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Latest revision as of 12:32, 9 March 2021

AN INTERVIEW WITH EX-OPUS DEI NUMERARY EILEEN JOHNSON, 1.03.2021

by Randy Engel, Catholic investigative reporter and editor of ODWATCH, which was first published in November 2017 by Catholic writer Randy Engel, a long-time critic of the Prelature and its organizational tentacles of numeraries, supernumeraries, associates, and cooperators. It is a free electronic mailing based on background information, news, and commentaries on Opus Dei from around the world. To subscribe, contact Randy Engel at rvte61@comcast.net.


Introduction

The following interview with ex-Opus Dei numerary, Eileen Johnson, was conducted over a period of several months in 2020 and 2021. Eileen is a native of Yorkshire, England, where “a spade is called a spade, and not a bloody shovel.” And indeed, she obliges us with her extraordinary candor and honesty in response to my in-depth questions concerning her more than ten-years-experience as an early high-level member of Opus Dei in the United Kingdom (UK) in the 1960s.


Engel: By way of introduction Eileen, would you give our readers some background on your family and education, and how Opus Dei entered your young life?

Johnson: Yes, of course. I was born in Yorkshire, England, in 1943, into a Catholic family on my mother’s side. My father was an agnostic. I have two older brothers. As the youngest and only girl, I attended a Catholic primary school and later a convent Grammar school, which I think your American readers would call a Catholic high school. I was a pious child with a lively spirit who loved to sing and dance. At the age of 15, I seriously considered a religious vocation.

It was about a year later, at age 16, when Opus Dei entered my life – surreptitiously, I might add.

I was an excellent student and class leader. French was my favorite subject. So, it was not surprising when our new young French teacher took a special interest in me and took me under her wing. I was flattered. She was aware of my regular lunchtime visits to the school chapel as she also frequently visited the chapel.

One day she invited me to join her at an international summer school for girls at the Rydalwood University hostel in Manchester where, she said, I could “teach English” and also practice my French. My parents, especially my father, encouraged me to take advantage of this opportunity. They trusted my teacher. I had just turned 17, and this was my first trip away from home on my own. Naturally, I was excited!

Engel: Was the venture successful?

Johnson: As it turned out, I was invited to Manchester under false pretenses.

First of all, I was unable to practice my French because there were no French students taking the course. I wasn’t qualified to teach English either. The invitation was, in fact, a ruse to introduce me to Opus Dei within a closely-controlled Opus environment apart from my family. But I was oblivious to the reality.

Engel: Wasn’t there a visible sign designating Rydalwood[1] as an Opus Dei University hostel when you entered the building?

Johnson: No. The centres have secular names and are not openly identified as being run by Opus Dei. It wasn’t until my French teacher, herself an Opus numerary, started to explain to me what Opus Dei was, that I began to understand the real reason for the invitation. You see, neither I, nor my family or friends, had ever heard of Opus Dei. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, Opus was just getting established in the UK. So, it was all quite new. After a few days, at Rydalwood my teacher told me I had a “vocation” to Opus Dei.

I resisted the pressure to join “the Work” at first. However, a few months later, after I had attended an Opus weekend retreat back in Manchester, I changed my mind.


Engel: What attracted you most to Opus Dei?

Johnson: Bear in mind that I was only 16 when Opus’s grooming and “love bombing” began. I came from a comfortable, happy home, but hadn’t been exposed to cosmopolitan ways. I was on the threshold of my newly-discovered independence and found the Opus members and the beautiful atmosphere at Rydalwood very appealing. I took my Catholic faith very seriously and had already been thinking of becoming a nun. I was attracted by the fact that the numeraries at Rydalwood were lay women fully dedicated to God.

Also, as a language student, I was immediately drawn to the Latin flavor of the centre and the gaiety and friendliness of the numeraries, most of whom were Spanish. They were well dressed, well groomed, well perfumed. And they made such a fuss over me – something I wasn’t used to as I was a lonely child and teenager.

Looking back, I remember the first time that my parents drove me to the Manchester campus and visited Rydalwood. As they were leaving my mother asked me, “Do you think you would like it so much if it wasn’t so attractive?” It was a rather prophetic question.


Engel: So, you initially joined Opus Dei as a supernumerary, not as a numerary, correct?

Johnson: Yes, in December 1960. At the time, I was still living at home, and studying for my A level exams. I planned to enter Manchester University in the fall. I remember fervently reading and studying The Way[2] and other Opus publications. I even sold copies of the publications to my friends at school. I was obviously totally enthralled with Opus Dei.

