The Adequacy of Adjudicative Processes in the Roman Catholic Church

 

 

THE ADEQUACY OF ADJUDICATIVE PROCESSES IN THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH

Excerpts are from Beyond the Threshold (1998) by Maria del Carmen Tapia.

Pages 276-77

…Monsignor Escriva began to pace from one side of the room to the other, very agitated, irritated, red, furious, while he declared: “And don’t talk with anybody about the Work nor about Rome. Don’t set your parents against us, because, if I find out that you are saying anything negative about the Work to anybody, I, Jose Maria Escriva de Balaguer, hold the world press in my hands,” and as he said this he made a gesture with his hands confirming the notion. “I will publicly dishonor you. Your name will appear on the front page of every newspaper, because I will personally see to it. It would bring dishonor on you before men and on your own family! Woe to you if you try to alienate your family from the good name of the Work or tell them anything about this!”

He went on: “And don’t return to Venezuela! Don’t even think of writing to anybody there! Because if you even think of going to Venezuela, I will assume the responsibility of telling the Cardinal what you are. And it would dishonor you!” Pacing the room he continued shouting at me: “I was thinking all night about whether to tell you this or not, but I believe it is better that I should tell you.” Looking directly at me, with a dreadful rage, moving his arms toward me as if he was going to hit me, he added at the top of his voice: “You are a wicked woman! A lost woman! Mary Magdalen was a sinner, but you? You are a seductress! I know everything. EVERYTHING! EVEN ABOUT THE VENEZUELAN NEGRO! You are abominable. YOU HAVE A WEAKNESS FOR BLACKS! First with one and then with the other. LEAVE MY PRIESTS ALONE! DO YOU HEAR? LEAVE THEM ALONE! In peace. Don’t meddle with them! You’re wicked! Wicked! Indecent! Come on, look at the business of the Negro! And don’t ask for my blessing because I don’t intend to give it to you!”

Monsignor Escriva went away toward the Relics Chapel. From there he turned around to shout a final insult: “Hear me well! WHORE! SOW!”

I stood stock still, frozen to the spot. I saw and heard everything as if in a nightmare. I did not cry. I did not blink. Within me, while Monsignor Escriva shouted his insults, I had only two thoughts: one that Christ remained silent in the face of accusations; the other that God had liberated me.

Pages 309-11

Within the Women’s Branch, Don Alvaro del Portillo enjoyed respect and affection. He was invariably polite to us and knew how to say “please,” “thank you,” and “excuse me.” Monsignor Escriva very seldom said “please,” and instead of “thank you” he would say, “May God pay you.”

Monsignor Escriva did not have natural good manners. He was rough, brusque, and rude. When he was angry and had someone to reproach, he had no measure of charity in his language. His offensive, violent words profoundly wounded persons. I remember vividly when I went to the Vatican in 1973 and visited His Eminence Cardinal Arturo Tavera, then prefect of the Sacred Congregation of Religious and Secular Institutes, he asked how many years I had spent in Opus Dei, and when I told him eighteen, he commented: “And you needed eighteen years to realize how rude Jose Maria Escriva is?”

His language was frequently crude.

…A former Opus Dei male numerary recalls [an] incident that took place in Pamplona, Spain, in the presence of at least fifty male numeraries. Seated in front of the group, Monsignor Escriva unbuttoned his cassock to take off a sweater (the day was warm) and remarked: “Well, I already have the behind of an abbess.” Then he dressed himself again in public.

What wounded me most deeply during the last months in Rome leading up to my dismissal were not Monsignor Escriva’s scoldings and violent insults but his lack of charity. He put his rank of president general and his prestige as Founder ahead of his priestly role. There was never a shadow of a doubt that I might be innocent; he passed judgment and sentence without hearing me, based on assessments of other people.

…The Father’s scoldings were famous throughout the Work. He was saintly before the multitudes, frequently calling himself a sinner, but he was capable of the most terrible insults for the slightest reason. For instance, if a fried egg was not done to his taste, he would abuse the director of the house. If an altar cloth did not hang exactly at the stipulated number of centimeters above the floor, he was capable of scolding the director; similarly, he would go into a rage if there was noise in the kitchen when the pots and pans were scrubbed. However you could not write in the house diary, “The Father was angry or caused a row,” but had to say: “The Father taught us this or that today.”

