WHEN the media circus moves on from the Bishop Roderick Wright story, what are the issues which will continue to concern the Christian community? It is clear that for many people, having expressed in turn anger, shame and sorrow, one of the issues is that of celibacy. It has already been raised many times, perhaps too soon, too quickly.
It is critical that the Catholic Church debates the celibacy issue, but firstly this case should be named for what it is an abuse of power. In observing the rawness of the pain of Joanna Whibley and her son we had graphic evidence of the effects of such abuse and betrayal. Her witness also helped to destroy another dangerous myth that of the scarlet woman leading a poor man astray.
It is clear that changing the rule on celibacy would, of itself, be no protection against this kind of abuse. In the same week as the Bishop Wright story broke, the Church of England was issuing guidelines to its clergy, male and female, married and single, on preventing abuse. It demonstrated a recognition that the role of the priest can lend itself to the exploitation of the vulnerable.
The defensive reaction of the church authorities to such tragic, even sordid events, is understandable. The man's case is treated as exceptional, it is named as scandalous. But this leaves the issue at the level of individual failing and so we have comments about frailty and sin and we risk scapegoating and demonising the individual - Judas references - for example.
We need to look beyond the individual to the structures of the institution, to the seminary formation, to the connections between celibacy and power in the priesthood, to the question of structures of support for priests, to issues of accountability. The Wright case represents a breakdown on many levels. Undertaking this kind of examination does not in any sense limit personal responsibility but acknowledges the wider implications, the flaws within the institution.
At present our theology sets a man, and in the Roman Catholic tradition it is still a man, apart. It defines him as different not just in his tasks but in his being. The power belongs to the priest and not to the community. This leads to dangerous isolation - a "lone ranger" kind of priesthood. The calling to serve must be connected to community needs, it must be accountable to the people from whom the calling comes.
WE NEED to demythologise priesthood. As the Orthodox priest, John Garvey, has put it in Doctrine and Life (September, 1992): "The desire to be a priest is not more holy or divinely given than the desire to be a teacher, doctor, agricultural worker, or greengrocer ... What happens to us in baptism is the essential Christian vocation." There can be no reduction from that state, there can be no increase either.
The Catholic Church has always resisted a functional description of ministry, fearing that to do so would diminish it. It might remove the mystique but it could well restore its value. A basic understanding of the significant but limited role of the priest as the one who enables the Christian community, who possesses some, but not all of that community's gifts, might restore confidence in the worth of this role, and might work better than the dysfunctional priesthood, of which we have many examples at present. It might encourage support for those ministering so that they are no longer isolated, no longer left to be the church "for us".
Within this renewed understanding of ministry we could then explore the place of celibacy. We could ask the simple question: Does it work? Is it retained for economic or political reasons? If so, let us be honest about that and examine that rationale. Does the notion that it makes people more available hold water? Or does it in some cases stunt their emotional growth so that in practice they become unavailable, even to themselves?
It is quite clear that elective celibacy is a valuable charism, an important witness, as Libby Purves wrote in the Times last week. It is lived out by men and women both inside and outside of religious contexts, and they lead as perfectly or imperfectly normal lives as the rest of us.
IT is, however, less clear that mandatory celibacy or masculine gender are essential requirements to fulfil the role of ministering to a Christian community. These two issues of gender and celibacy are linked. The tradition of a male celibate priesthood needs to be examined for underlying misogyny and for its part in creating a cult of clericalism.
Can we discuss such issues not just within Roman Catholic ranks but in collaboration with other Christian churches? We can no longer operate in isolation from one another, alternately demonising and idealising the practice of the other. It would be most instructive to learn at close hand the difficulties and benefits of a married clergy, the understanding of ministry brought by the women who have been ordained, as well as their problems operating within male structures and so on.
If such a debate could be conducted honestly, with people speaking from their lived experience, and not from the latest theory or the most ancient tradition, then the church would split open and the healing could begin.
For who would put new wine into old wineskins? This would be a moment of grace. It would enable us all to live better with the ambiguities and failings which are an inevitable part of every human enterprise, and to learn from one another and support one another so that Christian ministry might continue, just occasionally, to hint at "the astounding mercy of God".
