Chaplain PREDATOR who sexually abused inmates gets 7 years in prison

(AP) – A chaplain at a California federal women's prison was sentenced to seven years in jail for "egregious" sexual abuse against inmates. He is one of the five workers at the prison charged in the last 14 months for the same crime.

James Theodore Highhouse, right, arrives for his sentencing hearing at U.S. District Court with his attorney Jaime Dorenbaum, left, in Oakland, Calif., Wednesday, Aug. 31, 2022. Highhouse pleaded guilty to sexually abusing an inmate while working as a prison chaplain at a federal women's prison in Dublin, Calif. (AP Photo/Godofredo A. Vásquez)

September 1, 2022

By 

Michael R. Sisak, Michael Balsamo

Behind a closed chapel office door inside a federal women’s prison in California, a chaplain forced inmates seeking his spiritual guidance to have sex with him, exploiting their faith and their powerlessness behind bars for his own gratification, prosecutors said.

James Theodore Highhouse was sentenced Wednesday to seven years in prison — more than double the recommended punishment in federal sentencing guidelines. U.S. District Judge Haywood S. Gilliam Jr. said the guidelines, which call for a sentence of less than three years, “seriously underestimate the seriousness” of Highhouse’s conduct.

“It’s hard to come up with the right words to describe how egregious an abuse of these victims this was,” Gilliam said.

Highhouse is among five workers charged in the last 14 months with sexually abusing inmates at the Federal Correctional Institution in Dublin, California, and the first to reach the sentencing phase of his case.

Highhouse, wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans, spoke briefly in federal court in Oakland and apologized to the women he harmed. Gilliam ordered him to begin his prison sentence on Nov. 2, allowing him to remain free on bail until then. Highhouse must register as a sex offender once he’s released from prison, Gilliam said.

Highhouse, who was arrested in January and pleaded guilty in February, would tell women he abused at the Bay Area lockup, that everyone in the Bible had sex and that God wanted them to be together, prosecutors said.

An Army veteran, he pressured one inmate into intercourse on Veterans Day by telling her she needed to serve her country and on Thanksgiving by telling her she needed to show her gratitude for him, prosecutors said.

While Highhouse, 49, was charged only with abusing one inmate and lying to authorities, prosecutors say he engaged in predatory conduct with at least six women from 2014 to 2019 — including one he counseled at a veterans hospital where he worked before joining the federal Bureau of Prisons, where allegations were routinely ignored.

“Highhouse ruined my life — he truly did,” one inmate said in a victim impact statement. “I don’t even go to Church anymore because of him. I have no trust in the Church and really, I don’t trust anyone because of what he did.”

Highhouse, enabled by a toxic culture of abuse and coverups at the prison, warned victims not to report him, telling one of them “no one will believe you because you’re an inmate, and I’m a chaplain,” prosecutors wrote in a sentencing memorandum.

At the same time, prosecutors wrote, a prison counselor would rail about inmates “snitching” on employees, suggesting they instead “tell Trump about it,” referring to then-President Donald Trump.

Prosecutors had sought a 10-year prison sentence. His lawyers asked for two years, the low end of the federal guidelines, which called for a sentence of 24 to 30 months. Gilliam’s seven-year sentence matched the recommendation of probation officers who conducted Highhouse’s pre-sentence investigation.

“Within our corrections system, chaplains are supposed to provide hope and spiritual guidance,” Deputy Attorney General Lisa Monaco said in a statement. “Instead, this chaplain abused his authority and betrayed the public trust.”

In their sentencing memorandum, Highhouse’s lawyers noted that he served as an Army chaplain in Iraq and Afghanistan, is seeking treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder and cares for his elderly mother after his father’s death this year. He has no prior criminal history, they wrote.

All sexual activity between a prison worker and an inmate is illegal. Correctional employees enjoy substantial power over inmates, controlling every aspect of their lives from mealtime to lights out, and there is no scenario in which an inmate can give consent.

