Don't Ask, Don't Tell—A Jesuit Strategy

Originally posted January 6th, 2008; revised July 12th, 2021

A Catholic friend who is also gay asked me how I felt about pedophile Jesuits having their despicable histories show up in the news, and the courts. After cleaning up the common confusion between pedophilia and homosexuality—it’s imperative to keep them separate even when they overlap as in the clergy scandal—I began reflecting on my own history, other gay men I knew in religious life, my experience living with my vows as a Jesuit, and my decision to leave.

I recalled two conversations I had with Avery Dulles. Avery was my friend, mentor and spiritual director. He knew my life; he’d met my parents and my friends; he tolerated my leftwing political views. His questions about my interests, my reading habits, even the issues I had working with certain professors were always insightful and never judgmental. He also knew about my struggle with my sexuality. His advice in each and every case if I asked for it, and sometimes when I didn’t, was clear and even-handed. He never let me down. I really mean never.

One afternoon in the Spring of 1973, Avery and I were walking together up Riverside Drive towards 120th and the classrooms Woodstock used at Union Theological. He asked me about a panel I was organizing about a Christian response to the Stonewall Riots in '69, only 4 years earlier. I’ve lost the particulars of the conversation, but what remains clear about that bright afternoon—he was not hesitant to link my personal struggle with Stonewall, and he let me know that if I wanted to live a productive and fulfilling life as a Jesuit and a gay man, it was entirely possible, and I could count on his support. But that to make it work, I would have to live as a fully committed Jesuit, including celibacy. My memory is of a man so human, so compassionate, and a true friend. He was also the only faculty to attend the panel discussion I organized.

After I'd left the Jesuits, we still maintained our friendship. Our last visit was in 2001, just when Pope John Paul made him a Cardinal. Driving him back to his room at Santa Clara University after a dinner organized by a mutual friend, I asked what he thought about the erupting sexual scandals that were beginning to rock the very foundations of the church.

He said that his first response was profound embarrassment—men with whom we both shared the ideals of Ignatius took advantage of their position as priests to prey on teenage boys and young adults. But then he hesitated. He said that the word embarrassed is not exactly right—he said “profoundly disappointed” might be closer. He was embarrassed for the institutional church he loved and supported, but, like me, was personally disappointed in the men with whom he thought he shared some altruistic spirit. In retrospect I think that ``disappointed” was still a euphemism. He felt betrayed.

I too have experienced the power of the Spiritual Exercises, and felt the enthusiasm and vision of Ignatius who was a religious genius. I was naive enough to believe that every priest, every Jesuit, would not sexually abuse another human, and I also believed that I had enough experience with human nature to recognize the shadowy demons that most every human has. What I learned was that not every priest is an idealist, and my experience of human nature was limited.

I felt I shared that deep feeling with so many Jesuits I admired, Arrupe, Berrigan, Chardin, Colombiere, Drinan, Faber, Nobili, Ricci, la Salle, to name just a few famous ones, but many others, ordinary men who lead prayerful, inspired lives for a few years or a lifetime, Charlie, Joe, Thom, Joep, Kaiser, TJC, Morgan, Neal, Bob, Jan, Freddie, Ray and many more. These men were and continue to be interested in dedicating their lives to help others. They are still my heroes.

But my friend’s question was not theoretical. Two Jesuits who were in the novitiate with me were credibly accused of molesting young men in their care. A man who was at one time a close friend took advantage of his position as a military chaplin to have sex with enlisted men and went to prison. Later when I was working at an AIDS-related non-profit, I knew another priest who was dismissed for having consentual sex with a young man just months before his 18th birthday.

My reaction was tremendous sorrow for those who placed their trust in a person they thought close to the teachings of Jesus, a conduit for God’s mercy and forgiveness, but were manipulated. This is not how the universe is supposed to work. This cannot be the world that Jesus has saved, or the Mystical Body that believers hold up as a beacon to the world.

There was still some piece of the puzzle missing. I could hardly believe that the pathology of pedophile priests wasn't checked. Was a bishop or religious superior not being responsible? The evidence seems to point in that direction.

I noticed that the institutional response in every diocese and religious order across the United States was always the same: stonewall all investigations and never admit guilt. There were of course plenty of apologies, especially from those whose behavior was the most egregious, Law and Mahony. As one commentator said, profound apologies are not an admission of wrongdoing. Airlines routinely issue profound apologies to families of those killed in a crash caused by mechanical failure or an "act of God," as the insurance companies’ liability claims quaintly phrase it. The game seemed to be protecting the assets and “good name” of the institution which precludes any admission of guilt. “Our lawyers will not allow us to comment any further. Thank you. Next question?”

The institutional response did not address anyone’s real concerns. When asked why he did not tell parishioners the reason he removed a priest who was arrested having sex with teenage boys in the back of a car, a Jesuit Provincial said: "Why should they [need to know]? This is an Internet cruising thing. This is anonymous sex. This doesn't involve people at the parish. It wasn't a priest thing. He wasn't dressed in a collar." No, he actually was in drag with lipstick and blush. Apparently the private life and professional conduct of a priest were now separate and distinct, something I had never learned in the 11 years that I trained to be a Jesuit. People under pressure say and do stupid things.

I never had any inappropriate contact with a minor during the time I was a Jesuit. It was simply unthinkable, even in a time when the freedoms felt after John XXIII’s aggiornamento were leading to all kinds of experimentation. It was unthinkable, and yet it happened.

I took my friend’s question as an opportunity to look again into the situation more deeply, and this time include an examination of my own responsibility as a gay man with a vow of celibacy, to see if I could find in myself something beyond embarrassment, disappointment, blame, or, yes, even relief.

My last years in the Jesuits were very difficult and painful for me. I wanted to be a Jesuit, but I found celibate life extremely difficult, and I intended to honor my solemn promises if I remained in the Society. I was in therapy dealing with my own self-sabotage, self-loathing, and unconscious homophobia—parts of myself that lagged behind my intellectual acceptance, but there was never any real doubt in my mind that being gay was totally OK, healthy and a perfectly acceptable way of living in the world.

It is an open secret that there are thousands of gay men throughout the Roman clergy, members of religious orders, and even the hierarchy. It is also no secret that the official position of the magisterium is that homosexuality is “disordered.” And the solution to this contradiction for most gay priests, even if they have never broken their vow of celibacy—Secrecy! You might talk about it with your partners, if you have any, perhaps your superiors, perhaps your confessor, but never go public. Or as I say in the header for this post: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. That is the first commandment.

Never having been circumspect about my own opinions or process, I was very open within the Jesuit community when I was coming out. I broke the first commandment.

Perhaps John McNeill had the same experience. If he had not come out openly "as a Jesuit priest, as a moral theologian, as a psychotherapist, as a person who is himself gay, and as a human being," he might have able to maintain his comfortable psychotherapy practice on the Upper West Side. I cannot answer that question for John, and I do not know if he would agree. But this I do know, if I had not come out fully as a gay man, I would have missed out on being able to know and express some of the deepest emotions that a human being can feel. For me there never really was any choice, but that non-choice, for some very difficult reasons, was the hardest choice of my life.

Most gay priests do not have that opportunity. They are forced to obey a pact of complete silence, and the cult of secrecy starts right at the top.