Engel: What’s the difference between an Opus Dei supernumerary and a numerary?

Johnson: The degree of commitment.

Male and female numeraries are lay celibates; they live in Opus centres; they hand over their total income to Opus Dei; and are closely monitored and controlled. Supernumeraries are married, or at least free to marry. They are also expected to make significant financial donations to Opus. They have Opus confessors and spiritual directors, and a Plan of Life.[3] Both are fully committed to the recruitment of new members and spreading the message of Opus Dei through their families and their work.

I should mention that there are celibate members who live at home. They are called Associates.

Sometimes they have to care for aging or disabled parents.

Engel: Did you take vows of any kind like religious do?

Johnson: When I joined Opus Dei in the early 1960s it was called a “Secular Institute.” Escrivá adamantly wanted to avoid any perceived connection between a “lay vocation” in Opus Dei with a “religious vocation.”

So, to answer your question, I took what were called, “private vows.” For me they were binding, even before I formally took them. From the day I “’whistled” (OD jargon for writing the letter to Rome to request admission), I lived as a committed member in every way. The understanding was that the commitment was for life. The Admission ceremony took place six months later in the Opus oratory in the presence of an Opus priest, my directress, and one other numerary.

After Opus Dei was awarded the unique status of “Personal Prelature” in 1982, the term “vow” was changed to “contract,” but the nature of the commitment remained basically the same.

Engel: Was your family present at the Admission ceremony?

Johnson: Hardly. They didn’t know I had joined Opus much less that I had made a lifelong commitment to the Work that included perpetual celibacy. Neither did any of my close friends. As a new recruit I was told not to tell my parents. From the start, it was explained to me that for our apostolate in Opus Dei to be effective it must “pass unnoticed.” Opus Dei deemed our dedication was to be a very private matter between us and God and our sisters in Opus Dei. What many see as “secrecy,” Opus calls “Holy Discretion.”

Engel: No matter what you call it, for a minor to engage in such deception and be instructed to keep such a life-changing association secret from his or her parents is a violation of the Fifth Commandment to honor one’s father and mother. Didn’t your obvious delicate conscience send up a red flag?

Johnson: If it did, I wasn’t paying attention. As I said earlier, I was just bowled over by this new and exciting version of a secular life so fully dedicated to the Church – the Work of God – yet, so upbeat, so vibrant, so warm, and so friendly.

Engel: We’ll be returning to the issue of secrecy as formal Opus policy later in this interview, but for now I’d like to ask you about your relationship with your boyfriend at this time. Was it serious? Did he know about your commitment to Opus?

Johnson: Yes, to both questions. We were serious. We even discussed the possibility of marriage after we graduated from the University. We also came to share a deep attraction to Opus Dei and we both became supernumeraries.

Like me, my boyfriend kept his membership in Opus a secret from his parents. He resided at an Opus Dei men’s University residence. We both were aware at the time that Opus was grooming both of us, but not for each other. Eventually, Opus was able to manipulate our total separation and he eventually joined as a celibate numerary. I found out that he had become a numerary when the directress told me to speak to the priest in the confessional. I was instructed not to contact him again.

Engel: Did he ever pursue the occupation he studied and trained for at the University after graduation?

Johnson: No, I don’t think so. He was a Physics graduate, but Opus needed him elsewhere for internal work. In his early 20s, he became the Director of a male Opus University Centre in London. Later, he was asked by his superiors to become a priest of Opus Dei. He was ordained at the age of 26. He later became the Counselor (later called Vicar) of Opus Dei for the UK.

Engel: And you?

Johnson: I was told before joining Opus Dei that I would be free to pursue my chosen studies and career in languages. That never happened. In February of 1962, at the age of 18, three months after I separated from my boyfriend, I also changed my supernumerary status to that of a numerary (lay celibates who live in Opus centres) so I could devote my entire life to Opus Dei. This meant I had to “whistle” again and write to the Father to ask to be admitted as a numerary. I never spoke to my boyfriend again.

I was also told by my directress that I would make a good journalist. That idea lodged in my mind and I began to perceive a journalistic career as part of my vocation to serve Opus Dei.

Engel: How did Opus Dei influence your academic and campus life?