Earlier this year, an Associated Press investigation revealed years of sexual misconduct at FCI Dublin, including allegations against the prison’s former warden. The AP also detailed steps that were taken to keep abuse secret, such as ignoring allegations, retaliating against whistleblowers and sending prisoners to solitary confinement or other prisons for reporting abuse.

After the AP’s reporting, a task force of senior federal prison officials descended on Dublin, meeting with staff and inmates and pledging to fix problems and change the culture. On Wednesday, Bureau of Prisons Director Colette Peters visited Dublin for an update.

The four other charged Dublin employees are at various stages of their cases.

The former warden, Ray J. Garcia, was arraigned Wednesday on a superseding indictment charging him with abusing two additional inmates, for a total of seven counts involving three victims. He pleaded not guilty and is scheduled to go on trial in November.

Enrique Chavez, a food service foreman, is expected to plead guilty on Sept. 14. Ross Klinger, a recycling technician, pleaded guilty in February but has yet to be sentenced. John Russell Bellhouse, a prison safety administrator, is scheduled to stand trial next June.

Highhouse pleaded guilty on Feb. 23 to two counts of sexual abuse of a ward, two counts of abusive sexual contact and one count of making false statements to federal agents.

All of the charges stem from allegations Highhouse repeatedly abused a female prisoner over a nine-month span in 2018 and 2019.

That woman said in a victim impact statement that she cried herself to sleep after testifying before a grand jury about Highhouse’s abuse.

“I felt so lost, hopeless, worthless, and betrayal and truly do not know what to do or who to talk to about my problems,” the woman wrote.

The AP does not typically identify people who say they are victims of sexual assault unless they grant permission.

Other allegations against Highhouse, previously kept quiet by Dublin officials, came to light during the investigation, prosecutors said.

Two inmates said Highhouse claimed to them that he was a sex therapist, asked graphic questions about their sex lives and offered to let them have sex in his office, prosecutors said. One of them said Highhouse leered at her when she got out of the shower and had a reputation as a “predator.”

Another inmate told investigators that she avoided Highhouse after he made suggestive remarks during a counseling session, such as suggesting that the commissary sell sex toys.

In May, an inmate now incarcerated at another federal prison facility reported that Highhouse raped her multiple times in his chapel office after she sought him out for counseling, prosecutors said.

“He took my ability to sleep at night and he took my ability to trust in the Church,” the inmate wrote in a victim impact statement. “I would never go back to Church. I’m constantly on alert. He played on my vulnerability and took advantage of me — I have nightmares.”

The inmate said that she attempted to report the abuse but that when she did, a prison officer shrugged and reminded her that she would soon be transferring out of Dublin.

“To me the BOP is an epic fail in terms of the way they handle PREA,” the inmate wrote, referring to the federal Prison Rape Elimination Act. “The system is flawed and broken.” ___

On Twitter, follow Sisak at twitter.com/mikesisak and Balsamo at twitter.com/mikebalsamo1. Send confidential tips by visiting https://www.ap.org/tips/.

NDAs are a tool for toxic church cultures

Not every church that uses NDAs has faced scandal. But of those that have in recent years, NDAs were inevitably in the mix.

Photo from PxHere/Creative Commons

September 8, 2022

By 

Katelyn Beaty

(RNS) — In 2019, pastor Rick Warren told a reporter why Saddleback Church — one of the most dynamic megachurches worldwide — didn’t use nondisclosure agreements: “We believe that our competition is not other churches, but rather the world, the flesh, and the devil.”

Warren’s comment hints at the original purpose of NDAs: to prevent employees of businesses from taking trade secrets to competitors — an Apple employee from taking the latest phone update to their new Microsoft gig.

Warren, by contrast, was apparently happy for Saddleback staffers to take their wisdom elsewhere, since all churches are playing for Team Jesus.

Saddleback’s new lead pastor may be less inclined to take such an open-handed approach.

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RELATED: Saddleback elders say no ‘pattern of abuse’ found in investigation of new pastor

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In recent months, allegations of unhealthy leadership patterns have been lodged against Andy Wood, the new senior pastor at Saddleback and former senior pastor at Echo Church, a multisite congregation in San Jose, California. In response, Saddleback hired an executive search firm to investigate the claims and found “no systemic or pattern of abuse under Andy’s leadership.”

