Catholicism Is Not a Cult. Let's Not Act Like One.
Detecting spiritual abuse and pastoral malpractice isn't easy, but one woman's tragic story gives us insight into how to get better at it.
Be advised that the following contains reference to abuse and suicide.
Simon Kent Fung’s new podcast, Dear Alana, documents the life of Alana Chen, a young Catholic woman from Boulder, Colorado, who was known as “the Saint” to her friends and classmates on account of her deep devotion and love for God, but who behind closed doors was also subjected to years of spiritual abuse and conversion therapy after revealing to a trusted priest that she was gay. Alana left the Church and tragically ended her life in suicide at the age of 24.
Dear Alana, hit #1 on Apple Podcasts in August. This story has struck a nerve with Catholics, non-Catholics, and ex-Catholics alike.
The question of how to better care for LGBTQ+ Catholics is front-and-center in Dear Alana, especially given Fung’s own background as a gay man who once hoped to become a priest. I don’t wish at all to minimize this aspect of the story that Fung set out to tell, but my own reactions to Dear Alana, revolve around more generally-applicable pastoral questions within the Catholic community: the “line” between spirituality and mental health, the problem of scrupulosity, and the appropriate role of a spiritual director.
The “line” between spirituality and mental health
I am still haunted by Fung’s monologue from the final episode of Dear Alana. He reflects on the canned response of Fr. Dave, Fr. Peter, St. Tom’s Catholic Center at the University of Colorado, and the Archdiocese of Denver, to Alana’s suicide - how the harm done was dismissed, shattered lives and faith minimized, and accountability litigiously deflected. His baffled frustration is palpable as he asks,
How do you hold a person, or better yet, an institution, accountable in this situation? An institution that so many of us, like Joyce did, have willingly entrusted our families to? What do you say to religious leaders who operate in this self-regulated space, whose words and actions behind closed doors and private texts often fall in this grey area between spirituality and mental health? Who is responsible when something goes wrong? It’s almost as if by design, no one is. The church can stay in its own protected spiritual lane and claim that it leaves the mental health to the therapists, but what if the line between religious practice and mental health is a lot more blurry than that? Theology can have real consequences on how we see ourselves. Are we ready for that conversation?