Modernism’s Erotic Mystic at AUSCP

The Association of United States Catholic Priests (AUSCP) has invited Father Ronald Rolheiser, OMI, to serve as the retreat master at its 2025 Assembly in San Antonio. That choice is no surprise. Rolheiser’s soft-focus spirituality, steeped in eroticized mysticism, psychological sentimentality, and doctrinal ambiguity, makes him an ideal voice for an organization long committed to undermining Catholic teaching.

But Rolheiser’s danger goes beyond mood. Across his extensive body of writing, he has:

• Described celibacy as “a loneliness that God himself has damned,” subtly encouraging emotionally intense homosexual friendships as compensation for this supposed deficiency
• Suggested that AIDS should be viewed as a message from God, while refusing to name homosexual behavior as intrinsically sinful or call for repentance
• Relegated homosexuality to a list of private moral issues alongside liturgical rubrics, treating it as a minor debate rather than a matter of grave sin
• Romanticized eros as the foundation of the spiritual life, positioning longing, not grace, as the engine of sanctity
• Denied that sin requires atonement, writing that “sin need not be undone, nor even atoned for”
• Possibly flirted with the idea that even Satan might be saved

Each of these points departs from Catholic doctrine in dangerous ways—yet none are framed as defiance. Instead, Rolheiser offers a seductive theology that feels profound, even as it empties the faith of its substance and meaning. This is precisely why he is so often cited by LGBT activists, dissenting theologians, and therapists attempting to rewrite the Church’s teaching on sexuality and sin. His writing provides them with theological cover.

Though Rolheiser rarely speaks about homosexuality directly, his studied silence, selective framing, and rejection of moral absolutes make his work a favorite in LGBT circles. Pro-LGBT therapists and writers frequently invoke him to justify affirming so-called LGBTQ identities without repentance or moral clarity. Rolheiser doesn’t openly endorse homosexual behavior, but he renders Church teaching irrelevant by retreating into pastoral vagueness and poetic language. That’s why he’s useful. That’s why he’s dangerous.

Rolheiser’s Appeal to LGBT Activists

Rolheiser’s redefinition of sexuality, stripped of moral clarity and saturated in emotional language, has made him a go-to figure for activists who seek to soften or sidestep Catholic teaching without openly rejecting it. Though he rarely addresses homosexuality directly, his writings consistently avoid naming it as sinful, presenting it instead as just one issue among many and framing doctrinal fidelity as harsh or unpastoral. Pro-LGBT writers and therapists frequently cite Rolheiser to validate an approach rooted not in repentance, but in “blessing.” They use his work to persuade Catholic parents to affirm their so-called LGBTQ children unconditionally, rejecting the Church’s moral framework under the guise of compassion.

In one widely cited article for Outreach, the pro-LGBT website Father James Martin founded, LCSW therapist Amy Zachary invokes Rolheiser’s Domestic Monastery. She argues that parental acceptance of LGBT children means parents must surrender their own “agenda” and affirm their children’s sexual identities without judgment. The point, she claims, is not to understand the child’s behavior, but to embrace and bless it.

Rolheiser’s influence extends beyond clinical or pastoral contexts. On Reddit forums like r/LGBTCatholic, for example, one recommended his blog and books. Noting Rolheiser seldom addresses LGBT topics, the user promoted him for having a “sound, sane, loving, welcoming theology.”

Rolheiser’s silence on these topics is not accidental. In multiple essays, he constructs a pastoral model that severs doctrine from practice, affirming ideals in theory while draining them of any binding force in reality. Examples include:

• In The Unfinished Symphony (1985):
  Rolheiser describes celibacy as “a loneliness that God himself has damned,” then suggests that deep homosexual or heterosexual friendships can serve as emotional compensations for this “unnatural” condition. He subtly legitimizes emotionally intense same-sex pairings as spiritually helpful, without acknowledging the risk of disordered attachment, scandal, or moral confusion.
• In God’s Finger in Our Lives (2019):
  He rebukes conservatives who viewed AIDS as divine punishment for homosexual behavior, but also rejects the liberal claim that God had “nothing to do with it.” He concludes vaguely that “God speaks through AIDS,” but never names homosexual acts as sinful, never calls for repentance, and never ties divine providence to moral consequence. The result is a sentimental view of suffering detached from objective sin.
• In Beyond Liberal and Conservative (1996):
  He places homosexuality in a list with liturgical rubrics and papal infallibility, treating it as just another debated issue in moral theology. He accuses conservatives of “narrowness” and implies that strong adherence to Church teaching on sexuality lacks Christ-like compassion. Once again, orthodoxy is framed as unloving, while dissent is portrayed as embracing emotional breadth.