But critics say if former Echo employees were allowed to talk freely, patterns would emerge. More than 1,100 people have signed a petition asking that Echo release former employees from their NDAs, lest unhealthy patterns go unchecked or resurface in a new church.

Mark Driscoll, left, formerly of Mars Hill Church, is interviewed by Pastor Andy Wood at Echo Church leadership conference. Video screen grab from conference

Are there legitimate reasons for churches to use NDAs? Echo recently defended its use among staff and volunteers: to protect its database, passwords and private information. A spokesperson noted that some Echo termination agreements asked employees “not to disparage or slander the reputation of the church, its directors, pastors and staff, or any church members/attendees.”

Mutually binding, the agreements ostensibly ensured that both the church and employee “act in a Christ-like manner, avoiding gossip and destructive slandering that causes division, rather than unity.”

The rationale sounds spiritual enough. The Bible warns against people who speak badly about others who aren’t there to defend themselves. Gossipers spread “empty speech” and “whispers.” Slander is false speech about others.

But the Bible praises people who love the truth and desire it to be known in full. The Bible also places a high bar for spiritual leaders. In many large churches and organizations, NDAs have served to conceal the truth and to protect the image of top leaders, allowing them to continue harming others entrusted to their care.

Telling the truth, however negative, about someone else isn’t gossip or slander. In a former workplace of mine, several young staffers warned each other about a colleague who crossed boundaries in speech and behavior. He would linger in women’s offices, stare at their chests and ask inappropriate questions about their romantic lives. We told each other about him precisely because other leaders hadn’t addressed the behavioral patterns. He also later pleaded guilty for attempting to pay for sex with a minor. What’s written off as gossip is oftentimes meant to protect people who otherwise are disempowered to address the problem head-on.

Not every church or faith-based organization that uses NDAs has faced scandal. But of the groups that have faced scandal in recent years, NDAs were inevitably part of the mix. That’s true for Mars Hill Church, Harvest Bible Chapel, Hillsong Church, Hillsong College, Willow Creek Community Church, Acts 29, Ravi Zacharias International Ministries and Ramsey Solutions. In many of these instances, NDAs stemmed from cultures of intense loyalty and fear of leadership’s wrath. Employees felt they had no choice but to sign in order to receive compensation.

The main campus of Willow Creek Community Church in South Barrington, Illinois. Photo courtesy of Global Leadership Summit

Reliance on NDAs is entwined with the well-established phenomenon of celebrity pastors. When a church’s identity is enmeshed with that of its celebrity leader, the church will often go to great lengths to protect the leader’s image. In many of these cases, “gossip” is forbidden simply because of the leader’s fragile ego, as if the leader can’t bear the thought of anyone asking questions. Shouldn’t we promote leaders whose psyches can handle critique?

In research for my book, I spoke with a former employee of a Southern megachurch whose pastor has been criticized for lavish spending, prosperity theology and an authoritarian leadership style. The employee told me that once they joined, “there was an instant spirit of fear.” Staff were expected to stand whenever the pastor entered the room and once planned an event where the pastor came out on a red carpet to take photos with attendees.

But of course, the employee had signed an NDA. There was no way for her to directly warn staff or attendees of what went on behind closed doors.

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RELATED: Matt Chandler, megachurch pastor and ACTS 29 leader, placed on leave

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We have to face the fact that the existence of NDAs in Christian organizations is a worse witness for the church than any information that might come out in their absence. The concealment of truth and the appearance of image management are more damaging than the truth.

Clinical psychologist and abuse expert Diane Langberg once wrote, “NDAs protect systems rather than precious humans made in the image of our God.” There is no religious system, however impressive or “successful,” that’s worth the mistreatment of humans or the binding of their consciences to speak of what happened to them.

If there’s nothing to hide, then there’s nothing to fear.

