All across America, people are talking aloud about something that for decades drew only whispers. Pedophilia is fast becoming a part of the religious vocabulary. To be sure, the overwhelming majority of priests are not involved in this moral crisis. But as one parent concerned about her children who attend Catholic schools put it, “Where my children are concerned, one wayward priest is one too many.”

The crisis has been brewing for generations, but the dam broke shortly after the Boston Globe published a front-page story that alleged that the Archdiocese of Boston had moved a priest named John J. Geoghan from parish to parish for more than 30 years even though the church was aware that Geoghan had a long history of child molestation.

Transferring priests with a history of sexual abuse is hardly new and didn’t begin in Boston. But a culture of secrecy throughout the church kept the practice hidden for years. It wasn’t difficult to hide largely because many of the victims, and their parents, were too ashamed to challenge in public the church’s internal handling of the problem.

But so many young people have fallen victim, and the problem has become so costly, that it is nearly impossible to keep the wraps on any longer. Some estimate that the Boston Archdiocese has paid out more than $10 million in hush money to settle about 50 cases involving Geoghan alone. He was recently sentenced to nine to 10 years behind bars. Estimates of the overall cost to the church in the next decade range from $300 million to $1 billion.

Last month, the Archdiocese of Philadelphia pointed to credible evidence against 35 priests in the last 50 years. Recent complaints have come from Maryland, New Hampshire, Maine, New York, and California. Unlike the past, the church is increasingly turning over the names of wayward priests to the police.

In the past, most victims suffered in silence. My brother-in-law, Holcombe McKelvey, who died five years ago, became a victim of a Bronx priest when he was just 8 years old. Holcombe eventually graduated from Iona College and taught history, but he suffered throughout most of his life as a result of an abusive priest who first approached him while he was on a Catholic retreat.

Before he died at age 54, Holcombe told me this: “When you are abused by your priest, it puts a huge hole in your life. He was the foundation of all my trust, and he violated that trust. Many of my friends turned to drugs or alcohol after years of pain associated with priests at St. Augustine’s in the lower Bronx. The one mistake we all made was to keep silent. It ruined our lives forever.”

For years, most of the family never even knew he had been abused in the church.

He recalled several priests who fought heroically to keep the altar boys and other students away from harm.

“They often spoke up for us, but not much was done,” he said. “Still, they insisted that God loved us, even if some brothers in the church were abusers. They told us to remember that priests are men, not God.”

The Catholic Church has gotten the spotlight because of the recent rush of revelations. But Catholicism is not alone with the problem. The cantor of a nationally prominent Jewish synagogue, Temple Emanu-El, was recently arrested in New York City and charged with the sexual abuse of his nephew. Other parallel institutions have claimed victims as well. They include schools, police departments and youth groups such as the Boy Scouts. For now, however, the church is receiving the brunt of the notoriety.

The church generally treats such abuse as a sin rather than a crime and therefore has relied on prayer rather than punishment. But considering the damage done, prison seems like a far more logical alternative than prayer.