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CATHOLIC
DIGEST, Vol. 51: 98-100, May, 1987
I
AM AN ALCOHOLIC PRIEST
by Father Anonymous
Most
Catholics have known at least one priest who likes to
drink too much. Some parishioners cater to the weakness
by giving
Father a bottle for Christmas or making sure he gets safely
back to
the rectory after a social evening in someone's home.
But
other parishioners would just as soon avoid the alcoholic
priest. His drinking has slowly twisted his personality
so that he
treats others rudely and insensitively.
I
am sitting at my typewriter because I would like to share
with you what it is like to be that alcoholic priest. I
call myself
"Father Anonymous" not because I am ashamed to
be an alcoholic, but
because I respect the tradition of that wonderful organization,
Alcoholics Anonymous. I belong to A.A., and members always
mask
their identities when speaking on the radio, television,
or to the
press.
Through
the grace of God, I have not taken a drink for twelve
years. My recovery from alcoholism has greatly affected
the kind of
priest I am. Let me tell you a story to show what I mean.
One
evening I took off my collar and changed into more
comfortable attire before going to an A.A. meeting. As I
walked
into the hall, I was surprised to see an elderly parishioner
who
was attending for the first time. She looked at me quizzically
and
said, "You look just like my parish priest!"
"I
am," I replied.
It
took a moment for my answer to settle in, but finally the
woman recovered enough to ask, "Why are you here, Father?"
"For
the same reason you are," I said. "I'm an alcoholic
too."
She looked at me for a moment, then covered her mouth with
her
hand, and exclaimed, "Oh, my God!"
I
found this incident humorous, and have recounted it often
to
the amusement of my A.A. friends. But I also realize that
this poor
woman was in a great deal of pain. She was shocked because
she
thought of alcoholism as a moral problem, and here was a
priest
admitting that he was guilty of immoral activity.
And
if my friend thought that I was guilty of immorality, she
must also think the same of herself. She was a good woman,
had
always been faithful to her Church, and had been raised
in a good
Catholic family. You can imagine what happened to her self-respect
when she began to believe she was a sinful drunkard.
As
I continued to talk with the woman, I helped her realize
that she was not a sinful person. She, like me, suffered
from a
disease that traces its roots to our genes, much like the
disease
of diabetes. Fortunately, age was in her favor: she could
remember
when diabetes was considered a shameful condition. The diabetic
was
sick, people thought, because he or she lacked willpower
and ate
too many sweets. My parishioner drank too much, I explained,
for
the same reason the diabetic eats too much sugar: a biochemical
abnormality brings about an almost irresistible craving.
Lack of
willpower or lack of moral fiber has nothing to do with
the
problem.
I
left the A.A. meeting that night feeling very much like
a
priest. And my friend went home feeling much better. She
was
beginning to understand that she was a sick person trying
to get
well, not a bad person trying to get good.
Many
people from other parishes, even other faiths, have been
sent to me because of my reputation for having a magic touch
with
alcoholics. And I do have the magic touch. But it's the
same touch
that any recovering alcoholic has when he or she reaches
out to the
alcoholic who is still actively suffering from the disease.
When a
suffering alcoholic encounters one who is sober, a wonderful
transmission line is opened. What goes through that transmission
line is nothing other than the grace of God. Transmitting
God's
grace is a very priestly thing to do. But in this instance,
I am
able to do it not because of my ordination, but because
I suffer
from a disease.
Alcoholics
Anonymous promises members that they will reach a
point where they will not regret their pasts. Do I have
any
regrets? I do indeed, but they are not regrets about myself.
I
regret, for example, the way people treat actively alcoholic
priests. About 10% of the general population is susceptible
to
alcoholism, and priests are no exception. But what happens
to the
priest who drinks too much? Unfortunately, people try to
be kind.
When Father misses morning Mass because he was drinking,
people say
that he has the flu. When Father is stopped for drunk driving,
the
officer sees the collar and lets him go with a warning.
True
kindness makes the alcoholic face the consequences of
drinking. False kindness covers for the alcoholic's mistakes,
and
prevents the alcoholic from doing something about the disease.
Many
alcoholics, both clerical and lay, have reached early graves
because people tried to be kind.
What
should you do if your priest suffers from alcoholism? For
one thing, seriously consider telling the priest of your
concern.
Will you hurt his feelings or make him angry? No doubt.
But hurt
feelings just might be his incentive to seek help. Should
you write
a confidential letter to the bishop? Absolutely. Most, if
not all,
bishops are enlightened enough to know that alcoholism is
a disease
to be treated and not a fault to be punished. Many dioceses
have
excellent programs to help the alcoholic priest, but a bishop
cannot help if he does not know the problem exists.
I
also regret the attitude many people have toward alcoholism
in general. The American Medical Association declared alcoholism
a
disease more than years ago. Yet the average person still
thinks
very much like the woman I met at the A.A. meeting, that
alcoholism
is a shameful condition. This prevents many alcoholics from
going
for help. About 10% of the readers of this magazine suffer
from
alcoholism, and many more readers know someone who has a
problem
with drinking. Perhaps feelings of guilt or shame keep people
from
asking for help or urging someone they know to see help.
I hope
this story has taken that shame away. Alcoholics Anonymous
is
listed in every phone book. My prayer is that learning about
me
will give people the courage to call that number - and help
someone
begin a beautiful new life.
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