Parishioners refuse to let their church close

By Elizabeth Mehren
Los Angeles Times

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WEYMOUTH, Mass. — As they entered the sanctuary of St. Albert the Great Roman Catholic Church, Elizabeth Griffin took the hand of her 7-year-old daughter, Meghan.

"Now remember," she admonished: "This is church. You are in God's house. Keep your voice down and be respectful. Now go get your pajamas."

So began another night in a round-the-clock vigil that will mark its 100th day today. Parishioners in this working-class community 15 miles south of Boston took over the church when Boston Archbishop Sean Patrick O'Malley listed St. Albert among 82 parishes to be shut down.

Although church officials denied any connection when the closures were announced in the spring, they have since acknowledged that settlements to nearly 1,000 sex-abuse victims have left the nation's fourth-largest archdiocese with financial woes. They subsequently put 16 church properties up for sale.

Since Aug. 29, parishioners as young as Meghan Griffin and as old as May Jackson, 89, have spent days and nights at the red-brick church. Eileen Rowan, 62, sits in a pew for three hours after work each Friday, listening to Rod Stewart CDs and reading romance novels. John Mullin, 58, waits in his wheelchair in the foyer, clutching a chain to attach himself to the door in case church officials try to seize the building.

With each day, parishioners become more resolved to continue the occupation until the archdiocese reverses its decision. Their example has inspired seven other area parishes to hold their own 24-hour vigils to keep their churches open.

Archdiocese officials are frustrated and surprised by the disobedience. Theologians, noting that parishioners are conducting services that lack only a priest to qualify as Masses, say a revolution might be taking place.

"This is a whole new world," said the Rev. Tom Reese, a Jesuit priest in New York who edits a Catholic magazine called America. "There has always been an almost childish deference to the clergy — the sense 'Father will take care of this or that.' That is over."

The vigils at St. Albert and elsewhere are "a significant development" for the Catholic church, said James Post, a Boston University management professor.
 
"The thing that it signals in Boston is the determination of communities not to be destroyed by the rather arbitrary administrative decision of an archbishop," said Post, who also is president of Voice of the Faithful, a group that advocates lay participation in the church. The group was organized in Boston soon after the sex-abuse crisis unfolded.

"People who in these last several years have gotten the courage to stand up and speak out are now turning those words into direct action," Post said.

Many of St. Albert's 1,300 parishioners say the vigil has strengthened their faith and brought them closer together. Most say they feel unwelcome in the other four Catholic parishes in this city of 80,000.

"We feel we have been treated unjustly," said Jackson, who stays at the church until 10 p.m. most days.

A signup sheet indicates that the church will never be left unoccupied. Sometimes, as few as five or six people keep watch. Other times, the church is a hive of activity, with scores of members in the parish hall.

"I think the archdiocese does not understand that we are a family, and if you break up a family, you never get it back," said June Bisognano, 56.

Barbara Conant, 66, runs the hospitality committee, keeping banquet tables laden with food at all hours. Conant said some evenings when she leaves the church she worries because the refrigerator is empty. But the larder is full each morning.

"We don't know where it comes from," she said. "People don't tell us. The food just appears, gifts from individuals who are sympathetic to us and want us to continue."

Conant said she is upset because archdiocese officials have all but ignored St. Albert as the vigil continues. The 54-year-old parish has filed a complaint with the Vatican, as well as a civil lawsuit to contend that the closing was illegal. Both matters are pending.

The archdiocese contends St. Albert closed on Aug. 29 and is no longer a church. The parish priest, the Rev. Ronald Coyne, was sent home and has not been reassigned, although church leaders say a shortage of priests was one reason for the closings.

When officials learned that parishioners were using consecrated communion wafers at services, they demanded that they halt the practice and turn over any remaining wafers. Parishioners refused. Conant and other women hand out the wafers during evening services that on Sundays draw as many as 500 worshippers.

About six weeks ago, an archdiocese emissary approached the parish council and offered to provide a priest for one Mass each Sunday if the protesters would leave the church. They refused.

"Imagine, stooping so low as to barter with a Mass," Conant said.

O'Malley at first insisted that the church closings had nothing to do with the clerical sex-abuse scandal that began here almost three years ago. The Boston archdiocese agreed last year to pay $85 million to abuse victims, a record until last week's $100 million settlement in Orange County, Calif.

In announcing the church closings in May, O'Malley blamed declining attendance, decaying buildings and diminishing bank accounts in the targeted parishes. But authorities now concede that the parishes were closed because the church needed money.

"The commitment of the parishioners at St. Albert is obvious to all of us. We continue to seek ways to help them understand that the reasons for reconfiguration are related to the financial health of the diocese as a whole and not each individual parish," said Kelly Lynch, a spokeswoman for the archbishop.

O'Malley said the archdiocese does not plan to take civil or criminal action at this time.

Since the vigil began, St. Albert's parishioners have introduced classes in wreath-making, cake-decorating and slate-painting, along with Bible study for adults and a new Catholic book group. Another change is the "daily chuckle" that Pelly Tulimieri appends to the homily he delivers at evening services. The 84-year-old retired sheet-metal engineer said he finds Catholic-themed jokes on the Internet and in magazines.

"About a month ago, when it became clear that we were in this for the long haul, I decided I had to leave them with a laugh," Tulimieri said.

On Friday night, a half-dozen children munched popcorn as they watched "The Grinch" during the vigil's weekly Family Movie Night. Afterward, Ricky Hawkes, 12, and his brother Ryan, 10, took their sleeping bags upstairs to the sanctuary and stretched out in the center aisle to spend the night.

"This is fun — and it is also important," Ricky said. "You have to stand up for your church, and you have to stand up for what you believe in."

Nearer the altar, the Griffin family had set up sleeping quarters beside the baptismal font.

Molly Griffin, 8, climbed into an inflatable bed with her sister Meghan. Their parents heard the girls' prayers and kissed them before turning in for the night on their own air mattress.

"When this started, I thought my Catholic faith was very, very strong," said Elizabeth Griffin, 48. "I think it is getting stronger with every day here."

Neil Griffin, 48, said: "This is bringing about change in the church. It just has to."