(first published anonymously on October 20, 2020)

New Introduction by the author, Natalie Pucillo

In June 2020, Into Account emailed me, along with a number of other music professionals, to inform us of reports of sexual violence perpetrated by David Haas (DH): not questioning our interactions or assuming anything about our relationships with him, but requesting harm-reductive and survivor-centered practices when responding to reports of his harm. Later that summer, I reported that I was a survivor, and that I wanted to remain completely anonymous. I was (am) a young professional musician, and I was terrified. I could not imagine living in a world where my interactions with DH affected my professional life, and I was convinced that the act of demanding accountability would result in an investigation skewed against me, as it has been for many survivors of abuse by clergy and ministers. In a previous statement preceding this blog, I wrote that I want to know that any career progressions I experience are solely due to my own capabilities, not due to this report.

Fast forward one year. My childhood diocese and my current diocese continue to allow the use of DH’s music. “We care about survivors,” they say. “We will continue to pray for all who have been abused.” But I also hear the whispers: “We don’t know why this has to be such a big deal.“ They maintain that banning DH from physical ministry is a big enough change to say they support his survivors.

As someone who prepares to visit new churches by searching for escape routes in case DH’s music is played: it is not enough. As someone who was silenced by church leaders with placations about what might be the “Christian” thing to do: it is not enough. As someone who recently learned that DH is STILL harming young women with the same tools of grooming and manipulation that he has used for 40+ years: it is not enough. For his survivors, it will never be enough to ban DH’s concerts and workshops if there is no ban on his music. His music is the liturgical and spiritual tool that continues to traumatize survivors and that expands the reach of his abuse far beyond his physical presence.

My heart aches for a world in which our abuses never occurred, but an even greater pain exists to know that so many Catholics are familiar with our suffering and still actively choose not to act in support of us. I am grateful for the healing that anonymity permitted me, but I can no longer allow my fears to silence me. Not for one minute more.

Natalie Pucillo, July 2021

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October 2020 Introduction by Brenna C. Cronin

Dear reader, 

I invite you into the story of a young woman, half a generation younger than myself, whose fierce and determined bravery throughout this process is palpable. I invite you into the story of a young woman whose story parallels my own, and draws similar lines and eloquent patterns that match my experience with David Haas. I invite you into the story of a young woman whose love for liturgical dance and expressing herself through music was used as a weapon for spiritual abuse and sexual harassment. 

It’s vital to remember that sexual predators often have a methodical and measured approach to their grooming. The story unfolds beginning in 2016, just four years ago, and marks the important pattern that DH’s grooming and manipulation wasn’t a far off idea from decades past. This happened in the very recent past and was an experience of abuse that occurred in the close proximity of others. These wise words are a warning sign to all of us who find ourselves observing questionable mentor-to-mentee behavior, or who are aware of the whispers of the “economy of sexual secrets,” as coined by scholar Natalia Imperatori-Lee. This story is a gut-punch to those who have turned a blind eye, or walked away from uncomfortable situations. Church, I challenge you to reflect on our Confirmation gift of courage from the Holy Spirit. May we be in tune with and use our courage in the place of comfortability. 

This summer, while I was building my 50+ page report for Into Account’s investigation into DH, I found myself listing the events in a very withdrawn kind of way. The dates, photos, and timelines felt very black and white to me and I wrote my initial report without much emotion or thick description. I was trying my best to be as removed from my story as possible, while providing Into Account with the information they needed to build their full report. Dear reader, I mention this because I need you to know that this young woman’s story changed everything for me. This young woman’s story lit my anger into fury as it was clear, for the very first time, that DH not only groomed young people at MMA as I had been, but sexually harassed, assaulted, and manipulated them there as well. The first time DH sexually assaulted me in 2009, I was 22 years old, had graduated from undergrad, and was out of the “role” of student at MMA. This story, dear readers, happened while the brave author was still a student in the program. As far as I was aware, that boundary, that not-so-invisible line between the role of “student” and “alumni,” had never been crossed. Until now. 

For those of you who have been sitting vigil with these stories all month, I ask you to reflect on that boundary line moment. It shouldn’t matter that the author was 18 when her story happened. What matters is that she was in the role of a student participant. Not a young adult in a leadership position, as I was, but a student participant in the program. And that power differential, among a million other shattered pieces, is beyond unforgivable to me. This paradigm shift is why I told my story, released earlier this month. My bravery is in part because of her bravery, and I am proud to advocate for her as an introduction to her piece. 

