It seems that one cannot open a newspaper or listen to the news lately without being assailed by scandals regarding Catholic priests sexually abusing children across the United States. There are no excuses for such heinous acts against young victims, and the perpetrators should meet swift and stern justice. But this will do little to heal the tainted image of the priesthood in this country.

It has never been easy to be a Catholic in America, and now, thanks to a small number of evil men who used the priesthood and their authority to harm innocents, it is even harder for us Catholics to continue in the faith. Perhaps this is a good time to step back, reflect and remember some of the priests we encountered in our own lives and the lasting impact they and their ministries have had upon us.

It was a priest who took me to my first amusement park when I was a child. It was a priest who gave me a guitar so that I could play in a folk group at Mass. It was a priest, my high school principal, who chastised me sternly for going outside in the rain to bring in the flag without wearing a coat and hat, then gave me a cup of hot tea before sending me off to class. It was a priest (a Jesuit, no less) who taught me how to play racquetball in college. He also taught me in an ethics and morality course to question the establishment and the status quo; that such discourse was the only way to preserve an open and free society.

It was a priest who encouraged me to follow my dreams and to go to medical school. It was a priest, the chaplain at my medical school, who taught me that it is possible to be a physician and scientist and also a practicing Catholic. He taught me that God is the ultimate healer, and that we as physicians can do so much more for our patients when we acknowledge both the patient's and our own spirituality and faith.

It was a priest who answered my late-night call and came to the neonatal intensive care unit to baptize my dying infant daughter and to offer me some peace and solace in my darkest hour. It was a priest who cried openly on the altar at her funeral as he tried to comfort my husband and me. It was a priest who explained to me the first thing a bereaved parent must do in order to go on living is to forgive God.

Right here in Hartford, the Franciscan friers of St. Patrick - St. Anthony Church go about their ministry of reaching out to the alienated and disenfranchised members of society. They go about their work quietly and humbly. They have transformed an old parish with dwindling membership into a vibrant, community-oriented, standing-room-only church in the decade or so that they have been here. Their good works rarely if ever receive front-page headlines. Good works and compassion do not sell newspapers or impress TV viewers.

So I will continue to be a Catholic in spite of the crisis engulfing the church at this time. My Catholicism is as much a part of me as my Irish heritage and my green eyes. I will continue to focus on the good that the vast majority of religious men and women do and not on the evil deeds of a very small, but very sick, minority. I hope I will not be alone.

The above was printed in the Hartford Courant on October 19, 2002 in the "As I See It" column. It was written by Mary Elizabeth Hanley. She is a full-time mother and part-time anesthesiologist in Granby.