To be called by God to the priesthood, to serve the community in God's scheme, is a high calling generally accepted by humanity. Higher perhaps than politics, higher than poetry, for the calling howls for absolute faith and trust, in God and in the people the priest serves.
The priest, so that he may perfectly perform his duties, must absolve himself from everything that is earthly and earthy as much as possible. He has the sacraments to himself, the mass, the Eucharist, the hierarchy that leads him up the pastoral pathway to god. These are things that separate him from the rest.
But this is not enough. He must not have sex.
Michael Parer, in his achingly tormented book Dreamer By Day tells how the expectations of the church unhinged his love of God. He could not see the difference between his love for God and his need for love from and for a woman; a love that would not be complete unless consummated. The loves were exactly the same. Beautiful, absolute: the consummation spiritual and physical. One cannot be without the other.
This was at the time of Vatican II, and just two years before the Summer of Love. Heady times, and a priest vulnerable to them was bound to struggle. He enjoyed his pastoral duties and contributed a lot to his community, and was well loved. Ultimately Parer left the church and married, though not his faith.
Parer questioned the doctrine of celibacy through his struggle with his sexuality. The promise was that his faith would be strengthened while meeting these struggles, for they are normal to priesthood and a test. The emotional labours of Augustine come to mind when thinking of a priest's struggles.
But what can the church offer a man or a woman who chooses celibacy? A cynic might say a comfortable life, materially, and a life of prayer. They will wear the cross of the celibate Jesus as a charm against temptation.
The man becomes priest upon taking his vows of celibacy. He is no longer a man who would work and care for family, enjoy his leisure and be father to his children. He is no man; not man, but an earthly angel called by God to serve. In his robes and vestments he is for the flock, but not of them.
He is neither superior nor inferior to them. He is not them. He is like the celibate Jesus walking among them. He is shepherd and guide to them. He is the possessor of the profound and sacred that inspires the sinned masses to seek eternal salvation and the kingdom of heaven. He is walking the gutters smiling and ministering to the poor, the needy, the sick, the mentally ill, the infirm. Those who are looking up at the stars are half way there.
The priest is a man who sees the whole of life better than the bureaucracy that feeds him. If he is good he will join them. His hormonal life is short; he will overcome. Pity those who cannot overcome and thus stay, and pity more the women who love them.
The honourable Parer can hold his head high. He saw sex as the church sees it. A beautiful experience oystered in the sanctity of marriage, before a God that truly loves those that procreate in the name of love.
The church cannot have sex. That would render its words meaningless, and it cannot take that risk. To experience sexual union as a body is too much for the church. The joy of sexual love is inexpressible. There would be no need for dogmas, declarations, councils, liturgy, let alone theology.
There is a man, strikingly handsome, who walks among his community that nurtured him as a child. He sees to their physical and emotional problems, although he is unqualified. He grew up in the expectation that he will look after the community. And that expectation is being fulfilled to this day.
He has his faults. He is given to anger and despair, and he is uncomfortable around the community's women who adore him. He goes about without a name and the children follow him everywhere.
And then one day, troubled by his position as healer, he left and went into the bush and stayed for a month. The community were frantic and searched for him but could not call for him for he had no name. He came back and stood before his community. He said 'I am a priest and this is what you will call me from now on'.
B. F. Moloney is a bookseller based at Leith, Tasmania. He has a poetry blog called grumpy verse.