SINS OF OMISSION IT'S WHAT CARDINAL MAHONY ISN'T SAYING ABOUT PRIESTLY SEXUAL ABUSE THAT COMPROMISES THE CATHOLIC CHURCH'S CREDIBILITY.

Byline: CHRIS WEINKOPF

AT a recent gathering of 10 Los Angeles Catholic priests, conversation turned to the obvious subject of the day - rampant, nationwide charges of priestly sexual abuse.

The fathers were curious about reports that Cardinal Roger Mahony had removed as many as a dozen priests from the archdiocese because of past offenses. They wondered who the perpetrators might have been, and asked among themselves if anyone knew of any unexpected retirements or sudden departures from the ministry - obvious signs of removal.

Between them, the priests were able to come up with only four names, and even those were guesses. No one - and these are priests working and serving in Greater Los Angeles - was privy to the full story.

At a time when the Catholic Church's very credibility has been called into question by a self-inflicted scandal, that kind of secrecy is, to say the least, unsettling.

What little information the public has comes mostly from a pastoral statement the cardinal issued in February, a letter that priests throughout the archdiocese read at all Masses two weeks ago and a column he published Friday in the archdiocesan newspaper.

Mahony has vowed that the archdiocese ``will not knowingly assign or retain'' any priests or other employees ``determined to have previously engaged in the sexual abuse of a minor.'' He has issued a brochure, distributed to local parishes, on procedures for dealing with sexual-abuse charges, and he has created a hotline for abuse victims.

A priest friend assures me that ``the cardinal is truly enraged by clergy misconduct,'' and that among fellow priests, ``no one doubts his resolve to act swiftly.'' But faithful Catholics like myself, as well as the public at large, have reason to be concerned.

The criminal failure of church authorities in Boston and elsewhere to remove predator priests makes such proclamations suspect in the public mind. Soothing words like Mahony's must be regularly backed with visible public action.

Yet aside from his few pronouncements, Mahony has chosen to purge the archdiocese of sex offenders behind closed doors. He has shielded the discipline of offenders, the archdiocese's cooperation with law enforcement and all legal wrangling from public view. When I tried to interview him for this column, he referred me back to his pastoral statement.

Mahony is quite likely doing what's necessary to keep children safe in the archdiocese, but that should be only one, albeit the most important, of his immediate concerns. Following closely behind is what he has described as ``the long and arduous task of restoring credibility among the many, inside the church and beyond, whose confidence has been shaken, and in some cases destroyed'' - and on that score, his guarded approach is falling short.

Mahony's recent ouster of the offending priests is a case in point. Such measures should have boosted public confidence in his leadership - after all, the cardinal was rooting out the reprobates.

Instead, the secretive manner in which he did it raised more questions: Why now and not earlier? Why did he not name names?

These are questions that Mahony has declined to answer, to his own detriment and to that of the church.

It's possible that he could have good reason for keeping quiet, such as not wanting to invite defamation lawsuits from alleged offenders, or honoring provisions of the state's mandatory-reporting laws that exempt certain kinds of allegations, or observing the legally protected seal of the confessional. But it shouldn't be the responsibility of columnists or anyone else to guess at his silence. If he cannot come forward with the full truth, he owes it to his flock to say why not.

Like all church leaders, the cardinal must also be willing to explain what went wrong, why so many priests became abusers, and why so many bishops enabled them.

Only a frank and honest discussion of the church's sins and mistakes can assure the public that they won't be repeated.

The explanation begins, it seems, with faulty psychology. In the 1970s and 1980s, many church officials placed undue stock in the power of psychotherapy to heal sex offenders. They also maintained a theologically flawed notion of Christian redemption - that because God offers forgiveness for all sins, sinners should somehow be free of the earthly consequences of their transgressions, like losing their Roman collars.

It was a combination of bad science and bad theology, as well as plain old self-protection, that caused so many dioceses to pass dangerous priests from parish to parish.

The church's usual critics have predictably pointed their fingers at priestly celibacy as the source of the abuse. While it's true that the priesthood can be a convenient closet for those with an unhealthy sexuality, it's absurd to think that a vow of celibacy could drive otherwise sexually healthy men to develop an affinity for children.

A more likely possibility is one that few church leaders have been willing to bring up: the state of the seminaries where the church forms new priests.

For all the current talk about ``priestly pedophilia,'' the problem afflicting the church has little to do with pedophiles. Pedophilia is a medical term denoting a sexual attraction to prepubescent children. Yet in roughly 90 percent of the abuse charges against priests, the victims aren't prepubescent, they're adolescent. More specifically, they're teen-agers - teen-age males.

For the most part, it's not priestly pedophilia, but predatory homosexuality that has devastated so many young lives. Just as there are predatory heterosexual men in American society who abuse teen-age girls - often their stepfathers or mothers' boyfriends - in the Catholic priesthood, there seems to be a contingent of gay predators seeking out male teens.

In his forthcoming book, ``Goodbye! Good Men,'' Michael S. Rose cites considerable evidence that many American seminaries are hotbeds of predatory homosexuality, places where church doctrines on chastity are scarcely taught, let alone enforced. (``We're not talking here about ... homosexually oriented men who conduct themselves with perfect chastity,'' Rose explains.) If formed in such an environment, it's easy to see how a priest could continue his pathology once in active ministry.

Widespread sexual-abuse charges and Rose's much anticipated book have many Catholics rightfully worried about the state of their seminaries, and that, to be sure, will further reduce the number of men entering the priesthood. A subject that Mahony must address, both publicly and internally, is the state of the Los Angeles Archdiocese's seminary, St. John's in Camarillo. Is it a place where church teachings are passed on and followed, or flaunted and ignored?

Cleaning up the church necessarily begins with the seminaries, where new priests develop the disciplines that will sustain their ministry.

So far, though, Mahony has had little to say on these matters. In so doing, he allows the public's imagination to fill in the gaps, eroding confidence yet further.

His reticence is destructive, but his openness could be transformative.

The church has a great history of turning scandals into renewals, starting with St. Peter, who became the first pope after denying Christ three times. It carries through to the saints who urged the church back to holiness in the wake of the excesses that spurred the Protestant Reformation.

Today's trying times could also be the beginning of a great renewal for the Catholic Church, but only if those in positions of authority, like Mahony, do their part to restore the public's trust. They must be willing to ask the tough questions, answer them, and always speak the truth.

The truth, the Gospel tells us, will make us free.

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