Brenna C. Cronin
Victim-Survivor and Fierce Advocate 

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Music Ministry Alive as a Hunting Ground

I met David Haas through Music Ministry Alive as a participant in 2016 and 2017, the final two years of the institute. The youth track was open to sophomores in high school through sophomores in college; I attended for the first time when I was 18 years old. One of the other survivors described MMA as having an aura of prestige; I would go a step further than that. There was a general insinuation, by the leadership of the program, that if you could prove yourself important during that week at St. Kate’s, you would be important in music ministry professionally.

Music ministry was a world I desperately longed to enter. I wrote about this longing in the extensive application that MMA required. I was also very involved with music ministry at home, and I was immediately and overwhelmingly excited about the prospect of being at a program with names that people would recognize so easily. DH had name value, so much that my friends began to refer to the program as “David Haas camp”, rather than by the actual name of the program. That half-facetious nickname summed up my primary interest in the program. I knew very little else about MMA or about DH as a person before I attended – virtually nothing at all except that he wrote a few big hits before I was born. I think that’s how most people in my life who encountered DH felt the first time. The name is fairly meaningless as a standalone, but everyone knows the music. 

The first thing that I remember about meeting DH is that during the first group meeting of the year, he told the whole community – every single youth participant – that he would LOVE it if we could refer to him as “Papa Bear”, because so many MMA participants from previous years had done the same. I know that this was truthful, because other friends of mine who were participants in previous years knew about this nickname and brought it up without prompting when I mentioned my attendance. He would call himself Papa Bear several times over the course of the week, which I thought was gross and weird, but wrote it off because other youth participants would call him the same. It was grooming, right from the start, and just extremely gross.

Another big part of my excitement was seeing the representation of women in the leadership of the program. In my college town, the community of sacred music professionals was dominated by men, but at MMA, there were so many women who were so involved and important! Of course, this was the DH Show and everyone else was just a side character, but these women led significant portions of the program and I wanted to see more of that… wanted to BE that. I am sure that DH picked up on my excitement and interest. Throughout the week, he would take moments to single me out, to tell me that I was doing wonderfully during all parts of the program, from the large choir to the instrumental lessons to participation during peer group sessions.

Targeting Vulnerabilities

Now, at the time, I was dealing with some significant trials: my relationship with my father was at rock bottom, I was a few months out of a hospital stay that was mentally very taxing, and some other traumatic experiences from my past left me with visceral reactions to undesired physical touch. I had a history of mental disorders that was managed by medication and talk therapy, but I was much more emotionally vulnerable during that summer. DH was very concerned when, during a conversation about the final concert of the week, I told him that my family would not be flying out to see the performance; my dad and I weren’t speaking, and my mom was under the impression that this was no different than any other school concert. I didn’t share that reasoning with DH directly, but I had told another adult about my relationship (or lack thereof) with my father. Because of my knowledge of the way private information was shared at the camp, as well as the fact that I believe this adult honestly trusted DH, I strongly believe that DH would have known about this broken relationship and my upset with it. 

After the final concert, DH attempted to hug me and touch me several times, even after I explicitly said that I did not like to be touched. Of course it bothered me, but I had heard, “He’s touchy-feely” from participants and from staff, and the program itself was very encouraging of physical touch, so I didn’t think to do much about it. It’s worth noting that the post-concert celebrations were chaotic and dark, both in the reception outside of the theater with families and in the dance party-style celebration just for participants. It would have been very easy to conceal actions underneath the pandemonium. 

Always Trying to Escalate Communication

Throughout the year between MMA 2016 and MMA 2017, I received numerous messages from DH, mostly through Facebook. He asked me for my phone number on one or two occasions, as well as sent me his personal email address, but I never gave my phone number to him or did anything with his email. Many of the public Facebook comments he made were about how beautiful I was, how special, how loved. He played it off as a sort of spiritual fatherhood, as an adult who genuinely wanted to see how I was doing. 

MMA encouraged us to join a group Facebook page to “check in” with each other and stay connected throughout the year. DH encouraged us to join this page, and also to add him personally, potentially to keep an eye on his victims. Some other messages were related to a series of Taizé services that he conducted in Minnesota. He knew that I often worked with that style of music, and even though I reminded him several times that I didn’t live in Minnesota and couldn’t fly out for a two hour service, he kept sending me these messages in the hopes that I would plan a visit. As an aside, I do truly love the Taizé musical repertoire, and program that style often in my professional work. It sickens me that there is a whole portion of music from that repertoire that I can’t bring myself to program anymore because it reminds me so strongly of DH and of MMA. It’s not just the music that he composed that comes with bad memories.

