With that simple phrase, Pope Francis placed himself squarely among us. Not above us, not sitting in judgement, not trying to distill centuries of Catholic theology. Everyone, whether at the heart of the church or marginalized and on the fringes of Catholicism, had a place at his table.
This column is very different from things I’ve written before. It forms my recollections of a very different spiritual leader of the Roman Catholic Church. It’s also about my personal journey along the road to Catholicism, and it’s been mixed. Right now, we’re somewhat estranged, the church and I. God and I are tight, but the Roman Catholic Church and I aren’t quite so much. My family – my brother and sister and I, were brought up Catholic, while my father was an agnostic, a Methodist that had long since discarded organized religion. In the era of Vatican II, my mother embraced the changes of the church, and they were very much a part of us. She taught Sunday School. My wife and I were married in the church, with three priests presiding. She was a teacher in two parochial schools for a number of years before moving to a public school. Our daughter was brought up in the church. I was a working church musician, organist and choir director. Those duties melted away, not because I grew tired of them, but only because they’d become too time-consuming for our young family, and in truth, I have missed them from time to time.
This is really a personal recollection of the six popes of my lifetime. What they’ve represented, and perhaps their legacies. Because popes do leave legacies, whether they intend to create them or not. I first remember Pope John XXIII, that little round man with the beaming smile and sense of humor. A reporter once asked him how many actually worked at the Vatican, and he responded with an impish grin, “about half”. Elected a care-taker, he proceeded to convene a Vatican Council that modernized and transformed the church, upending the traditional Roman Catholic Church. The first conclave that I truly remember elected his successor, Pope Paul VI, a more reserved leader, upon whose shoulders the implementation of those sweeping changes fell. And he did implement them, much to the bitter resentments and flustered sensibilities of the conservative wing of the church. Pope John Paul I was, sadly, a mere blip as his pontificate lasted for just a month, but he brought a grandfatherly smile and personal warmth. Pope John Paul II was another shift. A charismatic and dynamic leader, he was the first non-Italian pope in centuries. A world-traveler, an impressive linguist, John Paul II was a theological conservative who reinforced more traditional teachings and started steering the church back from the brink of modernism. The end of his reign, and that of his successor, Pope Benedict, were engulfed in scandal, disgrace, and deepening divisions between conservatives and liberals. Benedict, lacking the personal charisma of John Paul, became the public face of the church’s tragic reaction to, or inaction in the face of, abusive priests. Sadly, this was a period of Great Disillusion, of diocesan bankruptcies and church closings, and I believe that many of my fellow Catholics felt as I did. The church was making broad proclamations about issues that clung tenaciously to the past – issues of sexuality, abortion and gender, the roles of women, while at same time we were reading about bishops shredding personnel records and hiring law firms to protect them. No, it wasn’t a good look for what should have been moral leadership. The Catholic Church went into a protracted period of shrinkage, driven in large part to an increasingly severe shortage of priests. When our daughter went off to college, my wife and I became less and less active, although we did keep going because the local parish priest was a personal friend. Then, eventually, that dropped off too.
Our spirituality hasn’t stopped. Our public manifestation, though, has. Much of what the church offers still has meaning. Those priests with whom we worked and prayed, who we counted as friends, are either retired or long gone. Younger ones taking their places haven’t been able to connect, or perhaps we haven’t given them a chance, but the reemergence of the right, like a return of masses in Latin, haven’t propelled us to reengage.
By all accounts, Pope Benedict loved the medieval trappings of the Catholic Church, right down to his crimson jeweled slippers. Nothing particularly wrong with that, except it did prevent him from making a sustained and meaningful connection to his far-flung followers. Enter Pope Francis, pictures of him riding the subways of Buenos Aires as he tended to his flock. Rejecting the papal apartments for simpler quarters. In 2013, he removed a German bishop for building a lavish residence for himself. He exhorted his bishops and priests to stop obsessing on doctrinal concepts and start focusing on people and their needs.
I’m currently reading an interesting novel, a thriller. It opens, though, with Pope Julius II in the early 1500’s. Yes, the pope that constructed St. Peter’s Basilica, and commissioned the famous Sistine Chapel ceiling from Michelangelo, among other great works of art. He’s also a pope that led armies to reclaim the Papal States. In his view, he brought “greatness and power” to the church. Because he thought that’s what the church was all about. Land, wealth, and power. Five hundred years later, we’ve learned that the church’s glory is none of those things. Pope Francis’s greatest message to his people, to all of us, is that true greatness is in advocacy. Advocacy for people and what is happening to them. Advocacy for those that have not enough to eat. Advocacy for those that are victims of war, of famine, of oppression and abuse. Advocacy for those faced to flee and seek refuge elsewhere. A great irony is that President Donald Trump was sitting front and center at the funeral . How much of this would he get? We’ve seen glaring examples in his first few months in office where he’s failed the litmus tests for compassion and empathy. He’s not a profound man, given to reading nuance, so this irony will more than likely be lost on him as well.
Holy Father, your messages of love, of concern, of compassion, of peace, have not been lost on a troubled world. They will continue to resonate, and many will continue to follow your lead. To accept and embrace those in need. “Who am I to judge?” Exactly. Requiem aeternum. Rest in peace.
I'm Thinking...No! 