As the Roman Catholic Church Struggles to Fill Its Pulpits, a Few Young Men Step Forward for Rigorous Training toward Priesthood
By Todd Jones
Columbus Dispatch
August 20, 2009
http://www.dispatch.com/live/content/multimedia/priest/day1.html
The man in black could see all he'd soon leave behind.
Married couples, young and old, fanned themselves with graduation programs in the stifling, windowless hall at the Pontifical College Josephinum in May.
Children scampered about. Single women chatted.
Robert Bolding looked down at them from a stage where he stood for a group photo with other School of Theology graduates of the Roman Catholic seminary on the North Side near I-270.
Robert, 27, had prayed daily about the sacrifices he would make as a priest, and the challenges he'd face, since he decided nine years earlier to become one:
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| Deacon Robert Bolding prayerfully prepares to practice saying Mass for a professor at the Pontifical College Josephinum in April. Photo by Fred Squillante |
He will never marry.
He will never have children of his own.
He will never lead a life of opulence or self-indulgence.
But Robert knew he would gain a church family that needs him and other new priests more than ever in the wake of the sexual-abuse scandal that rocked the U.S. Catholic Church this decade.
Since 1965, the number of priests in the U.S. has fallen by 31 percent, while the nation's Catholic population has risen by 43 percent. At 40,666, the number of priests in the U.S. is about the same as Dublin's population, and they serve 65 million Catholics.
Pope Benedict XVI declared that beginning June 19, this would be a "Year for Priests," in hopes of raising vocational awareness at a time when the world's 1 billion Catholics are still recovering from harm done by priests who abused minors.
The U.S. Church has paid more than $2 billion in related legal settlements since 1950 - the bulk of it since the scandal came to light in 2002 after being long-hidden by Church leaders. Six U.S. dioceses declared bankruptcy in recent years because of the scandal's financial toll.
"It did have an effect on vocations, but you can't measure it," said the Rev. Jeff Coning, vocations director for the Diocese of Columbus. "A whole number of parents quietly didn't support their sons going into the priesthood."
Robert Bolding's parents supported him every step on his path to priesthood, which began in his hometown of Phoenix and led him to where he now stood at the Josephinum's 110 t h commencement on the N. High Street campus.
Nearby, the retired bishop of the Diocese of Columbus, beamed like a proud grandfather at the nine deacons in graduation caps and gowns.
"It's marvelous," said Bishop James A. Griffin, faculty member and former vice-chancellor of the Josephinum. "It fills you with hope for the future of the Church and the world, that we have these super young men devoted to the priesthood."
Devotion led to the clerical collar Robert has worn for the past year since his ordination as a deacon, when he promised celibacy and obedience to the Church.
Devotion led to the red tassel dangling from the left side of his graduation cap, and the master of divinity diploma in his hands after four years of intense study at the Josephinum.
And three weeks from this day, devotion would cast him prostrate on a cathedral floor - signifying the symbolic death he freely choose - at his ordination into the priesthood.
Outside the graduation hall and verdant campus grounds was the secular world, a mouse-click-paced, materialistic culture peppered with non-believers and those who still whisper about priests molesting boys.
"I'm kind of nervous - not nervous about being undecided if this is what I want to do, but nervous because it's a big thing," Robert said.
Too big for most men to choose.
Too big for many people to understand.
• • •
As a child, Robert would play church. He would take a cheese cracker, pretend it was the Eucharistic host and say Mass.
Those were playful moments that reflected something deeper.
Robert was born to devout Catholic parents who professed their faith to their three children. An uncle and cousin were priests, and an aunt was a nun.
Yet a religious vocation wasn't on his youthful mind.At the time, he expected to become an FBI agent, a police officer, a marine biologist, or perhaps a pediatrician.
So many boys in the past four decades have been just like young Robert, brimming with career options and plans that didn't include the priesthood.
The number of men entering seminary dropped steadily for more than 30 years. Although enrollment has remained fairly steady for the past decade, the 4,741 U.S. seminarians in 2008-09 is woefully low.
"The problem is, the number being ordained each year is only about one-third of what is needed to replace the number (of priests) dying, retiring or leaving," said Mary Gautier, senior research associate at Georgetown University's Center for the Applied Research in the Apostolate.
"To put it in economic terms, supply is not meeting demand."
The Catholic population in the Diocese of Columbus has grown by about 14,077 people in the past five years. At the same time, it has ordained 30 priests - none this year.
The diocese has 110 churches served by 110 priests, but those numbers are deceiving. Some churches are so large that they are served by two, three or even four priests. Others are so small that they share a priest with one or more other churches. And the median age of priests here is 63.
With 3,400 parishes in the U.S. without a resident pastor, the stakes are high for the students at the nation's 46 Catholic seminaries, including the Josephinum.
"The Church needs them very, very badly, and there are aspects of them that are fragile," said the Rev. Patrick Manning, who completed five years as Josephinum vice president and vice rector on July 1 and is now chair of the theology department at Walsh University.
Few dare to take the initial steps toward ordination. Those who hear the call must have the fortitude to survive a six- to 10-year process that is mysterious to many and marked by moments of doubt and temptation for those involved.
The Catholic Church leadership remains adamantly opposed to allowing married priests or women priests, even though the clergy shortage has led to the closing of churches or clustering of parishes under the services of one priest.
