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Entries from October 2024

Descent into Hell

In August, I undertook the pre-semester ritual of updating my syllabi, in particular for my elective course on beauty and justice, which I taught for the first time last year. As I looked at the topics covered, I knew one in particular needed to be added: What do we do with the art of moral monsters? The question is perennial but has been subject to renewed attention following the revelations of the #MeToo era. The change to my syllabus, however, was prompted not by that wider social reckoning alone, but by the fact that this question has come to our own campus in the form of credible abuse allegations against Fr. Marko Rupnik, principal artist behind the mosaics and windows in the university’s Chapel of the Holy Spirit.

The investigations into allegations against Rupnik have been unfolding over the last several years, testing the strength of the Vatican’s anti-abuse measures. Rupnik has been credibly accused of sexual, psychological and spiritual abuse of as many as 20 of the 41 members of the Loyola community of sisters. In the summer of 2023, he was dismissed from the Jesuits and shortly thereafter accepted into priestly ministry in the Diocese of Koper in his native Slovenia. In October 2023, Pope Francis lifted the statute of limitations on the case and ordered that the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith begin a judicial process, after detecting “serious problems in the handling of the Father Marko Rupnik case and lack of outreach to victims.” We await the outcome of that trial.

I gave my students this information about the allegations and response thus far, as well as two short articles: one arguing that we ought to separate the art from the artist, and the other detailing the decision by the Knights of Columbus to cover their own mosaics crafted by Rupnik and the Centro Aletti mosaic team with whom he works, at least until the conclusion of the DDF investigation. With these varying perspectives in mind, we headed to the Chapel of the Holy Spirit to have our discussion. Two points from our conversation stood out to me. First, the students struggled with the tension between the beauty of the artwork and the ugliness of the artist’s actions—most said the knowledge of Rupnik’s actions did not stop them from seeing the art as beautiful, but it disturbed them that such beauty could come from someone who caused so much harm. Second, they claimed that the question of what to do with the art has different stakes when the art is in a religious space than when it is in a museum or another public space.

There are intricate questions to be asked about just these two points, but implicit in both is a sense that there is a dynamic relationship between the viewer, the artwork and the artist. Such that when we discover abusive or otherwise morally villainous acts by the creator of an artwork that we have found formative, we feel a sense of betrayal, which may be intensified when the formative work of that art is explicitly spiritual or ethical. Because of this relational triad, the philosopher of art Berys Gaut suggests that the artist’s ethics may be a factor in our judgment of the work, but that “the test must be whether, in light of one’s knowledge of the artist’s attitudes outside his work, one can detect in the work traces of these attitudes.”

Do we find any traces of Rupnik’s abusiveness within the artwork? To this question, I have received various answers from students and colleagues. The main mosaic in the Chapel of the Holy Spirit centers on a depiction of the Harrowing of Hell, as Christ dramatically liberates Adam and Eve. When I look at the mosaic these days, I cannot help but recall the words of one of Rupnik’s alleged victims, who described the psychological, spiritual and sexual abuse she underwent at Rupnik’s hands as a “descent into hell.” For me, the triumph of the image sits in stark contrast to the “hell” the artist plunged these women into—a “hell” from which they have not yet emerged, and which the institutional reluctance to hold Rupnik accountable has deepened.

Religious spaces, as my students noted, are not the same as other public spaces, in the sense that they intentionally address themselves to the spiritual reality of the human being. This intensifies both the possible meaning and possible harm of the symbols and actions within these spaces. By choosing to cover their mosaics, at least for now, the Knights of Columbus have used Catholic symbolism in support of solidarity with Rupnik’s victims. We cover images in our churches at the end of Lent as part of our fasting and repentance, and covering these mosaics makes space for us to repent of the abuses carried out not only by Rupnik but thousands of clergy and laypeople. Thinking of Sacred Heart’s chapel, covering the image would also open up the symbolic meaning of the Harrowing of Hell—which begins first from the claim that after Jesus died, as his body was wrapped in burial cloth, “he descended into hell.” This act of covering might prompt us to reflect: What does it mean for Jesus to be with Rupnik’s victims in their metaphorical hell? How do we as church imitate this solidarity, recognizing that perhaps now is not the time for the triumph of Resurrection but the lament of Holy Saturday? Such a response, it seems to me, both centers the victims and acknowledges that we continue to work out the relationship between ourselves, the artwork and the artist.


