Patient Reader:
Following is a reprint of an article of mine that was printed last month by the A.D. Times, the official newspaper of the Diocese of Allentown.
In early 2002 the clergy sexual abuse scandals first broke
out in the Archdiocese of Boston, sending shockwaves through parishes and seminaries
across the nation. The failures of some clergy revealed gaps in priestly
formation, insufficient monitoring and support, and diseased attitudes about
sexuality and power. Providentially, those failures also prompted a fresh
discussion of the meaning and observance of celibate chastity.
The mainstream media usually remind us that celibacy is not
an immutable dogma, but a retractable discipline (for future candidates, not
for those already ordained). Invariably we hear, “It can change. Perhaps the
next Pope…” and so forth. True, but not likely. Nor do I think making celibacy
optional would result in a lasting increase in vocations, if the situation of
our Eastern Catholic*, Orthodox, and Protestant brethren adds any insight.
People have considered facets of Catholicism to be perplexing,
or downright objectionable, since the Church’s infancy: “Many of [Jesus’]
disciples who were listening said, ‘This saying is hard; who can accept it?’”
(John 6:60) They were referring, of course, to Jesus’ Self-designation as the
“Bread of Life” and the accompanying condition, “Unless you eat the flesh of
the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you” (John
6:53). It seems the prevailing human tendency is toward the exact opposites of
childlike trust and honest inquiry!
Even though celibacy does not pertain to the essence of the
priesthood, and vowed chastity is a voluntary counsel, their observance bears
special significance and power for the Church, and is therefore worth the
consideration of every Catholic.
A non-Catholic friend of mine apparently finds celibacy
worth considering, too. He is happily married, but he respects the celibate
life choice so much that he once suggested to one of our mutual friends, a
priest: “You guys should talk to each other about celibacy more often.” How
dare he recommend something to us? I’ll tell you how: he cares about us and
about the people we serve. It’s one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever
heard!
We priests should talk about what it means to us, about how
to live as faithful (i.e. not just “non-violating,” but “peaceful, engaging,
and fruitful”) celibates, just as married individuals and couples should talk
about marriage.
In the seminary I remember one priest warning us about the
danger of a “comfortable bachelorhood,” devoid of marital and family responsibilities
(embodied by the uxorial epithet “Ol’ Ball-and-Chain”). While every human being
ought to have hobbies and diversions, it’s rather possible for priests to attend
more to such things than to their parish or family, or to charitable pursuits.
I’ve become more conscious of this since returning in earnest to running a few
years ago, and I don’t claim to be perfectly balanced at any given moment!
The premise in bachelorhood is, “I am accountable to nobody
for the expenditure of my resources.” Celibates can give the impression that we
are “free,” and gladly so, when we are in fact called to a comparable or
greater level of investment in our priestly people. To live this way can be a
scandal to God’s flock—not nearly as perverse as sexual abuse, but no less
diminishing of our people’s respect and trust.
In order to be a better steward of God’s many gifts, I enlist
a handful of priests and lay friends as friendly watchdogs. We priests ought to
be vulnerable enough to amass such a cadre of honest folks, and to be numbered
among others’ privy cabinets. Nobody can afford to live in an echo chamber that
reflects nothing but the pleasant sounds we like to hear!
Then there are the misdeeds common to all daughters and sons
of Adam, against the sixth and ninth commandments—violations more of chastity (sexual
integrity) and continence (self-control) than of celibacy per se. They may be motivated more by weakness than malice, but they
affect everyone from the parties directly involved to the entire Mystical Body
of Christ. An unmarried person’s failures are serious enough; but those of a
married, ordained, or vowed person are compounded by the solemn, public
promises that they have made.
Without being an actual party to the conversation my priest
friend had with our mutual friend, I surmise that the subject matter they had
in mind was not the temptation to materialism inherent in “comfortable
bachelorhood,” but rather the misdirection of sexual and romantic desires. The
mutual friend knew well that one might consciously and freely forgo these human,
God-given drives only for worthy motives and with gainful alternatives.
