The next Catholic bishop of Dunedin believes in miracles but not a literal interpretation of the whole Bible. Bruce Munro talks to Fr Michael Dooley about church abuse, celibate priests, Jesus and the future of Christianity.
Mid-way through a conversation with Fr Michael Dooley it is apparent his is a life vicarious. Or so it could seem.
The bishop-elect of the Catholic Diocese of Dunedin - which encompasses Otago and Southland's 33,000 Catholic souls - is seated in his office on the first floor of an undistinguished building slotted between St Joseph's Cathedral and Kavanagh College, halfway up the city's Rattray St incline.
The office is as generic as the building. A desk, a computer and four chairs. No icons adorn the walls. No photos or other personal items. No obvious clues in which to anchor first impressions.
Hanging roller blinds breathe in the warm afternoon breeze, giving tantalising glimpses of blue sky and green grass.
Fr Michael and the room are at one in their nondescript uniformity. He wears a white, short-sleeved shirt and dark trousers. He could be a teacher, an accountant, a stock agent ...
Instead, he is poised to become the seventh bishop of the world's southern-most Catholic diocese. And so, rather than attending to parish matters in Mosgiel and Green Island, he is here in the spotlight, being quizzed about his life, his motivations and his Church.
Right now, Fr Michael is responding to a question about the most challenging events in his life.
''I think there have been quite a few moments of sadness in other people's lives that have affected me,'' he says.
He pauses.
''I remember, a couple of years after I was ordained, we had a murder in the parish, in Invercargill.''
Another pause.
''A 6-year-old girl was murdered.
''I've never forgotten it. It changed my life.
''It was almost like coming face-to-face with evil.
''Although, I'm not putting that on to that particular person,'' he clarifies in a display of empathy gymnastics.
''But it was an evil thing that happened.
''It crystallised for me the fact that bad things happen to innocent people.''
Horrific as it was, it speaks volumes that he offers no stories of personal pain or struggle, only sadness at what others have experienced. But what are those volumes? That the bishop-elect is observing life rather than living it?
The interview had begun with a curated tour through Fr Michael's life from his early years up to the midnight moment last month when his appointment as bishop was announced.
In Invercargill, in 1961, he was born into a Catholic family with Ireland-born grandfathers on both sides.
When the young Michael was 4, the family bought a sheep farm in the small settlement of Heddon Bush, northwest of Invercargill.
The local Catholic parish of Nightcaps was an even mix of farmers and coal miners; divided by life experiences and politics but united by their minority faith in a Presbyterian stronghold.
Michael's father disapproved of his son's ambition to go farming and was disappointed by his eventual decision to take a fitter and turner apprenticeship.
''My father had left school in the fourth form, but was a great reader. He thought I should have been a teacher.
''He definitely didn't want me to be a shearer; he refused to teach me to shear.''
In 1983, Michael was persuaded to go on a parish men's retreat led by Fr Tim Curran, a clinical psychologist. Fr Tim asked him if he had ever considered becoming a priest, to which he gave an emphatic no.
But the seed had been sown.
In 1983, he went on a retreat for those considering priesthood, led by the then newly-appointed Bishop Len Boyle.
A year later, aged 22, having been convinced to take the plunge, he started seminary training at Holy Cross, in Mosgiel.
He was ordained Fr Michael six years later.
For the past decade, he has been parish priest of Mosgiel and Green Island as well as chaplain at Kavanagh College. A year ago, he dropped the chaplaincy in favour of being Vicar General; right hand man to the Bishop.
Not that it meant he was a shoo-in for the job when Bishop Colin Campbell announced his resignation 18 months ago.
Selecting a bishop is a serious and secretive business.
The nuncio, the Pope's ambassador, who in New Zealand is Archbishop Martin Krebs, led the process. He received and vetted nominations, narrowed the field to three and then scrutinised them again.
Anyone could be asked for input - bishops, other priests, school principals, housekeepers - and all without the candidates knowing they were in the running.
The Wellington-based nuncio's ranked recommendations then went to Rome where the nominees were sifted again before the Pope signed off on the final decision.
A little more than six weeks ago, Fr Michael was in Wellington at a church meeting when Archbishop Martin got in touch asking him to pay him a visit.
''When we were face to face, he said Pope Francis has appointed you to be bishop of Dunedin. Do you say yes?''
Fr Michael told the nuncio he would prefer if someone else were given the job.
''OK, but do you say yes?'' he asked again.
''Yes'', Fr Michael replied.
Ten days later, the appointment was made public.
A picture is emerging as Fr Michael talks, one of reticence and reluctance.
As a boy, he was no extrovert.
''Public speaking was never something I did at school. I was absolutely in fear and trembling of that.''
