Catholic priests should put or zip up
By Ibrahim Ndamwe
There is no doubt that, barring Muslim scholars, Catholic priests are by far the most educated among the men of God. They spend years in seminaries imbibing theology, abstract philosophy and Latin, spheres of learning that are way removed from the villagers that they preach the gospel to.
And as happens with all very well educated people, they become too clever for their own good.
Let’s face it. Priesthood is not a morning assembly where pupils are shepherded out by the headmaster by force. It’s a calling, a personal choice. And from what I have read from the memoirs and biographies of great priests, their chosen career path is a yearning they receive quite early in life.
Not being a secret cult, initiates into priesthood know pretty well that once the die is cast, they must forego the yearnings of the flesh. In fact, it is not entirely unknown for the smart ones to bail out once reality hits home that, while their spirit might be willing, the body is weak.
Those are honourable men and women. They have the satisfaction of knowing they tried and failed — with honour — and that they can look themselves in the mirror without any shame.
Meanwhile, other pretenders plough on, dismissing the fire in their loins as a passing cloud. Their zeal can be understood, for aside from the presidency, there are few jobs anywhere in the world that as rewarding as priesthood.
Beautiful houses, a car, a doting parish, a healthy allowance, a constant supply of wine and not a care in the world about putting food on the table. It’s a great life, considering that they are can puff cigars and quaff choice whisky as they muse and meditate over deep matters of abstract philosophy as nuns and parishioners fuss about their every need.
But you know human beings. A combination of good food, whisky and wine has the satanic tendency to ignite the loins, especially when the fruit — male fruit, female fruit — is forbidden yet it fills the church pews in abundance and splendor. So the good men have their cake and eat it: Male cake, female cake.
sow a seed
This is no news. Every time a Catholic priest is ordained, they throw a major bash in his home parish. It’s not uncommon for smiling villagers to exchange knowing glances and point out that all is not lost since the good priest — a father in every sense of the word — ensured to sow a seed before he took up the collar. It’s therefore laughable to imagine that what is an open secret in the village should be beyond knowledge of the mighty Catholic Church.
While the Church rightfully points out that the majority of their priests are celibate and only a few are randy like goats, they forget that we, the congregation, have no idea who the rotten bunch is. How would you tell whether the chap receiving a confession from your son, daughter or wife is a holy man or a twisted pervert?
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