The National Catholic Register reports on an arrangement in the Diocese of Tulsa, Oklahoma, where eight diocesan priests live together in the Holy Family Cathedral rectory, sharing meals, chores, and recreation. The article presents this as an innovative solution to clerical loneliness, citing statistics that 40% of priests ordained after 2000 report feeling isolated. The priests involved praise the “brotherhood” and mutual support found in communal living, with one calling it “wonderful” and another noting that “there are things that only other priests understand.” Bishop David Konderla is credited with prioritizing priestly well-being through this and other initiatives. What the article never questions — and what reveals the spiritual bankruptcy of the entire conciliar system — is whether these men possess the priesthood at all, whether their “brotherhood” has any supernatural foundation, and whether their communal life, however psychologically comforting, can substitute for the fraternity of the Catholic priesthood rooted in the Most Holy Sacrifice and the fullness of the Faith.
The Naturalistic Reduction of the Priesthood to Human Companionship
The article’s framing is relentlessly naturalistic. Loneliness is presented as a psychological problem requiring a psychological solution: shared housing, communal dinners, watching ball games together, pranking one another with an “ugly Santa Claus” doll. Father Brian O’Brien speaks of the exhaustion of hearing confessions — two hours of them — and notes that “other priests know that’s actually really hard.” Father Joshua Votruba, at 31 the youngest, says community “serves as a great reminder that I am not alone on an island.” Father Gary Kastl reflects on the “character formation” that comes from taking out the trash and emptying the dishwasher.
Not a single word is spoken about the supernatural fraternity of the priesthood. Not one mention of the bond forged at the altar during the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Not one reference to the communion of saints, to the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, to the guardian angel, to the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity as the true foundation of priestly brotherhood. The entire discussion operates on the level of a secular roommate arrangement — slightly elevated by the shared experience of clerical busywork, but devoid of any supernatural content.
This is the conciliar priesthood in its naked reality. Stripped of the traditional Mass, stripped of the fullness of Catholic doctrine, stripped of the ascetical and mystical theology that sustained priests for centuries, these men are left with watching television together and playing chess as their primary form of fraternity. The article even highlights Msgr. Patrick Gaalaas as the “best chess player in the house” who “always wins” — as though competitive board games were the summit of priestly community life.
St. John Vianney, the patron saint of parish priests, lived in radical poverty, spent 16 to 18 hours a day in the confessional, slept on a board, practiced severe mortification, and was tormented by demons for decades. His “brotherhood” was with the saints and angels; his companionship was with Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. He did not need a firepit and a television room. He had the tabernacle. The contrast between the Curé of Ars and the priests of Tulsa playing chess and pranking each other with Santa dolls is not a contrast of personalities — it is a contrast of two entirely different religions.
The Question Never Asked: Do These Men Possess the Priesthood?
The article refers to these men as “priests” without qualification, without examination, without the slightest doubt. But the integral Catholic cannot accept this at face value. The conciliar church has systematically altered the rite of ordination. The 1968 revision of the Ordinal, promulgated by the apostate Paul VI, replaced the ancient sacramental form with a new formula that, as Cardinal Oddi and numerous theologians have argued, is defectiva in intentione — defective in intention. The traditional rite explicitly conferred the power to offer sacrifice: “Receive the Holy Ghost; whose sins thou shalt forgive, they are forgiven them; and whose sins thou shalt retain, they are retained.” The new rite speaks of “serving” and “shepherding” — language indistinguishable from Protestant ordination formulas.
Pope Pius XII, in his apostolic constitution Sacramentum Ordinis (1947), definitively taught that the sole matter of the sacrament of Holy Orders is the imposition of hands, and the sole form is the accompanying words that determine the sacramental sign. If the words are changed such that they no longer clearly signify the conferral of the sacerdotal character — the power to offer the propitiatory sacrifice and to consecrate the Holy Eucharist — then the sacrament is invalid.
The men living in the Tulsa rectory were ordained under the new rite. Their “Masses” are the Novus Ordo Missae, a fabrication of Annibale Bugnini — a man widely suspected of Masonic affiliation — that the Catholic theologian Guérard des Lauriers demonstrated is constitutionally ambiguous, capable of being understood as either a Protestant memorial meal or a Catholic sacrifice depending on the celebrant’s private intention. Their “confessions” employ the new rite of penance, whose validity is gravely doubtful. Their “Holy Orders” were conferred by bishops whose own consecrations trace back through the apostate line of the conciliar revolution.
The article speaks of these men hearing confessions for two hours. But if their orders are invalid, they have no power to absolve sins. The penitents who kneel before them leave unforgiven. The “brotherhood” of the Tulsa rectory is a brotherhood of men who may have no more sacramental power than the Protestant ministers down the street — men who gather for potlucks and Bible study and call it “community.”
