The new year began with the surprise revival of this perennial issue by a prominent Catholic insider who asserted that the mandate for priests to be unmarried and celibate “was optional for the first millennium of the Church’s existence and it should become optional again.”
This came in a media interview with Archbishop Charles Scicluna, 63, named by Pope Francis in 2015 to lead the church in the nation of Malta. As he indicated, celibacy for all priests, not just those under vows in religious orders, was not made an absolute rule till the Second Lateran Council in A.D. 1139. Back then, one reason was to stop corrupt bishops from handing sons their lucrative posts.
Catholicism is the only branch of Christianity that imposes this requirement.
Sciclina is an especially influential figure due to his 2018 appointment by Francis to a second post as Adjunct Secretary of the Vatican’s all-important agency on doctrine. Over the years, the Vatican has also entrusted the archbishop, who holds doctorates in both secular and canon law, to prosecute delicate cases of sexual abuse by priests.
Married priests already exist
As Scicluna pointed out, the Catholic Church has long welcomed priests who marry prior to ordination in its Oriental Rite jurisdictions, centered in Ukraine, India, Lebanon and elsewhere in the Mideast. Such is also the tradition in Eastern Orthodoxy. (Catholicism occasionally ordains married Protestant ministers who convert.)
The archbishop demanded, “Why should we lose a young man who would have made a fine priest just because he wanted to get married? And we did lose good priests just because they chose marriage.” He said “experience has shown me this is something we need to seriously think about.” For one thing, some priests cope with the rule “by secretly engaging in sentimental relationships” and “we know there are priests around the world who also have children.” Therefore “if it were up to me I would revise the requirement.”
Was Scicluna nudging delegates who next October will attend the second and final session of Pope Francis’s Synod of Bishops at the Vatican? After all, the delegates’ guidebook said local and national discussions leading to the Synod had raised this: “Could a reflection be opened concerning the discipline on access to the priesthood for married men, at least in some areas?” Any such historic proposal voted by the Synod would be merely advisory. The Pope has full power to implement Synod conclusions, or not.
What would Francis do?
How might Francis lean? Last March, he reminded an Argentine news outlet that celibacy “is a temporary prescription” in the western Latin Rite, not a dogma that is unchanging. He added the ambiguous remark that “I do not know if it is settled in one way or another.” In 2019, Francis told journalists “I do not agree with allowing optional celibacy, no,” though he also said he saw leeway to consider exceptions for “pastoral necessity,” as with remote regions that lack priests.
The following year, a book co-authored by Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI championed the traditional celibacy discipline. The modern case for celibacy was officially formulated by Pope Paul VI just after the Second Vatican Council in his 1967 encyclical Sacerdotalis Caelibatus (“Priestly Celibacy”).
The encyclical candidly addressed objections raised against the celibacy discipline starting, appropriately enough, with New Testament. Jesus commended workers who “have renounced marriage for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Whoever can accept this ought to accept it ” (Matthew 19:12). St. Paul wrote concerning unmarried believers that “it is a good thing for them to remain as they are, as I do” (1 Corinthians 7:8). However, neither mandated singleness for the 12 apostles or subsequent Christian ministers.
In the earliest Christian communities, 1 Timothy 3 teaches that a bishop should be “married only once” while “keeping his children under control,” and Titus 1:5-6 says presbyters must be “married only once, with believing children.” The Pope’s encyclical admitted all that. The clear inference is that most or all would be married as a matter of course. But over later centuries, the practice of clergy celibacy became widespread and, in some areas, a requirement.
Notably, the Pope’s encyclical cited a dozen passages in 1 Corinthians but skipped 9:5, where St. Paul asks “do we not have the right to take along a Christian wife, as do the rest of the apostles, and the brothers of the Lord, and Cephas?” (another name for St. Peter). In other words, the man who in Catholic belief was the church’s first pope was married and traveled with his wife as a Christian evangelist.
