Recently my husband came home from a Friends of the Library sale. My city library sells donated books every few months, and you pay only a measly two dollars for whatever you can stuff inside a paper grocery bag. The money goes toward buying new books for the library, essential when our city has slashed the new book budget to zero.

In my husband’s bag was a book he thought I might like because it’s about Catholicism. On the back cover are quotations from many prominent Catholics—that is, Catholics who are prominent in a worldly sort of way, such as politicians and actors. One quotation struck me immediately. I’m not going to mention who said it, but it read “When my mom asked if I wanted to be a nun, I said I’d rather be a priest . . . The nuns were always wonderful, but the power was with the priest.”

When I see something like that, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I did, however, read it aloud to my husband, and he burst into laughter. So maybe mirth is the more appropriate response to something so ridiculous.

If you think priests have a lot of power, read that quote to your local parish priest and see what his reaction is.

I guess the woman who said it had no idea what she was talking about. Does she not know why Catholic priests wear Roman collars? It’s because the collar is a symbol of slavery.

That’s right: Roman Catholic priests are slaves.

That is, they are slaves of Christ.

Ironically, that is where power—in a supernatural sense—resides, but since this woman is a politician, she seemed to be talking about worldly power.

If I had the opportunity, I would ask her who she thought had more worldly power: her parish priest or Mother Teresa. After all, Mother Teresa won the Nobel Peace Prize. She addressed the United Nations.

When’s the last time your parish priest did that?

Besides, worldly power means nothing to God, except in how it is wielded.

True power comes from conforming to God’s will, and you don’t have to be a priest to do that.

I got into this a bit in my novel Nearer the Dawn. A man who has turned away from his atheism to make an act of faith lies prone in adoration on a mountainside when he encounters God:

Here, with his nose in the dirt, he had never felt so elevated. Before, he had considered the walls of a church those of a prison or insane asylum. Now he realized the barriers he had seen were of his own construction, designed to keep him banished outside rather than let him in. At last here was Everything he had been searching for, Everything he was created for, the fulfillment of his hunger. This was not only the destination but the road that led everywhere, the key that opened all treasures. Here was the ecstasy that eternally satisfied that longing desire not only to be loved but to love fully and completely. And here was true freedom, for only by binding himself with the One he was free to be transformed, crowned with glory. No wonder he had never been able to do it alone. Relying on his own capabilities was like trying to operate on a single ohm, but now he was plugged into a Power Source mightier than all the suns of the universe, for here life overflowed with more abundance than he had thought possible.

Being a priest is wonderful, but it is God who crowns us with power and glory. The power, in other words, comes by being a saint.