Robert Riler

Called To Journey

Reverend Robert Riler

I always wanted to be a priest. The product of Catholic grade school and high school, I was virtually groomed to be a priest. Most youngsters had the seed planted early in their school years. But it was what I read and saw during the civil rights movement that sparked my hopes and dreams. Many times I saw Catholic priests leading the way fighting for civil rights, taking a stand for social justice. In my own diocese there were those men who connected the Gospels to the lives of the poor of their community. I stumbled into new areas of Process Theology and I began to read the giants of Liberation Theology. It made sense. I wanted to be a part of that. This was my journey into priesthood.

I have to admit that almost simultaneously my journey out of the clerical life began. As much as there was an attraction, there was an aversion. Maybe it wasn’t so much to priesthood as it was to clerical life. The journey away came when I was an altar boy in my local parish. One day I was taken up into the inner sanctum of their residence. These priests were members of a religious order. They were my first contact with priests. Now I laugh when I think of what I saw – their TV room had what was then a very large TV set with eight large leather recliners set up theater fashion. Little tables were beside each chair. It was pretty obvious even to the youngster I was that alcohol was the preferred beverage. I was not impressed. It seemed contradictory to what I believed they were about…or should be about, these men who had taken vows of poverty. To the contrary, it seemed like a very plush life. I knew that they had several cars for themselves. They were quite nice cars, maybe even nicer than what my dad could afford. There was just something oddly strange and incongruous about it all.

I attended an on-campus House of Studies that the diocese had recently introduced. Nine students and two priests lived together at Portland State University. From the beginning it was a controversial approach to educating seminarians. But it seemed kind of logical to me. We each attended classes on campus in our own academic areas. I majored in English Literature. In those days “Black Studies” was growing in popularity and I jumped right in. I discovered a hidden treasure with the likes of Maya Angelou, Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison. I had talented, gifted black men and women as teachers. Vietnam War protests were growing. Bishops were among those nationally who were speaking up. Thomas Gumbleton of Detroit and James Groppi of Milwaukee became household names along with other religious leaders. Our classes were supplemented by Monday night gatherings where people from all sorts of backgrounds came and spoke to us about everything from church history to philosophy to liturgy to priesthood.

Alcohol seems to have continued to be a theme when I was in college. As part of my experience I volunteered at an overnight shelter in downtown Portland. I came to see the destructive effects of booze on the lives of men and women on the streets of the city where I grew up. During my work I got familiar with a number of the usual customers. One man gently took me aside one night and said, “Ego sacerdos sum.” (“I am a priest.”) That was all he said before he walked away into the night. I think he just wanted me to know. He walked away into the night. I found out from the staff there that yes, he was a priest who struggled with the bottle and this was now his life. I don’t know if he walked away from his diocese, his “brother priests” and his friends or if they walked away from him. But there was an estrangement that hit my heart. I couldn’t help ask myself and the priest at our college house, “Why?” The answers that I was uncovering were painful.

The major seminary following college was more than a shock. I was suddenly groomed into the clerical life. The expectation was that we would wear clerical collars for major functions. A few went the route of cassocks. Formal liturgy was fundamental. The emphasis was no longer placed on things I had come to value such as social justice and ecumenism. The shift was quick and amazing. And if you listened in the late afternoon and evening it wasn’t the abbey bells that I heard. It was the tinkling of ice cubes in glasses as the pre-dinner social hour kicked into high gear. Something said no, this wasn’t right.

I left the seminary after a bit over two years, got married and worked for the diocese in communications. When I worked for the institution in such an intimate role I began to see the underbelly of the beast. It was just that – an institution. It was about money, about risk management, about rules and regulations, about power and obedience. It may as well have been a major bank. I received grants to produce video programs that eventually took me to the Vatican three times. Social justice was the last thing anybody was concerned about there. It was all about towing the line, keeping the ship upright, not making waves. I met some men (and women) along the way who obviously had a conscience and tried to straddle the fence, but they were few and far between. I eventually took a job at the U.S. Catholic Conference (USCC) and ended up doing video coverage of the annual bishops’ meetings in Washington D.C. It was another wake up call. What I saw was little more than a corporate business meeting preceded each day with a little prayer service. But it was sadly obvious that the majority of these guys were the climbers who were making a career enjoying their status, reaching higher by playing the game. There were a small handful of notable exceptions, but, sadly, not many.

