Which is why she was in denial Memorial Day weekend 2006, when her choirmaster mentioned something disturbing: A San Francisco TV station had interviewed a woman who described how Bennison's brother, a priest, had sexually abused her for years, starting when she was 14.

Bishop Bennison, the victim said, had helped cover up the crime.

Can't be, Beck told herself.

"I just thought someone was putting out something terribly erroneous," she says, sipping tea in her East Falls sunroom and delving into a tale of tested faith.

Beck, retired rector of St. Peter's Church in Society Hill, had long had disputes with Bennison, leader of a 54,000-member diocese across five counties.

She had strongly objected to the close-handed way he managed millions of the diocese's money. When the church was reducing funding to poor inner-city parishes, and priests were having to raise money to pay their own salaries, Bennison was planning a sprawling summer camp and conference center on the Chesapeake. This troubled her. Behind his genial countenance she found him imperious.

But would such a man cover up a sex scandal for 30 years?

Once Beck gathered facts on her own, she was horrified. She realized she owed her Roman Catholic friends an apology. She'd been pleased to think of her church as free of sex abuse and cover-ups.

"I had the arrogance to think, 'We're so healthy. We have married clergy.' "

Beck wrote Bishop Bennison, calling on him to resign. He was silent.

When she finally saw him last fall, she confronted him. Had he received her letter? He had, he said. If she wanted to talk about it, make an appointment. "So I did."

The bishop, she recalls, was cordial. She told him he'd failed the victim and her family and the church. She remembers him leaning over and saying calmly, "There is a process for justice in the church. Bring a case against me."

Instead, Beck convened three days of meetings around Philadelphia in which the family and friends of the abused girl - now grown and suffering psychologically - aired the story that had been so long buried.

It was not easy finding a place willing to hear them. "We were turned down by parish after parish," even her own church, St. Peter's. Eventually three did open their doors - Old Pine Presbyterian in Society Hill, St. Thomas' in Whitemarsh and St. George's in Ardmore.

And over three days of anguish, the witnesses outlined in plain language what had happened. "People weren't even breathing during those presentations," recalls Jane Cosby, president of the Union of Black Episcopalians. "There was absolute silence in the crowds."

Followed by silence from church leaders.

Beck heard nothing more for a year.

"I had lost all faith in the church," she says evenly. "My Christian faith is what held me, but not the church."

Two weeks ago, everything changed. The Episcopal Church issued a scathing "presentment" against Charles Bennison, suspending him from office.

On its Web site the church published 12 pages of findings that minced no words: "Over the course of more than three decades, beginning in the mid-1970s and ending in 2006, Charles Bennison concealed what he knew about his brother's sexual misconduct from the family of his brother's victim, his own parishioners, and church officials," the document read.

"He did so out of fear [as revealed in his private correspondence] that disclosure would be personally embarrassing and would put his career in jeopardy. He did so against the family's wishes and knowing that his silence caused family members pain and grief."

The bishop faces an ecumenical trial for conduct unbecoming a member of the clergy. Reached by phone, he said he could not comment. He referred me to his attorney, who was unavailable.

"For me, it's redemptive," Beck says. "I am once again proud because of the way has gone about this, and put it all out there for the world to know. They are no longer trying to cover up what was a painful part of our history."

END