Drinking priest and the flip side of parish life
Апостол Иуда в своем послании описывает сцену, которую узнает каждый, кто видел, как церковная трапеза превращается в застолье.
On the day of the patronal feast, after the Liturgy, tables are always laid in the parish refectory. There we will find pies, salads, fish or meat dishes. And at the edge, by tradition, stand a couple of bottles—for toasts to the health of the rector, to the choir, to the benefactors. All of this seems customary and simple. An hour later the conversations grow louder, the toasts longer, and someone is already unsteady on his feet.
Elderly parishioners avert their eyes. A young man who has only recently crossed the threshold of the altar and looks at the Church through rose-colored glasses, seeing all this, leaves in shame. For now, only temporarily, until the next service. And then, perhaps, for good.
Many have seen such a scene. It is often considered improper and unethical to discuss it. The subject is a painful one, and it concerns at times not only the laity. But Holy Scripture does not pass over it, even if only allegorically.
What did the apostle see at the love feast?
The Catholic Epistle of Jude is addressed against false teachers—people who infiltrated the community and turned grace into a pretext for licentiousness. He notes that "these are spots in your feasts of charity, when they feast with you, feeding themselves without fear" (Jude 1:12).
The love feasts, or agapae, were the common meals of the first Christians. At one table in those times sat rich and poor, masters and slaves. They brought food to the common table, shared it, and prayed together. The agape was a continuation of the Liturgy. And then, at these tables, there suddenly appeared people who think only of self-gratification.
In the Greek text they are described thus—"shepherds feeding themselves." A true shepherd feeds the flock, but these feed themselves.
The Apostle Paul saw something similar in Corinth. At the Lord's Supper, one remains hungry while another is "drunken" (1 Cor. 11:21). The meal that was meant to unite the faithful divided them, leading them into temptation.
True, Jude has no prohibition on drinking wine. But he is troubled by a man who calls himself a Christian yet, at the common table, ceases to notice the needs of the others. This is how it all begins: first pride creeps in imperceptibly, and then the hand itself reaches for the glass.
A priest stumbling from wine
In the Old Testament, the Prophet Isaiah paints such a terrible picture: "the priest and the prophet have erred through strong drink, they are swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment" (Is. 28:7). It is hard to believe, but those who are supposed to lead the people can scarcely stand on their own feet.
In the Book of Leviticus we read how, after the death of Aaron's sons, God gives the priests a command: "Do not drink wine nor strong drink, thou, nor thy sons with thee, when ye go into the tabernacle of the congregation, lest ye die" (Lev. 10:9). Even then the clergy had to understand that service at the sanctuary demands a clear head and a free will.
And the Prophet Ezekiel utters words that echo the image from the Epistle of Jude: "Woe be to the shepherds of Israel that do feed themselves! should not the shepherds feed the flocks?" (Ezek. 34:2). A pastor for whom his own pleasure becomes more important than the spiritual nourishment of the people immediately ceases to be a pastor.
"Let it cease"
From the earliest centuries the Church has known that this affliction can enter even the holiest place on earth. In the most ancient canons, which tradition calls the Apostolic Canons, there is this norm: "A bishop, or presbyter, or deacon who is given to gambling and drunkenness must either cease, or be deposed" (Canon 42). The next canon says the same thing, only with regard to the lower clergy, adding: "So also the laity" (Canon 43).
As we see, drunkenness is not divided into "spiritual" and "worldly." The passion is one, just as the disease is one, whoever may suffer from it.
The Church's norms call the fallen to repentance: "must cease," that is, stop their disorderly conduct. Penalty comes only second. The canon leaves a person the possibility of stopping, and deposition from holy orders or excommunication from the Church is applied to those who have not made use of this possibility.
There is one everyday detail in the canons. The 54th Apostolic Canon forbids a cleric to enter a tavern, but makes an exception for one who has stopped at an inn out of necessity while traveling. The compilers of the canons understood that life can be different. But the essence remains the same: the servants of God must be blameless, so that the name of God is not blasphemed because of them.
A Hangover Alone
There is a trouble that parishes keep silent about even more often. A priest may drink not only on feast days, but also outside the church, in the evenings, alone. It seems to the parishioners that everything is more or less in order: the service begins on time, and there is some sort of sermon. Meanwhile, at home, a bottle awaits the hapless pastor, one he hides from his matushka, from his children, and sometimes even from himself, afraid to admit that he is a slave to this passion.
Where does this come from? There must be some cause. It is no secret to anyone that a priest hears dozens of other people's troubles and problems at confession, while he can tell about his own to hardly anyone, especially when he has no personal spiritual father.
His daily life is funerals, requests for services, endless petitions, the parish's debts. Now war has been added too, with all its horrors. Add to this the tradition of "treating Father" after a baptism or the blessing of a home, which is awkward to refuse. Weariness accumulates in the cleric's soul, and a glass begins to seem the only way to relax.
Secret alcoholism is dangerous because it is secret.
Parishioners guess, but keep silent: out of respect for the priestly rank, out of fear of judging, out of unwillingness to "wash dirty linen in public." Fellow clergy also see the cleric's flaws but do not dare to speak about what troubles them. And the man is left alone with his illness until it bursts out in some public scandal.
The apostolic "must cease" looks at such moments like an outstretched hand. One can stop before it is too late, but it is almost impossible to do so alone. A spiritual father is needed, to whom one can tell the truth without embellishment. A bishop is needed who is able to see in a drinking priest a sick brother, and not merely a violator of discipline. Often a doctor is needed too, for addiction is an illness, and willpower alone cannot always overcome it. Prayer and treatment do not hinder one another.
And what are parishioners to do? To gossip is a sin. To pretend that nothing is happening is a sin as well. But we can at least refrain from pouring the priest an extra glass. We can refrain from insisting that he partake of the treat. We can pray for our pastor. And if the trouble is already becoming visible outwardly, we can carefully speak of it to the one who is able to help the fallen cleric in a fatherly way.
Is wine always to blame?
At the same time, it is easy to go to the opposite extreme and declare wine itself to be the enemy. Saint John Chrysostom, who relentlessly denounced drunkenness, warned: "Drunkenness does not come from wine—wine is a creation of God, and a creation of God causes nothing evil—but a depraved will produces drunkenness."
Wine is fitting at a festal table. It is offered for the Eucharist. Christ Himself turned water into wine at the wedding in Cana. The danger appears when the will yields to passion and one begins to systematically drown out emptiness, fear, or weariness with a glass.
The same Chrysostom observed that intoxication also comes from anger and from lust. A pastor who tends himself rather than his flock may be perfectly sober and yet drunk with vainglory. These maladies have one root: a person forgets those who are near him, and the One Who is above him.
Mercy with discernment
How should one act if all of this has touched the life of a particular parish or family? The Apostle Jude gives a precise answer to this as well: "And of some have compassion, making a difference: and others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire" (Jude 1:22–23).
For one person a gentle word is enough. He needs support. Another will hear nothing without a stern admonition. To tell one from the other is precisely what "discernment" means. Idle talk in the refectory and whispering behind the back of the drunkard are unseemly here, as is silent covering up of sin.
To be corrected, in the words of the Apostle Jude, one must be "building up yourselves on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Spirit, keeping yourselves in the love of God" (Jude 1:20–21). In order to support another, we ourselves must stand on firm spiritual ground. Only then can we turn to reviewing the festal meal, so that no one leaves it with eyes lowered in shame.
