That’s because, despite being an old St. Bon’s boy and a member of the Catholic Church in more or less good standing,  whatever was visited upon the Church these days was somehow a case of the chickens coming home to roost. 

It was a form of belated delayed justice. Now the actual perpetrators of hideous crimes against children at Mount Cashel have mostly gone to judgment and some of them are shoveling coal in Hell, but it is right and fitting that compensation to their victims has been ordered and there’s a piper that’s to be finally paid. 

Now I did watch with interest as some people in other parishes complained their properties were in danger of being sold when they, the parishioners, had done so much fundraising to keep their parishes going and now might have their churches sold out from under them to pay for crimes in which they had absolutely no part or knowledge.

Now I tell you any attempts by people associated with a liquidation of assets, while decent and honourable, have their pleas fall on my deaf ears when they see themselves as somehow “victims.”

I know a victim when I see one and there’s the haunting image of little boys crying in a dorm at places like Mount Cashel that haunt my thoughts; not church buildings going on sale.  

All of that’s prelude now to the news that a Catholic consortium has successfully purchased the Basilica, St. Bonaventure’s private school and the St. Bon’s Forum. The purchasing group raised millions of dollars, although it’s yet to be approved by a judge. I was approached for a donation by the fundraising appeal. 

A suggested donation was ten thousand dollars or a smaller amount. I did not donate ten thousand dollars because I do not have it and I can tell you here I did not give a smaller amount because I did not want to. 

 Now here’s what’s interesting is that despite my intellectual disinterest in saving the Basilica from turning into a condominium and the other properties falling into secular hands, when the decision was announced I felt an emotional sigh of relief. That’s the hold the Church has on me. On some level I want St. Bon’s to be there. I want the Basilica to be there glowering out over the harbour of St. John’s. I find solace in the fact that at least I did not give them any money.      

NTV’s Jim Furlong can be reached by emailing: jfurlong@ntv.ca

As some prepare to celebrate Easter with family and friends this year, others won’t be gathered about tables piled high with food and sweets. 

Facing a variety of mental health challenges, addictions and life’s circumstances, many of our fellow Newfoundlanders and Labradorians will spend the holy season quietly at home, or in safe havens like The Gathering Place in St. John’s. 

While there’s a whole host of reasons for being or feeling isolated, for too many the cause stems from abuse. 

The former Mount Cashel Orphanage, operated by the Irish Christian Brothers, is sadly well known for the abuse some of its staff and clergy inflicted upon young boys in their care during the 1940s, ‘50s and 60s. 

Described as Tragic

On Feb. 15th, 1989 the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary re-opened its 1975 investigation into child abuse on those premises. Soon after, the provincial government of the day established a Royal Commission, headed by retired Ontario Supreme Court Judge, Samuel Hughes, to investigate what occurred. 

What was uncovered could only be described as tragic, and bottom line, despite multiple and repeated complaints to authorities, everyone – from multiple government officials to the police to local newspapers – ignored what was being reported. Now, a generation later, following court battles galore, the local Catholic Church prepares to sell off many of their assets to pay restitution to those who suffered. 

As a result, many churches throughout the province will not be holding mass inside their stained-glass buildings this Easter season. The list of buildings and churches being sold to pay for the sins of those few in charge back in the day is long and few communities are spared.  

Basilica Complex will be sold. So too will St. Patrick’s and St. Teresa’s Parish churches. Corpus Christi, St. Pius X, the church that held so many heartfelt tribute services to those lost on the Ocean Ranger, Mary Queen of Peace Parish will all be sold. St. Edwards in Kelligrews too. Holy Family? Gone. St. Peter’s, St. Francis of Assisi, Holy Trinity. The list goes on. And the emotional impact is real. 

Generations were married in these churches. Children were baptized and received their first Holy Communion. Loved ones were laid to rest. Thousands upon thousands of school children over the years twisted and turned and squirmed in their wooden pews near friends doing the same as they were taught the rosary and learned to recite the well known prayer that begins, “Our Father…” as part of their schooling. Memories were made. 

Laughter was shared. Tears were shed. 

Feel the pain

Now? It’s all gone. What makes this tale of abuse and restitution even more sad is that none of this will go far enough. 

