Like every other gay person I know, I rejoiced at the recent statement by Pope Francis I that, in his view, the Catholic Church has been overly “obsessed” with homosexuality, abortion and birth control. For one thing, I hope that the pope’s statement ends the massive crusade on the part of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, The Becket Fund and the Knights of Columbus to deny civil rights to LGBT people in the United States. But more broadly, like most progressives, I cheered the pope’s prioritizing of love over dogma, inclusion over judgment, social justice over sexual purity.
I wonder, though, how the experience of the American Jewish community might contain an unwanted cautionary tale for reform-minded Catholics. After all, roughly the same ordering of priorities has animated non-Orthodox Judaism for a century now, as the major American movements have slowly crept toward policies of inclusion and tikkun olam, repairing the world. And yet, everyone in the Jewish community knows the demographic numbers: that only Orthodox Jews are endogamously replenishing themselves, and that the rest of us appear to be sliding toward assimilation.
And of course, Orthodoxy isn’t obsessed with just sexual morality; it’s obsessed with bugs in lettuce, stray threads in suits and every jot and tittle of Jewish law. As I cheer on the Catholic Church from afar, I wonder whether Pope Francis is right that building a more inclusive church will mean building a more robust one. Is obsessiveness a good thing?
When I was Orthodox, I certainly thought so. I thought — or felt — that the fervency with which I cleaned my home for leaven before Passover, checked my pockets before the Sabbath and, yes, repressed my sexuality were the signs of sanctification. Halachic Judaism was beautiful because it governed every part of life, and so every part of life could be holy.
Really, though, all the obsessing was just a species of a more general emotional intensity. It had many faces: the intensity of diligent effort, the intensity of tight-knit community, the intensity of wanting, yearning for things to be right. Ironically, these intense yearnings are often couched in highly unemotive language, especially among Yeshivish and non-Hasidic Modern Orthodox Jews. But they are yearnings nonetheless, and a remarkable form of domestic mysticism.
I wonder if that’s true, too, for some of the conservative Catholics obsessed with “unnatural” — that is, nonprocreative — sexuality. I’ve read a great deal of this philosophical discourse, and there is often a sense of looming doom: If we surrender on this or that point of philosophy, civilization will crumble.
We depend on these absolute, objective truths for stability in a world of chaos. I can relate, I think, to their panic at the notion of a world with contraception, as I once felt it at the notion of a Passover with breadcrumbs in the toaster oven.
Whereas in the world of progressive religion, there’s just not as much juice. Only a few people get worked up about social justice the way that Orthodox Jews get worked up about treyf, or the way conservative Catholics get worked up about gay people.