(Katelyn Beaty is the author, most recently of “Celebrities for Jesus: How Personas, Platforms, and Profits Are Hurting the Church,” and co-host of the RNS podcast “Saved by the City.” The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)

PATRIARCHAL SPACE  CULT

Utah rep. told Mormon bishop not to report abuse, docs show

. Merrill Nelson, a Utah lawmaker and prominent attorney for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints advised a church bishop not to report a confession of child sex abuse to authorities, a decision that allowed the abuse to continue for years, according to records filed in a 2021 lawsuit by three of Paul Adams’ children. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer, File)More

MICHAEL REZENDES and JASON DEAREN
Thu, September 8, 2022 

A Utah lawmaker and prominent attorney for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints advised a church bishop not to report a confession of child sex abuse to authorities, a decision that allowed the abuse to continue for years, according to records filed in a lawsuit.

The records — two pages from a log of calls fielded by a law firm representing the church and the deposition of a church official — show that Utah Republican State Rep. Merrill F. Nelson took the initial call from a bishop reporting that church member Paul Adams had sexually abused his daughters. Nelson also had multiple conversations over a two-year span with two bishops who knew of the abuse, the records show.

Nelson is a conservative lawmaker who was elected to the Utah House of Representatives in 2013 and announced his retirement earlier this year. He was also a lawyer with the Salt Lake City firm Kirton McConkie, which represents the church. He earned his undergraduate and law degree from church-owned Brigham Young University.

Related video: How Mormon church 'help line' hid child sex abuse


A transcript of the deposition and excerpts of the call log were attached to a legal filing in the Arizona Court of Appeals made by lawyers for the plaintiffs. Three of Adams’s children are battling the church, widely known as the Mormon church, for access to records the church insists are confidential. The church took the case to the Court of Appeals after a Cochise County judge ruled in favor of the victims.

According to the plaintiff’s legal filing, Nelson advised Bishop John Herrod not to report the abuse and told him “that he could be sued if he reported, and the instruction by counsel not to report Paul to the authorities was the law in Arizona and had nothing to do with Church doctrine.” But Arizona’s child sex abuse reporting law grants blanket legal immunity to anyone reporting child sex abuse or neglect.

The AP reported in August that Adams confessed to Herrod in 2010 that he sexually abused his daughter, identified as MJ.

The church’s lawyers have said Herrod, and later bishop Robert “Kim” Mauzy, legally withheld information about MJ’s abuse under the state’s clergy-penitent privilege. Arizona law generally requires clergy members to report child neglect and sexual abuse but allows them to withhold information obtained during a spiritual confession.

The log of calls filed in the Arizona Court of Appeals shows that Nelson spoke with Herrod and Mauzy multiple times from November of 2011 to February of 2014, a period during which Adams was excommunicated. Mauzy presided over a 2013 church disciplinary process after which Adams was expelled.

Although the log doesn’t detail the subject of those communications, Roger Van Komen, manager of the church’s southeast region family services department, said in a deposition also included with the filing that Nelson discussed the case with Herrod.

The 2021 lawsuit alleges the church conspired to cover up Adam’s sexual crimes. The one-time U.S. Border Patrol employee repeatedly raped M.J. and eventually her younger sister at their Arizona home over a period of seven years and posted videos of the abuse on the Internet.

During an interview with the AP before the new court records were filed, Nelson defended the church’s actions in the Adams case and the clergy-penitent privilege. He said the church “abuse help line” that Herrod had called for advice was designed to protect children.

“I don’t have all the facts, but it seems to me like it did operate as intended,” he said. “The bishop called the help line and was advised no duty to report it to civil authorities. In fact, could not report because of the clergy privilege,” Nelson said.

“It is intended and always has from the beginning been intended to to help victims get the help they need through social services, professional counseling, medical help, legal help, law enforcement,” Nelson said.

Contacted after the new records were made public, Nelson declined further comment and asked that his previous comments be off the record. “I offer no comment on specific cases,” he said.

As a lawmaker, Nelson is a genteel but deeply socially conservative, speaking out against repealing a law that banned sex outside of marriage in 2019 and unsuccessfully pushing to block changes to gender markers on birth certificates. This year, he opposed a plan to remove a marriage requirement for surrogacy arrangements.