Fewer priests was one of three reasons (along with financial hardship and population shifts) that the Diocese of Cleveland announced in March that it is closing 27 churches and merging 23 others before July 1, 2010.
Bishop Frederick Campbell of the Columbus Diocese has said he has no immediate plans for such moves here, but he wouldn't rule it out for the future.
Robert won't help Ohio's clergy void. Upon ordination, Church practice calls for him to return to serve his home Diocese of Phoenix.
It was there that Robert heard the call in 2000 while sitting in his high school library discussing the future with a friend. The senior saw a priest and said his job seemed like one that would never get old and could keep him happy.
Nine years later, the self-described nerdy kid who grew into a gentle giant stood at a precipice of a selfless, life-long commitment taken on by few.
• • •
Although consumed with love for God and church, Robert talks passionately about history and classical literature - and sports and rock music.
It can be disconcerting to see the black clerical garb, accented by the iconic white collar, and hear this clergyman talk about his fondness for music by Cake, John Mayer and Dave Matthews.
Robert began wearing the collar in April 2008 when, as is customary for third-year theologians, he was ordained a deacon. At that point, he could baptize, preach and assist at Mass, but he could not celebrate Mass, hear confessions or anoint the sick.
"Everything changes once you become an ordained deacon," he said. "It's like when you do a residency as a doctor. Everything seems more relevant now."
So Robert returned to Columbus in August 2008, fresh from a summer parish assignment in Phoenix, with his final year at the Josephinum cloaked in urgency.
"He has to avoid senioritis, which is a serious disease," said Deacon Michael Ross, academic dean at the Josephinum.
In Robert, his eight classmates had a respected peer who is patient, understanding and concerned for others.
"He has the heart of service," said Deacon Will Schmid of Phoenix, Robert's friend since age 14. "He has a natural ability to understand what people are seeking and the questions they're asking. He's kind and very loving."
Family, friends and faculty members said the shy Robert grew in self-confidence after arriving at the Vatican-owned Josephinum in 2005.
The Diocese of Phoenix Bishop Thomas Olmsted, a former Josephinum president and rector, sent Robert nearly 2,000 miles away to study for priestly ordination in central Ohio after he graduated from the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul., Minn.
In his final year of seminary, Robert was with 163 other students from 32 dioceses worldwide - including Columbus, Cincinnati, Steubenville, Toledo and Youngstown - to study at a seminary that has trained more than 1,500 priests since opening in 1888.
"He's a precious commodity," said Monsignor Joseph Hendricks, who mentored Robert as pastor of St. Brigid of Kildare Church in Dublin. "It's a $300,000 investment that the people in the Church have made in Robert Bolding."
The Josephinum receives no financial support from the Vatican. It costs the school about $41,000 per seminarian every year, with most dioceses paying $24,000 of that for tuition, fees, and room and board. School fundraising makes up the rest.
Robert sensed heightened expectations as the fall semester of his final year began.
"The biggest thing I feel is the responsibility," he said. "That's probably the scariest part of it. A priest is accountable to God for the souls entrusted in his care. We carry that weight with grace and the blessing of God, but it's an intimidating thing."
Darkness descended in late October as Robert drove his parents' Hyundai Santa Fe through the rolling hills of Holmes County with two men who were also on the verge of priesthood.
Schmid sat at his side, and Deacon Adam Stimpson was in the back seat, spitting tobacco juice into an empty bottle and taking in the bucolic scenery of rural northeastern Ohio.
"Mind if we pray?" Stimpson asked, flipping on the overhead light.
The friends had spent a relaxing day in Amish country with three other Josephinum seminarians during a short mid-semester break.
Duty beckoned with the setting sun, and Schmid began reading from Psalms.
"God , come to my assistance ; Lord , make haste to help me . "
All three repeated the verse, beginning the evening prayer of the Liturgy of the Hours - a set of psalms supplemented by hymns and readings that the Church requires clergy and religious orders to recite at certain hours.
"I will exalt you, O Lord, for you lifted me out of the depths and did not let my enemies gloat over me."
The rhythmic prayer and hilly countryside served as metaphors for their experiences along the way to priesthood.
They've gone up and down for nearly a decade, challenged daily by a regimentation of school, prayer and required service.
Free days such as this have been rare.
They left their clerical collars at school and dressed like tourists. They joked while eating cheese, pepperoni and pita chips, and they found a wine bar inside a market in Sugarcreek.
"You guys in a group?" asked bartender Craig Morris.
"The six of us are studying to be Roman Catholic priests in Columbus," Stimpson answered, sipping from a glass. (A seventh seminarian didn't make the trip because he overslept after a dorm-room poker game.)
"You don't look like Catholic priests," Morris said. "You look like a bunch of guys who'd just jump in a car and road-trip."
Hours later, three of those guys were praying in the car as darkness crept over the winding road.
"May the Lord Bless us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to life everlasting. Amen."
With the Liturgy of the Hours completed in 10 minutes, Robert flipped off the car's overhead light.
"Do you think we're going to make it," Schmid asked?
"It's going to be close," Robert said.
For now, the seminarians were eager to get back to the Josephinum in time to watch the "The Office" on TV.
Robert drove as the others fell quiet.
Two weeks earlier, he had asked Monsignor Nevin Klinger, vice-rector of the School of Theology, how ready someone is for the priesthood when they leave the Josephinum.
Klinger just laughed.
Robert had eight months left to prepare.
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