One of the best descriptions of Monsignor Escriva’s character was given by Alberto Moncada, who wrote that the Father “is charming, pleasant, and persuasive when one is on his side. He is intolerant, intractable, and crude when his standards are not accepted.”

…Power and high office attracted Monsignor Escriva. He claimed, “I am a descendant of a princess from Aragon,” and claimed that the famous sixteenth-century Aragonese physician and heretic, Miguel Servet, was an ancestor. By his express order, shields of his seven noble surnames were engraved near the main altar of the Basilica of Torreciudad in the vicinity of Barbastro, his birthplace.

…He took care that we were frequently reminded that he was “the Founder.” “In my life I have known several popes,” he would say, “many cardinals, a pile of bishops, but only one Founder—me.” Then he often added: “God will demand much of you for having known me.”

Commentary

What stands out in Maria del Carmen Tapia’s account is the injustice, egregiously so, of the entire procedure as described. There is a pronounced asymmetry between Saint Josemaria Escriva and the accused—he holds an inordinate amount of power—he is the prosecutor, judge, and executioner. He exercises his power abusively, without due process.

Page 244

During my confidence and even in my confession there were insinuations that I had done terrible things in Venezuela, letting me understand that they went against the Father and the spirit of the Work. But again I pressed and requested specifics so that I might amend and repent of them; the only answer I got was: how was it possible that I didn’t realize? Nobody went beyond that or specified anything to me.

Pages 248-49

“These people have told me,” Monsignor Escriva said, pointing his finger at the central directress and the other two advisors present, “that you have received the news that you are not going back to Venezuela with hysteria and tears.” Beside himself, he shouted at me, “Very bad spirit! You are not going back to Venezuela, because your work has been individualistic and bad! And you have murmured against my documents! Against my documents you have murmured!”

His anger affected his breathing, and he held his clenched fist close to my face. “This is serious! Serious! Serious! I admonish you canonically. Let it be so recorded,” he said, directing his words to Javier Echevarria…. “Next time,” continued Monsignor Escriva, “you are out!...And don’t cry, because your trouble is that you are proud, proud, proud...”

…I stood frozen. I did not budge. The central directress said angrily: “What unpleasantness you are causing the Father!”

…I could not believe what I heard and saw. That good, affectionate Father, whom I had dearly loved, for whom I had done everything in my life since coming to Opus Dei, had just formulated an admonition with the threat of expelling me from Opus Dei. I could not accept that Monsignor Escriva could be so harsh and not allow me the opportunity to speak to him alone, listening and questioning me before judging me in public. It was a trial with no defense but only prosecution. Above all, I was hurt by the Father’s manners, his lack of understanding, or more precisely, his lack of charity.

I kept repeating his phrase: “Next time, you’re out,” but still could not believe it.

Page 259

I was beginning to feel utterly exhausted. I thought I was being treated unjustly, but in order to repent I needed to know the specifics of my sins. I asked for examples again and again, and they never gave any. Everything was left hanging in the air; the accusations were serious but always couched in vague terms.

Pages 270-71

He picked up a half sheet of paper that he had in front of him and adjusting his eyeglasses said to me, “They tell me that you write Ana Maria Gibert, that woman, that wicked woman! And that you have a post office box here in Rome.”

He left the eyeglasses on the table and began shouting at me: “What is this, you great hypocrite, you deceiver, wicked woman!”

I answered him: “Yes, Father, I have written Ana Maria Gibert, but she is not a wicked woman.”

Monsignor Escriva went on reading from the sheet: “And that procuress Gladys, that sow, let her come in!”

Gladys was the Venezuelan numerary who helped me with the mail. She entered the sessions chamber completely pale. Without any preamble, Monsignor Escriva began to shout at her: “Do you take letters to the post office for her, for this wicked woman? Do you comprehend the gravity of what you have done?”

Gladys remained silent. But Monsignor Escriva insisted: “Answer! ANSWER!”

Gladys[,] unimpressed, remained silent, so I intervened. “Yes, Gladys, say you have taken some letters for me.”

After that Gladys said: “Yes, Father,” and she fell silent. Monsignor Escriva breathed deeply before going on. “You will no longer work for the central advisory. You will not set foot upstairs, on the advisory office floor. Let them find you some other job in the house. And now, go to your room and don’t leave it for any reason! Do you hear? For any reason!

