Catholic priests are possibly the most grateful lovers on earth. In Catholic Priest Resigns, Bishop Jerry Black reflects on the struggles, heartache and loneliness that have led him to hand in his resignation. He explores not only his own longing for intimacy, but also the temptations resisted or given into by younger priests, particularly Fr Sean and Fr JP, who are wrestling with the privations of their celibate state. (The bishop concentrates on the plight of the forty or so per cent of Western priests who are straight/heterosexual only because that plight is his own.) No matter which duty they are performing, the priests' interactions with women are usually there in the background, as in the short excerpt below in which Fr Sean is about to take a Confirmation class: 'I'll see you soon, Sean.' Victoria touched his arm with the tips of her fingers before making her way to the taxi rank. Sean slotted his clerical collar into place while a boy called Jason opened the gate. 'It's a babe magnet, Fr Sean.' 'What is, Jason?' 'Your dog collar, Father.' 'But he wasn't wearing it when he was with that glitzy woman, ' a girl said. 'That glitzy woman is arranging for us to get a new church roof, ' said Sean. Bishop Jerry's story is of men who provide a listening ear, practical help and the sacraments to suffering, heartbroken or anxious people of all ages: from a teenager who has rescued a monkey from an animal lab to people in abusive relationships, street sleepers, those dying too young of terminal illnesses, a farmer whose life was destroyed when his healthy sheep were culled years before during the foot and mouth outbreak, and parents grieving for their baby: The parents of the dead baby carried the coffin between them along the path. It would have been easier if just one of them had carried it. It wasn't much bigger than a shoe box. JP walked beside them. Hailstones bounced onto the wet grey path and clung to blades of grass between the children's graves. The coloured plastic windmills that were stuck into the earth on some of the little graves turned in the wind. The hailstones slipped off the shiny surfaces of the windmills, but clung to the damp fur of the bedraggled teddy bears that sat on many of the little graves. JP stopped at a small, freshly-dug grave. The baby's parents stood beside him, still holding the little coffin between them. After accompanying those who need them in their suffering, the priests go home to their solitary rooms. And they resent the fact that so many of their brother priests are ex-Anglican vicars who go home to loving families. Bishop Jerry longs for his mysterious Lily, while Fr Sean is embarking on a passionate affair with a glamorous solicitor and is urging his friend Fr JP to give into his love for a Polish physiotherapist. As the story unfolds, it becomes apparent that previous generations of priests either repressed or gave into their desire for a woman's love, and the consequences for the present generation are tragic. As the secret love affairs grow more and more passionate, tragedy is looming. The priests' humour helps to keep them going (see below), but it is just a way of trying to cope with the unenviable position they are in: 'Fr Weir, can I just remind you that although you were once a British army chaplain, you were not then and neither are you now a sergeant major?' 'I don't know what it is about you, Straight, ' Rupert Weir said. 'I've always got on well with Irish people before. When I went to Limerick on a conference, the people from the local parish even gave me an affectionate nickname. Alf.' 'I'm only half-Irish, ' said JP. He got in his car. The nuns were already in it, sheltering from the cold. 'Sr Concepta, as you're Irish, can I just ask you something?' said JP. 'If an English person is referred to as Alf in Ireland, what would that mean to you?' 'Alien Life Form, ' said Sr Concepta without hesitation.