Our reverence for priests should not be blind

How old were you when you discovered priests weren’t perfect? I was six. Our pastor habitually cut his sermon short, or omitted it completely, when he wanted Mass to end quickly so he could watch  important CFL games. By age six I knew that Father thought a Toronto Argonauts game was more important than his homily, and that our great rivals were the Hamilton Tiger-Cats. But I also knew that Father’s priorities were whacked. Even at six I knew that understanding the Gospel was more important than watching sports on TV.

But the football-loving pastor was nevertheless a very likeable guy. I have met many likeable priests. I have also met priests I most vehemently disliked. I was welcome to voice my likes and dislikes of priests (to say nothing of teachers) at home — a very prudent policy. My favourite priest, when I was growing up, was Fr. Bernie, and I am happy to praise a man who was what a priest should be: reverent, orthodox, notable for his devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, kindly and polite. When one of his less-than-likeable associates destroyed my youth group and upbraided me — with expletives —for my attempt to save it, I went somewhere else for Mass. Fr. Bernie actually noticed my absence and asked my mother about it. I was very moved by his concern, and indeed the memory moves me still.

I never made the mistake of thinking Fr. Bernie was superhuman, and I was aware of the faults of priests, just as I was aware of the faults of my parents, teachers, coaches, employers and the host of other adults who claimed authority in my life. And now, like any thinking adult in the pews, I watch the priests at the front of the church and note both their strengths and their weaknesses: this priest trashes his bishop for easy laughs, but he loves his parishioners; that priest says Mass as though he has a plane to catch, but his homilies are good; this priest has a marvellous reputation, but his flirtatiousness turns my stomach; that priest is as dumb as a stump, but he is next door to a saint. Finally, I know a few priests, not as pastors, but simply as classmates and friends.  

Thus I was bleakly amused when a non-Catholic acquaintance informed me that the Catholic Church was an institution that wielded “so much power” over its adherents. It was obvious that my interlocutor imagined that the average Catholic was a meek figure who did whatever his or her priests told him or her to do, instead of the stroppy person who complains that the choir is lousy, avoids going to Confession and, unless rumour lies, ignores the teaching against artificial contraception.

That said, it is true that some people implicitly trust people with spiritual authority just as they implicitly trust people with certain kinds of professional authority. There is something about the titles priest, minister, doctor, coach, professor and teacher that makes people lower their guard. When I studied for my M.Div., students were warned not to confuse automatic respect for our role with actual truths about ourselves. I was shocked when, as an assistant to a hospital chaplain, I was asked to hear a patient’s Confession. I explained carefully that although an extraordinary minister could bring Eucharist, she could not give absolution. And, mindful of my “Introduction to Ministry” course, I knew the patient’s trust had nothing to do with me, but was based on my role as the chaplain’s assistant. Good training kept my head from swelling.

Pundits and bigots do Catholics a disservice when they call celibacy unnatural and claim that most of our priests must be monsters. But Catholics do our priests a disservice when we assume they are more spirit than flesh, only a little less than the angels, beyond critique. The priesthood is a role of honour, an honour St. Francis of Assisi thought too great for himself. And the priesthood should be honoured, by laity as well as priests.

But our reverence for the priesthood should not blind us to the fact that priests are still just men, still sinners, still working out their own salvation. If they do good, we should praise them. If they are rude or slipshod, we should, in charity and with prudence, correct them. If they teach heresy, we should ignore them.

If they commit crimes, we should report them. If they are innocent, we should defend them. If they are tired, we should encourage them to rest. If they are ill, we should hospitalize them. If they are living on cans of soup, we should feed them. If they find their work now a crushing burden, we should retire them.

In short, we should treat our priests like human beings. Not as gods, not as monsters, but as men.