April 4, 2013
So, when I lived in Rome, I kind of sort of dated a priest. I mean, I’m not sure how else to describe it. We went out for coffee regularly, and he paid. Sure, I had the poor college student angle going on, but he had the priest angle going on, so it’s not like either of us were exactly flush. And he was the Most Beautiful Priest in the World, and I’m not just talking personality here. And I’m not the only person who has described this man as such.
Anyway, he’s about ten years older than I am, so I was 20 and he was around 30. He’d studied in Rome when he was in college, too. He’s from Michigan. And we got along great. And I was hopelessly in love with him. Except for the rational part of my brain that kept saying, “He’s a priest. In Rome. On the bishop track. If you met and he wasn’t a priest, he’d be way too conservative for you.”
And for those of you who are going to take this and run straight to Priest Sex Abuse Scandal World, stop right where you are. This was a 100% platonic relationship. Physical contact consisted of shaking hands. He’s a good apple.
I know. I can hear you asking why I’m telling you this story. Well, today I learned that the Most Beautiful Priest in the World has been promoted. He’s made Monseigneur. I’ve known for years that the rational part of my brain was right. The boy is definitely on the bishop track. And to be on the bishop track these days, you have to be far more conservative than I, even with a Jesuit as pope.