Callie Tabor is an assistant professor in the Department of Catholic Studies at Sacred Heart University.


How Can the U.S. Church Promote Missionary Interculturality in the Context of White Cultural Normativity?

What is white culture? This is a question that has had increasing personal and pastoral significance to me. In personal terms, my wife, Allison, and I recently welcomed our third child. Because my wife is a culturally white American and I am a culturally Tamil American, my children share in these cultural identities. Regarding their Tamil identity, we have cultivated a love of Tamil music, dress, dance and foods (including an impressive heat tolerance). We have incorporated Tamil practices into our ordinary life, celebrated religious and national holidays in appropriately Tamil ways and enrolled our eldest child in Tamil language school.

Yet, that same intentionality is much more difficult in terms of white culture. If white culture is one culture among many in the U.S., what are the values, dress, celebrations, foods and relational norms of white culture? Given Pope Francis’ warning that “each culture and social group,” including white culture, “needs purification and growth,” how does one transmit white culture in a way that does not re-inscribe the structural sins embedded within it?

In pastoral terms, forming the human dimension of a person is a movement from self-knowledge to self-mastery to self-gift. For a missionary, synodal Church in a multicultural society, this means that ordinary Catholics must first and foremost possess a strong understanding of their own cultural identity (self-knowledge). In turn, this understanding enables the person to separate themselves from the structures of sin embedded in their own culture (self-mastery). Finally, the person not only remains committed to interculturality when faced with the inevitable conflict that intercultural relationships bring, but also makes the relational sacrifices (self-gift) necessary for mission in a multicultural society.

For those who culturally identify as white, this movement is especially difficult and problematically constrained by self-knowledge. As Brian Massingale points out, when most culturally white Americans are asked about their cultural identity, they acknowledge their European-immigrant heritage, “but then relate that this ethnic background is not a significant part of their personal identity.” Simultaneously, the term white culture has little meaning for its own participants. As Massingale points out, “most white Americans do not think of themselves as ‘white’ or as belonging to a ‘white culture.’ For most white Americans, the phrase ‘white culture’ is meaningless.” Indeed, because white culture functions as an uninterrogated, invisible “norm by and against which all other [cultural] frames of reference are measured,” Massingale surmises that being white means rarely having to think about one’s own whiteness.

The ambiguity of white culture and this urgent need for cultural self-knowledge is doubly problematic given the overlapping function of whiteness as a racial caste that mediates a person’s access to social resources and a people’s culture that defines a person’s way of relating to reality. As a racial caste, the baptized must dismantle whiteness because it contributes to the oppression and suffering of others. As a culture, Christians can celebrate whiteness as authentically human because it symbolically conveys authentic freedom and hope. As the Second Vatican Council put it, “nothing human fails to raise an echo in the hearts” of the baptized.

Without facilitating an understanding of white culture among white Catholics and the overlapping but distinct ways that whiteness functions as a racial caste and cultural identity, the Church risks limiting the effectiveness of intercultural experiences of encounter, immersion and synodal listening. Instead of promoting openness, they can expose the uncertainty around one’s cultural identity and produce withdrawal, resistance or hostility. Indeed, a focus on interculturality without cultivating cultural self-knowledge often yields familiar refrains: “This just makes me feel bad for being white” or “What about white people?”

So, what can be done? For many white pastoral leaders, ministers and teachers, their understanding of white culture may require the same growth as the parishioners and students they are called to form. In this case, ministers must not only have the humility to ask for help but also the willingness to accompany others on a journey of self-discovery, personal reflection and cultural interrogation. Here some small practices can help surface the particularities of white culture:

  • Naming one’s own cultural context in everyday conversation can help surface the particularities of white culture. For example, many of us have heard of dad jokes, where fathers employ cheesy puns. Are these jokes universally favored by American fathers or simply favored by culturally white fathers? Naming our own context for each other helps us know our own context.
  • Interrogate one’s own family history and learn the immigrant roots of one’s white identity. Taking Maureen O’Connell’s work as an example, inquirers might investigate what brought them to the U.S. and when their family stopped speaking the language of their origin. Knowing the roots of one’s cultural heritage can help one appreciate the particularity of one’s cultural identity.

