Thinking about Monsignor Meth and all the other cover-ups.
I was reminded of a friend from Connecticut and the story he told me of trying to get in contact with then Bishop Egan about some liturgical abuses at his parish - only to be brushed off by the people who surrounded the Bishop. Later, the chancery informed the priest of my friend's complaints, and the priest no longer showed 'hospitality' towards his parishioner, and my friend ended up attending another parish. He wasn't fond of Egan, to say the least.
So it gives one pause, doesn't it. Like the time I asked Bishop B. if he could help in the formation of a Courage group in my archdiocese, informing him of my experience in confession with gay priests who always told me gay was good... the Bishop interrupted me and said, "Gay priests? I'm not aware of any gay priests in this archdiocese."
I felt like Rosemary in Rosemary's Baby when she finally deciphered the anagram of the book title: "All of them witches." It makes sense only in retrospect.
When you just don't know what else to do.