A Bible verse ignored
The Catholic Answers Web site likewise ignores the 9:5 verse, thereby demonstrating devotion to celibacy in its treatment of St. Peter. This site admits Peter had been married at one time because we know Jesus cured his mother-in-law (Matthew 8:14-154, Luke 4:38-39). But it echoes a tradition (not any official Catholic view) that he was a widower whose wife “died prior to the ministry of Jesus.”
On other objections, the Pope granted that “some” think celibacy underlies the obvious shortage of priests, and sets up temptations for sexual “waywardness” that damage the church’s witness. Then there’s the contention that the rule prevents development of “a mature and well-balanced human personality,” “disparages human values,” and imposes “loneliness.”
But the Pope insisted that with proper spiritual formation the priest can control his “temperament, sentiments and passions.” And he questioned whether the end of celibacy would “considerably increase the number of priestly vocations.”
Most of the text was a heartfelt argument that the church always makes celibacy voluntary as priests’ “tranquil, convinced and free choice.” It was portrayed as “the total and generous gift of themselves to the mystery of Christ, as well as its outward sign,” that allows full devotion to “pastoral service of the People of God,” with “maximum efficiency and the best disposition of mind, mentally and emotionally.”
It can take decades for an adult who survived sexual abuse as a child to bring a lawsuit. That’s the case for many who were abused by trusted members of the community, like Catholic priests. But in Massachusetts, even if a survivor of clergy abuse decides to sue, state laws can stand in the way of justice.
The first hurdle is the statute of limitations. If a victim is older than 53 and it’s been more than 7 years since they realized the abuse harmed them, the statute of limitations applies — meaning it’s likely too late to bring a lawsuit.
The second obstacle is known as the charitable immunity law, which applies to nonprofit charities. It generally limits the liability of charitable organizations, including Catholic dioceses, to $20,000. (Medical malpractice lawsuits against a nonprofit provider are capped at $100,000.)
Eric MacLeish has been one of the lead attorneys on clergy abuse cases against the Archdiocese of Boston and has sued all the dioceses in the state.
“This law artificially caps the liability of religious organizations and other charitable organizations, making it far more difficult to obtain a just and fair result for survivors of sexual abuse or people who are bringing any type of cause of action against a nonprofit corporation in Massachusetts,” he said.
MacLeish called it an illegitimate law.
“You’re looking really at not only an anachronistic law, that is not supported by any consideration of public policy, but one that cuts off arbitrarily the rights of survivors to hold religious organizations accountable for their misconduct,” MacLeish said.
‘Worst’ charitable immunity law ‘in the country’
Kathryn Robb is the executive director of Child USAdvocacy, which lobbies lawmakers to pass legislation that protects children. Robb said most states have abolished charitable immunity or limited it to what an insurer would cover.
“Massachusetts has the worst charitable immunity statute in the country,” she said.
Robb said her group is working with state lawmakers to eliminate the $20,000 cap for child sexual abuse claims.
“It’s time for Massachusetts to come out of the dark ages,” she said.
Massachusetts used to give nonprofits complete immunity from all liability, based on the idea that charities get their money from public donations and those funds should be used only for charitable work. In 1971, lawmakers took away this blanket immunity, but capped damages.
“When the charitable immunity law was enacted, most charities were shoestring operations. And it was to protect these do-gooders from having a slip-and-fall case that would would prevent them from continuing their good deeds,” said John Stobierski, a lawyer who has represented survivors in Springfield.
“That purpose has long passed,” he said, “because most charities — I shouldn’t say all — but a charity like the Catholic Church is a very wealthy, powerful organization, just like a hospital. They’re not little Podunk entities that would wither if they had a significant lawsuit.”
For years, Massachusetts lawmakers have filed bills to do away with the charitable immunity cap or change it. This session, a set of House and Senate bills would eliminate it. Another set of proposals would amend it so it does not apply to child sexual abuse cases.
The Massachusetts Nonprofit Network said in a statement the current law balances the charitable purposes of a nonprofit and donor intent with an ability for plaintiffs to be compensated.
