Prelate’s Exit Brings Sadness to Milwaukee

The skyline of this city is marked by two types of cloud-piercing architecture: smokestacks and steeples. Most of the smokestacks stopped working 20 years ago. The Gothic-style steeples, with their heavy bronze bells, still ring out notice that this is an old-fashioned town built by Catholic immigrants from Europe.

The man most responsible for keeping the bells ringing and the church here relatively healthy during a difficult 25 years for religion in the United States is now the highest-ranking American Roman Catholic to be accused of sexual misconduct in the ongoing abuse scandal. And the complicated case of Archbishop Rembert G. Weakland is already testing the will of the faithful here and challenging the future course of Catholicism in the U.S.

As somber parishioners headed through a cold drizzle into churches throughout the city Saturday, the man who will take Weakland’s place, at least temporarily, issued a plea for caution and patience as the details of the former archbishop’s case come out. And, in a message posted on the archdiocese’s Web site, Milwaukee Auxiliary Bishop Richard J. Sklba noted how local Catholics had recently “celebrated the remarkable accomplishments of the archbishop” as he neared his planned retirement. “And we dare not forget them,” Sklba wrote, “if we are a people of genuine gratitude.”

Weakland, 75, retired Friday, when the Vatican agreed to accelerate his resignation after his confirmation that the archdiocese had paid $450,000 in 1997 to a man who claimed that Weakland had assaulted him nearly two decades earlier, in 1979.

As details trickled out about the alleged assault and Weakland’s apparent relationship with the man, Paul Marcoux, 54, the story grew ever more complicated for Catholics here.

First they learned of the secret settlement, $450,000. Then they learned that Marcoux, at the time a 32-year-old student at Marquette University, a Catholic school, claimed it was a case of date rape--a claim Weakland denies and for which no evidence has emerged.

And finally, Milwaukee residents learned of a letter Weakland had written Marcoux in 1980. The letter seems likely to prove the most difficult aspect of the case for parishioners and for the church, for it is, in the end, a love letter, written by an archbishop to another man.

It speaks of “the pain of deep love,” of love being “better than valor” and of how Weakland was nervous even expressing such thoughts in writing. His mother had warned him “that I should not put down on paper what I would not want the whole world to read.”

It was all so much that no one found any need to analyze, or over-analyze, the fact that Weakland began the letter with a quote from George Eliot, the pen name of Mary Ann Evans, who wrote considerably about religion in the 19th century.

“Was it wrong? Yes, parts of it, at least,” William Miller, 61, said of Weakland’s actions as he walked into a Saturday Mass. “But I don’t know. I just don’t know....”

Milwaukee was settled by French fur traders but is known more for the German immigrants who came later, bringing beer and bratwurst and a decidedly staunch form of Catholicism.

About 30% of the city is Catholic, and the archdiocese oversees nearly 700,000 worshipers at 234 parishes in 10 counties. Masses are carried live on a cable channel, and you can get your televised world news in German.

When he was appointed archbishop in 1977, Weakland began introducing a more open Catholicism to Milwaukee and soon became one of the American church’s most influential liberals.

He fought for gay rights, appointed women to roles of authority in the archdiocese, gave his priests unprecedented autonomy, and during the 1980s, led a group of American bishops in drafting a still-influential letter that called on the U.S government to reform its welfare system and narrow the gap between rich and poor.

His influence was diminished and his critics emboldened to some degree by the traditional policies of Pope John Paul II, but Weakland retained considerable support among the faithful here, in large part, people say, because he was such a genuine, fascinating leader.

He has written or co-written more than a dozen books, speaks several languages fluently and can muddle through in more than a dozen, friends say. Even as he pursued his religious studies, and then led hundreds of thousands of fellow Catholics, he studied music in France, Italy, Germany and some of the best schools in the United States, earning a doctoral degree from Columbia University in 2000.

“This guy is something, you know,” said Tom Schloemer, who usually teaches at Creighton University in Omaha, Neb., but has been leading one of the city’s larger congregations this spring, Gesu Church, as the parish searches for a new priest. “He has made a tremendous contribution. He is one of the architects of the church in America.

“We’re all devastated. The predominant feeling is just sadness.”

That was the word on everyone’s lips Saturday, it seemed. At parishes across the city, priests called it a “sad day,” parishioners called the situation “sad,” and a woman from Chicago said, “I’m not even from here, I don’t even know him, but the whole thing seems very sad.”

Milwaukee County Dist. Atty. E. Michael McCann, who knows Weakland and was one of just a handful of people made aware of the confidential settlement with Marcoux before he went public this week, has said he’s seen no evidence of sexual misconduct but plans to investigate where the money came from and appoint a special prosecutor if it appears laws were broken.

Weakland, through a spokesman, has said he will offer a public apology in the near future for the damage his failings have caused the archdiocese and the church.

All across the city Saturday evening, priests were preparing to deal with the topic at today’s Masses.

The rain let up as the sun sank Saturday, but the clouds stayed low above the tops of the steeples.

“What a mess,” said Mike Johnson outside Old St. Mary Church. “How sad.”