Posted on 01/26/2004 8:18:17 AM PST by NYer
Advocates of a sort of religious Darwinism - all change is for the better - are agitating among priests a push for making celibacy in Holy Orders a matter of personal choice. Thus is some dioceses petitions from a number of priests have asked that marriage be introduced into their ranks as a general practice for those wanting to serve at the altar and with the sacraments from a home and family, rather than in the fullest imitation possible of Christ, who as the Second Vatican Council reminds us (Presbyterorum Ordinis) is the Church's sole Spouse, she alone being His Bride. He was also homeless.
The cardinal argument advanced in these petitions is that there is a shortage of priests, and that clergy being allowed to marry would alleviate that condition. History, however, runs contrary to that reasoning (or is it more a quarrel with troublesome old St. Paul, who encouraged all serving the Church to imitate him, as he imitated Christ?). The fact is, celibacy never in the past was found to be the cause of the Church's lacking recruits to the priesthood. The Church has always prospered when celibacy is honored and followed; it was in the worst of times, when the priesthood itself was held cheap and dishonored, that celibacy was disregarded. It has been cast aside with practically every schism, so that those abandoning the Church herself usually begin with throwing away celibacy, as did Luther and the English Reformers.
Now, do the ministry and priesthood of those bodies grow in any great degree because of their acceptance of marriage? Is the great rapport of Lutherans with their ministers or Anglicans with their priests because of the abandonment of celibacy?
Newman had hoped for his Oxford Movement that one of its lights for the Anglican Church would be the example of celibacy. He found himself more and more alone in the hope rejection of marriage would light a path to greater perfection by selfless dedication to the cause of Christ. When John Keble, “angel” of the movement whose Assize sermon had sparked it, married, Newman seemed to sense a defeat for that noble adventure.
Indeed, today the Anglican priesthood with its acceptance of marriage is not only failing to prosper; it is in a condition of dissolution revealed in acceptance of things carnal beyond a married male priesthood. It is not unthinkable to believe such conditions would today be different had the Established Church not have disestablished celibacy.
Catholics, when they are presented with the argument that ending celibacy would increase the ranks of the priesthood, should ask themselves if, even were that so, would something more important than numbers of priests be lost, something today’s culture desperately needs? That would be the example of heroism in the practice of chastity. Vatican II’s De Presbyterorum Ministerio et Vita touches on this with an appeal to priests who have freely chosen the priesthood to appreciate celibacy as a “glorious gift that has been given them by the Father and is so clearly extolled by the Lord:
“And the more that perfect continence is considered by many people to be impossible in the world of today, so much the more humbly and perseveringly in union with the Church ought priests demand the grace of fidelity, which is never denied to those who ask” (n.16).
Today’s culture is diseased with lust the way a human body is with cancer. Lust rots both the exterior and interior of society. Popular entertainment exposes children to sex without regard for the damage that is inevitable. The workings of lust and the structure feeding it are presented shamelessly even in private homes via television. In Hollywood’s greed, the young are preyed upon with humorous or enticing portrayeals of sex. In classrooms, innocence regarding sex is stripped away in the case of “safety” at the same age when pupils are learning their ABCs.
In this welter of filth and enervating sexual fantasy, a celibate priesthood and the chaste marital fidelity of husband and wife it encourages are the only two countercultural forces. Abandoning priestly celibacy would leave marital chastity without an example of heroism to encourage it, and would inevitably advance the cause of sexual libertinism, already shamelessly reigning in the field of cultural exemplars.
Satan knows that real heroes in the cause of restraint of bodily appetite are among his worst enemies. In C.S. Lewis’ little mockery of Hell’s denizens, The Screwtape Letters, Uncle Screwtape asks his nephew demon, Wormwood, “I suppose you’ve tried persuading him (Wormwood’s patient) that chastity is unhealthy?”
Something similar is at work now regarding celibacy. There is a diabolical effort to convince us Catholics that refraining from marriage is not merely unhealthy for priests, but in fact is impossible. This notion rests on the lie that not having sex is unnatural, and reflects the philosophical error of humanism and naturalism. If celibacy is unnatural, the attempting of it is very dangerous. There is at least a hint in the public reaction to the abuser-priests scandal that everyone’s sexuality will breakout in nastiness if it is not allowed the outlet of marriage.
