But it wouldn't take a Vatican II-style revolution to start improving the church's handling of sex abuse. Atlanta's Archbishop John Donoghue ticked off a few lessons in a recent pastoral statement: Report accusations immediately to the law. Cooperate in investigations. Move the accused away from kids. If he's found guilty, bar him from the ministry.

Scott Appleby, director of Notre Dame's Cushwa Center for the Study of American Catholicism, says the Conference of Catholic Bishops should immediately hammer out an enforceable uniform code of binding policies that enshrine those principles. "The problem in the past," he says, "has been the autonomy of each bishop, free to adopt or ignore conference policies." Many have suggested that each diocese name a board of independent lay advisers — lawyers, psychologists — to oversee every abuse case. More rigorous screening and modernized seminary training for sexually immature priests would help too.

Good baby steps, all. But growing numbers of Roman Catholics, such as Northwestern University professor of religion Cristina Traina, say that's not enough to make up for the church's "extreme violation" of trust. Many victims accused of suing for the money say that what they really want is spiritual generosity: an apology from the church, acknowledging that crimes were committed and explaining how the church let known pedophiles abuse again. Anger will not begin to heal until prelates from the top down profess genuine confession and true contrition, says Traina. "There has to be a public expression on behalf of all the people involved in the cover-ups," and then the power structure that exalted secrecy must be altered to meet "industry standards" of ethical behavior.

Realistically, Rome will not address big reforms while the crisis is boiling. That is a reassuring tradition for the two American Cardinals most implicated in the scandals, Boston's Bernard Law and New York's Egan. But plenty of influential Catholics are suggesting that the U.S. church would benefit from penitential resignations at the top. Says an editorial in the upcoming issue of the national Roman Catholic weekly America: "If early on some bishops had been willing to claim full responsibility and resign, victims, parishes, the media and juries might have been less inclined to vent their anger on the church as a whole. That not one bishop (except the two who were themselves abusers) has resigned during this 15-year-long crisis is astonishing."

If the bishops stay, Roman Catholics would like their leaders to trade the church's culture of secrecy for openness and accountability. The first obligation, says Bishop Wilton Gregory, head of the Conference of Catholic Bishops, is "to make such matters known." The second is to set transparent rules that hold the church responsible for its mistakes. That clarion call comes from conservative columnists like William J. Bennett, who advises, "Candor and full disclosure are a must if the reputation of the church is to be protected." And it comes from sex-abuse experts like Richard Sipe, who says, "The church is not going to get out of this without opening fully a dialogue and going beneath the secret system of handling things." Even victims say it, over and over. Jim Griley, 39, who says he was abused by California priest Michael Pecharich 30 years ago, is on a mission to break the church of its secrecy. "This is going to bring a cleansing to the church," he says. "They need to turn these stones over. They need to get this out in the open."

The enormity of the scandal has provoked American Roman Catholics as nothing has before to call for debate on controversial doctrines — like celibacy, married priests, women priests. The Rev. Richard McBrien, a religion professor at the University of Notre Dame, thinks these issues lie at the root of the pedophile problem. The Boston archdiocese's official paper last week urged Roman Catholics to question and study whether these age-old tenets are still relevant. Liberal advocates argue that a church struggling to fill its depleted ranks of priests might get more healthy, sexually mature candidates if married men and women were allowed in. But there is no sympathy in Rome for any alteration of the celibate, men-only clergy. The only realistic hope for such drastic reform, says Chester Gillis, a professor of theology at Georgetown University, lies with whoever succeeds the current Pope.

Roman Catholicism has never been a democratic faith. But in an impassioned sermon two weeks ago, Monsignor Clement Connolly, of the Holy Family parish in South Pasadena, Calif., which isn't involved in any of the allegations, challenged authorities to open the church's heart and mind to unprecedented dialogue. "We don't have an instrument in place," he told Time, "but I think if we talk with the people and listen to the people and share with the people, the instrument will emerge."

As Roman Catholics across the country fill the pews for Easter Mass, many lament the scandal that has shaken their belief to the core. "Of course we're outraged," says Herb Timm, a Winnetka, Ill., parishioner. Holy Family worshiper Ed Ternan called it a "milestone moment in the life of the church," tragic for the victims, tragic for the priests, tragic for the church. "The old way of dealing with it by not dealing with it is not going to work." Instead church leaders need to pray that they can find the remedy before parishioners lose their faith.

— Reported by Rebecca Winters/ Bridgeport,Siobhan Morrissey/Palm Beach, Sean Scully/Los Angeles, Maggie Sieger/Chicago, Simon Crittle/Providence, Sarah Sturmon Dale/Minneapolis, Andrew Goldstein and Sally Donnelly/Washington, Jeff Israely/Rome, Tim Padgett/Miami and Deirdre van Dyk/New York

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