The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Grease

By Theresa Marie Moreau

First Published in New Oxford Review

Just a few dozen parishioners gathered in the crescent-shaped driveway in front of St. Albert the Great Parish in Weymouth, Massachusetts, that morning.

It was a Tuesday. May 25, 2004. Everyone there that day remembers that morning.

All waited for just one simple thing: “the letter.”

Word had sped through Weymouth and beyond its borders the night before—speculation about the contents of the impending arrival of the epistle. Actually, the missive could have and should have been described as more of a gospel because of its anticipated good news, sent from none other than Archbishop Sean O’Malley, the mitered head of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Boston.

ETA: before 11 a.m.

And sure enough, it is before 11 that morning when the unmistakable purple-and-orange-lettered FedEx panel truck bounces up and down in the potholes that pockmark the entranceway to the church from Washington Street, the main drag in that weather-weary, wrung-out New England town of 55,000. After screeching to a halt and causing a small cloud of dust to rise, as incense offered in a holy sanctuary during high Mass, the driver hops out. He jogs into the rectory and delivers “the letter,” right into the hands of the church’s pastor, the Rev. Ronald Coyne.

Silence wraps itself around those assembled outside. No way would God let them down. Coyne even had the forethought to purchase one dozen white balloons. He planned to tie the rubber-and-helium bouquet to the railing at the front entrance of the blond-brick, 1960s-style church. Balloons bouncing in the breeze would be a signal to the faithful that the church would not be closed as the archbishop had threatened months earlier. It would be a signal that St. Albert’s has been spared, like Moses had been spared from Pharaoh.

The rectory door opens, the FedEx driver exits, returns to his truck and accelerates. Toward the door the faithful continue to look. A minute passes. Then the door opens again. Their priest, Coyne, appears, ashen faced. He walks over to the group. Congregants circle around him to hear what he has to say.

Coyne holds up O’Malley’s one-page, three-paragraph, parish pink slip.

He begins reading aloud: “After careful consideration and an extensive process and review, I am writing to inform you that I have decided that St. Albert the Great Parish must close.”

Ecclesiastic expiration date: September 1, 2004.

Gasps. Sobs. Fingers wipe away the tears rolling down cheeks.

One woman screams and curses in her native Lebanese.

Another woman suffers a heart attack in the parking lot. An ambulance is called, and the emergency crew rushes her to the local hospital.

The white balloons never make it to the railing. Instead, someone purchases black balloons and ties those. The death of St. Albert the Great Parish, a self-supporting church with what some would describe as a bulging bank account. The celebratory mood of the morning turns to one of mourning in a matter of seconds when the parishioners realize they had suffered the loss of their church. Washed over and nearly drowned in the wake of the horrible news, members of the congregation slowly make plans for a real wake—the watchful vigil over St. Albert’s.

Why had “Archbishop Sean” chosen to condemn St. Albert’s?

It had been a tough couple of years for the Boston archdiocese. First, there was the (seemingly) never-ending flood of sex abuse scandals (pedophilia-pederasty-perversion). This was followed by the postdiluvian period, in which the flock called for the resignation of their shepherd, Bernard Cardinal Law. Eventually, he took the hint and handed his resignation to Pope John Paul II on Friday, December 13, 2002.

As the fetid floodwaters ebbed, Boston Catholics found they had a new archbishop, appointed on July 1, 2003 and installed on the following July 30. It was none other than Sean O’Malley, who had earned the nickname “Cardinal Clean-Up” after he cleaned up the Fall River Diocese in the 1990s. Remember the Rev. James Porter? Before he left the priesthood in 1974, married, fathered four children then pleaded guilty to molesting dozens of children (both sexes), Fall River had been his diocese.

God’s dirty work is a tough job. But somebody’s gotta do it. It wasn’t too long before O’Malley made known his presence—which became more and more unwelcome as time passed. Less than six months into his reign, on January 9, 2004, O’Malley, announced plans to begin the process of “reconfiguration.”

Translation: closures.

The next day, the Most Rev. Richard G. Lennon, vicar general and moderator of the curia (and rumored éminence grise), wrote a letter to each of the eighty-two clusters of churches in the archdiocese. He ordered each, in their respective districts, to decide which parishes in their cluster should be recommended for closure.

