On April 10, 2014 — seven months into the clergy sex abuse scandal — Archbishop John Nienstedt's top advisers gathered for a private meeting. They had just received several affidavits from an internal investigation of Nienstedt that had been authorized by the archbishop himself to address damaging rumors.
The sworn statements accused Nienstedt of inappropriate behavior, according to people who read them, including sexual advances toward at least two priests.
Private investigators had even arranged a prison interview with Curtis Wehmeyer, the former priest at the center of the clergy sex abuse scandal. Wehmeyer, who pleaded guilty in 2012 to child sex abuse, told the investigators he couldn't understand why Nienstedt wanted to spend time with him or why he kept him in ministry. Nienstedt made him uncomfortable, he said, and they never had sex. Wehmeyer said he wasn't interested in Nienstedt.
Nienstedt had authorized the investigation with the expectation that it would clear his name. Instead, it threatened to ruin it. At the meeting last spring, the advisers went around the room. Each said Nienstedt should resign.
A few days later, Auxiliary Bishops Lee Piche and Andrew Cozzens traveled to Washington to bring that message to the pope's ambassador to the United States, Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, the apostolic nuncio. It was a brave move that threatened the careers of both men. Piche and Cozzens had hoped Vigano would agree that the future of the archdiocese was more important than the reputation of one man.
What happened at that meeting is unknown. Piche, Cozzens and Vigano did not respond to interview requests.
However, when the bishops returned to Minnesota, everything changed. The investigation, as it was originally ordered, was over.
Nienstedt would stay in power another 14 months after choosing to curtail and diminish efforts aimed at uncovering the truth about his private life, efforts that reached the highest levels of the Catholic Church in the United States. At one point he accused an investigator of bias for disagreeing with him on same-sex marriage. The investigation brought significant costs, as well: The Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for it, and it destroyed Nienstedt's reputation among the clergy.
The story of Nienstedt's efforts to limit the investigation comes from interviews with more than a dozen people in Minnesota, Michigan and Oregon with direct knowledge of the inquiry. They include four people who provided affidavits to investigators, current and former chancery officials, and other people who spoke with investigators over several months.
Plans for the investigation into Nienstedt's private life began in late 2013.
The archdiocese was in chaos. A series of MPR News reports had revealed that Nienstedt and other top church officials failed to report some alleged sex crimes to police, gave extra payments to priests who had admitted abusing children, kept some abusers in ministry and chose not to warn the public.
Chancery officials didn't know how much MPR News knew or when the stories would stop. Parishioners called for Nienstedt's resignation. Police opened criminal investigations. Victims filed lawsuits. Nienstedt's top deputy resigned, ignoring the archbishop's plea to stay.
Several priests met privately with Nienstedt and urged him to resign. Nienstedt refused, saying, "I am not a quitter."
At a private meeting with his priests in late 2013, Nienstedt said he felt blindsided by the scandal and the scope of the reporting.
The Greene Espel lawyers faced a tough job. Diocesan priests take a vow of obedience to their bishop, and even with Nienstedt's approval, it wouldn't be easy to persuade priests to talk about allegations of sexual sins. In the Catholic hierarchy, sexual sins are carefully guarded secrets. Disclosing those secrets can be risky. As long as no one talks, everyone's secrets are safe.
Nienstedt had no reason to think this situation would be any different.
more
An isolated Nienstedt tried to limit investigation into himself | Minnesota Public Radio News
The sworn statements accused Nienstedt of inappropriate behavior, according to people who read them, including sexual advances toward at least two priests.
Private investigators had even arranged a prison interview with Curtis Wehmeyer, the former priest at the center of the clergy sex abuse scandal. Wehmeyer, who pleaded guilty in 2012 to child sex abuse, told the investigators he couldn't understand why Nienstedt wanted to spend time with him or why he kept him in ministry. Nienstedt made him uncomfortable, he said, and they never had sex. Wehmeyer said he wasn't interested in Nienstedt.
Nienstedt had authorized the investigation with the expectation that it would clear his name. Instead, it threatened to ruin it. At the meeting last spring, the advisers went around the room. Each said Nienstedt should resign.
A few days later, Auxiliary Bishops Lee Piche and Andrew Cozzens traveled to Washington to bring that message to the pope's ambassador to the United States, Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, the apostolic nuncio. It was a brave move that threatened the careers of both men. Piche and Cozzens had hoped Vigano would agree that the future of the archdiocese was more important than the reputation of one man.
What happened at that meeting is unknown. Piche, Cozzens and Vigano did not respond to interview requests.
However, when the bishops returned to Minnesota, everything changed. The investigation, as it was originally ordered, was over.
Nienstedt would stay in power another 14 months after choosing to curtail and diminish efforts aimed at uncovering the truth about his private life, efforts that reached the highest levels of the Catholic Church in the United States. At one point he accused an investigator of bias for disagreeing with him on same-sex marriage. The investigation brought significant costs, as well: The Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for it, and it destroyed Nienstedt's reputation among the clergy.
The story of Nienstedt's efforts to limit the investigation comes from interviews with more than a dozen people in Minnesota, Michigan and Oregon with direct knowledge of the inquiry. They include four people who provided affidavits to investigators, current and former chancery officials, and other people who spoke with investigators over several months.
Plans for the investigation into Nienstedt's private life began in late 2013.
The archdiocese was in chaos. A series of MPR News reports had revealed that Nienstedt and other top church officials failed to report some alleged sex crimes to police, gave extra payments to priests who had admitted abusing children, kept some abusers in ministry and chose not to warn the public.
Chancery officials didn't know how much MPR News knew or when the stories would stop. Parishioners called for Nienstedt's resignation. Police opened criminal investigations. Victims filed lawsuits. Nienstedt's top deputy resigned, ignoring the archbishop's plea to stay.
Several priests met privately with Nienstedt and urged him to resign. Nienstedt refused, saying, "I am not a quitter."
At a private meeting with his priests in late 2013, Nienstedt said he felt blindsided by the scandal and the scope of the reporting.
The Greene Espel lawyers faced a tough job. Diocesan priests take a vow of obedience to their bishop, and even with Nienstedt's approval, it wouldn't be easy to persuade priests to talk about allegations of sexual sins. In the Catholic hierarchy, sexual sins are carefully guarded secrets. Disclosing those secrets can be risky. As long as no one talks, everyone's secrets are safe.
Nienstedt had no reason to think this situation would be any different.
more
An isolated Nienstedt tried to limit investigation into himself | Minnesota Public Radio News