He also has opposed legislation that would do away with the clergy-penitent privilege. “Without that assurance of secrecy, troubled people will not confide in their clergy. Secrecy is essential to the privilege," he said. “It encourages full disclosure without fear of unauthorized disclosure.”

A spokesman for the church declined to comment on the plaintiff's filing.

The church established the help line in 1995 and requires bishops and other church leaders to call it before deciding whether to report the abuse to police or child welfare officials.

According to church documents, those answering the help line refer callers to church attorneys with Kirton McConkie if the allegations of abuse are serious. The attorneys then decide whether the callers should report the abuse.

Nelson, who was a shareholder at Kirton McConkie, took Herrod’s first call to the help line reporting Adams’s abuse, according to Van Komen’s deposition. Nelson told The AP he retired from the firm, though he remains listed on its website as a member of its First Amendment and Religious Organizations section.

The AP investigation published in August found that the help line is part of a system that can easily be misused by church leaders to divert abuse accusations away from law enforcement and instead to church attorneys who may bury the problem, leaving victims in harm’s way.

The AP’s findings were based in part on 12,000 pages of sealed records in an unrelated child abuse suit against the church filed in West Virginia. Many of the documents describe the operation of the help line, which includes destroying all records at the end of each day

The sealed records included a list of questions that those answering the help line were to ask before referring calls to Kirton McConkie attorneys. The so-called “protocol” listed the names of several Kirton McConkie attorneys and their phone numbers, including Nelson’s.

Until now, the church has said that all communications between Herrod and Mauzy and church attorneys are confidential under the attorney-client privilege. But the newly filed log provides some details of Nelson’s conversations with the two bishops.

For instance, the log shows that Nelson wrote an “initial case summary” on Nov. 7, 2011 “based on a conversation” with Herrod. The log also notes a “description of legal advice,” and notes additional communications with the bishop.

Federal officials arrested Adams in 2017, four years after he was excommunicated, finally stopping the abuse of MJ and her sister, with no help from the church.

Adams died by suicide in custody before he could stand trial. His wife, Leizza Adams, served more than two years in state prison on child sex abuse charges. Three of their six children, including a boy who was allegedly abused, filed the lawsuit accusing the church of negligence for not reporting their abuse, and for engaging in a wider conspiracy to cover up child sex abuse.

Attorneys for the three children declined to comment on the log and their most recent court filing. In their 2021 lawsuit they referred to Kirton McConkie while accusing the church of directing a system designed to protect the church against potentially costly sexual abuse lawsuits.

“The Mormon Church implements the Helpline not for the protection and spiritual counseling of sexual abuse victims, as professed in Mormon church doctrine and literature, but for Kirton McConkie attorneys to snuff out complaints and protect the Mormon church from costly lawsuits,” the lawsuit says.

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Follow Michael Rezendes and Jason Dearen on Twitter at @MikeRezendes and @jhdearen. Contact AP’s global investigative team at Investigative@ap.org or https://www.ap.org/tips/

Former mayor, Mormon bishop accused of sex abuse of children


The Salt Lake Temple stands at Temple Square in Salt Lake City on Oct. 5, 2019. Merrill Nelson, a Utah lawmaker and prominent attorney for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints advised a church bishop not to report a confession of child sex abuse to authorities, a decision that allowed the abuse to continue for years, according to records filed in a 2021 lawsuit by three of Paul Adams’ children.

 (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer, File) (ASSOCIATED PRESS)More

BRADY McCOMBS
Thu, September 8, 2022 

SALT LAKE CITY (AP) — A former Utah city mayor and bishop with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has been arrested on accusations he sexually abused at least three children decades ago.

Carl Matthew Johnson, 77, was arrested Wednesday and booked into the Davis County jail in northern Utah on suspicion of seven counts of sex abuse of a child, according to a probable cause statement.