“The bills proposed to change charitable liability law would disrupt this balance, and run contrary to the long held standard that charitable assets be dedicated to advancement of the missions of nonprofit organizations,” the organization said in a statement. “Therefore we do not support those bills.”
The nonprofit network also noted that the charitable cap does not apply if the claims are about activities “outside or incidental to a nonprofit’s charitable mission and other non-tort claims.”
Catholic leaders also support keeping the cap in place, to ensure the church spends donations on services identified by its donors.
“[S]uch as [on] tuition assistance, charitable operations such as food pantries and homeless prevention, and individual parish support, to name but a few,” Raymond Delisle, chancellor and director of communications for the Diocese of Worcester, said in a statement. “The charitable immunity cap on lawsuit damages is critical to allow all charities, including the diocese, to make an impact for the public good in our communities.”
‘I cannot take your case’
Robb said because of the $20,000 cap, most attorneys won’t take child abuse cases against dioceses or any nonprofits.
“So it essentially stops all of these claims from coming forward, exposing bad actors, exposing bad practices and institutions,” she said. “It creates another level of coverup, which is really dangerous for our children and for our communities.”
Lynne Pottle said she was abused by a priest for more than four years starting when she was 12, in 1975, at Our Lady of Lourdes Church in the Worcester Diocese. She had gone to the priest for help because her own father was drinking and had abused her.
Decades later, she caught a TV news story showing survivors standing with their lawyer. The memories of abuse flooded back — and she contacted an attorney in Framingham about taking legal action against the Diocese of Worcester.
Skip Shea stands inside a building that was once known as the House of Affirmation, a treatment center in Whitinsville, Massachusetts, for pedophile priests. It was run by the Diocese of Worcester. The state’s charitable immunity cap got in the way of a lawsuit Shea filed against the diocese. The suit alleged a priest in the diocese sexually abused him when he was a minor.
“He said, ‘I cannot take your case,'” Pottle said.
She can’t remember the attorney’s name, but she remembers what he said.
“The lawyer actually said to me that $20,000 is not enough for him to be doing so much work,” Pottle said.“I felt just devastated. And I said, ‘No one cares. I can’t get any help for this. I can’t get any validation for it.'”
Skip Shea, now 63 years old, also tried to sue the Worcester Diocese.
“They started the deposition process and then I got a call from the lawyer saying, ‘There’s a charitable immunity cap, so we can’t continue to work,'” Shea said.
Shea said he was sexually abused by more than three priests in the diocese, starting at age 11 until he was over 16. He said the diocese offered him some money — even less than the cap.
They offered “$10,000 and I said, ‘I’ll take it if I can have a private meeting with the bishop,’ which I got,” Shea said.
Shea met with Bishop Robert Joseph McManus, who still leads the Worcester Diocese today.
“Told him everything that happened. Made him sit there and listen. I named the priest, everything I went through,” Shea said. “He had to hear it. It was a very uncomfortable meeting for him. However my battles with the church go, I have to give him credit for sitting there and taking it — because I know it wasn’t easy.”
The diocese said meetings with the bishop last as long as the survivor wants and can involve multiple meetings.
Pottle also met with McManus, in November 2016.
“I met with him just for a few minutes. And It was somewhat helpful, but not really,” she said. “What I said to the bishop was that it’s not what happened to us back then — it’s how we are managing our lives now as a result of what happened, people who are on medication, people who can’t work. Myself included.”
People who are addicted to alcohol or drugs — or who try to end their own lives.
The bishop of the Catholic Diocese of Worcester, Robert J. McManus, speaks at a news conference in Worcester, Massachusetts, March 9, 2004, when he was bishop-elect. McManus has met with those who were sexually abused by clergy at the diocese when they were minors. The diocese says meetings with the bishop last as long as the survivor wants and can involve multiple meetings.
The spokesperson for the Worcester Diocese, Ray Delisle, said in email that the diocese does not answer questions about specific survivors.
“A focus on the charitable immunity cap on damages in a lawsuit is far too simplistic for the response that our diocese has made for more than two decades to those who have been abused,” he said.
