Nothing brings out my passion more than talking about the place of Marcel Văn CSsR (1928–1959) in the ecclesial crisis of abuse. And at the same time, nothing causes me to boil over more than efforts which, intentionally or not, directly or indirectly, would put the light of his witness under a bushel basket. I am convinced from personal experience and with every fibre of my being that this little Vietnamese coadjutor brother will be the “MVP” of the abuse crisis, maybe even its Doctor Ecclesiae Universalis, if we would just let him speak and be heard the world over.

I’ve written a ten-part series on Marcel Văn and clerical abuse. With encouragement from a friend or two, I’ve embarked on converting that into a full-length book. The series itself was already long enough for that in theory. But over the past few months, I’ve been fleshing it out with more research into the various domains touched on by Văn’s experience and teaching. The current state of the manuscript is about double the length that I published last year on the blog.

As I have been working my way through this massive project, I’ve come back again and again to one section of Marcel’s notebooks that I think holds great power. Marcel writes a report on the state of the Church in Vietnam for his spiritual director (who is a foreigner) to help him better understand where he is coming from. In this notebook, we learn a surprising amount about who Marcel really is and what his life’s trajectory ought to be.

One thing I’ve found is that in this particular notebook, Marcel completely explodes the presentation of him that would downplay the abuse crisis in his life. His biographers might be content to declare that the ecclesiastical systems in place were generally good and that abuses occurred “locally,”^[1] or that “we must not generalize from particular cases. The river always carries trash.”^[2] Văn most certainly was not.

Marcel is incredibly clear that it’s not enough to talk about local pockets of abuse. In his view, his experience of clerical abuse isn’t unique. It’s not even uncommon. The events he treats of are “far from being isolated incidents” (OWV 814).^[3] There is need for a “reform” (A 352; To Father Boucher, 9 Oct 1950; OWV 820-2, 842).[4] Good priests “were scattered like grains from the paddy fields in a bowl of rice”—that is to say, few and far between and hard to pick out, not to mention a great annoyance and pain when you bite into one (OWV 808).

In charity, Marcel tells us that he dares not generalize to everyone, for there were also many good priests, but he stalwartly refuses to tidy things up with any language that downplays the problem. He can’t mention the good priests individually, he says, for his own mission is to call attention, in this world and the next, to whatever makes “the light of faith founder in infernal darkness.” It is for this reason that he acknowledges that “there are many sentences in my account which may appear too harsh and lacking restraint,” which are really written with humility, because it is hard for him to be confrontational and to speak forthrightly on these matters (OWV 822–823). Things are so bad that Marcel notes how much practice and patience it takes to exercise restraint and “not bellow out in such a way as to frighten everyone” (OWV 842).

Reading Marcel carefully and without prejudice, it is hard to deny that he finds himself caught up in something immense. Without using the word, he is diagnosing and writing about a crisis.

The crisis is not local. It’s global. He knows it. On the matters of abuse, Marcel wishes not just for local changes, nor even for reforms of a national scope. He has lived with priests from two other, long-Christianized continents up close. Broader cultural factors are apparent to him. Marcel’s desire is to “make the whole world make progress” (OWV 842). He has ideas about how that will be done. It’s necessary to speak up, influence people’s hearts, and even bring the matter to the Chair of Saint Peter itself:

Then, although I know that my cry cannot make itself heard to the end of the earth, I will speak on the radio of love, so that my voice carries, not only to the horizon, but that it penetrates to the depths of the hearts of men. And, supposing that my voice cannot penetrate the hearts of men, I dare to affirm that after my death I will take myself to the seat of St. Peter to denounce [the perpetrators]. (OWV 823).

If immediate listeners don’t heed him, there remains spiritual power; if this fails, then it will be time to appeal to the highest authority on earth to intervene.

This is not the only time that Marcel has the thought of going to Rome after his death. We can find that sentiment reoccur in a notebook written half a decade later, about six months before his arrest by the Communists:

People say I will have to go to Rome. I do not know if that is really the will of Jesus, or if they wish, quite simply, to tease me to make me forget a little the thought of heaven.

To tell the truth, Rome does not please me as much as heaven. Whatever may be, I do not think I will go to Rome, and if I ever go there, it will only be after my death. (OWN3.5–6)

Perhaps Marcel got his wish—or at least some faltering first steps towards it. He went to Rome. I think he did.

The two most recent Supreme Pontiffs, Popes Benedict XVI and Francis, despite faults and imperfections, speak words that Marcel would quite happily align himself with. Consider how Pope Francis, in the introduction to his August 2018 Letter to the People of God, tells us of abuses “perpetrated by a significant number of clerics and consecrated persons,” and how Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, just before his election to the papacy, decried, “How much filth there is in the Church, and even among those who, in the priesthood, ought to belong entirely to [Christ]!” (quoted in LPG 1). Consider how Cardinal Ratzinger saw the horrific state of affairs and therefore tried to get better control over abuse cases while he was the head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith—and then, after that, ended up in the Chair of Saint Peter. Consider how far things have come. There are miles yet to trek, but compared to two decades ago…

The fact of the matter is: Marcel’s words ring true. He spoke. Nobody listened. He tried to influence the secrets of hearts. This did not ameliorate things. He took it to the Chair of Saint Peter itself, and he will continue to do so. Let him. More and more. Let him!

In the coming year, the association responsible for the beatification cause of Văn (Les Amis de Van) intends to send his portfolio beyond the diocesan stage to Rome. He will “go to Rome.” But in a much deeper sense, I think he is already there. Pray that he accomplishes everything he wants to—this little coadjutor brother who understood so much of the various forms of abuse in the Church, its effects, and the evangelical responses and solutions, and who knew and spoke of and denounced a wholesale crisis before anyone else, unafraid despite his terrified and traumatized state to take the affair to the Chair of Peter after his death, should matters come to a head. And they certainly have.

P.S. Also pray for my book! It’s an enormous responsibility. Thank you.

[1] Charles Bolduc, Frère Marcel Van (1928-1959). Un familier de Thérèse de Lisieux (Montreal/Paris: Éditions Paulines & Médiaspaul, 1986), 22. This assessment is quoted favourably by canonically disciplined abuser Marie-Michel [Hostalier], L’Amour ne peut mourir. Vie de Marcel Van (Paris: Fayard, 1990), 74.

[2] Marie-Michel, L’Amour ne peut mourir, 64. The author is of course perfectly capable of drawing attention to “the millions of kids worldwide who are exploited, beaten, prostituted, sold, rejected” (ibid., 114). It is only the scope of clerical abuse that is minimized. 

[3] OW = Marcel Van, Other Writings, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 4; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2018).

[4] A = Marcel Van, Autobiography, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 1; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2019); To = Marcel Van, Correspondence, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 3; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2018).