Lawyer Geoff Budden, who represents survivors, has said he’s pleased the Catholic Church is moving ahead selling assets to pay the awarded claim, which includes the Archbishop’s residence in Outer Cove, but the properties sold won’t go near far enough. 

The total judgement was for $2.7 million, to be split between four men, but the claims are not complete and there’s well over 60 more men from Budden’s law firm alone that require compensation for abuse suffered at the hands of those in a position of power within the Catholic church. Tragic. Sad. Terrible. 

It’s all those things, but while my heart breaks for all those who suffered abuse, I can’t help but feel the pain of the many parishioners who, though no fault of their own, following decades of faithful attendance and church dues, must now walk away from their church, never to return again. 

While restitution usually means dollar signs, it’s so clear that the costs runs so much higher than monetary.

Pam Pardy, The Herald’s Managing Editor, can be reached by emailing pghent@nfldherald.com

It took two years, but my daughter finally had her confirmation. Who knew, when the process first began back in 2019, that COVID would dare mess with Christ’s work and make gathering inside a church taboo. Suddenly the body and blood of Christ became forbidden fruit, and sharing a sip from a communal cup of wine and sharing the peace with one another are the worst things to be at. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, folks.

The pandemic and its fallout was the final straw that got my sister, a nurse, to pack up and leave Ontario with her two youngest and return to ‘The Rock.’ As a result, my niece had an opportunity to join my daughter’s confirmation class in year two of an attempt to begin their Christian journey on their own steam.

CROOKED AS SIN & TOGETHER WITH KIN

At first, the gruesome twosome was a sorry-looking pair. When the classes resumed, they were literally crooked as sin as I dragged their sorry arses to church one early morning to restart the dragged-on pivotal process. When the priest asked my niece what she likes to do, she gloomily replied, ‘sleep,’ in reference to the fact I had dragged her pitiful behind out of bed before noon on a Sunday. At least she answered.

My daughter scowled and, using her best resting you-know-what face said nothing. I answered for her, out of pure horror, and said, ‘movies. She likes movies.’ The reverend, obviously used to facing evil, dared ask her, ‘Oh? And what kind of movies do you like?’ to which she replied, ‘movies about murder.’ Nice. This is going well.

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LOVE LOCKDOWN

Another COVID local lockdown meant that classes moved online, and at first, the girls had to be dragged along to attend each and every one. For one, I chased them around the house with my phone playing the Facebook Live classroom of Christ feed. But then one Thursday evening when I was busy being busy, I heard something going on in the background: Sunday School Class! And I didn’t even need to give a reminder.

At the rehearsal, the girls who had grumbled and refused to participate gleefully accepted church scripture readings and sang songs praising the Lord, including enthusiastic hand gestures. Hallelujah! The ladies shopped for clothing worthy of a solemn church service too, taking quite seriously the significant occasion. Yet still, we joked and tormented. My sister and I enjoyed telling people that Elia and Claire “needed Jesus” and wouldn’t be able to make it to music class or to some other event that coincided with that week’s confirmation class.

HIGHWAY TO HUMOUR

Finally, the big day arrived and the girls were actually excited. They made sure anyone who couldn’t make it to the service because of location or COVID restrictions received the live link to follow along and they dressed to impress. They did their readings, they sang, and they held their candle with pride. Of course, the Lord always works in mysterious ways and loves to demonstrate His sense of humour.

On the way to the service, I turned on the radio only to hear Highway to Hell. I turned it up on bust, naturally.

LEMON PIES & COUNTRY SKIES

For more proof that miracles do happen, I’ve had the makings of a lemon pie on my counter for over a week. I just hadn’t gotten around to actually making it. A few hours before the service, my mother asked if I happened to have an extra tin of tomatoes sitting around for her to use for her supper prep. I did, and, mostly as a joke, I also passed down my abandoned pie supplies. She raised an eyebrow but took the works.

Half an hour later, mudder popped up with the finished product. She had actually made the pie! ‘Ask and ye shall receive,’ my mom said, and we ate the pie for dessert before heading off to church.

Mom may not have turned water into wine — which by the way would have really impressed me because I was sadly out of vino — but she did turn lemon pie mix into a lemon pie, and the girls, by eventually buying into the whole confirmation process totally on their own, turned their original sour lemons into sweet tasting lemonade.

Amen!

For more by Pam Pardy, click here!