Delisle said the diocese’s response to people who have been abused can go well beyond the cap on legal damages. It has a licensed social worker who meets with victims and can authorize therapeutic support. He said the diocese has helped victims pay for medical and dental bills, housing and utilities — for years.
According to a Feb. 2023 report, Delisle said, only about a third of people who go to the diocese about abuse are seeking legal recourse.
The ‘worst of the four dioceses’
Attorney Carmen Durso represents people who are victims of child sexual abuse. He has had, and still has, cases in Worcester.
“In Massachusetts, they’re the worst of the four dioceses. There’s no two ways about it,” Durso said.
There’s nothing stopping a diocese from paying more than the cap.Durso said most do if they feel it’s a legitimate claim. But in his experience, he said, the Diocese of Worcester won’t pay more than $20,000 — and sometimes they pay less.
Lawyers’ fees take a third of what’s awarded, plus filing fees, the cost of a deposition and a report from a mental health professional, as Durso explains to his clients.
“‘It’ll take a year and a half to two years,'” he said he tells potential clients. “‘You will have to be deposed. It will be an unpleasant experience for you. At the end, you may or may not get a judgment. No one can guarantee what a jury will do. And if and when that happens, the net sum available to you will be $10,000 or less.'”
Even if a jury awards much more, a diocese can legally invoke the cap, so that’s all that can be collected.
Delisle, the Worcester Diocese spokesperson, pushed back on the criticism.
“While it is easy to view the institution as complicit when named as a defendant in a suit, the diocese is often caught in the middle between the alleged perpetrator of the abuse and the survivor,” Delisle said. “The diocese does not defend the priest who is represented by his own attorney. At times we will agree to a settlement, either with or without our insurer’s participation.”
Alternate strategies
There is a legal strategy Durso and other attorneys have used to get around the cap.
Trial lawyer Laura Mangini, who has about five cases against the Springfield Diocese, said this strategy involves suing an individualfor negligence — someone who worked for the diocese and who superviseda pedophile priest.
“Say there was a priest that knew another priest was abusing [a] child but didn’t do anything, didn’t tell anyone, and just kind of brush[ed] it under the rug. If you get a judgment against that priest, then they are not subject to the cap,” Mangini said.
That claim could be covered by the diocese’s insurance.
Some lawyers will also sue the abuser directly, though many priests don’t have any assets. And because the victims were abused as children, often the alleged pedophile priest and supervisor have died.
“Right now, the charitable immunity cap in Massachusetts still covers the intentional torts of priests,” Mangini said, noting a recent case before the state’s Supreme Judicial Court indicates the justices may limit the cap’s application so it does not apply to child sexual abuse cases. “So there there is a growing sense that that might be changing in the next couple of years.”
The office of the bishop of the Roman Catholic Diocese in Springfield, Massachusetts, in a file photo.
Mangini recommends clients first report the abuse to the Springfield Diocese, which is required to report it to prosecutors. If there are no criminal charges, the case would go before a diocesan review board.
The case could be settled at that point or the survivor might file a lawsuit. If that happens, she said, the diocese will sometimes use the cap as leverage in negotiations.
Mangini said Springfield has paid more than $20,000 in some cases as part of a settlement. But, for a lot of survivors, she said, a lawsuit is not about the money.
“It’s about finally standing up for themselves and taking back their own control in the situation,” she said. “And for the jury and a community to say, ‘Yes, we acknowledge what happened to you. It was wrong.'”
The Diocese of Springfield said it does not assert charitable immunity for any case its review board finds credible unless a victim files a lawsuit. Then it said it’s “required by its insurers” to assert all legal defenses, including charitable immunity.
The diocese said it would not comment on the amount it pays without permission of survivors.
“The [Springfield] diocese negotiates in good faith in all its dealings with survivors,” a spokesperson said. “Evidence of that exists in the diocese’s granting reimbursement for health and mental health services to survivors regardless of whether or not he or she participates in the settlement program and even if he or she sues the diocese.”
