Every Saint a Sinner

by Pearl Solas

  * * *

  As if they had never been interrupted, Father Frank continued like a dam that had burst.

  “Like I was saying, it’s impossible to gather accurate statistics, but we know that many people who fit the clinical definition of pedophilia are empathetic and socially competent, and never act on their impulses. We also know that many people who commit sexual offenses against children and adolescents don’t have a sexual preference for those age categories. Many of those offenders are not, clinically, pedophiles, hebephiles, or ephebephiles.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, Father Frank, but those last two words are Greek to me.”

  Father Frank laughed at Tavis’s unintentional joke. “No, I apologize, Tavis. I assumed they would come up in your work. A hebephile is attracted to pubescent adolescents, and an ephebephile is attracted to post-pubescent adolescents.”

  Father Frank continued. “Where was I? . . . Oh, right. In that unit about paraphilias, I learned that while many pedophiles act on their attraction and sexually abuse children, the majority of people who commit sexual crimes against children are not actually pedophiles. These individuals are motivated by a completely different set of factors, and there’s usually an alignment of antisocial tendencies, opportunity, and lack of impulse control. A predisposition to antisocial behavior is the most common denominator in incidents of child sexual abuse, which means that more offenses against children are committed by anti-social individuals who are not clinical pedophiles than by those of us who fit the clinical definition.”

  The explanation interested Tavis in spite of himself. Father Frank took a pad of paper out of his desk and drew a Venn diagram. In one circle he wrote “Antisocial Tendencies.” In the other, he wrote “Pedophilic Attraction,” and in the overlapping center, “Archetypal Predator.”

  Father Frank explained the relative rarity of this combination, which represented the greatest danger and created the framework for the archetype of the serial child rapist—wholly lacking in empathy and resistant to treatment or reformation. “Some of the most frightening real-world examples of individuals like this are Albert Fish, Earl Bradley, and Jerry Sandusky. These are the men who haunt parents’ dreams and inspire the most shocking books and TV shows. Our culture is revolted by characters like this, but they also generate a deep fascination—the type of train wreck from which we, as media consumers, can’t look away. They make it easy for us to believe that all people who commit sexual offenses against both pre-pubescent children and pubescent or post-pubescent adolescents are pedophiles, that all pedophiles commit sexual offenses against children, that all pedophiles are immune to treatment, and all pedophiles are just slaves to their compulsions. Accepting this framework makes us feel justified in viewing pedophiles as the lowest form of life in our society.

  “It’s no wonder, then, that those of us who recognize some of this within ourselves, who are ashamed of it and know the harm we’re capable of causing, who don’t want to hurt anyone, and who would do anything to change ourselves, realize that our only choice is to tell no one. We can’t seek therapy because, even if we’re clear that we never intend to harm children, we can’t guarantee that therapists won’t decide they have a duty to report.”

  * * *

  When Frankie was in college, and had already resigned himself to a lifetime of shame, isolation, and secrecy, learning more about the nature of his condition gave him hope. He was grateful for confirmation that, although responsible for his actions, he had not chosen the object of his sexual attraction. Even more encouraging: evidence that he did not have to give in to a compulsion and that he could live a purposeful life.

  Frankie felt even more sure about his commitment to living in the service of the One who had pulled him from danger, and who promised redemption and purpose. Frankie’s studies led him to thank God for giving him the nurturing childhood and the tools that had socialized him and that would give him power to resist the compulsion or apathy that might result in acting on his sexual desire.

  * * *

  Father Frank warmed his hands with his coffee cup and looked at the black liquid thoughtfully.

  “I would have loved to put that night when I was sixteen out of my head forever. To live as if it had never happened. I needed to remember it though—both the part that had felt good and the terror and confusion that went along with understanding what that little girl had gone through so that I could feel good. I needed to associate those sensations so that if I was tempted to seek out more photos or videos in search of that pleasure, I would remember what the price would be. I needed to keep that price before me, and that’s why that hard drive has gone with me wherever I’ve gone. I doubt the technology to access the drive still exists. At least I’m sure it’s hard to come by. I haven’t tried to look at the images, anyway—that’s not the point. I keep the drive with me as a reminder of how I contributed to that child’s suffering. Of why it’s so important for me to maintain habits that remind me of God’s promise that I’m not doomed to be a person that takes pleasure in damaging others.”

  * * *

  Frank finished his Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees, moved back to Colberg, and started working as a therapist at his home parish’s Catholic Charities. He admired the director’s ability to manage the overwhelmed and understaffed center with compassion and pragmatism. The mental health clinic was just one part of the larger center Father Anthony directed, but he made all members of the team, including Frank, feel like valued partners in the fight to bring health, safety, and community to those suffering from soul-crushing depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and combinations of these and other invisible illnesses.