Investigators say Johnson acknowledged abusing three victims in 1985, 1993 and 1996 and estimated there was a total of six victims as young as 2-years-old, according to the document. He told investigators he had struggled “controlling his sexual urges” most of his life.

Some of the alleged abuse occurred in the same years as he was mayor of West Bountiful, a city just outside of Salt Lake City that he led from 1990-1997.

The investigation is still ongoing, but so far Johnson is only booked on charges stemming from three victims. Johnson had not yet been charged as of Thursday afternoon and it was unknown if he had an attorney.

Johnson was in a “position of trust” over each victim, but investigators don't explain what that was in the probable cause document. Stephanie Dinsmore, spokesperson for Davis County Sheriff’s Office, also declined to explain.

The victims told investigators they were told not to tell anyone, and Johnson used his position to suppress disclosures, according to the probable cause statement.

Dinsmore initially declined Thursday to provide information about when Johnson was a bishop over a congregation of the faith known widely as the Mormon church, saying in a text that the agency would not be commenting on Johnson’s “affiliation” with the faith.

She later disclosed that he was a bishop from 1974-1979. Bishops are lay clergy who oversee local congregations for a few years at a time in a rotating role reserved only for men in the faith known widely as the Mormon church.

Sam Penrod, spokesman for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said in a statement the allegations are “serious and deeply troubling” and reiterated the church stance that the faith doesn't tolerant any kind of abuse.

“Those who engage in abusive behavior are rightfully subject to prosecution by legal authorities and also face loss of church membership,” Penrod said.

The faith has come under scrutiny following an Associated Press investigation that found flaws in how it handles reporting of sex abuse allegations made to bishops. The church has defended the system and alleged AP has mischaracterized its reporting system.

The AP reported Thursday that a Utah lawmaker was the person who advised a church bishop in Arizona not to report a confession of child sex abuse to authorities, a decision that allowed the abuse to continue for years, according to records filed in a lawsuit.

How Pope Francis’ welcoming message transformed a trans community in Rome

While Pope Francis' steps toward openness to the LGBTQ community haven't changed church doctrine, outside Vatican circles they have been seen as earthshaking.

The Rev. Andrea Conocchia talks to a small group of trans women at the Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

September 7, 2022

By 

Claire Giangravé

VATICAN CITY (RNS) — The Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin looks out onto the Mediterranean from Torvaianica, a beach town just 20 miles from Rome known more for its Mafia incursions, drugs and sex trafficking than its scenery. On a recent gray morning on its littered streets was a single pigeon wing — debris from fights with local gulls.

Immaculate Blessed Virgin’s high red brick façade conceals a rather low-vaulted interior, which on this morning was fragrant with the perfume of the lilies strewn on the floor, left over from a celebration for the Assumption of Mary a few days before. A handful of middle-aged parish volunteers were at work cleaning up the church.

The Rev. Andrea Conocchia, the pastor, showed up in sweatpants and a T-shirt reading “God is great and Jesus loves me,” a gift for his 25th anniversary of celebrating his first Mass. He apologizes for his voice, still worn out from guiding the Mary procession down the windy beach.

Conocchia said he’s a big fan of liturgies, Masses and processions, but he prefers ministry that is immersed in his community. His primary tools as a priest appear to be a bright orange car and his cellphone, which erupts constantly with WhatsApp messages. His favored office is the coffee shop overlooking the beach just off Torvaianica’s main square.

The Rev. Andrea Conocchia, center, introduces members of the Torvaianica community to Pope Francis on Aug. 11, 2022, during the pope’s general audience at the Vatican. Photo courtesy of the Rev. Andrea Conocchia

“I’m not just a priest at the altar. I am a priest right now!” he explained as he loaded up with cups of espresso and chunks of jam tart in the coffee bar for the team tidying up after the revelries.

But in the past two years, Conocchia has gained fame for serving a particular community that found him shortly after he arrived at Blessed Virgin: a group of trans women whose lives he has changed both practically and spiritually. Since April, at the invitation of the Vatican, Conocchia has brought four groups of LGBTQ people to meet Pope Francis and receive needed medical care.