By promoting this type of cultural self-knowledge among white Catholics, the U.S. Church can promote the interculturality necessary for mission in a multicultural American Church.


Deepan Rajaratnam is the Director of Ministerial Formation at Saint John’s University School of Theology & Seminary.


A Culture of Safeguarding Children and Youth

The global prevalence of physical, emotional and sexual abuse of children and youth by family members and persons in positions of trust, including clergy, is staggering. As a pediatrician for more than 40 years, I have held the trembling body of a raped 10-year-old boy; tried to comfort a terrified, molested 3-year-old girl; felt their horrific pain; and worked for prevention and protection.

As a Religious, I participated in the groundbreaking Archdiocese of St. John’s Newfoundland Commission of Inquiry into Clergy Sexual Abuse (1988-1990), which identified underlying systemic pathology in clergy abuse, the Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishop’s follow-up and an array of national and international theological and pastoral groups working to remove this scourge from the Church.

As we are bombarded by revelations of the ongoing sexual abuse of children by clergy in England, New Zealand, Ireland, France, Africa, Peru, Belgium and elsewhere, I have cried out in anguish, “How long, O Lord? How long?” (Ps13:1-6).

On October 2, 2024, the eve of the opening of the second session of the Synod on Synodality, Pope Francis held a “penitential vigil” to restore trust “broken by our mistakes and sins.” A victim of clergy abuse in childhood shared his story and lamented the many whose “stories are silenced by fear, stigma or threats.”

Clergy sexual abuse of children and youth is a total contradiction of Jesus’ words and witness about the dignity and worth of children. He shows profound anger at this violation that leads a child away from belief and trust in a loving God, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea,” (Matthew 18:6). Why do we not share in the Lord’s outrage?

Clergy sexual abuse is condemned as far back as the Council of Nicaea in 306. Denial, secrecy, cover-up and protection of clerical and institutional reputation have dominated the Church’s response. We need a radical conversion from a culture of abuse of power and self-protection to a culture of child protection and safeguarding.

Safeguarding refers to a network of proactive, interdisciplinary policies, procedures and practices to protect children and youth from risk and harm. It requires an empathic understanding of harms. An explosion of research in developmental traumatology reveals the physical, psychiatric, emotional and spiritual consequences of abuse trauma on the growing and developing child. Epigenetics confirms the harm will affect generations to come.

A 2008 special issue of the Journal of Child Sexual Abuse addressed the additional harms of abuse by a “man of God.” It describes in detail a devastated spirituality with loss of belief and trust in a loving God and a loss of faith supports in crisis.

In addition, Marcus Mescher of Xavier University, Cincinnati has identified four categories of moral injury:

  1. Identity as a child of God is corrupted and a self-image as worthy, lovable and forgivable is lost. This has been described graphically as “soul murder.”
  2. Ambiguity in moral perception and reasoning because of a loss of confidence in one’s moral compass causes blameworthiness. Moral injury brings intrusive and obsessive thoughts and painful memories with sadness, depression and anxiety.
  3. Moral agency’s development is corrupted. This brings powerlessness and a sense of futility is expected. It often leads to drug abuse, compulsive sexual activity and suicide.
  4. Damage to relationships after sacred trust has been broken leads to a loss of trust in themselves and others. Victims are prone to family breakdowns. Parish communities can be ravaged by divisions: some defending the cleric, others demanding accountability, still others angry at the victim for financial reparation.

These important practical considerations require the development of a culture of safeguarding. Throughout history, many cultures have provided love, care and protection for children. However, a “dark side” is revealed through ongoing experiences of neglect, sexual abuse, human trafficking, military recruitment and child labor. Tragically, these harms continue worldwide, especially for poor, homeless and migrant children.

The prognosis for this cultural transformation is guarded because the Church has lost credibility. Abuse and cover-up were “the last straw” for many who have left the Church.

A Church culture of abuse of power, self-protection, denial and secrecy is endemic. This means individuals and communities experience the pathology as normal because they have no experience of health and wellness.