‘A degree of validation’ or just ‘insulting’?
The Boston Archdiocese has its own compensation program. According to victims’ attorneys, an arbitrator, like a former judge, hears a complaint, decides if it’s valid, and how much money to award.
Attorney Mitchell Garabedian said Boston pays about $75,000, plus the cost of therapy and medication that insurance doesn’t cover.
“To some victims it helps them gain a degree of validation to move on,” Garabedian said. “To other victims it’s insulting, thinking that, ‘Well, my being sexually abused 30 times or 20 times was only worth this amount of money in the eyes of the diocese, which allowed the sexual abuse to happen.’”
The archdiocese has not provided answers to questions — sent more than a month ago — about its compensation program. In early January, a spokesperson acknowledged receipt of the questions and said the archdiocese was working on a statement.
“It’s a private process,” Durso, a victims’ attorney, said. “It’s not appealable. You waive any court rights. But if you have a case, in which the likelihood is, if you go to court you can’t recover more than $20,000, it’s an appealing process for people who don’t have other options.”
Similarly, the Fall River Diocese has a mediation program.
Dan Martin, 60, said he was abused by a priest in Taunton starting when he was about 12. He said the $20,000 cap minimizes the damage caused by the abuse.
“When I think about the cap, I think that it’s laughable. To me, it’s a joke. The crime and the punishment don’t match,” Martin said.
Martin’s lawyer, Paula Bliss, said he brought his case to a mediation program at the Diocese of Fall River. She said that was really the only option due to the charitable cap. Bliss said it would have cost more than $20,000 in expenses just to bring a lawsuit.
“What this actually does, it keeps litigants out of a courtroom and it forecloses their ability to have their case heard by a jury of their peers,” Bliss said.
She said the Fall River program used the $20,000 cap as leverage when it offered an award. She wouldn’t say how much it was, but called it “peanuts.”
The Diocese of Fall River issued a statement saying it’s “resolved to do all it can to help survivors heal and make certain the diocese is accountable.”
“We have a process in place to evaluate claims and encourage survivors to come forward, even if those claims are from many decades ago,” the statement said. “If a claim is found to be credible, we routinely work to resolve claims above the charitable cap.”
In addition, the diocese said it offers supportive services to survivors of clergy sexual abuse and their families, including therapy.
‘You feel like you’re shot’
Pottle, who survived sexual assault in a Worcester church in the 1970s, said she deserves money, validation and a big apology. She said when the lawyer told her he could not take her case because of the cap, it robbed her of all hope.
“It was one of the moments in my life you feel like you’re shot,” she said. “You feel like you have a hole. And then you start to go on and search and search for help to heal that hole.”
Pottle hasn’t found a legal recourse for healing. She said when she met with a support group of other survivors, that helped. But she still suffers.
Michael Dubour had two immediate reactions to a declaration released Dec. 18 by the Vatican that Catholic priests could bless same-sex couples. The first was elation. Then he wondered what the catch was.
The 53-year-old Provincetown resident had been baptized, made his first communion and was confirmed in the Roman Catholic church. He grew up with the rituals and traditions of a faith that helped form his identity.
But he knew the breadth of anti-gay preaching in the church. The conflict between his sexuality and spirituality eventually caused Dubour to step away from the church for a while.
“Organized religion has caused so much hurt and pain for a lot of us that there’s not a lot of trust there,” he said.
While living in New York City, he realized that there was room for everyone. He started attending St. Francis Xavier in Greenwich Village, a church in the Jesuit tradition that had ministries to gay men and lesbians.
The Provincetown church is part of the Diocese of Fall River. The diocese includes Bristol, Barnstable, Dukes and Nantucket counties, and the towns of Mattapoisett, Marion and Wareham in Plymouth County, totaling about 265,000 Catholics, according to the diocese.
Dubour said the spirituality group in Provincetown talks about what it means to be Catholic and gay.