Rolheiser’s writings appeal to LGBT activists not in spite of his ambiguity, but because of it. He gives them what they want: the appearance of theological depth, the posture of pastoral sensitivity, and the convenient absence of moral absolutes. In place of repentance and reform, he offers a false compassion that confirms people in sin rather than calling them to repentance.

While Father James Martin presents a public strategy for softening doctrine, Rolheiser furnishes the pseudo-theological substructure: a spirituality in which sentiment overshadows truth, and sin is perpetually experienced but never identified. It’s therefore no surprise that Martin endorses Rolheiser, having lauded his book, Sacred Fire: A Vision for a Deeper Human and Christian Maturity, as “superb” right on its front cover.

Abortion as a Social Justice Issue

Rolheiser’s evasive theology doesn’t stop at softening Church teaching on homosexuality; it extends to abortion, the ultimate denial of the procreative purpose of sexual intercourse. In the tradition of the Fathers, abortion is not merely a social failure but the gravest fruit of lust: the violent rejection of the gift of life to preserve pleasure without consequence.

Rolheiser’s 2024 talk at the Oblate School of Theology, “Abortion as a Social Justice Issue,” never once referred to abortion as a grave sin. Instead, he depicted it as the tragic outcome of flawed systems: economic inequality, a problematic sexual ethos, sexism, and relational collapse. Essentially, the talk subtly advocates for socialism, reframing murder as a misfortune that, he implies, could be lessened through better government social programs.

“In any society where you have our sexual ethos,” he claimed, “you’re going to have abortion—pure and simple.” That ethos, he suggested, was to blame more than the individual who chooses to end a child’s life.

He emphasized that abortion rates declined under President Clinton due to better welfare programs, downplaying moral culpability and personal responsibility. He even lamented that bishops rebuked him for saying so publicly, not because he was wrong, but because it could be “misunderstood.” In reality, the misunderstanding is his: the implication that economic hardship justifies the direct killing of the innocent.

Rolheiser went on to contrast “pro-birth” conservatives with supposedly more compassionate progressives, echoing the familiar trope that the pro-life movement lacks credibility unless it endorses leftist policies. He also described “pro-choice” Americans as largely “against abortion,” blurring the grave moral distinction between permitting murder and preventing it.

Most tellingly, he recounted being asked to speak at Boston College about chastity but was told not to use the word for the first 45 minutes so students wouldn’t be “turned off.” He agreed. The anecdote sums up his entire method: conceal the truth behind emotional language, defer clarity to preserve comfort, and ensure that by the time the moral teaching arrives—if it ever does —the audience is too softened or distracted to notice.

Eroticized Mysticism for the Modern Age

Rolheiser presents himself as a spiritual guide for modern Catholics, yet his version of mysticism departs sharply from Catholic tradition. Rather than drawing from divine revelation, the sacraments, or the authentic science of the saints, his approach centers on an inner, emotional landscape defined by human longing. At the heart of his framework is the idea that “spirituality” means channeling one’s eros—a term lifted more from modern psychology than Catholic moral theology.

In Chapter One of his book The Holy Longing, Rolheiser declares:

Spirituality concerns what we do with desire. It takes its root in the eros inside of us and it is all about how we shape and discipline that eros. John of the Cross, the great Spanish mystic, begins his famous treatment of the soul’s journey with the words: ‘One dark night, fired by love’s urgent longings.’ For him, it is urgent longings, eros, that are the starting point of the spiritual life and, in his view, spirituality, essentially defined, is how we handle that eros.

This definition places eros, not grace, as the starting point of the spiritual life. It shifts the weight of Christian formation from divine initiative to human passion, replacing objective sanctity with subjective fire. However, in the Catholic tradition, it is not desire that sanctifies; rather, it is desire conformed to Christ through the grace of God. The saints did not simply manage their longings; they offered them and themselves to God, subordinated to truth and virtue.

Rolheiser, however, repeatedly romanticizes longing, treating eros as the engine of sanctity rather than something fallen that must be purified. He presents Mother Teresa, Janis Joplin, and Princess Diana as examples of “spiritual fire,” collapses sanctity and secular tragedy into a single archetype of ache. This false equivalence speaks volumes. Saints are no longer models of supernatural virtue, but merely people with intense internal ache.

Since then, Rolheiser has doubled down in his obsession with the erotic. In a 2025 column titled “God as Holy, but also as Playful, Witty, and Erotic,” he makes one of his boldest theological assertions to date, claiming, “God is also witty, playful, and erotic.”

In another paragraph of the same column, Rolheiser pushes the eroticization further:

God is better looking than any movie star, more intelligent than the brightest scientist or philosopher, wittier and funnier than the best comedian, more creative than any artist, writer, or innovator, more sophisticated than the most-learned person on earth, more exuberant and playful than any child, more dynamic than any rock star, and, not least, more erotic and sexually attractive than any person on earth.