Only conversion to the “mind of Christ” and sharing in the wounds of victims can empower us to develop a new, effective culture of safeguarding our young and model it to society through the power of the Holy Spirit.


Sister Nuala Kenny, emerita professor at Dalhousie University, Halifax, N.S., is a pediatrician and physician ethicist.


Making (a) Space for Interfaith Encounter on a Catholic Campus

Today, my Catholic university community will ask God’s blessings upon our new Assisi Interfaith Prayer and Meditation Space. The room that houses the Assisi space sits just to the side of an entrance to one of the buildings on our West Campus, itself the former global headquarters of a major corporation. I remain astounded by such layers upon layers of meanings, histories and possibilities. I enjoy visiting all sorts of sacred places because they are set apart for reasons unlike any other. An interfaith space is, by definition, one that makes a room for encounter. Asking God’s blessing upon an interfaith prayer space goes beyond interreligious tolerance or even interreligious acceptance. It testifies to the reality of our world shared by people of different faith traditions; it testifies to a shared commitment to nurture the spiritual life that is rooted in a shared humanity. I also think that it demonstrates the best of what it means to celebrate a particular religious identity.

For Catholics, faith should not be shaken when we honor and support the spiritual lives of those in other religious traditions. On the contrary, I believe real faith commitments can only be deepened by the encounter with beliefs different from one’s own. A few weeks ago, I had the privilege to facilitate a roundtable discussion between the spiritual leaders who serve our University community through our interfaith chaplaincy program. Alongside one of my former students, I sat in the presence of great wisdom refracted through the lived experience of Protestant and Catholic Christianity, Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism and Islam. The conversation included much laughter and hope. Our interfaith leaders highlighted students’ deep need for silence and accompaniment, the power of their representation and presence to our diverse student community on a Catholic campus, and the capacity for interreligious dialogue to be a pathway towards robust pluralism. The chaplains agreed time and again on their common witness to the importance of our shared humanity beyond words. These leaders from religions whose teachings disagree about the ultimate nature of reality, the status of God, and the proper destiny of humankind nevertheless demonstrated the delights of friendship, conversation and learning.

Pope Francis challenges Catholics to let the Church be in a modern world that prizes rather than reviles diversity and works for just peace rather than conquest. He expresses that challenge in the call to synodality, to be a Church that journeys and listens together as the people of God. He expresses that challenge in his leadership through significant gestures of physical closeness to the poor, the wounded, the imprisoned and the suffering. The Holy Father expresses that challenge through his travels to far corners of the globe and public and personal meetings with leaders from non-Catholic religious traditions. He expresses it through his teaching about integral ecology and integral spirituality. The human creature cannot be sealed off from the rest of creation and flourish: “For this reason, the ecological crisis is also a summons to a profound interior conversion.” A similar idea turns up in the Pope’s letter on human fraternity: “As silence and careful listening disappear, replaced by a frenzy of texting, this basic structure of sage human communication is at risk. A new lifestyle is emerging, where we create only what we want and exclude all that we cannot control or know instantly and superficially. This process, by its intrinsic logic, blocks the kind of serene reflection that could lead us to a shared wisdom.” But Pope Francis also calls for us to turn our spirit around when it comes to the migration crisis, the temptation to despair, political and ecclesial polarization, war and the constant troubles at play in the life of the Church.

Pope Francis’ call for ongoing spiritual renewal highlights an undersold element of Catholicism’s contribution to the world stage; interfaith work does not need to dilute our own religious practice, commitment or ideas. Catholic institutions must support the risks and hard conversations of interfaith encounter because of Catholic identity. Like his namesake from Assisi, whom the Church commemorates today, Pope Francis has consistently and unequivocally placed interreligious and ecumenical dialogue at the center of Catholic ecclesial and spiritual renewal. Making room to support another’s journey of faith is a gesture of hospitality and confidence in God’s love. To sample some words attributed to Saint Francis remixed through the insights of our interfaith chaplains: interreligious dialogue is a gesture that preaches the Gospel, only using words when necessary.


Charles A. Gillespie is an assistant professor in the department of Catholic Studies and director of Pioneer Journey at Sacred Heart University.