Johnson: Well, during my three years at the University, I found myself focusing more on my “Plan of Life” and proselytism than on my studies. In my third year, I was appointed Assistant Directress of Rydalwood, which further detracted from my studies. At the age of 22, I was appointed a member of the Advisory[4] in London. This came as a surprise, and I felt very flattered.

Although, theoretically, Opus places a high premium on excellence in academics as well as work, in my case dedication to the internal needs and tasks of Opus and its expansion in the UK took priority over my personal choices and priorities, and jeopardized my career.

Also, when I entered the University, I had hoped to join the Gilbert and Sullivan Society and the Scottish Country Dance Society, but these were nixed by Opus because they would expose me to the opposite sex. Going to the theater, cinemas and mixed social events were also prohibited.

Engel: At what point did you reveal your membership to Opus Dei to your parents?

Johnson: In June 1964, after I had graduated from the University, I told them that I had an interest in joining Opus now that I had turned 21, which was the age of majority in the UK back then.[5] That was a lie, of course. I had already been a member for years, first as a supernumerary while I was still living at home, and then as a celibate numerary and as an Assistant Directress at Rydalwood.

Engel: So, your parents helped pay for your college costs for three years not knowing of your life-long commitment to Opus?

Johnson: Yes, my father paid a “parental contribution,” to supplement the grant from my local education authority.

Engel: And Opus, who would benefit from all your educational skills and talents after your graduation paid how much?

Johnson: Nothing.

Engel: How convenient, I mean, for Opus.

Johnson: I should add a caveat here to say that during my undergraduate at the University, my father had become ill, so my parents were not as aware of my campus life as they might otherwise have been.

I recall my directress telling me that I needed to “get a balance.” “Since your parents don’t know about your vocation, you can’t stop going home for the holidays,” she advised me. I was reminded of The Way, 644: “Be silent! Don’t forget that your ideal is like a newly lit flame. A single breath might be enough to put it out in your heart.”

On the few occasions that I actually spent at home, my mother did express concern about my social isolation and tried to introduce me to a young man, but that was out of bounds for me as a celibate numerary.

Engel: What about your family relations after your graduation in 1964?

Johnson: After graduation I continued to live at Rydalwood. I rarely saw my parents. Not even at Christmas. As for my brothers, I had almost no contact with them or my sisters-in-laws or their children. Opus did permit me to be a godmother to two of my nephews, but that was before I had informed my family that I had joined Opus Dei.

Overall, Opus discouraged members’ attendance at family events like weddings and funerals. When my cousin, who had been my longtime playmate was married, I went to stay at my parents’ home, but on the morning of the wedding, I feigned illness so as not to attend. I felt no remorse. Rather, I was pleased with myself that I had found a way to “obey.” When my aunt, my mother’s only sister died I didn’t go to the funeral. Mum was very hurt. On this occasion I did feel bad as I had started to question my membership in Opus Dei.

Visits with old friends were discouraged unless the motive was to recruit them.

Genuine friendships disappeared. Over my many years as a numerary, I had no real friends. I had fallen prey to the Opus way of using “friendship” as a tactic, in a very manipulative way. By the time I left Opus I was friendless.

Gradually I became more and more emotionally distant from my “blood family” and my old friends. I couldn’t wait to get back “home” to my new “supernatural family” – Opus Dei.[6]

Engel: I’m a little more than curious to learn more about your life as a numerary in Opus Dei. Maybe you can start by describing your early formation or orientation to what is called “the Spirit of Opus Dei,” especially since ex-members are generally hesitant about revealing this type of information to “outsiders.”

Johnson: The so-called “Spirit of Opus Dei” is gradually conveyed to new numeraries in a variety of ways. There was the weekly “Circle” and “Fraternal Chat.” There were meditations given by an Opus priest at the monthly Days of Recollection, and also an annual five-day retreat. At the three-week Annual Course held at an Opus women’s centre, more experienced numeraries gave talks on the “Spirit of the Work” (Discretion, Obedience, Poverty, Divine Filiation, Apostolate, the Norms, and Mortification) and we had regular guided meditations from an Opus Dei priest, who also gave classes on the teachings of Saint Thomas Aquinas.

Engel: Speaking of mortification did you wear the cilice [a sharp spiked ring worn on the upper leg used to suppress desire]?

Johnson: Yes, I wore the cilice on my upper thigh for two hours a day in the afternoon, and used the discipline [a small whip of knotted cords applied to one’s buttocks] for five minutes on Saturday. These were an obligatory part of my life as a numerary. I should add that these practices were only revealed to us after we became members.

