More than just one man’s crisis of faith

(Editor’s Note: Contributions to this section are accepted. Published pieces will be paid. But we don’t return rejected articles. Contributors are requested to submit a photo and a bio-data.)

MANILA, Philippines - The recent historic abdication of Pope Benedict XVI, and the eventual ascension of Pope Francis to the Throne of Peter, brought with it much discussion about the various crises confronting the Roman Catholic Church, beset, as it were, with issues ranging from sex scandals to financial mismanagement. It also brought to mind Priest, a 1994 film by Antonia Bird, which, now as it did then, resonates with the provocative themes that it tackles.

The young and good-looking Father Greg Pilkington (played by a highly-compelling Linus Roache) is assigned to a new parish in working-class Liverpool. He replaces an elderly priest, who, in the dramatic opening scenes of the movie, wields in a rage a life-size crucifix to attack the home of his bishop.

Ideal and orthodox, Father Greg finds his world view challenged by the very environment he is in. It starts from the moment he meets the head parish priest, Father Matthew Thomas (endearingly portrayed by Tom Wilkinson), who is pragmatic and unorthodox. An activist for his faith, Father Matthew is outspoken and political for the poor and the downtrodden – flirting with, if not adhering to, liberation theology. Adding to the young priest’s discomfort is the discovery that Father Matthew is living openly, without any guilt, with their mulatto housekeeper Maria (essayed by Cathy Tyson).

Father Greg quickly realizes that there is a disconnect between his traditional religious values and the harsh lives of his parishioners, and is unable to bridge the gap.

Soon after his arrival at his parish, he hears the tearful revelation of Lisa Unsworth (portrayed by Christine Tremarco), a teenager who is being sexually abused by her own father. Bound by the sacramental seal of Confession, Father Greg finds himself helpless to come to her aid. To complicate matters, Lisa’s father, like the proverbial demon mocking the holy, admits to his sins under the secrecy of Confession. 

Contributing heavily to Father Greg’s burdens is a deep dark secret. For while he seems to be the poster boy for rectitude, Father Greg would on occasion chuck his clerical collar, put on a leather jacket and cruise the local gay bar. It does not take long for him to meet Graham (sensitively played by Robert Carlyle), a one-night stand that progresses to a passionate love affair.

It becomes evident that Father Greg is tormented by the demands of his faith and his impotence in helping his parishioners — in particular the victimized Lisa — as well as his own raging sexuality. In one of the film’s more memorable scenes, Father Greg, while celebrating the Eucharist, sees in the pews the sad Lisa, the incestuous Mr. Unsworth, and his lover Graham. In these three different persons, he faces his own troubled conscience, inside his own church, which, in this context, has become cold and impersonal.

Father Greg’s deep moral dilemma comes to a fore when he, in the apex of the movie, spirals down into a full crisis of faith, in front of an impenetrable and silent figure of Jesus nailed to a cross. While Father Greg bewails his failure to help Lisa, a series of intercuts reveals his prayers being answered — albeit in a manner that he did not expect — when Mrs. Unsworth, returning home, catches her husband in the act of molesting the hapless Lisa.

Meanwhile, Father Greg’s private life becomes very public when the police catch him and his lover Graham making out in a car. Even though Graham has always been ancillary to Father Greg’s faith, the priest’s momentary indiscretion has him condemned by his religious superiors, his parishioners and the general public.

Yet it is the pragmatic and unorthodox Father Matthew, who, in spite of his own flaws, refuses to give up on the young priest. From Father Matthew’s point of view, the very weaknesses of Father Greg are what will make him a better priest.

He invites Father Greg to celebrate Mass with him. But it is precisely during this sacred gathering that judgment is both severe and immediate from the churchgoers. Parishioners leave, and for those who stay, no one lines up to receive Communion from Father Greg. In perhaps what is the most stirring scene of the movie, only Lisa approaches the disgraced priest for Communion. And in this simple act, the symbolism is clear: The innocent victim provides the troubled sinner his redemption.

Priest underscores that the real world is never always so clearly black and white. The stark and gritty storytelling of scriptwriter Jimmy McGovern and director Antonia Bird shows a nuanced understanding of the complexities of man’s character. Despite the weighty nature of the movie’s subject matter — homosexuality, incest and celibacy on the one hand, and the relevance of religious doctrine and tradition to the difficult realities of a modern world on the other — they have managed to engage the viewer in a dialogue of important social issues with compassion and maturity.

While the movie may have had a bit too many moments of raw emotion, dangerously teetering to being overly sentimental and dramatic, Bird was able to coax from her three main actors — Roache, Wilkinson and Tremarco — remarkably restrained, and credibly real, performances.

Re-visiting a movie like Priest has been for me an opportune reminder on how we look at members of the clergy. Because most of us tend to view priests as one-dimensional, we often forget that they are also all too human. We impose upon them unreal expectations. In turn, we show them ambivalence or even vitriol when we do not agree with their message, or if they fail to meet our expectations.

Indeed, priesthood is a thankless job, all in the service of a higher calling. This awareness is important, as it is timely, for Pope Francis has now called on priests to be “protectors of the poor and of nature,” even as he exhorts them “to go out to the world.” Our honest response, as fellow believers, should be our support and understanding as kindred human beings.

(About the author: C. Horatius Mosquera, 46, is a marketing and communications practitioner. It was as a schoolboy at Colegio San Agustin that C. Horatius Mosquera discovered his interest in writing, books, food and film. He received his A.B. and M.B.A. degrees from the Ateneo de Manila. His writing has received recognition in the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards in Literature and the Doreen Gamboa Fernandez Food Writing Awards.)