Will Ulrich: Abnormality and the priesthood

Throughout most of my Roman Catholic childhood, I never quite recognized priests as real people. For one, they dressed differently from everyone else. When I saw them walking around the neighborhood or climbing the stairs of my school, they donned what I thought were Jedi-like black suits.

On the altar, they wore dramatic, colorful robes. The Mill Hills --ÿthe Irish and English priests who ran my parish when I was very young -- favored emerald vestments, but they broke out the vibrant purples and blues when the calendar called for them.

The priests of my youth didn't talk like the rest of the Bronxites around me. Their voices -- perhaps because of years of intoning the rite of mass -- had a cadence fit only for mystical words like "reconciliation."

Of course, priests were the objects of criticism around the house. When I was very young, my grandmother would complain about how Father Riordan's homilies were at least five times longer than they should have been. Later on, she'd say the same thing about Father Jesselli. That, and she'd always make fun of Father Hickey's singing voice.

Although I can recall many more of these minor complaints, the fact remains that I was brought up to respect priests. Like it or not, I was trained to view clergymen as instruments of God. They were to be followed. They were to be trusted.

It's because of this image of priests that was emblazoned on my childhood psyche that I find it so hard to ignore the news of the last month or so.

The groundswell began with the breaking of the story of John Geoghan, the now-defrocked Boston priest and convicted pedophile who the archdiocese had shuttled from one unsuspecting parish to another.

The situation in Massachusetts has now reached a fevered pitch. As a result of mounting public and legal pressure, the Boston Catholic church has given prosecutors the names of almost 90 active or retired priests accused of sexually molesting children.

The Boston maelstrom has set off a chain reaction of scrutiny throughout the American church. The Archdiocese of Los Angeles, for instance, has reportedly ordered up to a dozen priests to retire.

These strategic institutional responses are important, but they don't help to answer the larger questions that this recent media focus has raised.

Can parents trust that their children are safe in Catholic schools and churches? Is there something in the nature of Catholic priesthood that encourages this sort of horrific activity? Should we trust priests?

Although I am no Catholic apologist, I think much of the hysteria that gets aroused by these stories is just that -- hysterical. Almost every priest I've known has been a dedicated servant of the community. They are, in short, smart and energetic men the world has every reason to trust.

That said, I do think that the church makes demands on its clergy that encourage the perception -- on the part of both priests and flock alike -- that men of the cloth are abnormal. This creates an unhealthy environment in which deviants might be attracted to the priesthood and in which the priesthood might attract deviance.

For the first 18 years of my life, I was in close contact with priests, and I never felt uncomfortable. All my Catholic grade school instructors were lay teachers, but as an altar boy and a part-time receptionist at our parish's rectory I had the pleasure of getting to know a number of talented and selfless clergymen.

I also have nothing but the highest praise for the Jesuits who taught me in high school. These brilliant, generous men have been the best in the world at educating teenagers for centuries, and I hope they continue their mission for many more to come.

What I don't get now -- and what I'm sure I'll never get -- is why these men have to be celibate and, for that matter, why they have to be men.

To the best of my recollection, there's nothing in the New Testament to indicate that Jesus Christ wanted his church to be led by permanently-single men. Sure, he handed the ball off to his apostles, but that's not enough to sell me.

I understand that a life in the priesthood makes extraordinary demands. I just don't understand why it needs to make abnormal ones, as well. Will Ulrich is a senior Philosophy major from the Brox, N.Y.

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