Fr Flannery's Abuse Thesis Is Outdated
By Nicky Larkin
THEY live their lonely lives in musty old houses, their only contact baptising babies and anointing the dead. This, according to Fr Tony Flannery, leads the Catholic clergy to temptation. Last week, Fr Flannery – co-founder of the Association of Catholic Priests – said the lonely lives that clergy lead result in an inevitable struggle over sexuality. Fr Flannery is the first priest to speak openly about the possible link between celibacy and sexual abuse. He questioned whether this has caused some priests to turn to children for sexual outlets. Because of his comments, Fr Flannery has been suspended from duty and is under threat of excommunication from the Vatican. Over the past decade, fresh cases of clerical sexual abuse have popped up across every parish in the land. This vast cache of dark secrets shook our souls to the core, decimating an already greying Mass-going population. And while there have been cases of sexual abuse in the Protestant clergy, they are not on the Catholic scale. But despite his assertions, Fr Flannery is fundamentally wrong. There are plenty of isolated rural bachelors up and down the land living far lonelier and less comfortable lives than these elderly men in black. And they don't have housekeepers cooking their dinners. Anthropologists tell us one in 100 people are attracted to children, difficult as it may be to hear. But why these men in black? Why all the sexual abuse cases? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I put this question to my best mate since childhood – an outgoing, sociable type who, to all intents and purposes, lived the same young life as me and the rest of our group of friends. He joined the priesthood in his mid-20s. The day he told me we were at a funeral, and he walked me out to the car after the removal. As we crossed the Camcor bridge, he said he'd something to tell me. My mind raced. What was he about to announce? I didn't care, he was my best friend, he could have told me anything. He told me he was going back to college for seven years. My first guess was he was going to study law or medicine. But then he told me to guess again, and threw in that vital clue – Maynooth. I didn't believe him at first. In fact as we crossed that bridge I told him I'd throw him in the river if he was winding me up. But he wasn't. He was deadly serious. Five years later he's well on his way to becoming that priest. And he has no regrets. He says there have been challenges. Coming from a large family, growing up he always wanted his own family. He says celibacy is the hardest part, as it's human instinct to seek intimacy. But he also sees the plus side – he can devote himself to his calling and be totally dedicated to his vocation. He recently spent several months working in a hospital, which he says was one of the most rewarding periods in his life. When I asked him about loneliness, he said the most rewarding part of his pastoral work was being invited into people's lives at those times when they needed him most. But it's not all plain sailing. He admits to having lonely days when he thinks about the fact he'll never have a family. But he explained to me that if you want a family, you have your parish. It's up to you how much you choose to engage with that parish. And so he feels totally engaged in his own community, and his greatest motivation is giving people hope; these people are his family. I went to visit my friend in Maynooth. What struck me was the age profile. They were all older than I'd expected. Things have changed drastically in the decades. My mate had to undergo a whole raft of psychological evaluations before being accepted to the priesthood. Then, after two years of study, he was subjected to another dose of psychological and physical examinations. So things have changed since the days of Fr Tony Flannery. As the old saying goes, back in the day if a family had two sons, the intelligent one would be sent off to study medicine, and the less blessed in the brain department would be sent to the seminary. But not anymore, and my friend is living proof. While the numbers entering the priesthood have dropped drastically, perhaps this is a good thing. These new recruits choosing this vocation have life experience – a crucial facet for anybody contemplating a lifetime helping others. So clearly unlike my mate, Fr Flannery is of the old school, greying and ageing and perhaps stuck in a vocation he shouldn't be in. There is nothing stopping him from leaving if he so chooses. But despite Fr Flannery's vocal unhappiness, he seems strangely attached to the idea of living in that big musty house, with a distinct lack of human contact or empathy. He even wrote a book about it. And while Flannery's book may have a point, it is an outdated thesis. Perhaps he could do with a visit to the hospital my mate works in, or the secondary school my energetic chaplain changed lives in. There he would see that these men are teaching people what it is to be a human. But instead he locks himself away in that cold musty mansion, getting endless cups of tea from Mrs Doyle while writing books.
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