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"I don’t think it will do the job." That was the judgment of my friend Jime. He was responding to the designation and blessing of the Chapel for sexual abuse victims in the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. The Chapel was an alcove on the walkway to the main worship space. Cardinal Mahony continued at the l0 a.m. May 25th Cathedral Mass, "This past year, all of us read terrible stories of sexual abuse in the Church." "May all who pray in this chapel find solace, healing, reconciliation and renewal." The Archdiocese’s spokesman said the ideal for the chapel originated with victims who wanted a place within the Cathedral for the healing process to begin. However, no victims were invited nor were present at the time of Cardinal’s blessing after the end of the Mass. On Wednesay, a couple of days afterward, a Catholic woman decided to visit the Chapel. She identified with the problem of authority abuse that includes sexual abuse. Maybe she had a responsibility to go. Maybe even non-Catholics were involved in this sexual abuse, and certainly older Catholic women. This was their problem, too. There was the alcove. A picture of the sun shining on a farm was on the back wall, flanked on either side by a floral display. In front was a prayer table and kneeler, candles to be lighted, and a bulletin board where churchgoers could pin photos of priest victims. Daylight comes from the transparent roof, shining on the cement walls and the farming picture. A write-in book lay on the prayer table so that anyone could write his name and any wish to God. The Cardinal had said at the Mass that only the first name was need. On the bulletin board there were computer messaging on an 8 ½ by 11 sheet of paper. The first line said, "Compassionate God, touch the wounds of those who have been hurt by abuse." The woman looked at the computer messages and then at the book on the prayer table. The first page had not even yet been filled during the past two plus days. She put down the first names of others in her family. She found she was reluctant to write down her family name. This was true of others on the page, and a general reluctance on participation. There were no photographs on the bulletin board. There was not even one candle lit. What there was, was forlorn and suggested hasty leave-taking. Departing, she passed another alcove or chapel dedicated to Church members serving in the military. Two banks of blue votive glasses were alive with candles. There was a profusion of photos on two bulletin boards. The names of the service people were freely on many of the photos. They also identified with the rank and branch of the military service frequently. There was an aura of participatory joy. Maybe my friend Jim is right. The Chapel for the survivors may not begin the healing, or at least right at the moment this day. June 12, 2003 typing
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