The trips, he said, have allowed fathers struggling with their children’s sexuality to find redemption. Since becoming known for his work in Torvaianica, he conducts prayer sessions via Zoom with disenfranchised LGBTQ Catholics across Italy.

The trans women in Torvaianica sought out Conocchia for basic needs. Most of them sex workers, they had been left without clients, and therefore income, by the pandemic. Because many are HIV-positive, they are at higher risk for serious illness. As immigrants, they could not take advantage of Italy’s health care system.

“When the pandemic hit, we as trans people had to knock on doors because we had nothing to eat,” said Claudia Salas in a mix of Italian and her native Argentine Spanish. “When I went to the church, they closed the door on me,” she said about a nearby parish. “They suggested to go to the parish of Torvaianica.

The Rev. Andrea Conocchia shares a laugh with Claudia Salas at the Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

“Don Andrea was the only one to bring God to us,” Salas said, her grief repeatedly spilling over into tears. She said Conocchia brought pasta, vegetables and other staples to their homes.

After meeting Conocchia, Salas, who transitioned when she was 11, urged other trans women to go to the parish at Torvaianica. 

Conocchia had arrived at Blessed Virgin months before from a small chapel in Lido dei Pini, a half-hour down the coast. Given the chapel’s tiny capacity, he said, he spent much of his time preaching on the streets — it was in Lido dei Pini that he traded his cassock for the more practical pants and T-shirt. Torvaianica was a shock at first. “Everything was locked,” he said. “It was like entering a cloistered monastery.”

Boats along the beachfront in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

A bird flies over barbed wire in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

As the pandemic descended on Italy, the Italian government demanded that churches close. Conocchia obeyed until one morning after saying Mass to the nuns who live at the church complex, he saw a line of people in the church’s piazza. “They were families, people dependent on undeclared or seasonal work, migrants, and in the crowd there were three trans women,” he said.

Despite fears of spreading COVID-19, not least to his aging mother who lives with him, Conocchia opened the doors. The second day there were four trans women, he said; the next there were eight. 

At first, he offered the trans women food and money through the local chapter of Caritas, the Catholic charitable organization. He helped Salas get documented and find work as a cleaner, seamstress and cook to get her off the streets.

The Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

As their numbers continued to grow, he came up with idea of having the women write to the pope. They told him they were ashamed to describe their lives to the pope. Several wept to think of it.

But the letters went to Rome, and in April 2020, the pope sent money and food to Blessed Virgin through Cardinal Konrad Krajewski, the papal almoner, the official dispenser of Francis’ philanthropy. The 58-year-old Pole is known for diving into sewers to restore electricity to Roma refugee camps. More recently Francis sent Krajewski to Ukraine, where he has met with refugees and blessed mass graves.

Since early in his pontificate, Francis has taken a novel approach to LGBTQ issues, beginning with his reply in 2013 to a question about gay priests: “Who am I to judge?” He has met with a Spanish trans man and his partner at the Vatican and praised the work of the Rev. James Martin, the American Jesuit who advocates for inclusion for LGBTQ Catholics.

Last year, not long after the Vatican’s office of doctrine issued a document calling the blessing of same-sex couples a sin, Francis overhauled the office and removed those responsible.

Francis has stopped short of definitively changing Catholic teaching, which still regards homosexuality as “intrinsically disordered.” He has called gender theory a form of “ideological colonization,” especially when taught in schools. Measured against this doctrinal stance, the pope’s steps toward openness to the LGBTQ community are mere gestures, but outside Vatican circles they have been seen as earthshaking.

At Easter 2021, Krajewski called Conocchia to tell him to bring the trans women and others in need to the Vatican to receive COVID-19 vaccines and health checkups. When Conocchia arrived at the Vatican City gates with two busloads in tow, Vatican officials asked the pope whether they should be allowed inside. Francis ordered them to be admitted, saying, “Ask for their names, ask for anything they need, but do not ask them about their sex,” according to activist Juan Carlos Cruz, a friend of the pope’s.