The Silence About the True Source of Priestly Loneliness
The article cites the 2025 “National Study of Catholic Priests” finding that 40% of priests ordained after 2000 feel lonely and isolated. The proposed solution is communal living. But the article never asks why these men are lonely. It never considers that the loneliness might be a direct consequence of the conciliar destruction of the priesthood.
A validly ordained Catholic priest who offers the Traditional Latin Mass daily, who believes with certainty in the Real Presence, who knows he holds the power of consecration in his hands — such a priest is never truly alone. He is united to Our Lord in the Holy Sacrifice. He is in communion with the Church Militant, Suffering, and Triumphant. He has the Blessed Virgin as his Mother, St. Joseph as his patron, his guardian angel at his side. His priesthood is a participation in the eternal priesthood of Jesus Christ.
The priests of Tulsa have none of this. They have a “priesthood” that is a committee assignment. They have a “Mass” that is a communal meal. They have a “church” that is a democratic assembly. They have a “faith” that evolves with the times. They have a “brotherhood” that is sustained by chess games and television. Is it any wonder they are lonely? They have been robbed of everything that makes the Catholic priesthood the most sublime dignity on earth — and then they are told that the solution is to live together in a big house and take turns emptying the dishwasher.
The loneliness of the conciliar priest is not a psychological problem. It is a spiritual problem. It is the loneliness of a man who has been told he is a priest but has been given nothing of the priesthood. It is the loneliness of a man who stands at an altar but does not offer sacrifice. It is the loneliness of a man who wears the vestments but lacks the grace. No amount of communal living can fill the void left by the absence of the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.
The “Well-Being” of Priests: A Conciliar Obsession
The article notes that Bishop David Konderla has made the “well-being of priests” a priority, offering spiritual direction, retreats, support groups, and sabbaticals. Each June he holds a three-day convocation for priests at a resort. Father Kastl’s 2024 pastoral letter laid out these plans.
The language of “well-being” is revealing. It is the language of corporate human resources departments, of secular psychology, of the therapeutic culture that has infected every aspect of the conciliar church. The Catholic Church has always been concerned with the sanctification of priests — their growth in holiness, their progress in the spiritual life, their conformity to Jesus Christ. The conciliar church is concerned with their “well-being” — their mental health, their emotional satisfaction, their work-life balance.
Pope St. Pius X, in his exhortation Haerent Animo (1908), called priests to a life of prayer, mortification, and union with God. He warned against the dangers of naturalism and worldliness. He insisted that the priest is alter Christus — another Christ — and must live as such. The idea that a priest’s primary need is “well-being” understood as psychological comfort would have been incomprehensible to him. The priest’s primary need is sanctifying grace, and everything else is ordered to that end.
The conciliar obsession with “well-being” is a symptom of the loss of the supernatural. When the Faith is lost, when the priesthood is emptied of its sacrificial meaning, when the Mass is reduced to a meal and the sacraments to rituals of human solidarity, the only thing left is psychology. The only “well-being” that can be offered is the well-being of the natural man — companionship, recreation, stress reduction. The well-being of the supernatural man — union with God, growth in virtue, progress toward eternal life — is not even on the radar.
The “Brotherhood” of the Rectory vs. the Brotherhood of the Priesthood
Father Votruba speaks of “the brotherhood” he has found in communal living. Father O’Brien says “there are things that only other priests understand.” The article presents this brotherhood as a great good — and in the natural order, it is pleasant enough. But it is not the brotherhood of the Catholic priesthood.
The true brotherhood of the priesthood is founded on the altar. It is the brotherhood of men who have been configured to Christ the High Priest through the sacrament of Holy Orders. It is the brotherhood of men who offer the same Sacrifice, who consecrate the same Eucharist, who absolve sins in the same power of Christ. It is a supernatural brotherhood, transcending age, personality, and personal preference. It is the brotherhood of St. John Vianney and St. Charles Borromeo and St. Pius V — men who lived in different centuries and different countries but were united in the one priesthood of Jesus Christ.
The brotherhood of the Tulsa rectory is a natural brotherhood. It is the brotherhood of men who happen to live in the same house, who share the same employer, who face the same professional challenges. It is sustained by shared meals and television and chess games. It is, in essence, the same brotherhood that exists among any group of men who live and work together — with the added pathos of men who believe they are priests but cannot articulate what that means in supernatural terms.
The article notes that the priests range in age from early 30s to late 70s. In the true Church, this age diversity would be a source of profound spiritual richness — the young priest learning from the wisdom and experience of his elder, the older priest renewed by the zeal and energy of the young. But in the Tulsa rectory, the age diversity is merely demographic. The 31-year-old and the 78-year-old watch television together. They play chess. They prank each other. There is no mention of spiritual direction, of the elder priest forming the younger in the spiritual life, of the transmission of priestly wisdom from one generation to the next. The “brotherhood” is horizontal, not temporal — it is a brotherhood of contemporaries, not of a tradition.