This is not imprecision; it’s theological malpractice. While it is true that all goodness, beauty, and truth ultimately find their source in God, to say without serious qualification that “everything we desire is inside of God” invites pantheistic confusion. Lust, for example, is a disordered desire; it is not “inside of God.” Even in its analogical sense, such phrasing dangerously flattens the infinite ontological divide between Creator and creature.

This is not mystical theology; it is spiritualized projection. To describe the infinite, immaterial Godhead in terms of celebrity aesthetics, comedy, and carnal allure is not poetic—it is grotesquely anthropomorphic. Catholic theology has always warned against confusing divine perfections with human attributes. To attribute erotic attractiveness to God, even metaphorically, without the strictest qualification, is to risk confusing the Creator with His creatures.

Rolheiser’s writing, steeped in pseudo-psychological and sensual language, swaps objective metaphysics and ontology for the turbulent, chaotic inner workings of our fallen human nature. Instead of guiding readers toward divine transcendence, he reduces God to a projection of humanity’s emotional fragility.

This approach leads Rolheiser to make unusual claims, such as his assertion that “virtue often envies sin,” also found in the 2025 column. While he may intend to articulate the struggle against concupiscence, his phrasing fundamentally undermines moral theology and the precise definition of terms. Virtue, by its very nature, is incapable of envy, as envy is a vice—specifically, one of the seven deadly sins. Virtus and invidia are opposites in classical and Catholic thought, not uneasy companions. Although an individual striving for virtue might experience temptation, feeling an allure toward the apparent ease of sin, it is precisely this inclination that virtue, through grace, actively resists. To attribute envy to virtue constitutes a category error and reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of habitus within Thomistic moral theology (cf. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I-II, QQ. 49-70).

Rather than purifying the passions, Rolheiser baptizes them. Rather than transcending the flesh, he spiritualizes its cravings. This is not Catholic mysticism. It is eroticized immanence wrapped in sentimental prose—a faux-theology more aligned with the instincts of modernism condemned by St. Pius X than with the clarity of the Gospel.

Fittingly, this distortion of mysticism coincides with a deeper theological error: Rolheiser’s downplaying of eternal damnation and rejection of the need for atonement.

In Chapter One of The Holy Longing, Rolheiser reinterprets Jesus’s warning about losing one’s soul as a kind of psychological collapse. He writes:

Here too the soul is the principle of oneness. In the heart and in the mind, the soul is also what keeps us together. Hence, when we use the expression, “to lose one’s soul,” we are not necessarily talking of eternal damnation. To lose one’s soul is to become, in contemporary jargon, unglued. To lose one’s soul is to fall apart. Hence, when I feel my inner world hopelessly crumpling, when I do not know who I am anymore, and when I am trying to rush off in all directions at the same time but do not know where I am going, then I am losing my soul. This, as much as the question of eternity, is what Jesus meant when he asked: “What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and suffer the loss of his or her own soul?”

In Rolheiser’s thinking, sin is less an offense against God and more a disruption of inner balance, while eternal damnation is more a feeling of personal disintegration in this life.

This psychologized vision dovetails with his denial of the need to atone for sin, as he stated plainly in a 1988 article titled “Living Under a Merciful God.”

We are loved unconditionally and forever, even in our sin. Hence we live under the law of mercy, not of justice. There is no great book, or great law, within which all sins are recorded and where a pound of retribution is demanded for a pound of sin. Sin need not be undone, nor even atoned for.

This isn’t mercy; it’s the abolition of justice. If sin needs no atonement, then the Cross becomes unnecessary, the Nicene Creed recited every Sunday at Mass is in error, and Christianity is nothing more than therapeutic affirmation.

AUSCP’s Strategic Platforming of Rolheiser

The AUSCP does not invite Rolheiser as a retreat master for his orthodoxy. They platform him because his affective mysticism and poetic ambiguity lend the illusion of theology to the sexual revolution within the Church. His writings, which are dense with longing, silence, and “presence,” offer plausible deniability. He does not openly defy Catholic teaching; he simply makes it feel irrelevant.

This strategy is typical of the AUSCP’s ongoing pattern: they feature dissent without confrontation. Just as Todd Salzman’s condemned theology of “perspectivism” redefines sin as a form of cultural disagreement, Rolheiser’s spiritualized ambiguity redefines fidelity as emotional sincerity. Both approaches collapse objective truth beneath the weight of lived experience.

The AUSCP promotes Rolheiser precisely because he appeals to those still clinging to the illusion of Catholic identity while quietly rejecting its substance. His “non-threatening” presence provides theological camouflage for activists seeking to dismantle doctrine from within. The AUSCP is not confused; it’s complicit.