Members of a faith community from Torvaianica, Italy, including transgender individuals, volunteers and others, pose outside Paul VI Audience Hall in April after arriving at the Vatican to receive the COVID-19 vaccine. Photo courtesy of the Rev. Andrea Conocchia

The next day at the papal audience, Conocchia ushered the women forward to meet the pontiff. “When I touched his hand, I was lost for words,” Minerva Motta Nuñes said. She offered him a traditional leather cup from Peru, where she was born.

Afterward, Conocchia said, the pope told him: “Keep going, continue in this ministry, you are doing well.”

Marcella Demarco Muniz, from left, Claudia Salas, Laura and Minerva Motta Nuñes meet at the Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

Conocchia said he has been reinvigorated by the pope’s approval, especially after Conocchia’s efforts to open the church to the LGBTQ community have led to pushback.

Some in Torvaianica were angry that the trans women received the vaccine before other residents. Conocchia admits that it’s not uncommon for disapproving members of his flock to casually ask him for how long he thinks he will be stationed at the parish.

Two local priests, both from Africa, support the pope and his message of inclusion but say focusing on questions of sexuality seems terribly out of touch with the demand for food, medicine and financial independence in their native countries.

The Rev. Blaise Mayuma Nkwa, from Congo, where there are more Catholics per capita than any nation in Africa, won’t go on Conocchia’s trips in the company of the trans women. When the subject comes up at lunch, the otherwise cheerful priest turns quiet.

The Rev. Andrea Conocchia, left, and the Rev. Blaise Mayuma Nkwa pose together at the Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

The Rev. Omero Mananga, Conocchia’s deputy, displays both respect and skepticism. He worries about explaining Francis’ vision to the die-hard core of old ladies at Blessed Virgin. Conocchia asks in reply, “What will happen when our little old ladies die?” before answering, mostly to himself: “It will be all over … preaching to no one in empty chapels.”

According to 2021 data from Italy’s statistics agency, ISTAT, more than 30% of those who attend Mass once a week are above the age of 75. The same report found that even in Catholic Italy, only 19% of people attend religious services regularly.

“We cannot go back,” Conocchia said one afternoon after presiding at back-to-back funerals. “Pope Francis has pushed the church in a new direction, and I worry about what will happen if we revert to the old ways.”

Claudia Salas at the Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

Marcella Demarco Muniz prays at the Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

The trans women feel the division between Francis’ vision and the reality of the church differently. Nuñes was raised Catholic but avoids attending Mass for fear of judgment. “I can’t separate myself from what I do,” said Nuñes, hinting at her work as a prostitute, “because I’m always met by the prejudice of people and the church.”

Salas echoed this feeling of rejection. People in the pews shake her hand at the sign of peace but won’t give her a glance when they pass on the street.

But Marcella Demarco Muniz said that when she was ushered forward at the general audience to meet Francis in April, he told her in Spanish: “Don’t worry, we are all the same in the eyes of God.” If she could, she said, she would visit him at every general audience.

They believe Francis’ message of inclusion is slowly changing the church. “The pope has opened many doors,” said Nuñes.

Marcella Demarco Muniz, from left, Laura and Claudia Salas look at a book about Pope Francis at the Church of the Immaculate Blessed Virgin on Monday, Sept. 5, 2022, in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni

Demarco said she loved St. John Paul II and remembers his visits to South America when she was young. “But Pope Francis is everything for us,” she said. “He’s from South America and has a way with everyone.

“He moves forward as the world moves forward,” she added.

If so, it will be because Francis’ vision translates into changes like what has happened at Blessed Virgin. Conocchia sheepishly admits he has set a new standard for LGBTQ Catholics in Italy wishing to be reconciled with the church. After his openness toward trans women appeared in several newspapers, other groups from all over the peninsula contacted the priest seeking advice.

At lunch with his fellow priests, meditating on the future of the church, Conocchia had grown somewhat glum. But as he walks away to the jingling of his keys, he returns to his usual gaiety. “They don’t like it when I say it,” he said, “but this isn’t a reform. It’s a revolution.”

A seaside sign in Torvaianica, Italy. RNS photo by Federico Manzoni