Colin Riley has gone obediently to Mass since boyhood, but he was mumbling apologies for raw words the other day to a statue of Jesus in the quiet sanctuary of St. Albert the Great. He was seething over efforts to close his church and others around Boston.
He and other parishioners at St. Albert have mounted an extraordinary challenge to Roman Catholic authority, snatching control of their church and inspiring occupations at several others. As their most prominent public voice, Riley is articulating the fresh stance of many American Catholics energized by the child-abuse scandal to confront religious leaders: They are loyal — but only to a point.
He and thousands like him foretell greater strains as the hierarchy strives to impose its authority on policy over church closings, sex abuse, gays, priestly celibacy, and other divisive questions. "Rather than face Rome, face the parishioners," Riley advises church officials.
It was never easy to command unquestioning loyalty from Colin Daniel Riley.
A stocky, handsome 51-year-old who stands erect like a general, Riley was born the fourth of nine children into an Irish-American family. The feisty son of a strong-minded civil engineer, he got spotty early marks for self-control in school. He learned to play rugby and defend his opinions and himself, if conciliation didn't work. He vigorously protested the Vietnam War. Eventually, with an Irish flair for schmoozing, he studied communications and went to work in public relations, most recently at Boston University. He settled in Weymouth, an old ethnic enclave of 54,000 just outside Boston.
When the Boston archdiocese announced plans this year to close 83 of its 357 parishes to rescue its finances — hurt by the revelations of molestations and how they were handled — St. Albert turned up on the list. Its last day was set for Sept. 1. Riley had worked on church committees and stepped in as No. 2 on the parish council during 18 years there. His wife, Marie, nudged him to go to a meeting and help prepare the parish's response.
She figured St. Albert would need her husband's communications skills — and maybe something more. "He's very much a person who will debate you to the very end," she says. "To the very, very end, if he feels he's right and he feels strongly about something."
Since Aug. 29, he and other parishioners have occupied the church — at least three at a time 24 hours a day, they say — to keep the archdiocese from changing locks and likely putting the property up for sale. Church authorities yanked their priest, but the protesting parishioners claim the church is legally theirs and offer laity-led services on Sunday, with prayer and many of the usual rites.
On a recent night of flooding rains, about 150 predominantly older members sloshed into the church basement for the monthly general meeting. They monitored progress of the uprising, worked out how to pay the church's utility bills, and joked about their unfamiliar roles as rebels. Several kept their hands busy knitting scarves.
Inspired by St. Albert, congregants at seven other parishes on the closing list have taken over their churches. Several more are resisting by other means. The protesters have sued in secular court and appealed under church law.
Riley, who was media liaison for St. Albert's protesters, took charge as public relations adviser to the dissident parishes, marshaled into an ad hoc Council of Parishes.
As an advocate, Riley carefully chooses his words and supporting arguments. "You can't help being impressed as soon as he opens his mouth," says Mary Cratty, a parishioner at St. Albert.
Though usually restrained and respectful in public, Riley occasionally uses harsh words. He has said church closings around Boston have been mismanaged into "a train wreck." The archbishop "just doesn't get it." Why isn't there someone at the archdiocese "of strong moral conviction"?
Bill Bannon, who has been occupying St. Anselm Church in Sudbury with other parishioners, says Riley's strongest declarations crystallize a general frustration. Cynthia Deysher, co-leader of the assembly of dissident parishes, says Riley's style is just right for this moment in church history.
"There's been so much double-talk, so much inconsistency, so much hidden with the sexual abuse crisis," Deysher says. "He is a guy who will call a spade a spade."
By his own reckoning an ordinary Catholic, no more or less devout than others, Riley blames church leaders for one mistake above all: He says they didn't take him and other parishioners seriously. To him, it's a question of respect.
"You're writing, and they're not even responding to you. They're not answering the phone. They're not answering our faxes," he recalls bitterly.
Representatives of the archdiocese say the leadership did solicit parishioners' views from the start. Their envoys have also met with dissident parishioners on occasion. Riley and some other parishioners suspect they were targeted for closing partly because they had challenged church authorities over sexual abuse in the past, but the archdiocese denies such a motive.
Archbishop Sean O'Malley wrote in a recent open letter, "I know that we all have a great love for our parish and parish church," but he appealed for loyalty to the Catholic church as a whole. "If difficult decisions are not made now, the mission of the Church will be seriously compromised in the future," he warned.
The protesters are also feeling strains, sacked out in sleeping bags between pews and drained by late-night planning sessions. Riley barely gets home to his wife and two daughters some weeks.
"There are times when I know Colin is stretched thin," says Mary Akoury, co-leader of St. Albert's council. "And he always comes through."
The occupation is now just over 100 days old. Riley says he's personally ready for 1,000 more, if necessary.