The priests, 5

 All it took was a casual glance on the crucifix for the priest to realize how far away he had gone from his supposed Master, Jesus.  He was to say later, “I had grown too accustomed to the polished and beautiful crucifixes—works of art surrounding me—that I had almost forgotten that our Lord actually suffered alone and died on the cross covered in nothing but blood.  While I, consecrated, anointed alter Christus, have everything I need, much much more than I need, in fact.  How can I ever be worthy as His servant when I am so privileged?

        Seeing some or many of our priests as flawed and red-handed servants does not give us the right to condemn them—even when they are caught in flagrante delicto.  Their lifestyle or apparent infidelity may offend us, even cause us pain, but we must understand that like everybody else, they are on a journey—and we are all together on that journey.

        Are we absolutely sure our hands are clean in dealing with them?  We may be unwittingly doing things that feed their weaknesses: with all our best intentions we spoil them, we flatter them, we bribe them, we seduce them, we shower them with gifts and gadgets, not realizing that in catering to their weaknesses we are attempting to buy their friendship, trying to make virtual allies out of them in order that our own weaknesses may be justified.

        Embracing the cross of Christ is not for priests alone; any baptized Christian shares that burden.  It is not only priests who must aspire to follow Christ more closely; we, too, are enjoined to live simply and above reproach, to live the faith we profess in true surrender to the will of God.

        God’s will for us is thwarted when we commodify priestly blessing through our pettiness and self-serving charity.  When our donations to the Church make us believe we are entitled to special Masses at home on demand, we cruelly tie the priest’s hands.  We are being mean to bishops when we ask them why they never wear the diamond-encrusted pectoral cross and ring we’ve gifted them with.  Could it be that we “share” our wealth with priests because we do not really want to believe the Lord wants us to be poor?

          By our unexamined interaction with priests we could be contributing to the spawning of such doubts.  Even an innocent looking confession could trigger in a priest a doubt towards his vocation that could last a lifetime.  Fr. Herman says that at age 52, he thought he was over his midlife crisis until one confession from a woman unexpectedly aroused his imagination, so much so that he himself needed to confess immediately after.  From then on it has been his policy to firmly say “Enough, enough!” to similar disclosures at the confessional.  “Women should be extremely careful of what they say at confession; we priests are men, too, and not above being shocked into sin,” he said.
Being human, priests are subject to serious doubts, too—sometimes they come to doubt their vocation, and for some of them the doubt is a lingering pain, a burden of darkness and uncertainty that lasts for years or decades.

Fr. Manny, erstwhile economer of his community, could not understand why he could longer believe in the reality of a God who created mankind out of love; he was bothered by his growing belief in what he called “the randomness of the universe”, and so for years he went about his priestly duties not only with a heavy heart but also in danger of entrapment in amoral ethics.

          Fr. Gerardo was 76 years old when he admitted to doubting his vocation.  We got together by chance on a pilgrimage in Europe.  When his rosary turned to gold, he tearfully related: “All these years doubts about my vocation would haunt me, but I never told anyone.  I am esteemed in my Community, nobody would have believed me even if I’d told them the truth that many times I had wanted to leave the priesthood… My only wish on this pilgrimage was a sign that I was really meant to be a priest, because lately I had been thinking I had wasted my life being in the wrong profession.  I did not ask that my rosary turn to gold, I only asked for a sign, and God gave me this.”  In a busload of pilgrims, three rosaries became golden, and Fr. Gerard’s shone brightest. 
          At a retreat many years ago, we were asked to read Psalm 63 and to briefly reflect on any word, phrase or verse that struck us.  We obediently did so in silence and submitted our notes to the retreat master, Fr. Segretto.  In the free time that followed, he called me to his office to ask me to elaborate on my chosen verse, ‘On my bed I remember you, on you I muse through the night…’

        “Well,” I told Father, “it’s a reality in my life.”  Then I hesitantly “elaborated” (for I do not enjoy such personal ‘sharing’): “I am married, I am loved, I have loved and made love, but on my bed, with my husband already asleep beside me, I think of the Lord, thank God for His love for mankind and ask Him how else I may serve Him, to be part of that Love, to bring that Love to those who do not yet feel or know of it.  Father, it’s not enough for me to be happily married and satisfied; after the marital intimacies, it’s still Jesus who fills my being.”

          Fr. Segretto was silent.  His face was so sad and his eyes reddening and moist.  Honestly baffled, I asked, “Why, Father, did I say anything wrong?”  His mystifying reply was: “You have no idea what we priests think about in bed…”  As we parted he said, “Pray for me.” 

        I took note of his remark, but didn’t dwell on it.  When the retreatants regrouped in the afternoon, Father picked me out to share my reflection to the whole group—horror of horrors! Reluctantly I stood up and did as asked, in obedience to the retreat master.  Now, looking back, I recall his sad face, when he was on the verge of tears after I “elaborated” on the verse, but I still cannot fathom the depth of his statement, nor could I guess why he singled me out for the afternoon’s sharing.  But from the tone of his voice as he said “Pray for me” I felt his vulnerability and a dire need for spiritual support.