Oct 17

Oct 17 Forgiving the wolves

You may remember that, a couple of months ago, several of us tried to stop the scandalous and heartbreaking elevation of San Diego’s Bishop Robert McElroy to Cardinal. We presented irrefutable proof of his knowledge and cover-up of satanic ritual abuse and blasphemous rape by one of his priests, Jacob Bertrand (who pled guilty, was laicized, and is now serving ten years probation). Our attempts to stop the elevation were, of course, unsuccessful. None of us really expected that the lavender mafia machine could be stopped, but woe to us if we hadn’t at least tried. God will not judge any of us by our successes, but only by our faithfulness.

The sickening day of elevation came and passed, and we all went back to our normal lives. The faithful saw it as just one more injustice in a catalog of injustices too numerous to count. For Rachel Mastrogiacomo, the injustice was personal, but even she was at peace, knowing that she had said and done all she could to prevent the man who covered up her abuse from rising to the highest ranks of the Church. She had fought the good fight with courage, and it was over now.

That is, until she woke up just a few days ago, on the morning of October 13, the anniversary of Our Lady of Fatima’s Miracle of the Sun. There was one more knife wound inflicted by the hierarchy, but this time from an unexpected source: San Francisco’s Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone, one of the precious few “good guys.”

As the number of practicing Catholics continues to plummet (thanks to the past fifty years of neglect, abuse, and malfeasance by our spiritual fathers), and as the remaining faithful are disillusioned and betrayed on the regular, one wonders if there are any shepherds left who are not closet wolves, feeding on the sheep. Are these men truly evil? Are they merely ignorant? Are they cowards? Or do they simply not believe? Maybe a combination? Who knows why each of the bishops does what he does to wound the sheep, but the result is the same. Cataclysmic loss of faith among the flock, and immeasurable loss of souls.

And yet the truly faithful will not abandon Christ, His Church, and the obligations of our Faith, which includes forgiveness. Rachel wrote this letter on the day she discovered the latest blow: Archbishop Cordileone’s evening of celebration in honor of the new Cardinal, Robert McElroy:

October 13, 2022
Our Lady of Fatima – Miracle of the Sun

In the early hours of the morning, I discovered that, on October 27, 2022, Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone will be hosting an evening of celebration in honor of Cardinal McElroy’s elevation to the cardinalate. I felt unexpectedly stabbed in the back by this. In fact, it was even more excruciating than the events of this past summer. You see, at least I saw Francis' betrayal coming. This, however, is the kind of knife wound that actually kills you. For instance, the betrayal by my friends hurt more than the abuse by my enemy, and Archbishop Cordileone’s complicity feels like salt in that very wound. I cried to heaven before the rising of the sun, “What are these men trying to do, stab me right out of the Church?” I raged and wailed and tried to do everything in my power not to wake my sleeping children.

Years ago, when I began processing my trauma, I discovered this Hemingway quote: “The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable: they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.” I have always wanted to strive for these things and never compromise the virtues that have made me vulnerable; you know—the stuff that makes me “Rachel.” My very name is Hebrew for “lamb,” and it was precisely because of my lamblike innocence that I was led to the slaughterhouse by wicked men inside the Church. They wanted to devour me because I was pure, not because I was “easy.” I have been wounded by this brood of vipers over and over again. In fact, the stabbing just doesn’t seem to stop.

First, of course, I was groomed and ritually raped by a Satanic priest. Second, Bishop McElroy protected him and covered up the dark crimes he committed against me. Third, after I finally reported the crimes to law enforcement, my duped friends took his side and bullied me into the plea agreement. My rapist, of course, skipped right out of jail. And alas, seeing Francis put that red hat on top of McElroy’s head on that dreadful Saturday in August felt like a global display of my nothingness, a declaration to the whole world that “Rachel Mastrogiacomo does not matter!” It was like I did not even exist. My heart bled hard that Saturday. In an effort to keep my promise never to bleed publicly, I chose to bear my humiliation alone that day and only with those I trust most. But I will tell you this. In the dark hours after McElroy’s elevation to the red hat, as I scrubbed toilets and wept, I revealed the depths of my sorrow to a good and holy priest who made an awfully daring suggestion. He saw the excruciating pain in my swollen bloodshot eyes and asked that I offer it for priests. And I responded, “joyfully.”

Joy is impossible without forgiveness.

In the wee hours of this morning, while it was still dark, I realized a number of things as my joy came under siege. In light of Archbishop Cordileone’s celebration of the crook who covered up the crimes committed against me, I came to terms with the brutal guarantee that these things are destined to continue. Because the hierarchical Catholic Church is sick to the core, and because clergy sex abuse survivors face unending consequences as a result of the current sickness, I must make the decision to either flee in the face of all this or continue to get flogged. For me, choosing to remain Roman Catholic feels like an actual decision to get flogged until the day I die.

As I came to terms with all of this, Christ called me to forgive. I cried, “But I haven’t even processed any of this yet! I have barely processed Francis' betrayal this past August! How can I forgive in the very midst of it all?” Right when I thought it was inconceivable to forgive in the very midst of experiencing the injury, Jesus gently reminded me that He forgave as He bled. From the cross, He said, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” And so with His enormous help, and because of a wave of supernatural encouragement from on high, I forgave. I forgave McElroy and Francis and Cordileone all at once. This morning, for the first time in my life, I forgave as I bled. Then I went back to sleep.

Joy always comes in the morning. I awoke to the sun pouring gloriously through my bedroom window. When I realized it was October 13, the anniversary of the Miracle of the Sun at Fatima, I jumped out of bed and lifted my hands to heaven so as to run into the arms of my Queen. As I basked in the sunlight with my arms outstretched, the warmth of Mary’s mantle enveloped me. Instead of spending today agonizing over Archbishop Cordileone’s disgusting celebration of a complicit cardinal, I have spent it in recourse to Our Lady of Fatima. When tempted toward anger or unforgiveness toward these men, the Queen of Heaven reminds me to think only of eternity. If I make it to heaven, it will be because I crawled my way there, beaten and bruised, rejoicing over every wound inflicted upon me by corrupt and complicit clergy. This is how I fight my battles; this is how I remain a joyful Catholic in communion with Holy Mother Church despite their many attempts to bully me out.

I forgive because Christ forgave.