Engel: Let me get this straight, Eileen. These programs of formation and mortification you described were in addition to…

Johnson: … In addition to the other norms and requirements for a numerary that included two half hours – one in the morning and one in the evening – of mental prayer daily; Mass; the Rosary; the Angelus; the Preces; Opus Dei prayers and the examination of conscience. Major Silence was kept from bedtime until after Mass the next day, and Minor Silence during the afternoon.

Engel: And what about your internal work as Assistant Directress of Rydalwood and your part time job teaching English to immigrant children at a local school? And later, your appointment to the Opus Advisory as Secretary of Saint Raphael’s Work[7], which must have required a great deal of time and energy? Frankly, this doesn’t seem to be in the realm of an “ordinary” or “normal” life for a non-religious. When did you have time to breathe or think your own thoughts?

Johnson: What can I say? I was hooked. My real self was being overshadowed by my newly acquired cultic personality, but not entirely, thank God. At times, I was exhausted. I remember particularly the time when the Advisory worked through several nights, preparing the annual report and contribution for Rome. I had to go to bed (well, to lie on the floor) because I couldn’t work any longer.

In theory, we were supposed to take breaks, in the form of a “weekly walk,” and a “monthly excursion,” but with our work ethic, these down times were often overlooked.


Engel: Eileen, let me change the subject for a moment to a most unusual virtue – that of “non-giving.” It seems that Opus has twisted the expression “It is better to give, than receive,” to “It is better to receive, than give.”

Johnson: We were instructed to practice the art of “non-giving,” but only after we joined. We were not permitted to give alms. We didn’t give gifts to anyone, even family members. Any gifts we may have received were handed over to our Directress, who often gave them to other members. One exception was when my father gave me a watch for my 21st birthday. He didn’t know that I was a member of Opus yet, so I was allowed to keep it. The idea was that we were to be detached from things and from other people. We gave everything to God, through Opus Dei. I actually treasured the watch for years, until after I left. I loved my father dearly.

Engel: How about the Opus custom of the “visit to the poor.”

Johnson: I was eager to go on a “visit to the poor,” an Opus Dei custom I had heard about. I felt I should fulfill this before becoming a numerary. However, no one had the time to accompany me, and besides, no one at Rydalwood knew any “poor people.” So, I ended up visiting a dementia ward at the local hospital where I talked with elderly patients.

Engel: Since we are on the topic of “poor people,” how did you survive financially since you turned over your entire salary to Opus?

Johnson: I received an allowance to cover my weekly expenses (bus fares, books, etc.). When I needed to shop for clothes, I was accompanied by the Directress or another numerary, who paid the bill, and guided me in my selection of clothes and shoes.

Engel: Guided you? You were in your twenties and a college graduate! [laugh] Was that all?

Johnson: Not quite. We were not allowed to wear short sleeves or trousers at that time. It was deemed that our appearance should be in keeping with our status as young professional women or undergraduates. Usually, we were more elegantly dressed than our peers. At that time, the predominance of Spanish and other Latin numeraries was a big influence. Their ideas, their taste, affected all of us. Gradually my self-confidence diminished as a result. We also had to give an exact accounting of the allowance as part of the “Confidence.”

Engel: The “Confidence?” Is that more Opuspeak?

Johnson: Actually, it’s a literal translation of the Spanish “La Confidencia.” It’s a compulsory weekly conversation or “fraternal chat” with one’s Directress or another lay numerary appointed by her. The Directress provides spiritual direction along with the Opus Dei priest or chaplain of the centre. In the Confidence, we were encouraged to pour our souls out to the Directress concerning how faithfully we had carried out our fulfilment of the Norms (prayer, readings, the Rosary, etc.), the exercise of corporal mortification, our apostolate, and intimate details of our sexual temptations, and as I said earlier, a careful rendering of my living expenses.

There was also the obligatory weekly confession to an Opus priest, in addition to a spiritual talk in the confessional with the priest every fortnight.

Engel: Two more related questions. Were you given a choice of spiritual directors? Were you given a choice of confessors including priests not affiliated with Opus?

Johnson: No and no. Both were assigned to us without any previous consultation. Escrivá was vigorously against “washing our dirty laundry in public.”

Engel: Were you aware at the time that information conveyed in these “chats” with your Directress was not totally confidential and could be shared with other Opus higher-ups?