These announcements had been preceded by others. In April 2003, the pastors of each parish were informed about a shortfall in their pension fund. On December 29, 2003, the Boston archdiocese settled the sexual abuse lawsuit in the amount of $85 million.

Bad news persisted, relentlessly.

Nonetheless, not long after the arrival of “the letter” at St. Albert’s, parishioners heard more disturbing news—if that could be possible. This time, from the Vatican. This time from the so-called Servant of the Servants of God.

On May 27, 2004, Pope John Paul II promoted Law to the position of Archpriest of the Patriarchal Liberian Basilica of St. Mary Major in Rome. Internet bloggers on Catholic Web sites gossip that not only was the cardinal given a gorgeous baroque apartment to live in, but he was also to receive 10,000 euros a month, which, according to today’s exchange rate, is roughly equal to $12,000—a month.

Rather than promoting “Cardinal Cover-Up,” the Pope should have demoted the man, or excommunicated him, parishioners openly declare.

“Cardinal Law should have been defrocked,” says a disgusted Pellegrino “Pelly” Tulimieri, an 85-year-old altar server who has assisted at daily Mass at St. Albert’s for the past twenty years—at least. “We all felt it wasn’t right at all, because we felt that he knew what was going on. He was supposed to be aware of it, but did nothing. He just transferred priests from one parish to another. The people in Boston were quite shook-up.”

Still, undaunted by the threat of O’Malley to close St. Albert’s and the now-deceased Pope’s callous suckling of Law, parishioners in the small town of Weymouth join forces. Committees form. Paperwork is written. Documents are dispatched.

Soon a correspondence between the fighting factions ensues.

June 7, 2004: The Parish Council, which represents the parishioners of St. Albert the Great Parish, writes to O’Malley, requesting that he remove their church from the list of those recommended for closure.

June 29: Lennon responds, “Archbishop Sean intends to follow through with his intention to close St. Albert Parish…It is important to note that the archbishop has the right in Canon Law to suppress, alter or merge a parish as long as he follows the required process.”

Ah, yes. The process.

July 20: O’Malley issues a single-page decree, In Nomine Domini, announcing the official suppression (closure) of St. Albert and that all goods were to become property of the archdiocese.

July 30: The Parish Council officially petitions O’Malley to revoke the decree of suppression against St. Albert. In ten pages, the Council outlines the reasons to keep their church open.

August 24: An archdiocesan internal auditor arrives—six days early—and snatches all the bankbooks and financial records from the church, even though Massachusetts and Canon laws declare that parish property is owned by the parish, not by the diocese. At that time, St. Albert’s had funds of $86,363.19 in a savings account and $26,570.80 in a checking account, both at Rockland Trust. An additional $4,522.12 was in an account at the Eastern Bank, as well as another $66,970.03 in St. Albert the Great’s account held by the archdiocese.

In the next few days, priests from the other diocesan Catholic churches in the Weymouth “cluster” plan to arrive at St. Albert’s to put their dibs on the treasures: the stained-glass windows (worth an estimated six figures), a relic rumored to be from the body of St. Albert the Great, a silver ciborium, a gold chalice, an organ (worth five figures), vestments and more.

Those men never show up.

August 25: O’Malley responds to parishioners’ petition, “In this time when the assets of the archdiocese are straining, can the archdiocese afford to be maintaining five physical locations in Weymouth when the people can be served by four?…For the good of the entire archdiocese, I made the decision that we should close St. Albert the Great…After reviewing your request and after consultation with my advisors I must inform you that the information you provided does not rise to the level that would have me change my mind, nor does it present information that would compel me to alter or revoke the decree.”

Ouch. Parishioners feel they have no choice. No options left.

August 27: After a vote, church members file a lawsuit in Suffolk County Superior Court against the archdiocese, claiming it exceeded its authority.

As R-day, reconfiguration day, September 1, nears, parishioners feel duped. Why should they be made to pay for the sins of the fathers?

Three months after the arrival of the church’s death decree, Coyne offers the last Mass at 6 p.m. on August 29, 2004, a nice, comfortable, end-of-summer evening. After the final prayer, an announcement is made: A twenty-four-hour vigil would begin, and it would be maintained until the archdiocese reverses its decision to close the church.

Before Coyne leaves that evening, Tulimieri, who had faithfully assisted the priest at nearly every Mass, hugs him then asks permission for parishioners to hold prayer services for the next three days.

