What Constitutes a Whole Person? : Celibacy: In the eyes of women, this issue is about far more than sex. It also involves power and secrecy in the church.

The particulars of the resignation of Eugene Marino, the Roman Catholic archbishop of Atlanta, and the disclosure of his relationship with church member Vicki Long, belong to the two people involved and are none of our business. What is the public’s business is the institutional culture that has led to the suffering of the two people involved and their communities of faith.

The Atlanta situation raises questions about ministry, partnership, health, holiness, secrecy, trust and authority. Not the least of these is how sex, power and the sacred are played out in relationships between men and women in the church.

The Second Vatican Council, modern democracy and the women’s movement have combined to leave their mark on American Catholic women, They have taken to heart the council’s emphasis on the church as the people of God. They are coming to view the church as “we” rather than “they.” They have absorbed the American ethos of free speech, freedom of assembly and participatory democracy. They have begun to question long-established roles of women and men.

When I interviewed American Catholic women from diverse backgrounds for my book, more than half said they wished for an end to mandatory celibacy for Catholic priests. They viewed sexuality as more than sexual activity, in the context of relationships and their quality of intimacy. A happily married professional and mother of three said: “How can a priest relate to the agonies people are going through with divorce, love affairs, abortion, when he has no experience of strong relationships? It’s almost inhuman.” While many women worry about the shortage of priests, their strongest rationale for changing the celibacy rule is relational maturity and ability to understand the lives of parishioners. “A priest that has a family will know what we’re going through,” said a school bus driver.

Views of what constitutes the godly life are shifting. A nun in her late 50s who has been a teacher, mistress of novices and prison chaplain said she came to understand in mid-life “that holiness also meant wholeness. When people were asked to do things that were counter to their personal development, it seemed to me that was not from God.”

Religious people--especially women--have been loath to examine the reality of power, or even to use the word. Nevertheless, when women speak of the priesthood as it is now structured, they talk about hierarchy, power and control. Many remain satisfied with the priesthood and their place in the church. Yet a growing number feel that priestly celibacy, women’s exclusion from priesthood, and teachings on sexuality and reproduction are related, and that the link binding them is the fear of women and sex. “It all has to do,” says one woman, “with this issue of controlling the mysteries and ‘who does God belong to, anyhow?’ ”

The Catholic tradition sends out contradictory messages about the mysteries of the spirit and the flesh. The first message is the Incarnation, a central tenet of Christian faith. Catholicism celebrates this belief that “the Word was made flesh” with gusto. Its worship is sensuous and bodily; God is present in bread, wine, friendship, suffering, and human community.

The second message, from the radical ascetical movements of the Greco-Roman world, St. Augustine, Jansenism and institutional pronouncements, weaves a straitjacket around the first. It says that spirit and flesh are diametrically opposed, and one will conquer the other.

Many priests, often at great cost, keep to the letter of their celibacy vow. Others, both heterosexual and homosexual, are sexually active. The Roman Catholic Church has developed a culture of concealment and secrecy around these relationships that breeds stress, lies and heartbreak. Mandatory vows of celibacy have not put a stop to the affairs of priests. They drive them underground.

It is difficult--though this is changing--to create forums that would hold church leaders accountable in cases of exploitation or abuse. For priests and the men and women with whom they are involved, secrecy fosters isolation, shame, and a tendency to deal with their predicament as a merely individual, not institutional, deficiency.

All religious communities, Catholic or not, grapple with sex, power and the sacred. We Catholics have our own version of the struggle; there are others. The Atlanta situation confronts us with questions we might prefer to avoid: What havoc has institutionally mandated celibacy wreaked upon the emotional well-being--and yes, the holiness--of individuals and communities? Which image do our churches, synagogues, mosques and ashrams perpetuate--women as danger, or women as friends? Must religious leaders inevitably seek to control the lives of adult believers, or can there be shared authority for the good of the whole people of God? Is sex a reality to be feared, or one of the many places God is present to humans in the ordinary life? Does our religion help us to tell the truth or keep us from speaking it?

These are painful, delicate and often frightening questions. We must talk about them. And when we gather to discuss them, let the women be there.