One man's vocation: my 59 years as a celibate

On a spring day in 1944, two seminarians chatted about ordination to the diaconate with its commitment to celibacy, scheduled for the following morning in the seminary chapel. I remarked, "For heaven's sake, John, if you can take the step, I certainly can." John's response was unnerving: "Well, Harry, I have news for you. I won't be here tomorrow. I'm out of here." I was the one who stayed, however much I questioned the rule of celibacy. I felt called to priestly ministry and trusted, perhaps naively, in the assurances of church authorities that celibacy enhanced one's spiritual life and ministry.

Now at age eighty-three, after fifty-nine years of a happy and exciting priesthood, my early questioning of celibacy has been confirmed. Rather than an enhancement, celibacy has been more of a distraction. Unmarried, the priest ideally can give more of himself and his time to ministry, but it does not always work out that way. Compensations easily insinuate themselves--golf, tennis, bridge, social activities, hobbies--and make disproportionate demands on the time and energy said to derive from celibacy. Without a high-octane spiritual life, other less acceptable activities can come into play: drinking, race tracks, casinos. As a form of asceticism, celibacy's heroic demands are more at home with a hermit in the desert or a monk in a monastery than with a priest ministering in today's highly charged sexual atmosphere.

Celibacy has an enormous value to the person and to the church when it is a continuing mandate of the heart--the most total giving of oneself to the Lord. As an extreme form of asceticism, it would be expected to be accompanied by other ascetical practices and a deep, even mystical spirituality. But is it? Celibacy may be mandated, but the personal and social context so necessary for it to thrive and be supported cannot be legislated. John Paul II proclaims an eschatological purpose for celibacy when lived "for the kingdom": The celibate is an icon illuminating the condition that awaits all the faithful. Living as an icon is a big reach for flesh-and-blood human beings--certainly for me. But the pope goes further when he claims that the priest is ontologically different from the rest of humankind. This, too, goes beyond my experience and my understanding of the ontological scale as consisting essentially of mineral, plant, animal, human, angelical, and divine. I fail to see priest as another distinct category. For those sailing in these mystical waters, these considerations may well be compelling. But I have always regarded my priesthood as trying to become an alter Christus in service to others--the faithful and a wider circle of humanity--in ministering the sacraments, proclaiming the gospel vision of Jesus, and re-presenting his redeeming sacrifice with the assembly, all the while being a creature of body and spirit.

As for my own experience of celibacy, efforts, however faltering, at maintaining a prayer life and a level of devotional and intellectual spirituality have made for a happy priestly life: twenty-four years in chancery administration, another twenty-six years as pastor in two New York City parishes, and eight years retired as weekend associate in a lively parish. The gospel simplicity of the words and example of Jesus, the overarching Catholic intellectual vision and its rich cultural traditions, learning from people, and the camaraderie of fellow men and women gave a coherence and sense of well-being in day-to-day ministry. But celibacy has not been an easy road. Physical awareness was literally aroused in the all-male seminary on visiting days, when the click of the high heels of classmates' sisters was heard on the cloister walk. Such arousal would not diminish with ordination. While not delighted with the prospect of a celibate life, I viewed it as part of the packaged priestly ministry that I felt called to--a ministry to serve others that would also be personally fulfilling. Now I wonder if it must be so packaged.

The world of ministry was too busy to allow preoccupation with the demands of celibacy. Chancery work involved evening meetings in civic affairs and frequent dinner sessions with friends and colleagues. Regular duties at my parish of residence occupied a couple of evenings a week. Playing the role of priest, the Roman collar, professional reserve, and a context of parish and friends all proved effective safeguards against anything more transgressing than occasional lack of custody of the eyes.

Vacations were something else again. Here are a few brief snapshots. A Maine resort with a priest classmate: In mufti, we mixed with young men and women of our own age on the beach, after golf, and on an evening schooner cruise, adroitly handling questions about schools, occupations, and home neighborhoods. About the fifth day, my friend who had made an interesting acquaintance said, "Harry, let's get out of here. This is getting too hot to handle." We left. Subsequently he had many years as a teacher, then left for marriage. I had seen an evolution in a friend's attitude toward celibacy.