Johnson: No. I was not. I confided in her with total trust in confidentiality.

Engel: I believe, at some point, you were assigned to hear the “confidence” of Assistant numeraries who lived in the centre with you. Please tell our readers something about this category of Opus Dei membership.

Johnson: Assistant numeraries are domestic staff who are charged with the cleaning, cooking, and the laundry in Opus Dei’s male and female residences and other Opus facilities.[8] In my day, they came from Spain or Ireland. I believe that today they are likely to come from Latin American or Eastern Europe.

Engel: You mean they are maids or servants?

Johnson: Yes. When they are recruited and join Opus, they take a vow/contract of celibacy and of lifetime service to the Work, like numeraries do. Some remain with Opus all their lives. Escriva referred to them as “our little sisters,” or “his little daughters.”

Engel: Did they wear distinctive uniforms?

Johnson: In the UK they wore plain blue overalls with white apron when cleaning, and black dresses with starched white aprons with head-dresses when they served our meals or on feast days.

Engel: And you, what did you wear for casual light cleaning?

Johnson: Numeraries wore chic white overalls.

Engel: I see. Was there a rapid turn-over in Assistant numeraries?

Johnson: No. Where would they go? They were in a foreign country. Some spoke little English. Opus Dei evaded social security payments for many years. More recently, after adverse publicity, contracts have been drawn up and social security contributions paid. However, the Assistant numeraries never saw their salaries, and I am told that is still the case. It seems that families can now apply to Opus Dei (not directly to their daughter), for support when needed, but there are many such requests, and not all are granted.

Besides, that would violate the apostolate of “non-giving.” Their life was tightly regulated, and they worked hard for long hours. They never left the centre to shop on their own. They were always accompanied by a numerary. My heart went out to them. Some were beginning to rebel in the 60’s, especially the Irish girls, who wanted the freedom to go out by themselves, wear make-up like the numeraries, and attend evening classes.

Engel: Was there any promise of upward mobility for them in Opus?

Johnson: No. They were a class apart, and deferential to numeraries. Even the elderly long-time assistants called me Miss Eileen. I felt very uneasy about that.

Engel: Before talking about your departure from Opus Dei, I wanted to be sure and ask you about your impressions of Msgr. Josemaría Escrivá, the founder of Opus Dei whom you met on several occasions, correct?

Johnson: Yes, four times to be exact, in London and in Pamplona, Spain, home to Opus’ flagship, the University of Navarra. Even before I joined Opus Dei, I was told that Escrivá was a living Saint who would one day be canonized. And, if we followed the “Plan of Life” he laid out for us, we should all be candidates for canonization.

As a young, pious woman, I idolized him and hung on every word of “the Father.” As Escrivá reminded us, referring to himself, “My daughters, remember this: There are many popes, but only one Founder.”

His visits to London were preceded by an anxious, rather frantic time of preparation with special attention to the exquisite décor for the centre. His favorite foods were made available. Some delicacies like panettone were brought from Rome.

When he was speaking publicly, questions for him were prepared in advance and translated into Spanish. On one occasion I had a chance to ask him about the meaning of one of his favorite themes “priestly souls.” I was spellbound when he looked at me directly and said, “My daughter, you are a priestly soul because you are like a bridge, to help people reach God.” I was overawed that he had spoken to me even though I didn’t quite understand his reply.

Engel: As we near the end of this interview, tell me, how did you get from this spirit of adulation of the Father and everything Opus, to wanting to escape from the Work and all it stood for? Was this a gradual prompting or the result of a singular catastrophic incident?

Johnson: In truth, it was both. As the years went by and I assumed more and more responsibility for the Advisory, it appeared, at least superficially, that I was doing well in my quest to live out my “vocation,” as construed by Opus Dei. But at a deeper level I was in turmoil.

I was having a more and more difficult time putting my conscience down. If there was a conflict between my conscience and official policy, I was told that my problem was due to pride. We were required to exercise blind obedience to our Directors and also to the minutiae of all the many instructions from Opus Dei headquarters in Rome.

I was told recently about the response of the deceased Prelate Alvaro del Portillo when confronted by Antonio Esquivias,[9] an Opus Dei priest who lectured at the [Opus Dei] University of the Holy Cross in Rome. He believed that the Prelature was in need of internal reform. Portillo responded, “In the Work of God, the spirit is to obey or get out.” Esquivias got out after more than 30 years of loyal service to the Prelature.

