IT WAS a scene that could have come from medieval times: the ruler sat on a gilded throne before the multitude as a courtier extolled his virtues.The sovereign, he said, was an “unfailing rock” who would not be deterred by the “idle chatter” of critics.
The setting was St Peter’s Square at the start of the most solemn Mass in the Roman Catholic liturgy, on Easter Sunday, April 4th.
The ruler was Pope Benedict XVI and his courtier Angelo Sodano, the dean of the college of cardinals.
His oddly anachronistic eulogy was a reminder that the Vatican is not a democratic state or a multinational firm, but a sort of absolute monarchy.
Catholics believe its ruler owes his place to divine right: that he is chosen not by the cardinals who elect him, but ultimately by the Holy Spirit working through them.
That is why it may be misleading to view the scandal over clerical sex abuse that is rocking the Catholic church as a latter-day Watergate, certain to undermine the pope’s legitimacy in the eyes of his own lieutenants.
Deeming their mandate to be from God, popes believe it can only be taken away by the Almighty at death.
Whatever evidence is produced to embarrass Benedict and his church, it will be irrelevant to the length of his tenure.
But it will not be irrelevant to his—or its—moral authority, and that point risks being lost as the Vatican sinks ever deeper into self-pity, laced with conspiracy theory.
Beyond its high walls, the crisis is deepening. On April 7th it was reported that a bishop, Georg Mueller of the Norwegian diocese of Trondheim, had resigned last year after confessing to the sexual abuse of an altar boy. He is the most senior prelate to have been linked to the scandal.
So far, the pope has made no direct comment on the crisis, whose recent effects have been sharpest in continental Europe.
Last month, he sent a message to the faithful in Ireland about the scandals there, which go back several years, but he rejected suggestions that he make it a letter to the entire church.
Benedict extended his silence through Easter, leaving Vatican officials to fill the void.
The tone of their response was set on April 2nd when the pope’s personal preacher, Raniero Cantalamessa, claimed there was a “violent and concentric attack on the church, the pope and all of the Catholic faithful” from all over the world.
He also read out a letter he said he had received from a Jewish friend comparing the methods used to criticise Catholics with those deployed in the persecution of Jews. Reactions from Jewish leaders ranged from dismay to fury.
It was the latest of many signs that, under Benedict, high-profile speeches—like this one, given at the main Good Friday service—are not checked for the impact they could have on the outside world.
Father Cantalamessa apologised. But in an interview with the Vatican daily, L’Osservatore Romano, four days later, Cardinal Sodano offered fresh fuel to those who claim the Catholic hierarchy is trying to turn the crisis into a confrontation with the world’s Jews.
Portentously, he declared that the controversy over sex abuse “is now a cultural clash: the pope embodies moral truths that are not accepted and so the shortcomings and mistakes of priests are being used as weapons against the church.”
He went on to compare the “attacks on the pope” with criticism of Pius X (the hero of ultra-traditionalist Catholics), Paul VI (who condemned contraception) and Pius XII, whose silence over the Holocaust remains a painful controversy.
Rabbi Giuseppe Laras, honorary president of the Italian Rabbinical Assembly, retorted that “bringing in Pius XII gives an impression that behind the storm over paedophile priests are the Jews [and that] we are mobilising public opinion against the Vatican.”
The Vatican’s search for ulterior motives is in tune with Italian political culture, with its love of dietrologia (or “background-ology”).
So is the tendency for those accused in scandals to adopt the role of victim (Italy’s prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi, has successfully used both tactics).
Despite the German origins of the current pope, many features of the Vatican still reflect the country where it is based.
That may explain the inability of its senior officials to understand the irritation, or even contempt, which its pronouncements sometimes stir in other places.
It is not as if they have no arguments. Sexual abuse of children is scarcely confined to Catholic priests (though figures from Malta where, according to the diocesan authorities, 45 of the 850-odd priests on the island have been accused, suggest it is alarmingly widespread).
Pope Benedict, unlike his predecessor, has not ignored the problem of clerical sex abuse and has improved procedures for tackling it.
But there is also abundant evidence that the Catholic hierarchy remains addicted to secrecy, and that it instinctively sees as its main task the safeguarding of the reputation of the church, rather than co-operation with the civil authorities or protecting potential victims.
One recent case involves a priest found to be working in India, four years after criminal charges for sexual assault, which he denies, were laid against him in America.
Father Palanivel Jeyapaul had been tried under canon law in India, but not defrocked, even though, according to a statement from the Vatican’s lawyer on April 5th, it had recommended he be dismissed from the clergy.
Something was obviously wrong in the handling of that case, as in the management of many others.
It doesn’t help much when all concern about the Vatican’s approach is dismissed as mere “chatter.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Disclaimer
No responsibility or liability shall attach itself to the CW Team or to the blogspot ‘Clerical Whispers’ for any or all of the articles placed here.
The placing of an article hereupon does not necessarily imply that the CW Team agree or accept the contents of the article as being necessarily factual in theology, dogma or otherwise.
CW Team
SIC: TE