Render Unto Rome by Jason Berry

the viewfinder: Joe Cultrera, with the Boston chancery building in the background. Cultrera tells Lennon, “I’m doing a film here. Doing a film about my family and the church … and need some shots here. This building—it was ten years ago my brother came here to report his abuse. Do you have a problem with me shooting here?”
    “Well, sir, it is private property,” says Lennon, who stands a full head taller than the filmmaker. At this point Lennon is not identified.
    “I did twelve years of Catholic school,” says Cultrera.
    “That does not—”
    “My family put so much money into this church.”
    “No, no, that has nothing to do with it,” replies Lennon, turning away, waving his hands in a dismissive motion.
    Provoked, Cultrera starts mimicking Lennon. “No, that has nothing to do with nothing. It’s always take, take, take. ”
    Lennon turns. “Sir,” he says icily, “if you think you’re going to make me feel bad about this, you’re not.”
    “No, I know you guys don’t feel bad. You don’t feel anything.”
    “No, that’s not true. You can say whatever you want. The thing is that this man”—the cameraman—“had been asked to leave.”
    “Then he asked me, and I said, ‘Don’t worry, go ahead and shoot.’ ”
    “As if you have authority,” retorts Lennon.
    “I do have authority.”
    “No, you—”
    “Same as you do. How much money have you put into the church?”
    “That—Sir, that—”
    “My family has paid for the church. All you’ve done is taken.”
    Again, Lennon turns to leave.
    “You’ve got to walk away,” Cultrera calls. “You have no argument!”
    Taking the bait, Lennon turns again. “Sir, you have nothing to say. You’ve paid for nothing. Your family paid for nothing.”
    “We’ve paid with our souls, paid with our cash!” he cries in a near-operatic retort.
    “Nahhh,” sneers Lennon.
    “—paid with our church—”
    “Nice try,” replies the bishop dismissively.
    “You took our church.”
    “Nice try. Nice try. It’s all in your head, sir. You’re just a sad little man. Sad little man.”
    Lennon walks toward the office. Cultrera snaps: “You’re a sad big man. You’re a sadder big man.” 6
    The film excerpt then cuts to the home of Cultrera’s parents in Salem, and the family’s realization that the priest who argued with Joe was Bishop Lennon, the architect of Reconfiguration, the man who shut their own parish.
    For the broadcast of the segment in Cleveland, Lennon refused Bill Sheil’s request for an interview. The diocese sent a statement by the bishop:
I went outside to ask the people to leave this property. The parties involved were never identified and the sole issue in our exchange involved their presence on private property. I was taunted and treated in an extremely unprofessional manner, resulting in the exchange as portrayed in the documentary.
    The camera can be cruel to one caught off guard. Perhaps Lennon had no idea why the cameraman was there. Cultrera, quickening to the chance for spontaneous drama, says, “It was ten years ago my brother came here to report his abuse. Do you have a problem with me shooting here?” Lennon at that point in time had met with some of Boston’s abuse survivors, but as the archdiocesan building looms behind him, the bishop offers not a word of sympathy for Cultrera’s brother. Nor does he try to finesse a new start for the hungry camera. Why not let some guy in a baseball cap film exteriors of a building that TV news has shot countless times? Instead, making it a turf war, Lennon projects his response to protesters bunkered down in Boston churches he wants to sell— it’s private property! —and comes off an insulting bully.
    Several days after that embarrassing clip on Fox 8, it could not have been easy on Lennon as he entered the City Club of Cleveland for a scheduled talk. Eleven years had passed since Pilla condemned regional sprawl, promoting Church in the City. Could Lennon