When it came time to send in an application for MMA again in 2017, I received multiple messages over a series of months from him, asking when I was going to submit the application. I wasn’t dead-set on attending MMA again, in spite of what I told DH (I was trying to find paid work for the summer, things that would look better on a grad school application or professional resume), but I sensed that I didn’t want to make him angry. I was so kind (almost peppy, even though that’s not my personality at ALL) in my responses because of that realization. I was particularly worried that if I made him angry, I wouldn’t be able to move forward professionally in sacred music. I did not want to ruin my professional life before it even began. However, I ended up not getting the jobs that I wanted, so I signed up to attend MMA for a second year, the program’s 19th and final year of existence.

During MMA 2017, DH did not actively overstep my physical boundaries as much as he did the year prior. Very early in the week, I found myself in a position where I had to be very vocal with another participant about my boundaries, and DH was within earshot of that conversation. I am unsure of whether DH chose to be sneakier about the ways in which he ignored my levels of comfort, or whether he chose to forgo physical contact entirely for verbal harassment. Through planned activities like the Taizé evening and the foot-washing service and through encouragement by adult staff and peer leaders, the entire program incentivized emotional and physical expressions. You were rewarded with attention; you were rewarded by being seen. I was more comfortable with those expressions in 2017, but I knew what I was walking into as a second year participant, so I was able to set that boundary more effectively from the moment I walked onto campus.   

Always Watching from the Wings

At the beginning of the week, David made a point to specifically direct me towards the liturgical dance “elective” that was offered each year, as well as to the liturgical planning sessions that involved working with Lori True and other adult staff members to plan the morning prayer services for each day. In the weeks before MMA, I received the solo performance opportunities list in the mail, and I was disappointed that I didn’t receive more of those opportunities. He told me later that because he knew I was a music education major, he thought I might enjoy the dance elective and liturgical planning track more. He framed it as his desire to give me something special, personalized, tailored, just for me. As I type out this narrative, I recognize that I do not know what sort of hand he actually had in making those decisions. I wonder whether he actively created a situation in which he could objectify and demean me, or if it was just an easy opportunity for him to twist the narrative into something he could use to his benefit.

Those planning sessions for morning liturgies were really nothing special. I only remember the adults in charge were very frustrated with us and with each other (my particular sessions were run by Lori True, though I believe other staff members ran them on different days). The part that I feel most deeply violated by and angry about was the liturgical dance elective. It was made up of almost all girls, mostly college aged with a couple high schoolers mixed in. We would rehearse on the third floor of the hall, where the adult staff could sit in a study room on the fourth floor or look over the balconies and watch us from above. David pulled me aside no fewer than 3 times over the course of that week to tell me how happy he was that I agreed to do this for him, that my body was so beautiful and I should never hide it, that he was mesmerized by the way my body danced and moved. He stopped me to make that comment as I was walking into Sunday Mass (right before I was supposed to dance again for the liturgy), and said that in front of another staff member, another man, who very literally turned the other way. 

As far as I know, no other youth participants were around to hear that statement except for myself. But that man heard. And I don’t know who he was, but I will always remember that he couldn’t even look at me.

Using a Vulnerable Disclosure to Isolate

After Mass, during the final brunch before we all flew home, I remember crying about leaving all of my friends; the connections I made with other youth participants were real, and I was genuinely upset about leaving them. DH expressed deep concern for me, asking me if I wanted to talk to him alone in a classroom, away from the dining hall where we ate every morning, describing it as a mode of allowing me to speak to him in confidence about the emotions I was feeling. 

I said no, but he pushed it. I said no again, and that I was crying because I knew that this would be my last year at MMA. He told me how sad he was, that this couldn’t be the end, that he would make an exception for me to come back (there were age requirements that I was aging out of, though these “requirements” weren’t set in stone, as I remember at least one other young woman for whom an exception was made). At that point, my airport shuttle was called, and I had to leave. I don’t know how I would have responded if I didn’t have to leave; I still felt like it was very important not to upset DH. However, based upon what I now know about DH’s grooming and abuse processes, and based on the reports of other survivors, I believe wholeheartedly that DH would have sexually assaulted me had he gotten me alone.

An adult from my parish attended MMA 2017 with me, as well as a couple other youth participants. The adult who attended was entranced by DH’s intense spiritual manipulation and aura of importance, and I did not believe that he would take my concerns seriously in those moments. The other youth participants were oblivious to anything that seemed wrong (and I didn’t want to “ruin” their experiences by tainting their enjoyment with my discomfort). So, I did nothing. I didn’t think I could trust anyone.

