Amid the restrictions of COVID-19, Paul and I meet over Zoom. A priest, professor of law, husband and father, Paul greets me warmly, revealing his Canadian accent. Paul, who teaches law at the University of Adelaide, has recently been named the holder of the Bonython Chair in Law – the ninth Chair since the Law School’s establishment in 1883.

Paul belongs to the Ukrainian Catholic Church[1] which is headed by the Pope, observes the traditions of Eastern Orthodoxy, and allows married men to be ordained as priests. Though some restrictions apply when it comes to marriage, an unmarried man ordained to the diaconate or priesthood cannot marry after ordination, and widowed clergy are not permitted to remarry. When Paul entered the priesthood, he was in his early 30s and had been married to his wife, Rachael, for five years. They are the parents today of a daughter and a son. Most priests in the Ukrainian Catholic Church are married, Paul explains: “The last time we had an ordination of a celibate priest in Australia was 1995.”

As Roman Catholics priests cannot marry, most of Paul’s peers within the broader Catholic Church are celibate priests. “Are married priests considered more approachable by parishioners, for example, to discuss relationship issues?” I ask. Paul pauses for a moment; in the silence, I glance out the window and see a crow with iridescent blue feathers perched on the deck railing. “That is a really good question. The answer to the question in Australia is driven by the nature of the Catholic Ukrainian community. Ukrainian Catholics migrated to Australia post-World War II, and prior to the War there were fewer married clergy in Ukraine. In a sense, the community in Australia is still learning how to deal with married priests. And while it may sound bizarre, the nature of our community is such that they never looked to a priest to talk about personal problems, such as marital problems.”

Despite priests being allowed to marry, the Ukrainian Catholic Church in Australia is still experiencing a decline in ordination numbers, with only 12 ordinations since 1995. “It seems that allowing clergy to marry does not necessarily increase the ordination numbers,” I say.  “If we did not allow people to marry, we would not even have the 12 people,” Paul responds laughing. “I do think it makes a difference that there are options available to people: to say you cannot marry and have a family, that is a hard position to overcome.”

There is also the issue of ordaining women as deaconesses: a tradition which once existed in the Eastern Orthodox world and if restored could increase ordination numbers. “Our Church once recognised that a woman could be ordained as a deaconess, and so they could be married and perform the same duties as a deacon. Today, of course, we do have female monastics, and if the Ukrainian Catholic Church could return to that ancient tradition, it would be possible for women to be deaconesses.” I think about St Phoebe, a woman recognised as the first woman deacon, who served in the early Church and whose efforts were recognised by St Paul – what would she make of the loss of this great tradition?

Paul stops to search the internet for a book he wants me to read about women in the early Church: The Forgotten Desert Mothers by Laura Swan. Beginning in the third century, men and women fled to the deserts of Egypt, Palestine and Syria. Many of these desert communities focussed on drawing closer to God through solitude, silence and prayer. Thomas Merton, the twentieth-century contemplative and Trappist monk, described those who went to live in the desert as people “who did not believe in letting themselves be passively guided and ruled by a decadent state.” Despite the significant role played by women in the early Church, much more attention has been paid to the Desert Fathers rather than the Desert Mothers.

As for Paul’s decision to seek ordination, he was midway through his career – teaching law at the University of Adelaide – when he felt he was being called to something more: “I sensed that in order for my spiritual growth to reach its fullest fruition that some kind of ordained ministry was where I was being called.” Encountering someone who is both a priest and a professor of law in a secular environment is somewhat uncommon. I ask Paul how his students and colleagues reacted to his ordination (which occurred in 2004). “In terms of my colleagues, it has been interesting,” Paul responds chuckling. “There were certainly some colleagues who did not think my ordination to the priesthood was a great idea.” After he announced his ordination, some work relationships dramatically changed: “I think some of my colleagues looked at me and saw the Catholic Church coming down the hallway…they thought I was no longer who I had been and that was hard for some people.” Paul, who has never worn clerical attire at the university nor discussed religion unless someone else raised the issue, invested time and effort into restoring the relationships. In his view, being patient and giving people the time and space they needed to get used to the idea were the key ingredients in gaining acceptance for his new identity from his colleagues. 

Interestingly, at the time of his ordination, Paul’s research was shifting towards law and religion, something he tells me was “not a thing” in Australia, though it was and continues to be a significant area of scholarship in the US and Canada. Paul’s research has (in part) sought to answer what property law is and whether it can be justified; in seeking to answer this question, he draws on legal and theological perspectives. Some of his colleagues would argue that religion has no place at a university, a secular institution. But Paul holds a very different view: “As scholars, if we don’t understand how religion works and how it interacts with law in the world, we are missing a very important part of the world in which we live. I think some of my academic colleagues thought that theology is not based on logical or rational thought, that a faith component is required to do theology. But even if that were true, I am not trying to do theology, I am coming at it from a sociological perspective.”

Twenty years on, Paul does not have the impression that his colleagues see him as the “religion guy.” And, on top of that, law and religion are now recognised as an important part of legal scholarship in Australia: “When I first embarked on this research, there were only five of us researchers across the country – now every law department has at least one law and religion scholar.”