Yes, of course, Coyne tells him. What a wonderful idea.

After Coyne hugs everyone, at least once, he opens the door to his black Pontiac sports car and steps inside. Earlier, he had packed into the back seat the last of his belongings—books, papers and a few measly odds and ends. He doesn’t have much. He drives off, takes a right onto Washington Street and never looks back. Obedient to Church hierarchy to the very end.

The parishioners, however, are a different story.

Every day since Coyne’s departure, St. Albert’s faithful have stood fast in their determination to hold the non-stop vigil. They picked up the idea from fellow Catholics who had faced the same fate in 1992 in the Roman Catholic Diocese of Worcester when their bishop, Timothy Harrington, decided to close St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church. Harrington claimed the Franco-Canadian church on French Hill in downtown Worcester was dilapidated and would cost too much to repair.

But St. Joseph’s parishioners refused to let the doors close. For thirteen months they occupied their church twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, beginning on Monday, Memorial Day 1992. On June 23, 1993, the bishop, fed up to here with those pesky parishioners, called the Worcester police to enforce an eviction order. He wanted officers to escort from the church those last forty-nine members who refused to leave.

News crews filmed the martyrs of St. Joseph leaving the church, lugging an eight-foot-tall cross to their Golgotha—the chancery’s office. There the men laid their burden on the doorstep of the bishop.

After a couple of years, the departure of Harrington and the arrival of a new bishop, the Worcester congregation got their church back.

Parishioners at St. Albert’s have never lost hope their church would receive the same fate.

In an effort to sidestep O’Malley, St. Albert’s Council dispatches to the Vatican their Hierarchical Recourse Against Decree of Suppression and Confiscation on September 10, 2004. In it, they argue against the four stipulations the archdiocese offers as reasons for suppression: demographic shifts in population, a decline in the number of priests, financial challenges affecting a sizable percentage of parishes and the deteriorating condition of church properties.

While other parishes have been experiencing a significant drop in attendance, St. Albert’s has enjoyed a steady growth, the Recourse states. With an average of 1,222 souls attending weekly Mass in 2003 (almost 30 percent of registered parishioners), St. Albert’s had the highest attendance in Weymouth, a suburb where the Catholic population has grown significantly.

Not only is the parish debt-free, but also in 2004 the church’s income exceeded its 2003 expenses by over $200,000. The church and rectory are in excellent physical condition, and the grounds have always been well maintained. As for a shortage of priests, parishioners say that Coyne has not been assigned to another church and still waits, without a flock, as he remains at his family’s home just outside of the hub of Boston.

“There is no gain to the Archdiocese except for a possible one-time $1.7 million in parish property, for which the parish proposed a creative method of working to get monies in excess of or equal to that amount for the archdiocese in lieu of closing our parish,” states the Recourse to Rome.

Last February, the day after attending the sentencing of the defrocked, convicted child rapist Paul Shanley in the Middlesex County Superior Court in Cambridge, across the Charles River from Boston, I decide to visit St. Albert’s. I had read about their plight in the local papers. Parishioners had just celebrated the fifth month of their non-stop vigil when I arrive.

Seated in the vestibule, a few men and women sit and chat. Others relax in the pews. Some women busy their hands, knitting chemo caps—the community project of the week. Some read. Some joke. Some laugh.

Sandi Jones, 52, explains that she has slept every Thursday night in a sleeping bag, on the floor, at the feet of the statue of St. Albert the Great, standing guard in the rear of his namesake. Bishop, confessor and doctor of the Church, St. Albert (1206-80) was the teacher of St. Thomas Aquinas (1225?-74) and may be indirectly responsible, in part, for Summa theologica.

St. Albert has certainly helped teach this group.

“I was mad at St. Albert, and I yelled at him when I found out we were closing. I told him that I prayed to him for all those months that we would stay open and now nobody would ever know who he was or hear the name St. Albert. Then after, I felt bad, and to make up for being mad at him I sleep at his feet. Thursday nights are with Al,” Jones says, adding, “After I yelled at him, he said, I’ll fix you. And he was right. Now everybody’s heard of him.”

