The Chicago Tribune - February 6, 2000
Steve Kloehn, Tribune Religion Writer

They will talk about the subject with mentors and in small groups, and their progress will be monitored closely.

And when it is all done, the men who have completed this rigorous course of study--Catholic seminarians at St. Mary of the Lake in Mundelein--will vow not to have sex for the rest of their lives.

At a time when popular culture is inundated with sexual enticements, and even Catholics are divided over the value of mandatory celibacy for priests, the church is pouring unprecedented energy into preparing its seminarians for a life without sex.

It is a campaign that has gone largely unnoticed outside the priesthood. But after a controversial newspaper series published last week in the Kansas City Star asserting that Catholic priests contract the AIDS virus at a far greater rate than the general public, the sex lives of priests have again become a hot topic for discussion on talk shows, on the Internet and in the church itself. Celibacy is not just a challenge, local priests insist, but a gift.

They say celibacy allows them to have open and transparent relations with many people at once, while giving themselves entirely to Jesus Christ.

And the more peculiar that practice looks to the rest of society, the more important it is for the Catholic Church to prove that sex need not be the center of human existence, church leaders say--even as they acknowledge that celibacy will never be lived perfectly by all priests.

"There is an assumption out there that you have to have sex to be an adult, that if you don't have sex, there's something wrong with you," said Cardinal Francis George in an interview last week. "In this day the witness of celibacy, because the culture is so eroticized, is perhaps more important than ever."

Perhaps because that stance contrasts so starkly with cultural expectations, the failure of some priests to live up to their vows of celibacy continues to make news.

The Kansas City Star series used activists' estimates, death certificates and written questionnaires to draw the conclusion that priests are four times as likely to contract HIV/AIDS as the general U.S. population.

Based on 800 responses gathered from a survey offered to 3,000 priests, the series also suggested that the priesthood is disproportionately homosexual and more sexually active than is usually admitted. Parts of those findings were reprinted in newspapers around the country, including the Tribune.

But the series has come in for serious criticism in recent days, not only from priests and church officials who say that the findings do not match their experience, but also from a media watchdog group (the Center for Media and Public Affairs, in Washington, D.C.) that analyzed the statistical data used in the stories, and even a Chicago clinician cited in the stories.

John Keenan, a psychologist and priest who runs a multipurpose clinic for priests, monks and nuns named Trinity House, called the newspaper's findings "ridiculous."

"To come out with a statement about Roman Catholic clergy having a four times greater rate of HIV/AIDS is absurd . . . and I say that as a statistician," Keenan said last week. Contrary to fears in the late '80s, the incidence of AIDS among priests appears to have declined over the last decade, he said.

Keenan has counseled priests with AIDS off and on for more than 15 years. He acknowledges that priests are not always faithful to the vow of celibacy. But he said that the failings are not particular to celibacy, but a risk in any lifetime commitment.

"Everything you can say about celibates you can say about married people," he said.

Celibacy has been a part of church tradition since its inception. In his writings, St. Paul called on those who were able to give up earthly attachments, including family and marriage.

By the 4th Century A.D., when persecution of Christians ended and an official hierarchy of churches emerged, some began adopting codes of celibacy for clergy. Other church leaders fought mandatory celibacy, especially for those who would have to leave a wife and family to become celibate.

Prompted in part by the example of monastic life and in part by fears of distributing church property through inheritance, the medieval church moved closer to a consistent standard of celibacy for clergy. Pope Gregory VII is generally credited with making the discipline universal and mandatory for priests in the western church in the 11th Century.

While that did not change officially in the 900 years that followed, cultural expectations of sex and commitment did. At no time was the tension more apparent than in the late 1960s, when the sexual revolution caused clergy already unsettled by fundamental changes within the church to question the very basis of their vocation.

The departure of droves of priests in the 1970s, many of whom left the active priesthood to marry, was followed by a series of sexual abuse scandals in the 1980s that some activists blamed on celibacy. The church, meanwhile, decided that drastic changes were needed in the way seminarians were recruited and taught about celibacy.

At St. Mary of the Lake in Mundelein, the results include stringent screening and monitoring of seminarians, practical guidance for living a celibate life, and theological instruction that integrates celibacy with prayer and chaste love for all people as elements of a life devoted to God.

Before a seminarian is admitted, he undergoes psychological testing and background checks to ascertain, among other things, his sexual history and orientation. While homosexual orientation alone is not a reason to deny admittance, officials say, understanding one's own sexuality is important to an honest commitment to celibacy.

In addition, applicants are required to have lived chastely--that is, with no sex outside marriage--for at least two years before admission. A student handbook says that any involvement in sexual activity or frequenting of singles or gay bars during the seminary years could lead to dismissal.

But seminary officials say that the key to celibacy is not rules but a life of faith.

"It's still primarily grounded in spirituality and theology," said Rev. John Canary, rector of the seminary. "That's the only way it makes sense and can remain healthy."

Officials say the most important element of instruction on celibacy, before and after ordination, is one-on-one spiritual direction.

Spiritual directors, often other priests, are trained to help both clergy and laypeople talk about their faith and their lives. They are assigned to all seminarians, and the Archdiocese of Chicago recommends that its priests also meet regularly with spiritual directors.

In 1993 the archdiocese also began putting together celibacy discussion groups for priests, according to Rev. Daniel Coughlin, one of two vicars for priests in the archdiocese.

If the archdiocese does find evidence that a priest has broken the vow of celibacy in a legal and consensual act of sex, Coughlin said, the first step is to sit down and talk to the priest.

"We need to know, are there commitments to another person? If some of it is that the priest is in a bad environment, we'd get him out of that. If he needed treatment (for a sexual disorder), we'd get him treatment," Coughlin said.

Although the church teaches that homosexual acts are "objectively disordered," Coughlin said that is not the principal concern of his office.

"We're aiming at celibacy, whether you're heterosexual or homosexual," he said.

Preliminary results from a survey conducted by the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate at Georgetown University seem to indicate that most Chicago priests are comfortable with celibacy. The survey, set for release in May, asked 218 questions about priestly life, three of which dealt directly with celibacy. Rev. Louis Cameli, director of formation for priests in the archdiocese, said that 54 percent of the 900-plus diocesan priests responded.

"The priests generally responded that they had the skills to live this out in a way that was life-giving, that they didn't turn into cranky old bachelors," Cameli said. "But they also wanted a deeper understanding of the rationale" behind celibacy. At Mundelein, that conversation continues.

"I wouldn't say that I worry about it, but it is an issue that we talk about openly and frankly," said Jeffrey Njus, a first-year student. "I know I can (live celibately) because I'm doing it now. . . . But being celibate is not something I can do by myself."

Mark Greschel, 43, felt a call to the Catholic priesthood but began studying to be a Lutheran pastor instead because he wanted to keep open the option of marriage and family. But after taking a break from his training, he converted to Catholicism and is now a third-year seminarian at Mundelein.

"I realized I was being celibate and I was happy. I have friends who love me and who I love," he said. "And at the core of our chastity is a very, very real relationship with the living Christ."
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