“It’s about overcoming the conflict of what the church tells us how we have to be versus who we really are, and how we can still celebrate and feel Christ in us,” Dubour said. “No one has the right to take that away.”
‘Major step forward for the church’
The Rev. James Martin, calls the declaration — issued by the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, and approved by Pope Francis — historic. Martin, 63, is an American Jesuit priest who runs Outreach, an LGBTQ Catholic resource. He is the editor-at-large of the Jesuit magazine America and author of several books. In 2019 he met with Pope Francis to discuss his ministry with LBGTQ Catholics.
“It’s a sign of the church’s understanding that these couples desire God’s presence in their lives and that the church wants to accompany them,” Martin said. “It’s a major step forward for the church in its relationship with LGBTQ Catholics.”
But the declaration changes nothing about church teaching, Martin said. The blessings cannot be part of a civil union ceremony, nor can they be performed “with any clothing, gestures or words that are proper to a wedding,” according to the Vatican.
Still, Martin calls the declaration supportive of gay people because it recognizes that gay couples desire God’s blessing and God’s presence in their lives.
“It’s a big step forward and misunderstood on both sides of the matter,” Martin said. “Some people say it’s sinful, heretical, disgusting. There are other people saying it’s gone too far, others saying it’s not going far enough. As usual the truth is in the middle.”
A relationship with God, sacraments and tradition
For Don Murray, of Provincetown and Florida, the announcement came as welcome news. The 61-year-old calls himself a “cradle Catholic,” and considers the church a vehicle to God. But it’s his relationship to God that is what’s most important, he said.
Murray and his partner have been together for 32 years. In 2003 they adopted a son. The boy was raised in the Catholic faith, learning about the sacraments and living the traditions of the church. It was their son who asked them to get married, he said. They did in 2015.
Thirty-six states and the District of Columbia had legalized same-sex marriage before the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in 2015 that the Constitution guarantees it throughout the country, according to Pew Research Center.
In Massachusetts, on Nov. 18, 2003, the Supreme Judicial Court ruled it was unconstitutional to bar gay couples from marriage. By May 2004, same-sex couples were able to apply for marriage licenses in Massachusetts, making it the first state in the country to legally recognized same-sex marriages.
“People ask how I can be Catholic and gay,” Murray said. “I believe in God, the traditions and values.”
Murray was always able to find a Catholic church that was supportive of the gay community, he said. He is a co-leader of two gay ministries — one at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Tampa and the other at St. Peter’s in Provincetown. It doesn’t bother him that the announcement only pertains to blessings of same-sex couples.
“I’m with Father Jim,” Murray said. The step forward for blessing same-sex couples is small but important, especially because in some countries it’s outlawed to be gay and that’s where the church is growing, he said.
A slow evolution
Brian Michaelan, also a member of the Provincetown gay men’s spirituality group, came to the realization that he was gay after a marriage that brought two children into the world. He was, and still is, a practicing Catholic. He brought his children up Catholic because he wanted them to continue practicing the faith into their adulthood
He was in his 40s when he and his wife divorced. It was then that he began to explore the confluence of his faith and sexuality. His journey took him from Boston to Harwich to Provincetown, from St. Joan of Arc Catholic Church in Orleans to St. Peter’s in Provincetown, where he found welcome in the church and community at large.
Ten years ago, he decided it was time to let his family and friends know about his sexuality. Everybody was fine with it, he said. Five years ago, he joined the gay spirituality ministry at St. Peter’s.
“The realization of my homosexuality evolved slowly,” he said. “I’m proud of who I am. I’m proud of what I do, and if someone doesn’t like it, it’s their problem.”
The universal church
There are 1.3 billion Catholics worldwide, according to the Vatican. Of 64 countries that have laws criminalizing homosexuality, more than 30 are in Africa where the Catholic church is growing the fastest, according to the Pew Research Center.
“What seems in Sandwich, Yarmouth and even Provincetown to be not a big deal is a huge deal in Kampala and Nairobi,” Martin said. “It is a universal church. That’s something a lot of people forget about.”