At some point, I wander downstairs in the basement, which is packed with people of all ages. Women brew several urns of coffee. Men pick at plates of bite-size pastries. Members of the Parish Council sit on the stage and speak in whispers behind the banner BROTHERS THROUGH CHRIST THROUGH GOOD WORKS AND GENEROUS GIVING.

I take a seat on the lip of the stage, where I attempt, unsuccessfully, to eavesdrop on the council. Next to me, I find an abandoned, dog-eared copy of Pope John Paul II’s 1988 “The Lay Members of Christ’s Faithful People,” (Christifideles Laici). I flip open the paperback cover and read Jill Paredes’ name scribbled in blue ink on the inside. I find its owner and hand her the book.

“Pope John XXIII would be so proud of us,” says 74-year-old Paredes, smiling.

Long gone are the days when Catholics blindly obeyed the hierarchy.

As I visit that day, over and over again parishioners tell me, “We no longer just pray, pay and obey.” They’re on the march, this Church Militant. And they’re taking their orders from a higher power than the hierarchy seated in Boston, even in Rome.

At 7:10 that February evening, a hush falls as the vigilantes take their usual seats in the pews lining the nave of the church. Only the pounding from the heat pushing its way through the pipes that rainy night breaks the silence.

From one of the pews on the Marian side of the church, Tulimieri, the prayer leader, leans forward and slides onto the kneeler. The sharp contour of his shoulders poke through his coat and rise as he lifts his elbows and drapes his arms over the back of the pew in front of him. As he has done nearly every morning and night for the past five months, he begins the rosary. Speed praying.

“InthenameoftheFatherandtheSonandtheHolySpirit.Amen,” he chants aloud, rhythmically, running all the words together. He then races into the Apostles Creed, followed by five decades of the Glorious Mysteries. After the rosary and the prayer service, I head back to my hotel room.

My visit to St. Albert’s stays with me. When I return home to Los Angeles, I keep in touch with Jones and “meet” a few others over the telephone. All are gracious. All are exhausted. They just want their church to stay open.

On March 30, 2005, I receive an e-mail typed in haste.

St. Albert’s has received a stay of execution.

For “official” confirmation, I call the archdiocese. I call O’Malley. I call Lennon. Several times, each. No one calls back. Finally, I catch someone in the media office who refers me to Kelly Lynch, a flak (one who takes the “hits” for a client) with the public relations firm Rasky Baerlein Strategic Communications.

“They made the decision, well I’ll use the term loosely, to reverse the decision to close the parish,” Lynch says over the phone. “Canon Law does not allow a parish that has been closed to technically be reopened. A new parish has to be established. So there are a number of steps involved in opening a new parish where a parish has been closed. So the archdiocese is reviewing and preparing to begin that process now.”

April 2005 comes and goes.

In May, the Boston archdiocese muck-a-mucks grant approval for weekly Sunday Masses at St. Albert’s with the Rev. Laurence Borges, not Fr. Coyne. Parishioners express frustration. When will the church reopen officially, they want to know.

Still, the vigil continues.

Then on June 13, 2005, a miracle. Another letter from O’Malley. This time, a gospel, not an epistle.

“With this letter, I hereby revoke the decree dated July 20, 2004 and declare that St. Albert the Great will remain open, now as a full parish in the archdiocese of Boston,” writes the archbishop, who signs off simply as “Sean.”

Finally, the renaissance of St. Albert the Great.

This story, which began with the arrival of a letter, ends with the arrival of a letter, just a simple letter.

Vigilantes meet for a candlelight prayer service, the final one of the vigil, attended by about 250 people on July 1, 2005. This is followed by a potluck dinner and the final sleepover.

I dial Jones’ cell number. She’s—where else—at church, of course.

With the end of the vigil only minutes away, she tells me she’s relieved, exhausted and exhilarated about not having to camp out on the floor anymore, about seeing Donald, her husband of thirty-two years, every night again, about knowing the names of most of the parishioners now, about knowing she has a permanent place to pray and ponder the bigger questions in life.

“It’s not just a building. It’s my spiritual home. It’s where I get close to God,” Jones says. “When I’m here, I feel God’s with me.”

I hear a rasp in her breathing. She stifles a cough, the same cough she’s had since November. As a result of sleeping at church, her nights with “Al,” she contracted asthma.

But it was worth it, she says. It was all worth it.

Theresa Marie Moreau can be reached at TMMoreau@yahoo.com.