When Gladys left the sessions chamber, Monsignor Escriva told the central directress and Marlies Kücking in the presence of the priests already mentioned: “After this, take that one,” he said, referring to Gladys, “lift up her skirt, take down her panties, and whack her on the behind until she talks. MAKE HER TALK!”

Addressing me, Monsignor Escriva shouted: “I give you the second admonition, hypocrite. You write me a letter on my saint’s day telling me you want to begin again, and this is what you do to me! Tell these people everything, everything. You’re a bad piece of work! I warn you that I’m waiting for some affidavits from Venezuela, and you’ll find out what’s trouble! You’re a wicked woman, sleazy, scum! That’s what you are! Now go! I don’t want to see you!”

It is impossible to explain my state of mind. I was terrified. Leaving the sessions chamber, I had no idea of what they might do to me, and they gave me no time to think coherently.

…I do not know what they wanted me to confess about my time in Venezuela. From the drift of their questions I had the impression that they were referring to something sexual, but they were never explicit. I did my best to cooperate, but since my conscience did not trouble me regarding this unknown thing, their questions were incomprehensible.

A standard question was: “Let’s see. Have you thought of anything you haven’t yet said?” If I answered: “But, about what?” “But how can you have such a coarse conscience? Try to think of something you didn’t tell us about.” And so on.

Page 273

Gathering all my courage, I told her that I had come to Rome believe in the Work and in the Father, that I was without personal problems of any kind, but they had organized a gigantic problem for me with their behavior. If I had done anything wrong, let them tell me so that I might repent. But they continued without being specific, despite the scoldings they gave me.

Commentary

In Tapia’s narrative, Escriva sets the agenda, while his followers—his enablers—dutifully second his aggression, practically mindlessly, compounding his accusatory jag.

Those who have many years of experience dealing with Opus Dei from the outside will probably be baffled and naturally aghast at Tapia’s appalling treatment.

Those who have already been mashed inside Opus Dei’s meat grinder—former numeraries, principally—will, on the other hand, be able to clarify for us Tapia’s crimes as seen through Escriva’s distorted lens.

Tapia did not follow down to the letter Escriva’s long-distance directives from Rome, as she herself admits, for example—

Page 249

“My comments were…open, and in the course of my official responsibilities, with the superiors of the Venezuelan regional government, when notes arrived laying down obligations, as for example: ‘Our members will make a monthly outing to the countryside.’ Since Venezuela does not have a countryside but a jungle, we interpreted the notes by going to private beaches at times when they were not crowded, taking advantage of an apartment loaned by a friend or cooperator.”

Her “disobedience,” in Escriva’s eyes, is a capital crime.

Tapia was genuinely bewildered that her commonsense rejection of Escriva’s poorly informed directives sent from thousands of miles away should be faulted.

Escriva pounced on whatever sexual feelings she might have betrayed for Father Panikkar and one unnamed Venezuelan priest of Opus Dei, both of whom were dark-skinned, the latter who had spoken on her behalf.

Should we censure Tapia for her inadvertent feelings, which, after all, she had never allowed to progress into the forbidden?

Tapia observes that in Opus Dei, neurotic attitudes toward sexuality developed among female celibate members.

Page 220

“…the counselor [of Venezuela] insisted that we try to recruit very young girls. He believed that it was better for a girl ‘to come to Opus Dei without the slightest experience,’ meaning sexual experience. I was quite opposed to such young vocations, because the lack of normal contact with boys caused fantasies that complicated matters in the long run, since the girls tended to develop either exaggerated scrupulosity or a fanaticism leading them later on to harsh judgments about their sisters.

“…The principle I drew from my observations was that the women who had had a normal social life dealing with young men were more realistic about what they were leaving when they entered Opus Dei. …Quite a few numeraries, discussing chastity, told me that they regretted never having kissed a man. Some who had joined Opus Dei at a very young age reacted to Monsignor Escriva’s words often repeated in meditations: ‘We have to love Jesus Christ with our hearts of flesh,’ unleashing their repressed sexuality as they kissed the wooden cross in the oratory. That, in my judgment, was more dangerous than having had [a] normal relationship with a young man.”

The Tapia affair, in my view, was handled intemperately by Escriva. Most reprehensibly, her treatment was grossly unjust.