angry with the bishops and the institutional church for screwing up – a lot of them feel like they’ve been thrown under the bus,” he said. “They also fear that one of these days someone will accuse them of bad behavior, even if they haven’t done anything wrong. “

Since 1985, according to researchers at Georgetown University, the Catholic population in the United States has grown by almost 20%, but the number of priests has fallen from over 57,000 to less than 37,000. That means more than work for priests, and more priests living alone rather than with colleagues.

Stress, burnout, depression and addictions are among the ailments treated at the St. Luke Institute, a residential treatment center for Catholic clergy and lay leaders, in Silver Spring, Maryland.

The President of St. Luke, Reverend David Songy, is a psychologist who has worked extensively with priests in difficulty. A growing problem, he says, is that new priests are now often assigned to their own parishes within three years, instead of 10 or more in the past, and may be ill-prepared to oversee finances and staff as well as pastoral tasks.

“Some of the young people who come to us – they were overwhelmed and didn’t know how to handle things,” Songy said.

At St. Joseph’s Seminary in Yonkers, New York, there is an increasing emphasis on selecting candidates for their ability to cope with stress and avoid the burnout that now plagues some priests, even early in their term. ministry.

“There is no doubt that these men who present themselves face a very stressful life,” said Reverend Thomas Berg, vice-rector of the seminary.

“On top of that, in some places you don’t feel like their bishop is supporting them,” Berg added. “In many dioceses, priests are essentially treated as subcontractors. “

Police officers, firefighters and paramedics are collectively referred to as first responders. It can be argued that priests deserve this label as well, given the regularity with which they deal with trauma, especially gun violence and the opioid crisis that besieges communities across the country.

Gun violence is the plague that plagues Reverend Mike Pfleger’s parish in an African-American neighborhood in Chicago.

“It’s a war zone,” says Pfleger, pastor at St. Sabina’s Church since 1981. “Child funerals are the most difficult for me. “

Now 70 years old, Pfleger says his health is good and his job rewarding. Still, he says he and his colleagues risk being overwhelmed by the constant crises their neighborhood of Auburn Gresham faces.

“You realize that you can’t help everyone,” he said.

In Brunswick, Ohio, 19 miles southeast of Cleveland, Reverend Robert Stec’s priorities have been shifted, due to the opioid scourge, since he became pastor of St. Ambrose Church in 2005.

In 2016, Brunswick’s Medina County reported 20 opioid-related deaths; Stec presided over six funerals for these victims in a short time.

“We weren’t trained for this in seminary,” he said.