Fr. Roger J. Landry
The Anchor
Putting Into the Deep
February 20, 2009
On Sunday night, the Academy Awards will be given out. It is the most important feast of the liturgical year for our culture’s new idolatry: the worship of celebrities.
It begins with a procession on the red carpet; spectators compete with each other to gain the attention of the adored and the adored compete for the adulation of the worshippers. There is an obsession over the vestments of the priestesses, with various experts consulted to decipher their meaning and future influence. Once inside, there is music, video enactments of the past year’s most hallowed texts, and a collective covetousness to take hold of the sacred statue that will constitute induction into the highest level of the earthly pantheon. That apotheosis begins when the recipient’s name is announced, the person mounts the stairs to the sanctuary, grasps onto the sacrosanct figurine that up until then has been held by white-gloved acolytes and finally with great emotion imparts honor and glory on those whom the recipient deems worthy and even, on occasion, proclaims a little of the wisdom that brought him or her to the pinnacle for which everyone else yearns.
I won’t be watching — as I’ll conveniently be at a birthday party for my twin brother. This year, however, I admit to being somewhat interested in some of the outcomes. I’ll be rooting for a film I never anticipated I’d be cheering. It’s received five Oscar nominations, one for each of the four principal actors and the last for best writing for an adapted screenplay: Doubt.
It’s the film version of a Broadway play that captured the 2005 Tony award. Written by John Patrick Shanley, it tells the 1964 story of a young Bronx parochial vicar suspected by the mother superior of the parish school of having molested a black altar boy. The drama focuses on the question of whether Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is worthy of the admiration so easily extended to him by the altar boys, the kids at the school, and Sr. James (Amy Adams), a young teacher; or is guilty, as suspected by Sister Aloysius (Meryl Streep), of being the worst type of predator, manipulating his esteem to abuse a marginalized black youth looking to escape a violent home.
Everything hinges on the interpretation of circumstantial evidence: Father Flynn’s calling the young Donald Muller one day out of Sr. James’ class to come to the rectory; the boy’s returning to class looking upset and with alcohol on his breath; and Father Flynn’s being seen by Sr. James returning a white t-shirt to Donald’s open locker. Sr. James takes her concerns to Sr. Aloysius, who, upon hearing them, immediately presumes that Fr. Flynn is guilty. Sr. Aloysius had earlier expressed her suspicions about Fr. Flynn because of a homily he had given on doubt, which she concluded had to be an indication of problems in his vocation; the priest’s behavior with Donald Muller was a confirmation for her that her judgment was right yet again. Sr. James objects that Sr. Aloysius just doesn’t like Fr. Flynn. The superior replies that she’s seen Fr. Flynn’s type before and that Sr. James is just too naïve to see what she sees.
When they confront Fr. Flynn, the priest first expresses his indignation at the accusation and then gives a partial explanation. He called Donald over to speak about the young boy’s having drunk some of the altar wine earlier in the sacristy. He didn’t inform the sisters because he knew it would result in his being expelled from the altar serving corps. He simply returned the shirt that Donald had left behind in the sacristy in a way least embarrassing to the boy. He gave Donald extra attention because he knew he was picked on by the other boys at the school on account of his race. Some questions he refuses to answer. Sr. Aloysius interprets this reticence as a sign he’s hiding something, but it’s possible he is protecting confidentiality or even the seal of confession. Donald’s mother later says to Sr. Aloysius that her son is not like other boys, which in context implies that he’s struggling with same-sex attractions, which may constitute the subject of private conversations with the priest.
Sr. James considers Fr. Flynn exonerated by his explanations. Sr. Aloysius deems him guilty. She lies to him about having received bad reports from the sisters of parish schools at previous assignments, suggesting that he seek a transfer. He tells her to call the pastors at those previous assignments to find out the real reasons for his relocations, but Sr. Aloysius refuses. When Fr. Flynn does obtain a transfer to become a pastor at another parish, she takes it as proof that there must have in fact been problems in previous assignments, for otherwise he wouldn’t have left. Fr. Flynn says he was leaving fundamentally to get away from a woman bent on using any and all means to spread gossip about him and assassinate his reputation.
The audience is left wondering whether Fr. Flynn is guilty or slandered. Friends of mine who attended the Broadway play tell me after the performance, the audience would be polled as to how many thought Fr. Flynn had done it and how many thought he was innocent. They told me that at the various showings they attended, the vote split almost in halves, with the majority of women thinking he was guilty and the majority of men considering him innocent. That would ignite debate as to the relative weight given to the circumstantial evidence and to Fr. Flynn’s explanations.
Based on the reactions I overheard and received after I saw the movie, people were similarly in doubt as to the conclusion.
One man came up to me right after the movie — I was dressed in my blacks and collar, which on that night were like bull’s-eyes— and said, “I’m sorry, Father!” When I politely asked him, “Sorry for what, Sir?,” he replied, “Sorry for what you need to go through. Everyone treats you as guilty when all you may be doing is being friendly to kids.”
A woman came to me as I was putting on my coat and said, “Father, could that still happen?” I thought she had overheard the previous man’s comment and was asking if false accusations could still happen. “What do you mean, ma’am?,” I luckily queried to be sure. “Could a priest still get away with that type of behavior and get promoted to pastor?”
It was an opportunity to talk to both of them about the Dallas norms adopted in 2002 by the US bishops, which have resulted in far greater protection for the kids entrusted to the Church’s care — thanks be to God! — but which have also left priests far more vulnerable to being treated, both in popular opinion as well as in canonical procedure, as basically guilty before being proven innocent. “And for some people, you don’t even have to be accused to be treated as guilty,” the man piped in, probably referring to the reality that some people treat all priests as suspect because of the terrible sins of a few.
Before I took leave of them, they asked me what my thoughts were of the film. I told them that it’s impossible for me not to look at it through priestly lenses. The great virtue of the film, I thought, was that it conveys that contested accusations against priests often hinge on the interpretation of circumstantial evidence, which, at least at a popular level, turns out to be like a Rorschach test for the one interpreting the data. For those who don’t know the accuser, if they like the particular priest or the priesthood, they’ll generally look for reasonable doubt; if they have issues with the priest or suspect the Church in general, they may be quick to judge him guilty as charged. This movie shows that in many cases it’s hard to discover the truth. I don’t think someone could watch Doubt, I told them, and not remember its lessons the next time a priest is accused.