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Then, 10 years ago, a crisis unfolded that became the worst in U.S. church history. The Boston Globe persuaded a Massachusetts judge to unseal documents that showed the Archdiocese of Boston kept clergy who had molested children in parishes without warning parents or police. The outrage that the news reports generated spread nationwide. Soon, every American bishop was pressured to disclose diocesan records on abusive clergy. In June, beleaguered church leaders gathered in Dallas, trailed by more than 750 reporters, to adopt a new child protection policy and discipline plan for guilty priests. Suddenly, canon law was front-page news. In many cases, the church's internal legal system was the only recourse for church officials who wanted to remove clergy from public ministry or the priesthood. Most victims came forward decades after they had been molested, long after the statute of limitations for criminal prosecution in civil court had passed. So over several months, American bishops began a closely watched negotiation with Vatican officials over how they could change church law to streamline the removal of guilty priests. Canonical due process rights for clergy emerged as a key issue. In a public meeting that November, bishops discussed plans for new church tribunals for accused priests who said they were innocent and would not leave ministry. Bishops spent hundreds of millions of dollars on child protection programs and more on settlements with victims. But the damage was done. Trust in the bishops' judgment plummeted. So, when bishops in some dioceses announced the next round of parish closures, part of a consolidation that started years ago, angry parishioners didn't only protest and pray. They also hired canon lawyers. "We just Googled it and got some information about who was available," said Patricia Schulte-Singleton, a 52-year-old parishioner who has helped coordinate resistance to church closures, including her own St. Patrick Catholic Church, throughout the Diocese of Cleveland. They hired a nun who was a canonist in Rhode Island. Layman Peter Borre spearheaded a movement of canon law challenges to church closures in the Archdiocese of Boston where he lives. A semi-retired energy consultant who grew up in Italy and studied Latin in school, he began flying regularly to Rome to meet with a canon lawyer experienced in the Vatican court system. Word of Borre's effort spread and parishioners in other dioceses contacted him about how they could petition to stay open. He estimates that two dozen appeals over the issue are currently before the Holy See. Some of the parishes in New York State, Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, have won partial victories so far, keeping their cases alive at the Vatican, in what some canon lawyers described as landmark victories. "The secular courts, in the United States at least, hate like hell to get between the flock and the bishops. They just won't touch it, " Borre said. "So by default, we're left with canon law." Rejecting the idea that the church has entered a new age of litigiousness. Peters said petitions challenging decisions by bishops and other church officials have grown from a "tiny" to a "small" share of the church's total canonical actions. Still, the increase comes at a sensitive time, while bishops struggle to reassert their authority as teachers and leaders, and the church, like the culture around it, is more polarized. "A lot of times you're delivering messages that maybe the bishops doesn't want to hear," Lagges said. "You have to go in and tell the bishop,
'You can't do this.' Bishops don't like to hear that."
[Associated
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