Editor's note: This is the conclusion of a 6-part series addressing spiritual issues at the heart of the archdiocese, prepared by the Archdiocesan Spirituality Commission.

Just over two years ago, I sat in the office of the much-loved and now deeply-lamented Sister Cecilia Louise Moore, CSJ, then Chancellor of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. Pausing amidst a leisurely chat --- for which she always seemed to have plenty of time --- I admired a beautiful golden medal she had been awarded, tastefully framed on the wall. "How nice," I remarked.

Without blinking, C.L. responded: "Nice, but not essential."

In her long and unfussy struggle with the cancer which finally took her from us on Monday of Holy Week, C.L. continued to grow and mature in faith, hope and love, not because of the accolades that continued to come her way, or through the memory of a long list of achievements which marked her distinguished life. She grew and matured through her weakness and diminishment, through the painful process of returning through the darkness to the light.

In our early years, we learn through our successes and achievements. Whether it be on the soccer field, at the spelling bee, in the classroom or on the dance floor, we become who we are called to be, in part, through our accomplishments. Our triumphs, however great or small, contribute to our sense of self.

In our later years, after our 30s --- though there is some give and take here --- our achievements make us feel good about ourselves, they give us good strokes, provide a sense of well-being. But we do not learn much from them, and we rarely grow and mature as a result of them.

It is not the successes that call forth growth in us on the road to maturity. It is our mistakes, our failures --- those times when we are flat on our face or down on our knees --- that allow us to break through to new depths of knowledge of ourselves, others and God.

It is just over two years now since the church in the United States began to rock because of "the scandal." There is no need to rehearse here the central lines of the scandal, the reasons for it, those involved, those hurt by it, the steps taken to remedy the damage done, the safeguards put in place to assure that such will never happen again. But what does need to be said is that we are not yet "out of the woods."

There are those who wish to stay there, lingering and languishing in a never-ending cycle of blame and bishop-bashing. But, on the other end, there are those who are ready to short-circuit what will likely be a long and arduous period of pain for all of us in the Church. Some voices grow louder and firmer: The People of God, ordinary Catholics, are tired of hearing about "it;" now is the time to move on; we need to bring closure to it all and get on with life.

From the perspective of one who studies and teaches in the field of Christian spiritual and mystical traditions, the question lingers: Will it ever be over? Will we ever get past it? My suggestion is that "it" will not be over and we will not be past it, unless and until we have learned what these past two years have to teach us. And not before.

What is to be learned? It is too early to give a definitive answer, but there are clues.

First, we can never bypass the requirements of civic, human, virtue by appealing to a higher realm, a supernatural order. For example, the importance of the "sacred character of the priesthood" does not trump the basic human value of protecting --- at all costs --- innocent, vulnerable human beings.

Saint Thomas Aquinas is instructive here. For Thomas, "grace perfects nature," it does not destroy human nature and make us into supernatural beings who inhabit the earth. What this means for the Christian spiritual life is that we can never do an "end run" around human life, the requirements of basic human decency, or the fundamental human virtues that are necessary for human flourishing. We are to respect, indeed reverence, the bodily, the earthen, the human.

Second, there is something to be learned about the costliness of mature Christian faith. At the heart of the Gospel is the promise of forgiveness. In the prayer that Jesus taught us we ask for forgiveness as we forgive others. The words of the Our Father may be well worn on our lips, but in the deeper movements of Christian spiritual life there is no more arduous path than the one through the geography of pardon. And we must learn its ways time and time again.

There is a basic lesson to be learned if we dare to walk in the land of forgiveness. It is this: No matter how right I am convinced that I am, and no matter how wrong I judge the other to be, I must always take the first step toward the other, to ask for forgiveness and to offer pardon.

Those who are demanding quick closure to the crisis, those who want it to be over and get on with life, will not get the closure they seek. They may get short-term catharsis, a sense that all this nastiness is out of our system, and that we will now have a clean and healthy Church. But real closure --- which, in the language of Christian faith, we call reconciliation --- only comes at the price of pardon. The road is long and hard. And the costliness lies in the fact that it is I who must always take the first step.

These past two years have been among the most difficult in the Church's history in the United States. "It," whether it is called crisis or scandal, will not be over until we have learned what it has to teach us. If the Church is to grow, indeed mature, we need to be a Church more human, a people more forgiving.

When giving his message for World Peace Day 2002 to the world's diplomats, Pope John Paul II, frail but of eagle eye, summed it all up in the poignant phrase: No peace without justice, no justice without forgiveness.

The author or editor of 17 books on theology and spirituality, Dr. Michael Downey is the Cardinal's Theologian, Archdiocese of Los Angeles, and a member of the Archdiocesan Spirituality Commission.