The phone rang at the Lisbona home in San Lorenzo,
Argentina. Introducing himself as Father
Bergoglio, the caller asked to speak with Jaqui regarding the letter she had
written him. As reported in the Washington
Post, she took the phone and had a ten-minute conversation with the priest
known to most of us as Pope Francis. The
Vatican confirmed the conversation took place.
Communion was being withheld from this devout couple because Mr. Lisbona
had previously been married; the Church doesn’t condone divorce. Jaqui had hoped Francis might intervene on
their behalf. As important as this
is to them and other Catholics, that’s not what caught my attention.
What struck me was how unimaginable a similar call to
some German town by a man introducing himself as Father Ratzinger. Both men were elevated by their peers
to the papacy, but they could not be more stylistically different. The now retired Benedict approached the
throne of St. Peter as a monarch. He
quickly took up residence in the opulent papal palace, donned the royal red
shoes and was bedecked in an elaborately embroidered stole and ermine trimmed
velvet cape. Francis opted for a Vatican
guesthouse and refused those red slippers.
Ermine trimming just doesn’t work for a man who prefers the ride of a
five year old Ford
Focus over a posh limo; a man who makes pastoral phone calls to an ordinary
parishioner in Argentina.
I use the word “stylistically” purposefully because
with just one year in one can’t make definitive judgments about Francis. His call and shunning of opulence
notwithstanding, there is no reason to assume that this pope will part
doctrinally from his immediate predecessors. Nonetheless, it’s clear that he understands the grand gesture and its
newsworthiness.
Francis’ grandest gesture thus far was
the unprecedented concurrent canonization of two predecessor popes, John XXIII
and John Paul II: a very dramatic double header. Many early popes, starting with Peter, achieved sainthood. But only five
others have been canonized in the last thousand years. While the elevation of these two men was
certainly not unexpected, doing it in this way has led to wide ranging
speculation. Was it meant to make a
statement? Was it aimed at bridging
right and left?
Saint Peter, by Rubens (Wikipedia) |
That right/left question is of course what seems to
have gotten the most attention. John XXIII, in many
ways an unlikely and surprise pope — he was considered elderly and it took eleven
ballots to select him — is seen as the great reformer. His views, which some characterize as liberal,
were codified in Vatican II. John Paul
II, at heart and in action more of a traditionalist, has been seen as having
spent much of his papacy pulling back from those reforms. Regardless, the Church like many other
institutions religious and not, seems at times to be internally torn apart by
the conflicting “sides” — reformers vs.
traditionalists. By canonizing both John
and John Paul together, Francis is seen as seeking
to bridge the gap, the conciliator if you will.
And as to dramatic gestures, being joined by the Pope Emeritus only adds
to the symbolism. Benedict, a pope in
the spirit of John Paul; Francis, a reincarnation of the modest “good pope” John. Interesting, but again not what caught my
attention.
As noted in earlier posts, we — Catholics and not —
are endlessly fascinated by the goings on in Rome. The church, with its splendor, pageantry and machinations
is the stuff of novels. Most of all, it is
a highly charged political animal.
Perhaps that’s inevitable when an organization is structured with tiers
of power all leading to the potential of ascending to a throne of infallibility
and absolute power. For sure, most of its
clergy are not ambitious climbers, but there is an implied — and for some real
— race for higher ground. We are
fascinated, not because we are attracted to or even interested in the Catholic
faith, but because in a profound sense the church as a political phenomenon is so
much like us. It reflects the human
drama that commands our daily attention whether in the halls of government or in
the corporations that dominate our economy.
There has been relatively little controversy about
John XXIII’s sainthood. The same cannot
be said for John Paul II. In a long
reign, which he had, the narrative can change.
In his early years the first Polish pope was seen almost as a rock star
with a frenetic road show that attracted huge crowds across the globe. But in his rule, John Paul was ideologically conservative
on issues like contraception, abortion and the role of women. But these views were not what caused some to
question his canonization. Rather it was
the sex abuse scandal — both predator priests and institutional cover-up — that
came to light under his watch and his lack of response.
The stunning breadth of abuse cases and worse the Church’s
cover-up outraged many of us, but clearly none more than those (including
journalists) who had been brought up Catholic.
Maureen Dowd is among them; one who still attends church from time to
time. Dowd’s NY Times columns often strike a seemingly frivolous note, but when
addressing this subject she is consistently serious, resolute and, yes, angry. This was the case on April
23 when she addressed the impending elevation of John Paul. Here is some of what she wrote:
John Paul was a charmer, and a great man in many ways. But given that he presided over the Catholic
Church during nearly three decades of a gruesome pedophilia scandal and
grotesque cover-up, he ain’t no saint. One of John Paul’s great shames was giving
Vatican sanctuary to Cardinal Bernard Francis Law, a horrendous enabler of
child abuse who resigned in disgrace in 2002 as archbishop of Boston. Another
unforgivable breach was the pope’s stubborn defense of the dastardly Mexican priest
Marcial Maciel Degollado, a pedophile, womanizer, embezzler and drug addict. The world has seen many saints, some of them
canonized by the Catholic Church, but John Paul II was not one of them. It is wonderful that John Paul told other
societies, Communist and capitalist, to repent.
But his tragedy is that he never corrected the failings of his own
society, over which he ruled absolutely.
Tough criticism.
The Church defends John Paul. It was
reported
that his former spokesman, Joaquín Navarro-Valls, told journalists “that the ‘purity
of his thought’ had made it difficult for the pontiff to accept that priests
could abuse children”. Dowd doesn’t buy
such an argument, nor do I. You won’t
find a volume Being Pope for Dummies
at Barnes & Noble or Amazon. It
takes a sharp and focused mind to climb the ladder to the papacy and, as Dowd
might put it, John Paul “wasn’t no dummy”.
At this point, we may just remember the frail old man with severe
Parkinson’s, but John Paul took over at a vigorous 58 years old. He was an activist and nothing missed his
attention. So one can only conclude that
his and the church leadership’s decision to avert their eyes was
calculated. Cover-ups are always that
way, even if the perpetrators are deceiving themselves.
Putting this in a broader context, and the last and
most important thing that caught my attention, comes toward the end of Maureen
Dowd’s piece. “The church”, she says, “is
giving its biggest prize to the person who could have fixed the spreading stain
and did nothing. The buck, or in this case, the Communion wafer, doesn’t stop
here.” I said earlier that what
intrigues us about the Roman Church is that it mirrors the larger society —
political entities and corporations. Is
there any greater link than the “buck…doesn’t stop here”? We have been through some terrible times of
late and perhaps worst among them is that the buck doesn’t seem to stop anywhere,
least of all at the top. John Paul II
hasn’t had to take responsibility or to pay for perhaps his greatest management
failure. Sound familiar? None of those who had the power and could
have made a difference — politicians, regulators, and corporate executives —
have had to pay for what was done to all of us either. Like the late pope, they have just cashed in
at a saintly sum.