For Valentine’s Day: ‘I Want to Hold a Man’s Hand’

Today’s post, for Valentine’s Day, is by Fr. Paul Morrissey, D. Min., an Augustinian friar priest who was one of the pioneers of gay ministry in the U.S. Catholic Church. He has authored many magazine articles and three books, including Why I Remain a Gay Catholic: A Spiritual-Sexual Journey (Paulist Press). His webpage, TouchedbyGod.net, intends to foster a dialogue about the gift of sexuality.

Recently I told my friend, Justin, about a desire I had: to hold a man’s hand. Not his particularly, but someone’s. Justin is a married man and a fellow Catholic. I am a celibate priest. He and I get together once a month for mutual spiritual direction. Justin’s wife, Rose, is very encouraging of our friendship. [Editor: Names have been changed to respect privacy.]

I explained to him that I have had this image in my mind since I discovered praying this way with the inmates—male and female—at the prison where I served as a chaplain for fifteen years. “Do you want to pray?” I would ask them, with my hand resting open-palmed before them on the table between us. Without any fuss, and usually without hesitation, they would place one or both hands in mine. All of this in full view of the correctional officers and the other inmates, some of whom were peering out of their cells.  These became profound moments, especially in a no-touch culture like the prison.

Detail of “Creation of Adam” by Michelangelo, Sistine Chapel, Vatican City

This ritual, if you will, often ended in silence. I’d hold their hand briefly, then get up to go. “You’ll come again, won’t you, Father?” I’d often hear, spoken by someone whose rough hands gave no clue to what crimes he or she had committed with them. It was as though—and sometimes confessed in heartfelt words—that this simple act with their chaplain was their plea for God’s mercy and forgiveness for whatever they had done. “Sure,” I’d say offhandedly. How could I not return to these moments of God’s presence in a prison? 

While my desire is to hold a man’s hand, I do not intend in any way to disregard the power and meaning of holding a woman’s hand. This I also did in prison, sometimes with women who had been abused by their boyfriends or husbands. They hesitated more than the men did, but when we eventually did so I was especially careful. I did not want to repeat the trauma that they had endured. 

Jason, who had volunteered in the same prison himself, nodded his head. He got it, at least in regard to the prisoners and me. But, what of my desire to hold a man’s hand, especially one who is not a prisoner? Justin began speaking of his own desire to be touched, in this case by his wife. “I am frustrated,” he said, “because Rose does not seem to need intimate touch anymore like I do. I even feel kind of judged when she looks at me as though to say, ‘Get over it!’” 

“I can’t simply get over it,” he tells me with a sheepish grin as we converse in a separate room in their apartment. And his need is not just holding hands but for more specific sexual touch from his wife, he tells me. Here I need to cut to the chase with key information: Justin and Rose are in their early eighties! And so am I! (I figured if I mentioned this early on, readers wouldn’t be as interested.)

It makes me wonder: what do we do with these desires to touch and to be held, sexually or otherwise? Whether we are married, celibate, single, straight, or gay as I am (Yes. Full disclosure: I am a gay priest. I figured that many people may not read on if I mentioned this immediately up front, too). What do we do with these God-given desires? 

Underneath and within our desires—even the sexual ones—don’t we all want to be touched and held? Didn’t God create us this way? Doesn’t this desire—sexual or simply physical–reveal to us something about how we share in the divinity of God? How do you experience this desire, and how do you seek after what you need no matter what age you are?

To return to my opening comment to Jason: I want to hold a man’s hand. The very image shows me the vulnerability that men have been brought up to hide. A handshake? That’s cool. A hand-crunch? Sometimes (Owww!) A fist bump in Covid times. Yes.  A fist? Once in a while, even if not thrown. But simply holding a man’s hand,not necessarily to pray,but just to feel the common flesh and blood, the throb of the pulse, the twitch or tremble, the strength, and even the weakness–thiswe are taught never to show. If you are a man who has never tried this, it may feel a bit strange at first, but then damn good. 

For a man to simply hold another man’s hand can be a revolutionary act. Perhaps just to embody what the fingers of Adam and God seem to be reaching for in Michelangelo’s famous painting. Just a little further, God… C’mon, reach Adam (or Eve)….Let your desire show itself…Touch and hold. Now rest for a moment in the hand of God.

At my request, Justin and I held hands this way in silence at the end of our conversation. Grinning at each other like brother-friends after a few minutes, we went out to share a meal that Rose had prepared. Maybe even their sexual differences could find a bridge by this way of touching. And he and I can surely pick up this conversation next month.   

—Rev. Paul Morrissey, OSA, February 14, 2026

For further reading:

New York Times: “What It Means to Be ‘Touch Starved’ “