|
Secret codes behind holy veneer
By Julian Punch
My studies for the priesthood began at Werribee in Victoria in 1958, four years before the start of the Second Vatican Council and seven years before the papal decree on priestly training, Optatam Totius, radically changed the emphasis from sacrifice to having a pastoral role. The Corpus Christi campus was a historic property formerly owned by the Chirnside family. It looks impressive, but the mansion is shrouded in the sadness of insanity and suicide. Fred Schepisi’s semi-autobiographical film, The Devil’s Playground, which was made there in 1976, tells the story of a boy like me who grew up in a Catholic seminary dealing with temptations of the flesh and all its manifold tensions. As depicted in Schepisi’s film, our training was heavily regimented and based on monastic discipline. The constant ringing of bells night and day was considered to be the vox dei, the voice of God calling us to our duties. I always thought this must have kept God very busy ordering us around, as if he had nothing else to do. Commencing at 5.30am, a duty student would ring a and bell while running the length of the residential area on two levels. The bellringers were often greeted with buckets of water thrown by other students, but that stopped when one of the ringers broke his leg slipping on the wet floor. During the first 12 months we lived in large dormitories and ate together in the refectory, usually in silence. There was very little privacy. Our usual garb was black soutanes or cassocks. Mine was not of the required ankle length and that generated a lot of unwanted comment. To test our loyalty to conservative priestly values, we were subject to monthly disciplinary reviews. Baring our soul to the inmost depths was, some students said, like running around the Antarctic in our underpants. Underlying these reviews was a system of secret reporting by “trusted” students to the rector and the so-called dean of discipline. Special friendships were forbidden but, needless to say, that rule was widely ignored. Older students courted younger students, who were referred to as “colts”. Like many others, I had close male friendships based on secret codes. For example, discussion about gay authors or historical gay people was a good way to elicit personal information. One of my gay friends introduced me to the writings of Dag Hammarskjold, the secretly gay Swedish diplomat, economist, and author who served as the second Secretary-General of the United Nations until his death in a plane crash in 1961. His book, Markings, inspired long, innocent discussions about gay spirituality and mysticism that is not incompatible with the universal love of Jesus. Markings inspired me to write an article for the seminary newsletter and introduced me to many other gay writers and alternative theologians. I was also inspired and comforted by the Old Testament story of David and Jonathan, which challenges the church’s condemnation of gay love. The classic homoerotic tale of star-crossed male lovers requires incredible theological gymnastics to deny and contains all the elements of modern persecution of homosexuality. David, who famously toppled the enemy giant Goliath, loved Jonathan from their first meeting when, according to the Bible, their souls were bound to each other. Years later, as David and Jonathan prepare to part company, there is a tender scene in which they kiss each other and weep. The saga ends when both Saul and Jonathan fall in battle. David’s lament includes these touching lines: “I am distressed for you, my brother, Jonathan; greatly beloved were you to me; your love to me was wonderful; surpassing the love of women.” After my introduction to Hammarskjold’s book, I never doubted that my sexuality was God-given and I totally rejected the Catholic condemnation of gay people as deviant, decadent or unnatural. I had gone over the hill of church-inspired guilt and organisational persecution and never really looked back. The underground gay group in the seminary was very supportive as I explored alternative forms of spirituality. I was also learning that anarchy was a legitimate form of advocacy. Every year the students wrote and acted a no-holds-barred college review which mocked the rector, professor, nuns and some students. Practical jokes were another way of relieving the tension resulting from excessive discipline and the often ridiculous dogmatic correctness. One of our targets …. made me and another student cut squares of turf and set them around the rose garden. In doing so, we formed [his initials] in the lawn within sight of his room. As the grass grew, the initials showed up in a very obvious lighter shade of green. On one night, several toilet rolls were hung banner-style from the tower of the mansion. The rector, returning late from a meeting in Melbourne, was so shocked on seeing the fluttering paper that he drove his car on to the lawn, knocking over a statue of Mary which was beloved by the nuns. There was a lot of rumour-mongering but we escaped punishment. Mother’s tough love On one Easter Saturday vigil mass a Chigwell family presented themselves for baptism. They were seen as notorious troublemakers but this arose from their determination not to meekly keep their heads own. The mother was renowned for having dealt with a bus driver who had kicked her four boys off the bus because they were causing trouble. Next day she became a local hero, standing in the middle of the road to stop the bus driven by the offending driver. He made the fatal mistake of stopping and opening the door. She hoisted him out of his seat and hit him, which offended his pride more than causing any physical damage. The mother and her boys turned up to a packed church, neatly dressed and with unlit candles in their hands. After the paschal candle was carried I could see from the altar that two of the boys were holding their candles under the wooden seats and smoke was starting to rise. This was quickly dealt with and the boys were presented for baptism, but the youngest was not having any and took off down the aisle. His mother barged into the aisle and yelled, “Phillip, come back here, you little bugger!” When the congregation, including former premier Doug Lowe, stopped laughing, the recalcitrant Phillip was baptised. This mother impressed me, her unswerving loyalty developing great character in her sons in a very difficult environment. Many young people with similarly supportive parents have achieved success and raised their own families, despite the lack of opportunity. None of them would have had their Chigwell days any different. Arrest The police came for me at McIntyre House at about 8am on Wednesday, March 21, 1979. Residents and volunteers were having breakfast and planning the day when Sergeant Ronald Stewart and a constable came in and asked to speak to me. After I politely invited them into the office, they insisted that I accompany them to the Glenorchy police station, where I was interrogated for about two hours without a break. The interrogation was intense but slow, with one of the constables sweating profusely and painfully typing out a statement with two fingers. ... Unbelievably, they were charging me with running a “disorderly house”.
|
.
Any original material on these pages is copyright © BishopAccountability.org 2004. Reproduce freely with attribution.