In my first job in journalism, on the Catholic weekly newspaper the Universe, it was sometimes a struggle to fill the "Priests in the News" column. But, this week, we'd have needed a supplement. Bishop Fernando Lugo became president of Paraguay, while three priests from Northern Ireland - a pair of Father O'Hagans and a Father Delargy - signed a million-pound recording contract with Sony BMG, intended to make them clerical successors to the Three Tenors. And, in a story that began as comedy but now seems to be shading into tragedy, Father Adelir Antonio di Carli from Brazil took off into the skies attached to 1,000 helium-filled balloons, in pursuit of a flight record, but has not been seen since Sunday.
In other circumstances, the Paraguayan presidency might have been over-shadowed by the Obama-Clinton stand-off, but Lugo's spiritual qualifications lend him exoticism. Similarly, that the Brazilian balloon-man is someone who usually spends his Sundays on an altar counts for more than if he were a hot-dog salesman. Yet, the surviving mystique of the Roman Catholic priesthood in the popular imagination is perhaps surprising, given that the most frequent publicity involving such men has involved the terrible molestation of their flocks.
Because of these scandals, hugely damaging to the reputation and finances of Catholicism, especially in the United States, there were some who predicted that Pope Benedict XVI might be ostracised or picketed on his recent visit to America. In fact, Pope-mania, the highest form of priest-mystique, still seemed to grip the cities the pontiff visited.
But, though it is criminally forbidden sex that has made Catholic prelates notorious, it's religiously forbidden intercourse that makes them newsworthy. Part of the fascination of the Singing Priests is the improbability of celibate performers entering an arena in which one of the traditional rewards of success is sex. Beyond the limitation of groupies counting as a mortal sin, the crooning curates have also taken a vow of poverty - any profits will go to charity. A musical career without cash or shagging: spooky.
But the emphasis on the group's unsuitability for this vocation is also prurient, a suspicion these dog-collar Pavarottis will turn out to be too good to be true. Given the energy with which the press polices the marriage vows of minor celebrities, Sony BMG will have to pray that none of this holy trio has ever been led into temptation, or could be.
The unfortunate Brazilian balloonist also benefited from this perception of a category error: there have been many daredevils in human history, but this one had a special frisson because his day-job involved daring the devil.
The story of Paraguay's priestly president is also driven by incongruity, although of a more complex kind. Lugo's electors were drawn to him because they saw a natural fit between his priestly mission and his political one. In a culture in which the church tends to be a critic of establishments, he was seen to have an integrity that career politicians lack and was popular because of preaching and working on behalf of the poor.
While progressive politics can clearly be a logical extension of religious service, the Catholic church forbids its priests from holding political office. There is intellectual and bureaucratic sense in this restriction - a proper pastor needs to serve both liberals and conservatives in his community - but the policy becomes problematic in places where the church can constitute the strongest moral force in politics.
So although, in theological terms, Lugo is a bad advertisement for Catholicism, he is in all other senses a good one: much better for a priest to make the papers as a hero of the Paraguayan poor rather than as a pulpit pervert. But the respect given to his rise - and those of the Singing Priests and Father di Carli - suggest a surprisingly forgiving culture.
Mark Lawson