|ChrisOLeary.com > Sins of the Fathers > TOC > Sacrificed|
I've ALWAYS remembered it.
No, not the worst stuff.
But the stuff right before and after.
I just didn't know what it meant.
I'm in the basement of the rectory of the Church of the Immacolata in Richmond Heights, Missouri, a suburb of St. Louis.
Sitting on the floor.
Finally, I decide it's safe — and get up the courage — to stand up and make a run for it.
I run up the stairs, turn the corner, and run the couple steps to the West, inner door of the rectory.
I'm hit with a flash of light blue, washed-out light as I open the inner door.
It's like the sky, but weird.
And it stuns me for a second.
And I'm looking at the latch of the door.
It's a muted silver color.
And I push it.
And I'm free.
But not yet.
I step outside.
And into a tunnel.
The distance can't be more than 100 feet.
But it looks like a mile.
But HIM could be behind me, so I start to run.
I make a beeline for the back of the church.
As I do, my eyeline jumps up and then back down.
As I hurdle something?
And I glance back over my shoulder.
But then I'm at the curve of the back of the church and I follow it around until I'm running West and slightly North.
I clear the last of the grass and run to the corner where the driveway on the West side of the church joins up with the sidewalk on the South side of Clayton road.
Now I'm running on the sidewalk, headed due West.
I run past the entrance to Berkshire, glancing bac over my left shoulder again, and reach the intersection of McCutcheon and Clayton roads.
I cross Clayton Road and dive through the branches of the right pine tree of the house at the T of McCutcheon and Clayton.
Hoping my chest won't explode.
Mc-Cutch-e-on. Mc-Cutch-e-on. Mc-Cutch-e-on.
And my ass feels like it's on fire.
My abuser is dead.
Fr. LeRoy Valentine was taken by the Covid.
In one respect, I'm thrilled.
He can't get any more kids.
And, more selfishly, there's no chance I will just stumble across him, such as when I stand vigil outside the Cathedral Baslilica of the Archdiocese of St. Louis.
But, now I will never see him perp-walked into jail and charged with...
With a violation of the Mann Act, for transporting kids across state lines?
But that's not an option any more.
And the fact still remains, and will never change, that we were sacrificed.
Ever since I first saw the images, I've been unable to get them out of my head.
Children who were sacrificed.
Who were told they were doing something important.
And whose lives were thrown away, in the service of their gods.
Just like ours were.
The Catholic Church would have you believe it was as surprised as you were about the sex abuse crisis that overtook it in the 1970s and 1980s, and that finally came to a head — at least in part — in 2002.
But that's a lie.
I have uncovered evidence — thanks to the release of the lists of priests who abused children — that the Archdiocese of St. Louis knew what was going on by at least the mid to late 1970s.
Evidence that makes it clear that we were sacrificed.
To the idol that the Eucharist has become.
While the narrative is that the Catholic Church was surprised to find sexual predators in its midst, the evidence — released by the Catholic Church — says otherwise.
The evidence says that these "troubled" priests were being MANAGED.
And, of course, management requires KNOWLEDGE.
Which makes it clear that what happened to me and countless others wasn't an accident.
Instead, we were sacrificed.
The Smoking Gun
During the Winter of 2019 and 2020, as a result of an effort to understand the history of a bishop who I've been told abused at least one boy while a diocesan priest, I came across a document I regard as the smoking gun.
This document makes it clear that, by the mid to late 1970s, at the latest, the Archdiocese of St. Louis knew it had a problem with what it called "troubled" priests and had put together a plan to (try to) manage them.
A plan that failed.
Why were we sacrificed?
Why were "troubled" priests kept in ministry and not expelled?
It has nothing to do with the current shortage of Catholic priests; in the 1970s, Catholic seminaries and rectories were full.
Rather, the reason troubled priests were kept in ministry, and we were sacrificed, is because the Eucharist has been transformed into an idol.
Something that transcends God.
The calculation that was made then — and is still being made, as the COVID-19 crisis shows — is that the Eucharist transcends the Word of Jesus Christ, much less the lives of the laity.
On July 26, 2019, the Archdiocese of St. Louis released a list of Archdiocesan Clergy with Substantiated Allegations of Sexual Abuse of a Minor. The problem with that is that, unlike it had done previously, ArchStL refused to release the assignment histories for those priests.
To keep us from being able to connect the dots.
Much as they did with the Matrix.
Seal of Confession
Has anything changed?
All you have to do is look at the fight the Catholic Church is putting up to preserve the Seal of Confession to understand that NOTHING has changed.