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Pope John Paul II had appointed Cardinal Law pastor—or “archpriest,” in Vatican parlance—of Santa Maria Maggiore, one of the great basilicas in Rome. Peter Borré understood gilded parachutes as a reality of corporate life; but redeeming Law, with an elevation from the convent in Maryland to a perch in Rome, showed a huge disregard for the suffering he had caused. Abuse survivors and Voice of the Faithful activists raised an outcry. John L. Allen Jr., Vatican correspondent for National Catholic Reporter , explained the Curia’s view to the Globe: “The idea was to find a position in which his baggage would not bog things down, but give him a job which allows him to set up shop here, where he’s still treated with deference and respect, in part because he’s a cardinal and in part because some people think he got a raw deal.” 39
    For Lennon—but more so for O’Malley—the timing was awful.
    Angry parishioners saw their churches on a chopping block while Law, who had betrayed them, found redemption with a cushy job in Rome. Archbishop O’Malley had a meeting the following day with pastors from across the archdiocese. Media trucks waited outside the church in Weston. Law’s new job “is adding fuel to fire that is already burning in people,” Bowers told a reporter. “It’s an utter disgrace.” 40 His words were sure to incense the archbishop, a Franciscan who believed in vows of obedience; nor was the language a tool for negotiating. But hostility was rumbling among certain priests toward Lennon, as Law’s handpicked successor, and whether he knew how Law had managed the money.
    Father Stephen Josoma had come to the meeting with his own misgivings. Josoma’s St. Susanna parish was in Dedham, an island of the Charles, and it had made the suppression list for no reason he could see other than its eight prime acres with plenty of shade. The letter ordering thesuppression gave no adequate reason. Josoma wanted answers for his people. O’Malley’s responses at the closed meeting stressed that Bishop Lennon’s clustering was carefully planned; Reconfiguration would be painful, parishes could file a request for a review, but the priests must support the plan.
    In the five-hour meeting, Archbishop O’Malley quieted some fears by assuring the priests that none of the fifty-eight who signed the letter asking Law to resign would be punished. The closures were not about reprisals, he insisted.
    Church officials disseminated a 168-page manual on how to terminate employees, remove sacred objects, and deal with journalists. Sacred items must be removed to a specified place. “Shortly after the doors are closed, Archbishop Séan will deconsecrate the Church so that we can sell it,” the manual continued. “Sacred items will be removed … After this is done, the Church may be sold for any use except one that would be deemed sordid.” 41
    During a break, Josoma introduced himself to the archbishop as one of the fifty-eight priests who had demanded that Law resign. “You’re asking me to do something I cannot in conscience do,” he said. “Is this because of me or our real estate?” “Neither,” insisted O’Malley. The Globe had published a list of the parishes and their assessed values, with a fair market value in the $100 million range. “We’d be lucky if we got even the assessed value,” O’Malley added. “Well, let’s make a deal,” said Father Josoma. “We’re assessed at $320,000. What if I give you a check for $600,000? You’ll get double your amount.” The priest extended his hand to shake on it. O’Malley laughed, but would not shake hands. Josoma replied, “You know and I know that the parish is worth a lot more.” O’Malley’s lips parted in an enigmatic smile.
    On the last Sunday in May, Peter Borré and his mother-in-law went to St. Catherine of Siena for a Mass that was packed with people wanting to know what Father Bowers would say. Reporters were following the story of a