Recently I substituted for the 5th grade teacher in
our Public School Religious Education. I was speaking about the Eucharist as
sacrifice, memorial, and banquet, and mentioned that the priest spoke the words
of consecration personally, offering his life for the Church in union with the
Lord Jesus. Out of nowhere (where the Holy Spirit always seems to operate), a
child asked me, “Is it a sacrifice not to have a wife and children?”
Immediately I thought of a quote from the Swiss priest and
theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar: “When God demands of us something difficult,
we often seek to be aided in our compliance by motives that rob the action of
its whole value. For instance, we try to convince ourselves that what is
sacrificed—friends, a comfortable life, and so on—at bottom means little to us.
What if God should give us only what no longer has any value for him?” (The Grain of Wheat: Aphorisms. Ignatius Press, 1995).
So yes, I answered, it is a real sacrifice not to have a
wife and children. But I also said that I frequently consider how that
sacrifice has resulted in my being right where I am today: at Holy Guardian Angels Parish, speaking with these children who call me “Father”
because they have become my children.
Now none of that small group of children came home with me after PREP was over,
but perhaps they left appreciating how Father was there for them. What is just as important, Father himself knew that.
By our very existence in our parishes, communities, and
families, chaste celibates affirm the primacy of the Kingdom of God and the
baptized person’s calling to seek it “first” (Mt 6:33). That’s supposed to turn
heads and raise eyebrows. But if people—especially celibates themselves—do not
look through the elements being renounced in favor of the blessings being
received, they will continue to consider celibacy inhuman and try to bypass it
however possible.
Like anyone else in the world, celibates are occasionally going
to feel lonely and incomplete. This is certainly to be expected, and not to be
ignored or downplayed. Here as always, the question is, “What am I to do about
it?” For God’s sake and for our own, celibates have to do something—especially
in light of a celibate’s intention to point to the ultimate fulfillment of
heaven.
But let’s be clear: at first the lonely celibate will
probably set aside any otherworldly dimension of loneliness; to suggest
otherwise is naïve. After all, loneliness is a human emotion crying out for
redress—or rather a question seeking a response. Without enlisting a reliable network
of monitoring and support (and, alas, sometimes even with it), there is no wonder how people resort to all manner of
unhealthy diversions. Hence the interest of seminaries and other houses of
formation to train fundamentally sound people in human and spiritual,
intellectual and pastoral virtues. Imagine how potential spouses might fare
with such attention to discipleship!
Most people reading this essay either have been married or are
at least open to marriage. As an intentional celibate—and as a human being—I
have profound respect for the marital vocation. One of the most effective ways
I can show that respect is to live joyfully as a celibate. Thus I will also be
an example of humanity and holiness.
To that end I need help from fellow celibates and married
couples alike. That help takes the form of friendship, accountability,
compassion, and encouragement; for my part I should be equally willing to
extend the same to others. Then there are everyday things that I myself must do:
pray, fast, give alms, and be vigilant. These spiritual disciplines are the
heritage of every baptized Christian. Priests and religious were not intended to
be exempt from them; in fact, our troubles arise from the exemptions we’ve
made!
By the generous embrace of their joys and sacrifices, may celibates
and married persons help each other to discover the value of their respective
vocations in human society and God’s Kingdom.
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*After the initial publication of the article, I decided to include "Eastern Catholic" in this sentence upon further reflection and consultation with an Orthodox friend and deacon.
It has been the ancient tradition of Orthodox Christianity, and it had been the custom of most Eastern Rites of the Catholic Church, to permit clergy to be married before being ordained to the diaconate, whether "permanent" or "transitional." Bishops, however, are chosen from the unmarried and monastic clergy.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Eastern Catholics in the diaspora, especially in the United States, experienced considerable ignorance and persecution, prompting the Vatican to mandate celibacy in territories to which Eastern Catholics had migrated. The Second Vatican Council later urged Catholics of the Eastern Rites to return to traditions such as the ordination of married clergy, but U.S. Eparchies have not implemented such reforms uniformly. (reference).
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A devoted reader also sent a link to the
Chrism Mass homily of Archbishop Socrates B. Villegas of Lingayen-Dagupan (
here is the Facebook link). The Archbishop's reflection is worth reading for his candid assessment of the pitfalls to which celibate priests are regularly exposed, as well as their remedies.
