The AI Priest of Orange County

Over the past few weeks, I have written about a priest from Orange County, California, who has a substantial following on social media and opines on a wide range of religious and political topics. I noticed a month ago that he had published a column on Substack in which he used his mother’s tragic story of not being able to take communion for years because her Protestant husband required the use of contraception in their marriage.

I noted that this priest seemed to have a problem with the church teaching on contraception. His response was to ignore my argument, call foul, and charge me with attacking his deceased mother. His numerous followers piled on and exclaimed what an awful, even diabolical human being I was for “attacking” his mother.

I followed up with another column, explaining that I was criticizing this priest for opposing church teaching, which is plain to see, even though much of his opposition to church teaching is expressed in what I coined as “theological mush mouth.” This is where folks like him skate around the teachings of the church and scoot away by using all manner of doubletalk and goggledygook. It is a comfort to some pew sitters who want to avoid the hard teachings of the church to have such a priest offer what seems like deep theological and canonical language that gives them approval for, in this case, using the Devil’s Own Pill.

A friend of mine following the exchange noted something interesting on the priest’s Substack. Since sometime in July, Substack has allowed readers to check whether articles were drafted using artificial intelligence. My friend pointed out that this priest in Orange County is a huge fan of artificial intelligence, and that some of his columns, many of them, according to Substack, were written not by the priest, but rather completely by artificial intelligence, by what I call The Robot.

When you ask Substack to check the priest’s work for artificial intelligence, the report pops up almost instantly and tells you the percentage that is AI, the percentage that is AI-assisted, and the percentage that is human. Affixed to the top of this report is something from the priest himself: “All writing here is my own. I compose by dictation, using voice-to-text software, due to a speech-affecting neuromuscular condition. Every argument, source, and word is mine — I revise and edit each piece myself before publishing.”

Having been caught using AI, he claims “all the writing here is my own.” This is certainly true insofar as he owns the writing. But did he actually do the writing or, as Substack reveals, ask the Robot to do it for him? He goes on to say he uses voice-to-text. Perfectly fine to use voice-to-text. I use it myself. But this is beside the point. He says, “every argument, source, and word is mine.” What he does not say is that he actually wrote the words he claims to own.  He does say he revises and edits. What he never says is that he “writes” the words. Now, I want to be clear: not all of his columns are AI, but many are. He is a fine writer on his own. And by the way, I am certain he is wonderful company. This is not personal. 

Here’s the thing. This priest is a master at dissembling. In this way, one is reminded of others like Fr. James Martin when Martin talks about homosexuality, another hard teaching that many want to scooch around.

And this is revealing and important because it is also how he talks about at least some of the Church’s teachings, particularly the hard ones. It makes perfect sense that a priest who dissembles on contraception and who has likely led God knows how many people astray would also dissemble about his own written work.

None of this would matter except that he is a very influential priest who finished his last assignment before retiring as rector of the Mission Basilica San Juan Capistrano. And now in retirement he has a huge following on Substack and Facebook and perhaps other social media outlets.

When, as a fallen-away Methodist at the University of Missouri back in the 70s, I began to look for Catholicism, I knew somehow that I could not knock on just any rectory door. Somehow, this fallen-away Methodist knew there was heterodoxy in the Catholic air. Certainly, Kumbaya was in the air. What I was looking for was the real Faith, the straight stuff, neat, no chaser. Not knowing where to go, I wandered in the wilderness and discovered the Church in books. Not until six years later did I meet such truth-tellers in New York City as Monsignor Eugene Clark and Fr. George Rutler. But it was not these giants who brought me in, but rather a thoroughly orthodox “ham & egger” named Monsignor George Murphy, God rest his soul, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

His was the door to knock on and not this AI priest from Southern California, then or now.