Born in Canada in 1966, Paul was baptized and raised within the Ukrainian Catholic Church. His father belonged to the Ukrainian Catholic Church though his mother was a Roman Catholic and remained one her entire life. Paul’s father was a lawyer, until he changed careers and entered the automobile industry, and his mother was a nurse. Growing up, the family had a close relationship with the parish priest. As a ten-year-old, Paul became an alter server, where the idea of becoming a priest entered his imagination though this dissipated as he hurtled towards young adulthood.

While Paul was a child, the Roman Catholic Church was changing in part due to the Second Vatican Council. Though the Second Vatican Council concluded at St Peter’s Basilica in Rome in 1965 – a year before Paul was born – he would feel the impact of those changes later in his life. Paul explains that the Second Vatican Council had less of an impact on the Ukrainian Catholic Church than it did on the Roman Catholic Church. However, the language of the liturgy – the rituals of worship and praising God – changed from Church Slavonic (the oldest documented Slavic language) to the vernacular Ukrainian. In Australia, the liturgy is now celebrated in both the vernacular Ukrainian and in English. For Paul, the Second Vatican Council raised, again, an important question: What is the theology of the Ukrainian Catholic Church? Paul explains that there is no answer to this question: “We inhabit a strange spiritual-theological world: we are not Orthodox nor are we fully Roman Catholic. The question that has never been addressed since we recognised the Pope as the head of the Church in 1596 is a seemingly simple one: if the Pope is the head of the church, does it mean we have Roman Catholic theology, or does it mean we have the same theology that we always had which is part of the Orthodox world?”

While the question of theology has remained unanswered for over 400 years, I am curious about another question which the modern-day Church is grappling with, namely its response to the sexual abuse crisis. I ask Paul about his views regarding how the Catholic Church has dealt with the crisis. “That’s a big question,” Paul responds. “We seem to be going in fits and starts: we move in the right direction and then things slow down. In my view, as a lawyer, you must always do as much as you can. But in addition to that, there is what the law requires you to do, as well as ethical and moral obligations that require you to go far beyond what the law requires. We have to do both; we must do everything possible here.”

Paul tells me that, as far as he is aware, there have been no reported cases of child sexual abuse in the Ukrainian Catholic Church in Australia. “Why do you think this has been the case for the Ukrainian Catholic Church?” I ask.

“That is a good question and one that is hard to answer. Some people say it is because we have married clergy, but I think that is an assumption…I am not sure that is the only or even the main reason. For example, when I was growing up in Canada, most clergy in the Ukrainian Catholic Church at that time were celibate; they weren’t married and there have been no reported cases, of which I am aware, in the Ukrainian Catholic Church in Canada. So, I think it is a complex question to answer.”

“How has the community responded to you as a representative of the Church – has there been any hostility?” I ask.

“One of my colleagues, a priest from another parish in Australia, was once spat and yelled at by a passer-by. He was wearing full clerical attire at the time [black shirt, trousers and wearing the Roman collar]. After that, he stopped  wearing clerical attire in public. No one ever has the right to abuse people, but the community is angry, and I can understand that anger.”

Despite the challenges, Paul is both optimistic and nervous about the future of the Church. The role of women in the Church needs to be addressed in a fundamental way, he tells me: “I don’t know how long the church can continue to be so far out of step with the rest of liberal western culture when it comes to the role of women. How are we addressing issues of equality? How are we addressing economic issues, as far as governments operate? How are we addressing environmental concerns? I think these are some of the concerns that are most important to young people and I’m not sure that the Church has satisfying answers.” Paul is adamant that something big needs to happen, perhaps another Vatican Council, or a grassroots movement, to address these issues within the Church. If the Church does not address these issues at a structural level, it risks becoming less relevant – and this is what makes Paul nervous. But change can happen, Paul says: “When I was 15, I did not think the Soviet Union would fall apart and there would no longer be two Germanies – things can change quickly.”

Looking at Paul through the screen, with a bookcase of cluttered books behind him, I am struck by the way he moves fluidly between very different worlds. With a full-time career demanding his attention on weekdays, Paul has focused on his priestly duties – such as celebrating Mass and weddings – on the weekends. Having taught himself canon law in relation to the Ukrainian Catholic Church, Paul chairs the Australian Eparchial (the Eastern Orthodox word for Diocese) Canon Law Committee and is the go-to person whenever a question on this matter arises within the Church nationwide. Paul seems comfortable grappling with big questions and approaches the frontier of the unknown with curiosity and openness – qualities that the Church needs as it moves towards the future.

After we say goodbye and end the call, I purchase a copy of The Forgotten Desert Mothers. As the book downloads onto my Kindle, a flock of boisterous galahs fly through the open sky. In the book, the author, Laura Swan, writes about the strength and determination the Desert Mothers possessed which “enabled them to go against cultural expectations and pursue their chosen lifestyle.” This passage reminds me of my conversation with Paul and the path he has chosen, and continues to choose, to defy cultural expectations in pursuit of his spiritual life and deepening experience of God.