Closer to home, the Fall River Diocese posted a notice on its website acknowledging the news of the blessings. Diocese Communications Director John Kearns said the St. Peter the Apostle gay spirituality ministry in Provincetown was the only one he knew of in the diocese.
Bishop Edgar Moreira da Cunha
The Bishop of the Fall River Diocese, the Most Rev. Edgar Moreira da Cunha, S.D.V., was away from the diocese and unable to comment according to Kearns.
Editor’s note: On 18 December 2023, Pope Francis issued a ruling that priests could bless same sex couples, as long as the blessing was not part of a marriage service. It was a small but important step considering that the Catholic Church has long condemned homosexuality. In October 2023, the Pope announced that the Church will now allow transgender people to be baptized. The rulings sparked a backlash in some countries, and in response the Vatican issued an 8-page clarification.
In this Decoder Replay, we republish a personal reflection essay by Joseph Katusabe originally published April 2022, that argued that the Catholic Church should welcome people of all sexualities. Katsube is a citizen of Uganda, where homosexuality is now a criminal offense punishable by death. At the time of publication, Katusabe was a student at the African Leadership Academy, a News Decoder partner institution.
We launched Decoder Replay to help readers better understand current world events by seeing how our correspondents and students decoded similar events in the past.
“Let’s go to church, people!” my mother shouts to us every Sunday morning.
My sleep is not essential because the enthusiasm I wake up with is astounding. I love my religion. I love Catholicism.
The older I get, the longer my prayers and the more I realize the importance of the foundation that my family and church have given me: a belief system with answers to all questions man hasn’t answered. This same belief system has shaped the calm person I am. Without it, I would be lost, without meaning.
I’m far from alone. The Roman Catholic Church is one of the largest faiths on the planet — and growing. The faith claims more than 1.3 billion followers worldwide. For most of these Catholics, religion is the foundation of their identity; however, for a significant minority, religion prevents them from embracing their identity. The more they discover who they are, the farther their authentic selves are from the doctrines of their founding religion.
I am talking about gay Catholics.
You are either gay or Catholic.
While I’m not gay, for others, like Matthew LaBanca, being gay means having to choose between Catholicism and one’s identity, but never both. LaBanca’s story, one of many, about him as an LGBTQI+ member losing his job as music director in the Roman Catholic Diocese of Brooklyn parish the moment he married his boyfriend, attests to the inexistence of a middle ground.
You are either gay or Catholic.
Logically, because of Catholic rules, he could not wed his boyfriend in the Catholic Church, which had witnessed his best and worst moments for 46 years. Why? If the Bible says that we, as humans, have to stick to the core principle and commandments of the Catholic faith — “Love your neighbor as you love yourself” — then why do individuals not accept everyone as they are? If you would love to be fired from your job because of your identity, then fire people for who they are.
I am Joseph — a name with a religious legacy that my great-grandfather trusted me to inherit. I have attended staunch Catholic schools in the formative and adolescent years of my life. I have assumed leadership roles that require me to go to the Basilica every morning to teach my peers how to perform Mass correctly. These positions often meant that I addressed questions about religion and why things are done differently in the Catholic Church. Although I rarely had solid answers — if anything, I had even more questions — one thing I knew for sure was that in Genesis 19, God destroyed Sodom and Gomora for their grave sins, specifically their acts of homosexuality, which implied that God opposed homosexuality.
But I believe that only God can make a final judgment on who lives or dies; therefore, I reject the prejudices and the othering of the LGBTQI+ community by the Catholic Church, and I will continue to hope, pray and speak out about my belief that the Church should do so as well.
It takes a staunch, straight Catholic to dismantle prejudices against gays.
I know that some might ask, “Why not just leave the Church and find one that is more open and liberal?” My response is that just as it takes a Ugandan to effect change in Uganda, it takes a staunch, straight Catholic to dismantle the prejudices against the LGBTQI+ community in the Catholic Church. Besides, no human is perfect; the Church leaders are also human. Thinking of them as flawless humans is a misleading mindset. This is a fact that Jesus recognized.