He describes himself as one who has been ''led, or dragged'' to many of the big turning points in his life.
And when offered the bishopric, his first response was that he would rather not.
Is he unsuited to the role? Or, is there something more going on?
The interview is interrupted by the arrival of the newspaper photographer.
Introductions are un-necessary; Fr Michael remembers the photographer and her daughter from a previous one-off meeting in a different context. He even recalls the daughter's name.
''That's amazing,'' the photographer whispers on the brief walk to the Cathedral for photos of the bishop-elect.
''That must have been about 17 years ago.''
Twenty minutes later, back in his office, Fr Michael finishes off talking about how he reacted to his appointment as bishop.
''The worst moment was when I got that message on my cellphone to ring the nuncio.
''I thought, this can only be about one thing. I felt sick. I thought, do I want to take on this role?''
''The first part was about schools, but the second part was about the Royal Commission of Inquiry into the historical abuse of children in State care.
''As I'm sitting there, I'm thinking, in the diocese the buck stops with the bishop. There is no-one else you can get to front up. You have to front up.''
Interestingly, despite that, he chose to say yes.
''I'd say I've been open to God's will and I have been led, or dragged, in ways that have surprised me.
''But I've been given the grace I needed to do it. So, that's something I can offer [to others] - I can say I am here because of God's grace.
''I see my role as a role of service; the bishop's role even more so.
''It can be onerous ... I've seen it firsthand. You're the first point of call for complaints and ... everything really. But I see it as unity; bringing people together and trying to deal in a fair manner with the issues that arise.''
Addressing abuse within the Church is important, Fr Michael says.
''It is ... a major issue, that we have had to face. It has been, but it still has to be faced ... because there are still people who might come forward who we will need to listen to and then act on that.''
The royal commission puts State care abuse in the spotlight but not faith-based care, despite the Catholic church calling for its inclusion.
''The way it [the commission of inquiry] is at the moment, it would impact us, maybe, in orphanages and the likes. But it is investigating the State really.
''If there is any connection with the Church, we could be asked to provide information and whatever is needed, which we would.
''Personally, I think we have to be transparent and do our best.''
What angers and excites the bishop-elect?
Injustice and unity.
''Injustice angers and upsets me. When people struggle against unfairness. There are a lot of New Zealand families that do their best but are really struggling with housing and health. In New Zealand, that shouldn't be happening.
''I love to see community action, people doing things together. Just ordinary people who get an idea and put it into action to do positive things ... that excites me.''
He also enjoys tinkering with his lathe and milling machine, building model steam engines in the basement of his Green Island vicarage.
And he is a committed runner from way back.
''I've run about 10 marathons. I'm not quite sure whether I've got another one in there or not. Maybe a half marathon.''
There is no polite way to raise the topic of celibacy.
A celibate priesthood is a Catholic tradition rather than a set-in-stone doctrine. Could Fr Michael see advantages if priests were allowed to marry?
There have been a number of Church-sanctioned, married priests, he replies.
This is a surprise to a non-Catholic.
''There was one in the Dunedin diocese when I was first ordained; George Arthur,'' he says.
Most married Catholic priests, like Fr George, had been married Anglican vicars who converted to Catholicism and were given leave to become priests and, of course, stay married.
Fr Michael says discussion about married priests is definitely taking place among the Catholic leadership.
Rather than motivated by considerations of well-being, however, the key driver seems to be the need to furnish enough priests to ensure Catholics everywhere can celebrate their most sacred rite, the eucharist.
''The discussion started with bishops in South America and the Pacific Islands where there was no priest in an area, or on an island. So, the Catholic populace had no access to the eucharist.
''The eucharist is at the heart of our faith as Catholics, so we do need to look very carefully to make sure people are given every opportunity to celebrate it together as a community.
''To my mind, anything the Pope and the Vatican can do to improve that is a good thing.''
If the rules do change, marriage and celibacy will both be options. There will still be a celibate priesthood, he says.
Church finances are another vexatious issue that Fr Michael has been wrestling with. It has been one of his more weighty tasks as Vicar General.
''In this past year, I've been quite involved in facing those challenges. We're in debt, definitely.''
But, he says, the debt is historic, the budget is now balanced and loans are slowly being paid off.
It has not been helped by a sharp decline in church-attendance since the debt was accrued.
The number of people calling themselves Catholic is probably little different from 20 years ago, but the numbers at mass are ''considerably fewer'', Fr Michael says.
This is borne out by Census figures identifying 33,000 Catholics in Otago and Southland, while the diocese's own Sunday mass attendance figures hover at little more than 5000.
On a glass-half-full note, Fr Michael adds that collections, money given to the Church by parishioners, have been static despite declining numbers.