An Endless Fascination with my Body

In later months and years, he continued to send me messages and invitations through Facebook to attend events in Minnesota that he sponsored or was a part of. The comments about my physical appearance didn’t stop, but were on public forums where other people could see them, so they were toned down; more along the lines of “Beautiful!” or other one-word comments, but I knew what he meant because he would have said those things to me in person if he felt like he could. I was added to daily email groups that would ramble on about nothing; I received hundreds of these emails. He would also create Facebook groups, inviting hundreds of people, but creating the sense that they were secret and special. I know now that so much of his modus operandi was to invite you in and make you feel like you were important and special and different, while really repeating the same patterns over and over again. As of September 2020, I can find history of at least 4 of these groups of which I was a part, and I remember at least 2 more that I deleted. He would emphasize community and individual secrecy, going as far as to put in the description of one such group, created in 2017 and updated in 2019:

This “history” he mentions, I can only assume, would be the 2018 allegations of sexual harassment and assault, as well as his letter of suitability being rescinded from the Archdiocese.

In September 2017, against my better judgement, I went to a concert of his at another parish in my diocese, so that I could reconnect with some of my friends from MMA. There were a large group of us there, maybe 10-15, and he repeatedly brought up MMA and the wonderful work the program did, partially to solicit funds and partially to solicit attention. Just like he did at St. Kate’s, he attempted to pull me away to speak with me alone after the concert. I had driven to the church with a friend, so I had the perfect excuse not to separate myself completely. However, he was persistent, and he didn’t forget. 

Via private message, in August 2018, DH asked for my mailing address. This was the summer before my senior year of college. I was under the impression that this request was for MMA related information. By that point, the program had shut down for financial reasons, but we had all been told that they would continue holding smaller workshops and institutes. I had no idea if there were official channels anymore, or if he was just collecting information personally. Of course, it wasn’t actually MMA related at all. DH mailed me greeting and prayer cards, personal notes telling me about how proud he was of me and that he loved me, that sort of thing. I’m so freaked out now that he could know where I live, even though I’ve moved twice since then. He would have at least had access to my parents’ home address, my medication and medical history, my education history, and “recommendation letters” from people who love me and have supported me professionally. I really have no idea where any of this information went and who continues to have access to it. I do not trust that it was discarded appropriately.

Dismissing Grooming Behaviors

For the record, this all became a joke to my closest friends. In a way I let it, because I never said anything, because humor is my coping and by taking things seriously, I would have to acknowledge my hurt. They would crack jokes about “Papa Bear” (which, again, what the fuck? Who let him say that, out loud, more than once? How did any adult allow themselves to sit there and listen to that and talk themselves out of it being problematic on a million different levels?) and about liturgical dance and all of these deeply painful memories that I just didn’t have the emotional stability to correct, because then I would have to explain. I’m angry at them for not recognizing how hurt I was.

I’m angry at the institutional Church. The Archdiocese of Minneapolis/St. Paul let this pattern of grooming and abuse go on. There are allegations from over 10 years before I was born, and they didn’t stop him. DH could have been stopped before I was even alive. But the paths that the Church has for reporting independent contractors and musicians like DH, who are as much celebrities as they are workers, are essentially nonexistent. When there is no way to shut him out everywhere, to stop him completely from having access to women and children through the Catholic Church, I cannot bring myself to believe that there could be a true escape for his survivors. 

I’m angry at my previous diocese and parish for sending children in the first place. I was sponsored by the parish where I grew up, whose staff incidentally told me that “wiping away all of his music doesn’t seem like a very Christian thing to do” when I asked them to publicly clarify their policies on DH’s music in July 2020. But here’s the thing: I am anxious to walk into any church service where I am not planning the music, because my area dioceses haven’t made a statement on the restriction of his music. Beyond that, it’s not just his music that’s a trigger. It’s the music he brought into my life. A communion hymn by a different composer knocked the breath out of me last week, because all I could think about was the corresponding service at MMA and the things he said to me that night. 

I’m angry at every adult who looked at me in all of my teenage fragility, and still sent me to a camp run by evil. The adults who bought into DH’s pitiful excuses of spiritual guidance and let me go back for a second year. The adults who knew what he was and didn’t do enough to protect me. I wrote a lot of things off, ignored a lot of red flags, but so did the adults who were supposed to be there to protect me. I was a mentally ill teenager subjected to repeated grooming and harassment, and I should not have felt responsible for rescuing myself from this alone.   

MMA was a community that told us it would bring joy and acceptance and love. It emphasized brokenness, redemption, healing, and all of the things that a high school or college student might desperately want to feel. Hell, in the second-to-last year of the program, the theme was mercy. We were invited to stay in touch after the fact, to connect and share life updates, to remain a community though we spanned the nation. We were encouraged to share pictures and good memories and reminisce about what had been. We were too young to know; for one week a year, we were sucked into a world that seems too good to be true. Now I know that it was.