And sure enough, this massive reversal could be karmic—or even Christian, with Catholicism finally reaping what it's sown.
But if the Church dies out in France (and Europe), I can't help but wonder what will come next.
Nietzsche, the son of a Lutheran pastor, famously declared God dead (and subsequently lost his mind), but also warned that the spiritual void would lead to 'wars the likes of which have never been seen on earth' followed by 'the total eclipse of all values.'
So I've traveled to Toulouse, the hometown of the Inquisition, to meet a priest who's witnessed a bit of both in his eighty-five years on earth.
A BEAUTIFUL CONCEPT
Father Yves Denis was born after World War One and took his vow of celibacy as a priest after World War Two.
I meet him just around the corner from the cathedral, where Guirdham's past-life lover was supposedly held against her will.
For me, it's been so long since I've talked with a priest, I feel awkward, not least in asking Father Denis about his avowed lack of a love life.
Before coming here, I tried to bone up on celibacy, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I'd forgotten why Rome adopted it in the first place.
Somehow, I'd absorbed the conventional view that celibacy was the Church's way of keeping its men in check—literally holding them by the privates.
The last time I went to Mass, with Lena the Latin South African, I kept thinking of the bearded, bespectacled priest in the pulpit as a sexual misfit at best; either way, he seemed, well, less than a man. How could someone who's never had sex possibly relate to me?
After refreshing my memory on the subject, though, I can assure you that apart from the no-sex bit, celibacy is a beautiful concept.
Apart from the no-sex bit.
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