Continuing the positive line, he says that in some corners of the globe Catholicism is strong and vibrant and that is now making its presence felt in New Zealand. In the Dunedin diocese, the growing edge of the church is among Filipino and Indian communities. A recent Indian Catholic mass had 150 people in the pews.
He strongly agrees that the future of Christianity is non-European and that the Church is already fast approaching that reality.
''You can see it bringing in new life and energy ... It is changing Catholicism from below.''
So, the bishop-elect is an optimist, a man of faith and hope.
Change is also coming from above, he says.
He believes the new Pope could usher in a better, if less comfortable, era.
Although Pope Francis has critics, Fr Michael is not one of them. Nor are most of the priests in New Zealand, he says.
''In New Zealand - I wouldn't say it for all countries - but here, when Pope Francis came in, most of the priests here were very encouraged because what he was saying was what we were trying to do.''
Pope Francis has appointed cardinals, high church officials who are second-only to the Pope, from parts of the world, including Tonga and Sweden, that were not traditional power-houses of the Catholic Church.
The Pope himself, hailing from South America, is seen as something of an outsider whose views and actions are challenging the status quo.
''He has said he wants bishops who have the smell of the flock on them, ones who get their hands dirty.
''And he doesn't want career bishops. He has spoken in quite strong terms about wanting a more servant model of leadership.''
Fr Michael admits he finds Pope Francis' vision of the Church bracing.
The Pope speaks of a dream of ''a missionary impulse capable of transforming everything'' and says he believes the Church should be ''bruised, hurting and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a Church that is unhealthy from being confined and clinging to its own security''.
''I get excited by his vision,'' Fr Michael says. ''But I realise it's also very challenging, because it's about leaving behind the securities, which are very easy to hold on to, and going out to the margins.
''He's got plenty of critics. But to my mind, what he is doing is putting the Gospel message of Jesus before us; that we are not here for our own comfort. Because the Church, it can be quite a comfortable institution.''
The next bishop of Dunedin, it seems, has an adventurous streak; he is honest about his fears and willing to face them and act regardless.
Lloyd Geering, New Zealand's most prominent member of the 1960s international Death of God movement, recently celebrated his 100th birthday. Is it time for the Catholic Church to also move beyond belief in a literal God?
Fr Michael has a simple response.
''I believe in a literal God.''
Then he adds an intriguing rider.
''But it doesn't mean I believe in a literal interpretation of the Bible. And that would be the mainstream Catholic view in New Zealand.''
What does he mean by that?
Yes, he says, he does believe in a literal God. He also believes in the concept of the Trinity, and that Jesus, as the Son of God, died and came back to life - the Easter story.
Although he would be sceptical if told of an alleged miracle, he does not discount their validity.
Where does the non-literal bit come in?
''The fundamentalist type of Christianity, I wouldn't put myself in that camp.
''For example, the creation story and evolution, I would believe in evolution.''
OK. Evolutionary, but hardly revolutionary. On the key Christian talking points, he is quite orthodox.
In fact, Jesus has loomed larger on Fr Michael's horizon in recent years.
A trip to Israel during a sabbatical in 2014 was the catalyst.
''I didn't know what to expect really. But walking in that place brought home to me Jesus' humanity, that he had to clamber over those stones and through that desert.
''It's been really good to connect my faith with him as a human person; being aware that when I need help, he is walking alongside me.''
That is what Easter is all about, he says.
''None of us want to die. Easter says there is more to life than death and suffering. There is hope and new life.
''Things might not seem like they are working out, but I have God's promise that I won't be abandoned.
''There can be tough times but you keep going because in the end God will see you through even though you might die.''
New life and ... races.
Previous Dunedin bishops have been keen on horses, and Fr Michael shares that enthusiasm.
As a child, Easter always included going to the races at Riverton. His brother still owns and races horses.
''I quite enjoy thoroughbred racing. I may go this Easter. And if I do, it'll be in Riverton.''
Fr Michael believes in a life of meaning and purpose.
What then, with his episcopal ordination less than a month away, is his life purpose?
He returns to the murdered girl and memories of others' tragedies, which he, as a priest, has been caught up in.
''I'd have to say that often, let's say in funerals for example, really difficult ones that I would dread, such as younger people ... Being with people in moments of great sadness, when there are no words that can be expressed. In some ways, they are the worst moments.
''But just by my presence, and it's not me, it's bringing the presence of God into that situation ... There was a deep need there that I was filling even though I had no idea what I was going to do.
''I feel I'm called to offer that. It is difficult. But it is fulfilling.''
And there it is. His is not a life lived through other people, but for other people. This is selflessness. This is an ordinary life of extraordinary service.