The Church knows by both experience and good reasoning that God provides the grace to do difficult good things, just as St. Paul knew that God offers no burden beyond the ability of bearing it to those who wish to serve Him well and faithfully. As for Christ’s choosing at least one married (or possibly widowed) man (Peter) as an Apostle, He also said no one unwilling to leave aside wife and family (father, mother, children) for His sake was worthy of Him. If there is any literalness to that insistence of Christ, surely it should be seen in the steady movement by the Church from its beginning toward a celibate priesthood.
There is a recognizable link between abandonment of celibacy by most Christian religions and an abandonment of the confessional, with its seal of secrecy. Luther advised confessing one’s sins to the neighbor next door. Perhaps he was jesting? He must have realized no sinner with an ounce of prudence would choose to confess over the backyard fence. It is known that on at least one occasion Fr. Damien shouted out his sins from a boat to his clerical superior on shipboard above him. But then Fr. Damien was heroically a priest and a servant of Christ.
Confessing sins is humiliating enough when the hearer is a celibate priest. It would take more heroism than many of us have to tell them to a family man. It is a matter-of-fact truth that secrets between husband and wife exist only when there is nearly superhuman dedication to keeping things hidden, or a great deal of self-interest in doing so.
Finally, there is something highly chivalric in priestly celibacy. That is, having the priest as a model of dedication to cause as was the knight in serving one master only, distracted by no other summons or answering no other call. The chair of Galahad was reserved for him alone because, in the poet’s words, “his heart was pure.” Christ said something similar as to purity of heart enabling a vision of God. Taking here purity of heart to mean singleness of love, then both chivalric code and Christ the teacher can be understood as recommending celibacy as a means toward the Beatific Vision. This takes the priesthood beyond the vocation of service to others. Such vocation joined to celibacy brings God better into the sight of the inhabitants on earth, thus encouraging them to seek its undimmed and unmatched enjoyment in the true home awaiting us, where there is nether marriage or betrothal.
The sociology of Christianity is noble indeed, and the cause of service to others that is so strong in this age should not be demeaned or underestimated. Granting that service can be given well, and sometimes is, by those married, if it is the prime motive for the priesthood then celibacy might be seen as a penalty if demanded in priests’ living of the life of goodwill toward men. But the Beatific Vision far outshines such a motive, and if single-heartedness is preparation here for such perfection beyong, then celibacy becomes the blazon of Christ’s heroes. Faithful married people surely are honored in the court of Christ above. But there they, too, will give special honor to those who gave their hearts to Him in a most special way.
Catholic mothers have always given recognition to that when they gave sons to the priesthood – that is, the celibate priesthood. For such priesthood is far beyond a profession, even a noble one such as serving the spiritual and worldly needs of people: In the pride and joy of mothers of priests we can detect their intuition that those sons are among the elect who heard and heeded Christ’s call, and therefore unlike the rich young man who turned away from what Christ promised with these words: “And everyone has left house, or brothers, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive a hundredfold, and shall possess life everlasting” (Matt. 19:29).
Should Christ have a priesthood that strives for anything less?
Well, that's the challenge of following Christ, isn't it? We want to have one foot in the world, and one foot in the Church.
We are like St. Augustine, who said in his dissolute youth "Lord, make me chaste. Just not yet." We are called to give up all things (that is, not be attached to material things), but we like to hold on to some of our stuff (material things, prejudices, anger, guilt) just in case.
Being a follower of Christ is tough. What did Christ tell Peter after asking him to lead His Church:
"When you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go wherever you wanted to go. But, when you grow old, you will stretch out your hand and others will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go."
Truly turn things over to Christ and there's no telling where you'll end up or what you'll end up doing.
Yes, but "celibacy" in the past did not mean chastity. I believe the only Christain sect that required a celibate to practice complete physical chastity was the Cathari. A Roman priest, by contrast, could pay the annual cullagium and then enjoy the embraces of his concubine or catamite as often as he pleased, while remaining officially celibate.
Of course, things got a little tougher after the Reformation ...
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