Bless Me, O My Father, For I Have Sinned
April 5, 2002

Many years ago I was the Rabbi of Temple Beth Ahm in Windsor, Connecticut. It was a lovely small town of one synagogue and a number of churches reflecting a large number of Christian denominations. They had a tradition that every year the ministers, priests and one rabbi went away for a full day to some place where, uninterruptedly, we could talk, meditate, share and reflect upon the issues that faced us as “men of the cloth.” In thinking back, I have not since then had such wonderful experiences in my life. We talked about our church/synagogue programming, the dynamics of our members, and religion in America – this was the end of the 1970’s – and what it meant to be God’s representatives here on earth. When we left our different theologies at the door, we were all simple men who chose to serve God, struggled with the question of evil in the world, and beyond the celebrations which were easy, confronted the sorrows of death and families in crisis. We were Christians and one Jew. We had a common bond through our ministry to God. We, I, found so much in common that helped us unburden and uplift each other. At the end of the day I found that I had true brothers in serving God, that my problems as a rabbi were, even if different, not so unique, and that the questions with which I struggled were the same for the ministers and priests down the street. I looked forward to our retreat and always came away refreshed and renewed. It was definitely the result of small New England town environment and the intimacy that it creates.

I distinctly remember a conversation with one of the Roman Catholic priests. He told me his daily and weekly routine. At that time I think that Yonina, besides Menachem was already born. He related how he served the parish from sunrise to sunset and beyond without interruption. He felt that his life was a total, all encompassing, and unbroken “service to Christ” by ministering unceasingly to his flock. I admired him greatly. I felt the same feelings, ministering to one hundred and ten families, thirty children in religious school, with all the life cycle, educational, religious and pastoral work by myself alone. With a family, a wife and two children central in my life, there was never enough time to do it all, to do enough, to do it completely. I told him about meeting Ruby and the growth of our family, being there for Yonina’s birth. I told him about my frustrations of not getting it all done, and how I admired his total commitment. And he said to me, that he admired me, because after celebrating someone else’s joy, I could go home and share it with my wife; because after sharing someone’s sorrow and broken heart, I had a family to go home to, children to uplift me and my spirits which had also been affected. I admired him for his consuming commitment and did not realize that he was alone. He admired me for having the family structure to sustain me in my ministry, even though it obviously consumed significant time and attention, as it should. I am not good at keeping in touch with people, and thus know nothing of him since those days. I remember him as a sweet, compassionate, spiritual, beautiful human being, in service to the One God, to whom I also prayed, “just” with a different theological path.

That was the context in which my friend, a Roman Catholic priest spoke about his vow of celibacy. It was never spoken about in the context of having or refraining from sex, though clearly that was the fact. He was married, in a deep and spiritual sense, to the Church. It was his ever-present companion in everything he did. He felt an intimacy with Jesus as an ever-present friend. The other priests, nuns, and church personnel were like a chavurah and provided comradeship and fellowship. Being celibate was not about sex. Being celibate was and is about devotion to God and the Church, entirely, with undivided attention. Being celibate was and is about devotion to people. The people of the parish are the priest’s family. He tends to them from cradle to grave, hears their private confessions, and sees them from baptism to altar. In a time before significant population movement, people might know only a few priests all their lives. And when they moved, it was because the Church moved them, the time and location was not in their control. In last Sunday’s New York Times Magazine section, in the section subtitled “The Way We Live Now,” there was an article by a priest entitled “The Struggle With Celibacy.” There is a moving piece that portrays this beautifully.

“I began to understand the meaning of celibacy, oddly, during a time when I was seriously questioning it. A dear friend of mine in Europe had sent his only son to study in the United States and asked me to watch over him. This friend told me how much he was suffering from this separation. I told him that at least he had a son, whereas I would never experience being a father. This aspect of celibacy, I said to him, was much more difficult than the lack of a sexual companion.

“But you have many sons and daughters,” he said. “Look at the way young people follow you. You are a true father to them.”

“Yes,” I replied, “but let’s be honest. They are not really my sons and daughters. Each one of them would have existed even if I had not. They are not mine as J. is your son.”

“But Lorenzo,” he said, “that is the point. J. is not my son. I do not own him. I must respect his freedom. And I thought that’s why priests took a vow of celibacy, to help spouses and parents understand that to love is not to own, but to affirm, to help, to let go. I need this help now that J. has left home.”

This captures the life of devotion, family, dedication, friendship that was the life of my friend, a Roman Catholic priest. And I imagine that most of the priests in the Roman Catholic Church live their lives, serve Christ and serve their parishes in the same way. I am sure that the priests of the Roman Catholic Church, in their thousands and tens of thousands are mortified and horrified of the sins of pedophilia that have been perpetrated by a small percentage of priests. As a “colleague in the ministry” I share their horror at these deplorable and despicable acts. All perpetrators and those who covered for them must be called to account and properly punished. The article I just cited reveals how it now feels to be a priest.

Now, which each new revelation of priestly pedophilia, in addition to shock and anger, I feel accused again. I worry that my altar boys and girls – not to mention their parents – are looking at me as a dirty old man, as a possible threat. When a case of abuse is exposed involving a married man, I doubt that most other married men feel implicated, embarrassed in front of their friends and relatives. They don’t worry that the parents of their children’s friends suspect them of horrible crimes. But because of my vow, even wearing my priestly garb has made me want to scream, “I’m not one of those!”

I feel for my friend of long ago and for my current colleagues whom I have met in Richmond. They are good men. They serve with all their hearts and souls. And they serve with compassion and devotion. Yet because of the most terrible sins of a relative few, they are indicted and held in suspicion. The Book of Deuteronomy would have us act differently: “A person shall be put to death for his own crime.” I hope that the Catholic Church acts quickly and in a forthright manner, and put its house in order. I pray for healing for the neshamas of all who have been hurt. Children are a sacred trust, to their parents, to their teachers and to all of us who come in contact with them. All of the synagogue movements are currently codifying rules and regulations to combat any such evil deeds, and protect innocent clergy from malicious and untrue accusations.

I am glad that the Rabbinate is not celibate, as much as for one reason as for another. I truly admire men and women who forsake and abstain from that activity which is natural to the human being, who will not hold their own babies and their own grandchildren in their own hands. They have given the ultimate gift and sacrifice for their faith. Yet all faiths demand that we lead moral and ethical lives, whether celibate or married. All faiths demand that we respect all adults and all children at all times and in all places and at all times. I pray for the peace of my colleagues in the ministry, that they may serve their flocks with their devotion. I pray for the congregants of my colleagues, that they may trust their ministers, priests and rabbis. I pray for us and for our children, that we will make this a better world, for them and for us.

Amen.