By 1967, I was so mentally and emotionally ill that I could not carry on with my work. I fell into a deep depression.

Engel: Did you seek treatment?

Johnson: Yes and no. I was treated by a woman colleague from the Advisory, a qualified physician who treated us numeraries. I should have sought medical help from an outside doctor, since Opus Dei was itself the root of my illness, but that wasn’t Opus policy. Objective medical professionals have pointed out that their treatment of me (and many others) involved a clear conflict of interest and a violation of the Hippocratic Oath.

The woman physician in question presented me with prescription drugs (Librium and Tofranil, plus Mogadon to sleep at night). She spoke to me as if she were addressing a child, and didn’t inform me why the medications were prescribed.

Over the next four years, I was treated and heavily drugged by a variety of doctors and psychiatrists – all members of Opus Dei.

Engel: Was your family advised of your illness at any time?

Johnson: No. Neither I nor my Opus superiors ever told them about my condition. When my mother asked what was wrong with me, she was told by my Opus Dei doctor that it was my “metabolism.” I confided only in my Opus family. I remained brainwashed and entirely dependent on them till the day I left.

You might better understand the tension and guilt I felt for my illness if you knew that official Opus Dei publications like Noticias, an internal magazine, interpreted “mental illness” as a sign of “lack of divine filiation.”

Engel: Your father died in 1967. What happened to you then?

Johnson: That was a cataclysmic event in my life. I had a complete breakdown. I loved my father deeply and my unresolved grief for him remained long after I left Opus Dei. I only wish that he had lived long enough to witness my departure from Opus.

A year later, in 1968, I was sent to Opus Dei’s University in Spain for postgraduate work in journalism. It had not been my personal professional choice. But as I noted earlier, my Directress had already sown the seed in my mind soon after I joined, that I would make a good journalist. I later learned Escrivá had instructed all directors and directresses to watch out for members who would make good journalists.

When I returned to London, I was able to connect successfully with a handful of newspapers and journals. However, my health did not improve, and I was subjected to more medical treatments.

I was still on drugs when a new Opus Dei psychiatrist, a male numerary based at Littlemore Hospital, Oxford, opened up the door for my escape from Opus by suggesting I might do better as a supernumerary, with the option of marrying, than as a celibate numerary. He presented his suggestion to my Directors, who agreed to my leaving. However, I had no wish to remain in Opus Dei as a supernumerary either.

I had been a valuable asset to Opus Dei mainly in terms of recruitment. I loved people, and in return they seemed attracted to me, including our young numeraries and assistant numeraries.

In hindsight, I suspect that another factor could have been that I knew too much about the inner workings of the Work as a member of the Advisory where I had access to many internal documents and sensitive private papers.

Engel: When did you finally leave Opus Dei?

Johnson: In 1971. Unfortunately, my difficulties were all the greater after I left!

Before leaving, I spoke to Father[10] Richard Stork, Counsellor of Opus Dei in Britain. When I told him my story and suggested that Opus Dei was part of the problem, not in the least because their doctors had drugged me, he turned on me coldly and told me it was false pride that led me to criticize Opus Dei.

Opus Dei cut me off completely. According to the “Notes” from Rome, which were required reading for me as a member of the Advisory, anyone who left Opus Dei should be considered dead, and that he (Escrivá) would not give five centimes for their soul.

Former “sisters” were instructed not to contact me. I was financially destitute when I returned home to my widowed mother who welcomed me with open arms.

Engel: But I think finances were the least of your problems. Do you mind repeating for our readers what your family physician said to you on your first visit to him after you left Opus Dei?

Johnson: Certainly. After his initial assessment of my health, he said that the only comparable case in his experience was that of a former prisoner of war.

Engel: A former prisoner of war! Unforgettable.

Johnson: Fortunately for me, what I had previously viewed as a “breakdown,” turned out to be the “breakthrough” that made it possible for me to begin to regain my true self by leaving what ex-numerary priest Antonio Esquivias calls Opus Dei – “Heaven in a Cage.”

In July 2019, I attended the ICSA (International Cultic Studies Association) annual conference in Manchester. There I learned more objectively about how an individual can develop a cultic personality that is gradually superimposed on one’s true personality.

Engel: It appears that your departure from Opus gave you a second chance at life.

Johnson: Yes, indeed. I married and have been blessed with a wonderful family. I still teach languages and I have done a lot of dance teaching especially Scottish country dancing.