During my time at the USCC I had occasion to work with some wonderful women. They had academic backgrounds that were stunning. They had personalities that were unassuming, engaging, warm and welcoming. Whereas the clergy in that environment always knew their pecking order, the women seemed to be willing and able to float comfortably wherever they were. They made me feel at ease in our conversations regardless of the topic or the context. They were human beings first. But I was often appalled at how they were treated by the guys wearing the collars.

I returned to the seminary because, again, I had found a couple of priests who truly lived the Gospel within the dichotomy of the institution. They found a way to balance the two in spite of the hardships and the contradictions. One was a Jesuit who was involved with a separated and divorced Catholics group. Another was a relatively newly ordained parish priest who brought energy and enthusiasm into the parish. He also brought a style that made him a regular person, not a cleric on some pedestal. I admired that. He had a “witness-mobile,” a small, beat-up little car that was probably the worst vehicle from miles around. The two of them seemed to be able to do it, to be a priest for the people while living within an institution that seemed to be more and more interested itself and its own survival.

I had a remarkable visit with my bishop shortly before I was ordained a deacon. We were both blunt with each other over a very long conversation. “I really struggle with so much with the institution,” I said to the bishop. “Things like authority, the way women are treated, birth control, the way gays are treated, celibacy . . . I just don’t know. I don’t know if I should continue.” I was shocked I was so honest. Maybe I was already thinking about leaving even before I started. The bishop was equally honest. “I struggle with those things too. Most priests I know struggles with those things. And if they don’t, those are the ones I worry about.” I was equally shocked he was so honest – and delighted.

In 1994 I was ordained. I left in October, 1999. In 1997 I met Marcia, a wonderful woman who is now my lovely wife. We developed a truly life-giving relationship. I wanted so much to remain in parish ministry. But I also wanted to let the beauty of a loving relationship grow and flourish in my life.

As my journey of discernment unfolded, my spiritual director gave me what I thought was sage advice. “Visit 10 pastors, both conservative and liberal. Visit the pastors in the diocese who were ‘the giants.’ Talk to them about how they handle the issues of relationship, love and celibacy.” For several months I did just that. I was stunned by what I was hearing. Most had a (sexually active) relationship at some point during their priestly ministry. Many currently had relationships going. One was never attracted to women and didn’t miss relationships in his life at all. In brief, the advice to me spanned the gamut: “Drop her.” “Go to a monastery for a year.” “Keep her on the side.” “Marry her.” Advice did not correspond to their theological bent and there was also no consensus.

Probably the best thing Marcia and I did was seek the advice of men who had left parish life and pursued marriage. We spent many evenings in living rooms in long and deep conversations, listening to personal stories, often quite painful, and putting ourselves in their shoes. Their words were often challenging to everything that I was taught. But their words rang true to my experience. We even traveled to Atlanta together to an annual Corpus Conference to see what we could find there. I had been warned by one pastor that Corpus was filled with crazies that were simply too weird to be believed. To the contrary, I found rational, open, compassionate, spiritual holy men and women. They had connected the Gospel to priesthood to living in the world. The most recent impression came from a dear friend of mine who recently passed. He called himself “the Whiskey priest,” not because of his affinity to the drink but simply as an expression of his commitment to live out his married priesthood in the workaday world of ordinary folks, among the trials and tribulations, the joys and celebrations of God’s people.

There should be no doubt that my journey has been shaped by the people that I have met. But reading and study have also played an important role. I have become acquainted with many solid authorities on church history and scripture. I participate in a regular discussion group with area pastors (and their spouses) where we look at the cultural and religious background in which Jesus lived and in which the early church took its life. We study how the early church grew through various situations into the institution it is today. My heart and my soul have been filled with new understandings, new realizations and new questions. It is an exciting time of growth and I am increasingly comfortable living inside this cloud of unknowing where very little is black and white, where questions dominate and where the importance of my small faith community continues to expand.

My journey now, as it has been for all of my life, is to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, modeled by priestly men and women who simply want to be honest and live with integrity in the spirit of the Good News. Leaving clerical life began early, even before ordination. It was a mix of experiences, academics, personal encounters and prayer-in-the-trenches. If anyone thinks it was (and is) easy they are woefully wrong. The journey was heart wrenching and continues to be. After all, I am still a priest breaking open the Word of God and making flesh the risen Jesus.

Bob Riler

Email: bobriler@gmail.com

Tel: 253-566-4078

www.WeddingPriestTacoma.com