The Dishwasher Spirituality of the Conciliar Priesthood
Perhaps the most revealing passage in the entire article is Father Kastl’s reflection on the spiritual benefits of communal living:
“One of the things I think that’s healthy about communal living for diocesan priests is that we can sometimes forget the character formation that comes when you’re having to yield to the needs of others in your personal space… It’s simple things of like when the trash is full. Do I look at it and walk away? Or do I actually let that inconvenience [of stopping] what I’m doing and take out the trash? Or when I find the dishes in the dishwasher are clean, do I actually stop and empty it, or do I leave it for the next guy?”
This is presented as a profound insight into priestly formation. Taking out the trash and emptying the dishwasher are offered as examples of the “character formation” that communal living provides. The reader is meant to be impressed by this wisdom.
But this is not character formation. This is basic adult responsibility. A man who cannot take out his own trash without it being a spiritual exercise is not being formed in virtue — he is being enabled in selfishness. The saints of the Catholic Church practiced mortifications that make dishwasher duty look like a vacation: fasting on bread and water, wearing hair shirts, sleeping on the ground, enduring persecution and martyrdom. St. John Vianney ate so little that his housekeeper had to force him to eat. St. Francis of Assisi rolled in the snow to mortify his flesh. St. Ignatius of Loyola wore a cord around his leg that cut into his flesh.
The conciliar church has reduced priestly asceticism to household chores. The “school of virtue” is the kitchen. The “character formation” is taking out the trash. This is not Catholicism. This is a parody of the spiritual life — a spiritual life so emptied of supernatural content that it can only gesture toward the most elementary acts of domestic cooperation and call it holiness.
The Absence of the Supernatural: The Gravest Omission
The article is approximately 1,500 words long. In those 1,500 words, there is:
– No mention of the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass
– No mention of the Real Presence of Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament
– No mention of the sacraments as channels of sanctifying grace
– No mention of prayer beyond a passing reference to “evening prayer” on Tuesdays
– No mention of the Blessed Virgin Mary
– No mention of the saints
– No mention of the Church Fathers or the Magisterium
– No mention of the supernatural priesthood
– No mention of the propitiatory sacrifice
– No mention of the Last Judgment, heaven, hell, or purgatory
– No mention of the necessity of sanctifying grace for salvation
– No mention of the Catholic Faith as the sole means of salvation
This silence is not accidental. It is the defining characteristic of the conciliar church. The post-conciliar system has systematically emptied Catholic life of supernatural content and replaced it with naturalistic substitutes. The Mass becomes a communal meal. The priesthood becomes a profession. The sacraments become rituals of human solidarity. The spiritual life becomes “well-being.” The brotherhood of the priesthood becomes a roommate arrangement.
Pope Pius XI, in his encyclical Quas Primas (1925), taught that the Kingdom of Christ “is primarily spiritual and relates mainly to spiritual matters” and that Christ’s reign “encompasses all men” — not just individuals, but families, states, and all of human society. The Kingdom of Christ is not a television room with a firepit. It is the reign of the Incarnate God over every aspect of human life — including, and especially, the priesthood.
The priests of Tulsa are not living in the Kingdom of Christ. They are living in the kingdom of naturalism — a kingdom where the highest form of fraternity is watching a ball game together, where the deepest form of spiritual growth is emptying the dishwasher, and where the greatest aspiration is “well-being” understood as the absence of loneliness.
Conclusion: A Brotherhood Without a Foundation
The article presents the Tulsa arrangement as a heartwarming story of priests finding community and support. And in the natural order, it is pleasant enough. Men living together, helping each other, sharing meals and recreation — there is nothing wrong with this in itself. But for men who claim to be priests of the Most Holy Sacrifice, who claim to stand in the person of Christ at the altar, who claim to hold the power of consecration and absolution — it is a devastating indictment.
These men have replaced the supernatural fraternity of the Catholic priesthood with a natural fraternity of shared domestic life. They have replaced the Most Holy Sacrifice with a television room. They have replaced the asceticism of the saints with dishwasher duty. They have replaced the fullness of the Catholic Faith with “well-being” and “support groups.” They have replaced the communion of saints with a chess club.
The loneliness they feel is real. But it is not the loneliness of men who need a bigger house and more roommates. It is the loneliness of men who have been robbed of the Faith, of the Mass, of the sacraments, of the priesthood itself. It is the loneliness of men who stand in the ruins of the Catholic Church and try to build a home out of the debris.
The cure for clerical loneliness is not communal living. The cure is the Catholic Faith. The cure is the Traditional Latin Mass. The cure is the fullness of the sacramental life. The cure is the brotherhood of the priesthood founded on the altar of God. Until the priests of Tulsa — and the thousands like them throughout the conciliar structures — return to the immutable Tradition of the Catholic Church, no amount of chess games and firepit gatherings will fill the void in their souls.
Source:
A Cure for Clerical Loneliness: 8 Diocesan Priests Find Brotherhood Under One Roof (ncregister.com)
Date: 03.06.2026