Regarding Opus Dei, I had no contact with any ex-Opus members for many years. However, since going public, I have become friends with some, and their families. We enjoy the friendship. It is a source of sadness to us that our genuinely warm links with our contemporaries in Opus Dei were severed.

Engel: Do you have any parting thoughts, Eileen?

Johnson: Randy, you say that those who leave Opus Dei should be absorbed back into the Catholic Church. This does happen to some, but very many lose their faith due to the treatment they have suffered from Opus Dei, and from Church authorities who have turned a blind eye to the wrongdoings of the Prelature.

You say that Opus Dei violates the 5th Commandment. I agree.

And I also know that the 2nd Commandment of Jesus – “Love thy neighbor as thyself – and the Christian challenge to love our enemies, have both been disregarded by Opus Dei from its early years. What matters most to Opus Dei and to the institutional Church, is its image.

The Prelature stands accused of inflicting spiritual abuse on many individuals. Until this reality is acknowledged by Opus Dei and the wider Church, protests and the resulting scandals will continue.

You know, for many years after I left Opus Dei, I was afraid to speak out. But I am no longer fearful. I want to continue to put my name to my testimony as a challenge to the Work and show my face publicly.

I love life, and though Opus Dei may consider me dead, I am far from it!

Engel: Thank you for this interview, Eileen. May God bless you and your family.




Conclusion

It has been decades since Eileen Johnson left Opus Dei and became one of its most vocal public international critics, but I have to say, had she just left Opus today as an ex-numerary, there is almost nothing in this interview that I would have to change. Which is a backhanded way of saying that the abuses of faith and power have not changed over a period of almost a half-century. It is my belief that the time for internal “reform” is long past. Opus Dei needs to be disbanded and its members and priests absorbed back into the Catholic Church.

For as long as I can remember back in the 1980s when I first encountered Opus Dei and recognized it as a destructive force within the Catholic Church, ex-members have been attempting to get a hearing from the Vatican on the numerous abuses suffered by many of its members, abuses which we have just touched upon in this interview. I hope that the door to an objective investigation of Opus Dei will one day be opened, and opened widely. I would appreciate hearing from ex-Opus Dei members who wish to comment on our interview by writing to me at rvte61@comcast.net or OD WATCH, Box 315, Export, PA 15632.

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Notes

  1. Rydalwood was the first Manchester centre of the OD women’s section. It was a University hostel with accommodations for about 35 students.
  2. Josemaría Escrivá, The Way: The Essential Classic of Opus Dei’s Founder, containing Scriptural passages and personal anecdotes drawn from Escrivá’s life and work. The booklet presented Escrivá’s 999 points for meditation.
  3. The Plan of Life comprises the daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly commitments of members.
  4. The Advisory oversee the activities of all the Opus Dei centres of the Women’s Section in the UK, and acts as a go-between or facilitator between local centres and Rome, constantly transmitting instructions. The Advisory is presided over by the Counsellor (or Vicar).
  5. In 1969, the age of majority was reduced from 21 to 18 in the UK.
  6. Escrivá claimed the Work is a true family, not metaphorically. And that the bonds in the Work are stronger than those of blood. See “Pastoral Letter of the Prelate,” Msgr. Fernando Ocáriz, October 11, 2020, on the restructuring of the Prelature.
  7. St. Raphael’s Work [Circles] of formation, meditations, recollections, and retreats is directed at young people. Initially, ‘cultural activities’ are organized as a means of attracting young people to the centres. They are then invited to participate in the spiritual activities. Escrivá stated that visits to the poor are one of the traditional means of St. Raphael’s work, although he himself as the founder of Opus Dei was rarely seen among the poor.
  8. Ibid. According to Msgr. Ocáriz, the Assistant numeraries have a “great dignity.” He said their task is “that of giving and maintaining the warmth of a home in a family.” He states that the work of Opus’s maids and housekeepers is “the apostolate of the apostolates.”
  9. After Antonio Esquivias left Opus Dei, he wrote an autobiographical book titled El Opus Dei: el Cielo en una Jaula, translated Opus Dei: Heaven in a Cage, that examines the systemic abuses of conscience designed to bring human beings into total subjugation by the Opus Dei machine. The book is currently available only in Spanish.
  10. Father Stork was not yet a Monsignor. The Counsellors were made Monsignors later on when Opus Dei became a Prelature.


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