Many years ago when I was thinking of a career, I approached an old teacher who loved his drink and for the price of a couple of mugs of the local brew, sought his advice.
Without hesitation, he recommended priesthood and in a voice damaged by years of indulgence, proceeded to belt out a bar or two from a Latin song remembered from the last time he attended mass ages before.
“You can’t go wrong with becoming a Catholic priest,” he said and enumerated the benefits.
The only real work you have to put in, he said, is on Sundays when you conduct mass and the rest of the time you are only required to pray for those members of your congregation who come to you with problems.
Of course, you may have to look pious while in public and perhaps even pray once in a while, but surely that is not such a huge sacrifice.
In return, he added, you eat the best food, drink good wine, dress well and drive the only car for many valleys and ridges around — all provided by an appreciative congregation. Talk of living off the fat of the land!
The more he talked — between gulps of good karubu — the more I liked the idea. The only problem was that I knew next to nothing about priesthood, having been brought up a protestant, but that is a shortcoming that could be easily corrected.
A few days later I was in the office of the priest in charge of the local parish and explained my dreams and ambitions. The man heard me out in silence and when he spoke, he was neither encouraging nor discouraging.
While congratulating me for thinking of the priesthood, he however pointed out that joining the calling was easier said than done. One had to be absolutely sure that they had the calling, he said.
Beyond that, there was total commitment to the service of God and I would be required to undergo many years of training.
He concluded with the words that while many are called but few are chosen.
SACRIFICE
By the time I left that office, I was not so sure about my old teacher’s anymore. My enthusiasm for a priestly life was considerably dampened and I concluded that the years of drinking had probably made the old fellow’s brain soft.
In the years since, however, I have had occasion to revise my opinion of him and his words. I have since come to know about priests for whom the calling, if it can be described thus, is far from being a sacrifice.
I have in mind, for instance, a fellow with whom I often have to fight for space at my favorite bar in Igoji and who has no peer when it comes to singing dirty bar songs when he is in his cups.
He is a favorite with the barmaids and is said to be generous both with the contents of his wallet and his affections.
From what I hear, he is no exception among members of the local clergy. It is said that priests are among the biggest investors in land and real estate in our area, often taking advantage of privileged information gained in the confessional to pry on vulnerable members of their congregations.
It is also whispered that one or two wayward priests in the local parishes are responsible for a few family break-ups and the biological fathers of some children who are being cared for by other men.
By far the most notorious priest in Igoji was one who caused a major scandal some years ago when he opened a bar and lodging locally christened Vatican, which for a while was the most patronized.
The main source of Vatican’s popularity came to light when a reporter from The Standard went there and saw the following words scrawled on the wall: Drink here and your sins will be forgiven.
Many saw the hand of a wrathful God when the priest was murdered late one night as he staggered from the bar to the lodging house with a woman of easy virtue on his arm.