BEFORE the Second Vatican Council convened in 1962, a little-known
Polish bishop called Karol Wojtyla wrote to the organisers, telling them
that the world wanted to know what the Catholic Church had to say about
the human condition.
Karol Wojtyla went on to become Supreme Pontiff of the Church, one of the
greatest men of his age and one of the greatest Popes of any age.
When he
died in 2005, a Cuban cardinal said that he had "carried the moral
weight of the world" for 26 years. But argument continues about whether
he ever answered the question he himself asked in 1962.
As so frequently with such a towering figure, his life and reign had their
consistent threads but also their paradoxes.
On doctrine, particularly on birth control, he was a rigid conservative, much
criticised for the ban on Catholics using condoms in the Third World.
But on
ecumenism, he was a liberal, reaching out not only to other Christian
churches but to non-Christian religions.
He beatified more people than any previous Pope, and it seems somehow
appropriate that his own beatification has occurred so soon after his death.
The timescale, and the process itself, have raised doubts and questioning
among both liberals and conservatives.
The popular view, however, is
overwhelmingly positive -- witness the enormous attendance at the ceremony
in St Peter's Square Sunday.
Perhaps no country, apart from Poland, viewed him with more love and
admiration than Ireland. The fervour inspired by his visit here in 1979 has
never been forgotten.
But the visit was followed by one of the most calamitous episodes in the
history of the church: the clerical sex abuse scandal.
The scandal itself,
the cover-ups and the inadequacy of Catholicism's leaders at all levels were
a world-wide phenomenon; but in Ireland, the shock to faith and trust, the
damage to the authority and reputation of the church, were immeasurable.
In a generation's time, the reputation of John Paul II may rest less on his
record of religious leadership than his contribution to global politics.
Late in his life, he conceded what every interested person had known or
suspected -- that he had played a role in the overthrow of communism and the
freeing of his beloved Poland.
He gave no details.
Nor did he boast.
Like
his forgiveness for Mehmet Ali Agca, the man who tried to kill him, it was
part of his moral mission.