  “Father Anthony met briefly every week with each staff member, and I treasured these opportunities to observe and learn from a man in whom God had so beautifully integrated religious devotion with action-oriented compassion. Because of these meetings, I found myself led to a calling I hadn’t seriously considered since high school. Under Father Anthony’s guidance, I started praying for discernment about whether God was calling me to ordination. The more I prayed about it, the more certain I became that the call was genuine and, at Father Anthony’s suggestion, I attended a week-long retreat at a Trappist monastery about an hour away–”

  “I know it,” Tavis interrupted. “I visit there pretty regularly.”

  Father Frank smiled, “Then you know what a perfect place it can be for uninterrupted prayer and reflection. While there, I read Saint Teresa of Ávila’s Interior Castle, and it felt like the opening passage had been written just for me. I keep it with me always.”

  Father Frank rolled up his sleeve and showed Tavis his forearm, where, in ornate script, was a tattoo of the words, Strength arising from obedience has a way of simplifying things which seem impossible.

  “Those words clarified God’s promise to use me as I was, and to fill me with hope and strength in spite of my flaws and my temptations. I left my retreat with a quiet, solid certainty that I had received a divine invitation to a life of ordained service.”

  After ordination, Father Frank continued providing therapy through Catholic Charities, but in another state. Through his work, Father Frank went deep into understanding patients’ realities, and he offered them the relief of being seen at their cores. He let them know he valued them in spite of—and, often, transformatively, because of—who they were. The extraordinary empathetic bond allowed his patients to trust Father Frank, and they grasped onto his suggestions like lifelines. Father Frank served in that community for several years, until his mother’s failing health motivated him to transfer to the Catholic Charities center in Colberg, where he had worked for more than a decade by the time Tavis crossed his path.

  “It’s sometimes draining, but my life has been joyful. I have had the opportunity to serve suffering people. It’s my love song to the benevolent being who lifted my chin and kissed my face when I was at my most broken and suffering. The God who replaced my unwanted obsession by filling me with compassion;
who replaced shame and self-hatred with clear purpose. I’ve lived my entire adult life gratefully certain that I have been rescued from my own worst impulses, and this certainty has allowed me to live my life in the sweet spot of success—at the intersection where significance, interest, and talent meet.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Listen, Tavis,” blurted Father Frank, “I’m about to break every ethical rule in the book by discussing this with you, but the client is dead and it can’t hurt her. Anyway, for reasons you’ll understand in a minute, I’m pretty sure I won’t need to worry about keeping my license after today.”

  Those who relied on Catholic Charities for mental health treatment, including treatment for drug and alcohol dependence, came to the agency through a number of avenues. The Church both supported and relied on the resource, but the agency also accepted referrals from other public and private social agencies and from the criminal justice system.

  Father Frank began to describe the day, less than a year before, when he had set aside his last appointment to intake a new patient referred through the local drug court program. The program allowed nonviolent drug offenders to erase convictions from their records by completing the program’s requirements, including therapy designed to strengthen cognitive behavioral coping techniques developed in previously completed inpatient drug treatment programs. Therapy also helped participants develop defenses against the temptation to return to familiar, destructive patterns of behavior.

  “I had read my new patient’s file to prepare for her intake, and it was pretty standard for drug court referrals. There was a familiar story of brushes with the law beginning in her mid-teen years that got more serious over many years, and that led, finally, to a serious arrest. The client had completed in-patient treatment, and was ready to begin the therapy and community service requirements.”

  When Father Frank opened the door to his office to let her in, he noticed she was tall, but carried herself to take up as little space as possible. She kept her head down even as she sat on the sofa, so at first all Father Frank saw was a disheveled tumble of black hair, pale skin, and layers of dark clothing.

  She sat down, glued to her phone, and Father Frank told her it was important to keep their sessions free from electronics. She didn’t answer, but killed the screen, tossed the phone into her bag, clasped her hands together on her knees and, for the first time, lifted her head to look at Father Frank.

  Father Frank’s voice trembled with the memory, “It was the shock of my life.”

  One of her eyes was still covered by the hair that had obviously been dyed black to cover a very light shade of blonde. The other eye, though . . . the other eye was clear and blue, and it pierced Father Frank. He would have recognized her by that eye alone. But had he needed further confirmation, there on the cheekbone just below her eye was a small, heart-shaped birthmark.

  * * *

  The man who had been calmly, rationally sharing the deepest secrets of his life with Tavis disappeared briefly, replaced by a man who sat before Tavis in extreme distress.

  “Obviously, I was freaking the fuck out! I didn’t allow myself to stare, though, or to betray myself with any other body language. I bought myself a moment by looking down at the file on my lap. The name I had been reading in that file before she arrived took on a whole new meaning, and I couldn’t help but wonder what game God was playing with me now. I closed the file, set it on the table next to me, and started the work.” He snorted in disgust. “I thought I was being so righteous and obedient.”