In Matthew 16:23, Jesus turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.” From this Bible verse, Jesus rebukes the rock of the Church, Peter, indicating that the Church heads don’t have the right to judge what’s good or bad because they are not perfect beings themselves. The role of the Church leaders is to provide a safe space for everyone to grow and a belief system with answers to questions man hasn’t answered.
I believe that denying the existence of gay people is questioning God’s choice of creating a very diverse world. Everyone should be celebrated regardless of their sexuality.
It is my prayer that gay Catholics should keep their jobs, that the Catholic Church should welcome everyone and that only God should judge what is right and wrong. Amen.
Bishop Rolando Álvarez speaks to the media in Managua, Nicaragua, in May 2022. On Sunday, the Nicaraguan government released Álvarez and more than a dozen priests from prison.
Nicaragua’s government released two jailed Roman Catholic bishops and 15 other priests who had been detained during one of the world’s harshest crackdowns on the church, according to a communiqué Sunday.
The most prominent of the detainees is Bishop Rolando Álvarez, 58, an outspoken critic of Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega. The bishop of the central province of Matagalpa had been held for more than a year, and in recent months was locked up in solitary confinement, according to U.N. human rights rapporteurs. His imprisonment was the subject of a November hearing in the U.S. House of Representatives. The State Department had called his detention “unconscionable.”
The other prelates freed Saturday night had been detained in December during what came to be known as “Black Christmas” — a round of arrests of Catholic leaders, including Bishop Isidoro Mora of Siuna. Many of them apparently angered the government by calling for prayers for Álvarez.
The priests and bishops were released after negotiations with the Vatican, and flown to Rome, according to the statement from the Nicaraguan government. Two seminarians who had been jailed were also included in the prisoner release. Ortega’s government thanked Pope Francis and his team for the “very respectful and discreet coordination.” It did not respond to a request from The Washington Post for more details.
Ortega has conducted an unprecedented offensive against the church in this majority-Catholic country. In August, his government revoked the legal status of the Jesuit-run Central American University and seized the campus. He’s stripped the registration of more than 300 religious organizations — including Mother Teresa’s missionaries. The Vatican closed its embassy in Nicaragua last spring after the government proposed suspending relations.
During the recent Christmas holidays, the government banned traditional Catholic processions known as “posadas.” Priests say they’re routinely spied on and harassed. More than 100 Catholic priests have fled, been kicked out of the country, or denied reentry to Nicaragua. In October, the government freed 12 other Catholic priests from prison and sent them to Rome, under a deal with the Vatican.
The Rev. Uriel Vallejos, an exiled priest, wrote Sunday on X, formerly Twitter, that the government “wants to leave Nicaragua without priests.”
Ortega was a leader of the leftist Sandinista revolution that toppled U.S.-backed dictator Anastasio Somoza in 1979. The former guerrilla served as president of Nicaragua from 1985 until 1990 and returned to power in 2007. He was sworn in to a fourth consecutive term in 2022, after jailing all his significant competitors.
Ortega has focused his ire on the Catholic Church since 2018, when a wave of anti-government protests swept the country. He’s accused the church of siding with the demonstrators, an accusation it has denied.
Álvarez was placed under house arrest in August 2022. The following February, he declined an offer to join 222 political prisoners who were freed and flown to Washington. Friends said he preferred to remain in jail in his homeland rather than go into exile. He was subsequently sentenced to 26 years in jail on charges of treason and spreading false information.
His detention has been the subject of growing international alarm. In November, a House Foreign Affairs subcommittee held a hearing titled “An Urgent Appeal to Let Bishop Álvarez Go.” The State Department has designated Nicaragua a “Country of Particular Concern” because of religious repression, adding it to a watch list including Cuba, North Korea, China and Iran.
The crackdown on the church and civil society organizations has contributed to soaring irregular migration. About 139,000 Nicaraguans were detained at the U.S. border in 2023. A recent study by AmericasBarometer found that about half the population wanted to emigrate.