  Father Frank told her he had read the file forwarded by the court, which told him one side of the story about why she was there that day. “I’d like to hear your story, Julie,” he said. “It will help me know what you expect of our time together, and what you hope to gain through our sessions.”

  Julie leaned back on the sofa and ran her fingers through her hair. She hugged herself. “I’m here because it’s part of what I have to do to stay out of prison. I expect that we’ll feed each other as much bullshit as we can get away with. I hope to gain whatever paper proves I’ve been here.”

  This attitude was pretty common for Father Frank’s court-referred clients. It was mind-bogglingly disturbing for Father Frank to know such personal information about her childhood—knowledge that would usually take at least several sessions for her to trust him enough to share with him. A part of him insisted, in a whisper, that this patient was not for him, and that it was unethical to continue meeting with her for a minute longer. But his pride shouted over that small voice of conscience, positing that Julie showed up in his office because God wanted him to help her. He told himself that her presence was a divinely appointed opportunity to reconcile his specific sin by working wonders of healing in her damaged soul. That voice won, and Father Frank relaxed into his chair to begin the familiar process of building trust between them.

  * * *

  Over the course of the next several months, Father Frank and Julie built a rapport that led to exploring the factors motivating her drug use and other destructive behaviors. Father Frank was gratified when, after completing the sessions required by the drug court, Julie asked to continue working with him. Julie trusted Father Frank enough to try out several of his techniques and suggestions for managing her triggers. It took much longer for Julie to share what he already knew had to be at least one significant cause of the soul sickness that led to her self-destructive choices. Father Frank carefully avoided revealing that he knew anything other than what she had told him. Instead, he waded with Julie through the chaos of her own perception of her motivations.

  To Julie, her issues with drug abuse represented choices she had willingly made and weaknesses she could overcome if only she pulled herself up by her bootstraps, imposed some self-discipline, and tried harder. Julie believed that drug abuse (and, really, most mental illness) was a matter of choice and a sign of weakness. With this attitude, she initially resisted therapy. Under Father Frank’s empathetic guidance, however, Julie took her first steps toward sharing parts of herself that she believed to be proof of her freakish defects. Father Frank met her revelations with compassion, understanding, and reassurance that she was not alone in her fears.

  Eventually, Julie was ready to discuss the years of rape she had endured as a child. When she was in her late teens, the FBI arrested her father, even though she had never said a word about what had happened. Until then, she hadn’t known about the wide circulation of the photographs and films her father had taken of her. On that day, she learned that the whole world could see what she had previously believed to be her private and secret shame.

  It had taken Julie a long time to talk about the issue because she had understood the purpose of the therapy was to address her drug use, and she genuinely believed that the issues were separate, or at least only very loosely related. She prided herself on her resilience and she believed that the trauma of her early life was over. She considered the door on that period to have closed firmly and finally when her father was killed in prison within a few months of his arrival.

  When Julie finally began to share how she had been robbed both of her childhood and her privacy, she was not much interested in identifying a connection between her childhood trauma and her escape into substances in adulthood. Rather, she was seeking the unburdening that comes with verbal confession of deep shame. Father Frank had been trustworthy with some of her less-secret thoughts—listening with attention; avoiding expressions of shock or judgment; offering compassion; and challenging Julie to go deeper. This willingness to gently but firmly call Julie on her bullshit went further to foster her trust and respect for Father Frank than any coddling could have done.

  Julie began sharing the story that had dominated her childhood by unemotionally reciting the facts. Father Frank guided Julie through the ripples those experiences had made throughout her life, and the manner in which her drug abuse might be tied to her desire to escape the pain she didn’t have tools to confront. Julie discove
red, with Father Frank’s help, that there was a certain degree of peace that came with acknowledging rather than running from the pain, and developing strategies other than escape into drugs when the pain overwhelmed her.

  In exploring the dancing partners of self-blame and shame, Father Frank thought about how he could best drive home exactly how powerless Julie had been over the abuse she suffered. Rather than approaching the vulnerability of her six-year-old self through the faulty lens of her own memory, Father Frank tasked Julie with volunteering in the center’s daycare program, where she spent some time with kindergarteners. She wasn’t used to spending time with children, and was surprised by how easily they placed trust in authority figures. She began to see the truth behind her father’s scoldings that almost always followed his abuse: her father did not use her body because she had behaved badly. He had manipulated her and ensured her silence by foisting his own shame onto her small shoulders.

  This shift in perspective made Julie angry. She had not previously spent much energy being angry at her father. Instead, she kept her cool by saying her childhood was history that couldn’t be changed by thinking about it in the present. Julie considered this approach to be proof of her mental toughness, of avoiding the trap of “victimhood,” and of “getting on with life.” Until her work with Father Frank, Julie had not realized how hard her subconscious had worked to avoid thinking about her experiences and how they had affected her. She finally began to accept that much of her reason for using and abusing substances was to escape the grief and anger that seeped in through the chinks in her psyche’s armor.