It was just another weekend at the office for Pope Francis, more of
the series of actions, words and gestures that have kept him a fixture
in the international media since his March 13 election.
On June 15 he
took a major step toward reforming the scandal-wracked Vatican bank by
appointing his own man, Msg. Battista Ricca—who also runs the Vatican
hotel where Francis lives—as interim prelate overseeing the bank’s
management.
The next day, as several thousand bikers gathered along
Rome’s Via della Conciliazione, the main road leading to St. Peter’s
Square, as part of Harley-Davidson’s 110th birthday celebrations,
Francis arrived in his open-topped jeep and gave them his blessing. He
then presided over an open air mass in the square, crowded with ordinary
Catholics, nuns and priests in habit, and bikers in Harley jackets.
Francis’s seamless blend of style and substance, sometimes in the
same act—his unprecedented decision to stay in sweltering Rome through
July both expresses his solidarity with Romans without the means to own a
summer home, and permits him to keep up his work schedule—is the new
papal normal.
The Pope, in the eyes of most Vatican watchers, has so
altered the tone of the papacy—the face it presents to the faithful and
to the world at large—that style has become substance.
“Even if
he were to die tomorrow,” remarks Michael Higgins, a distinguished
Canadian Catholic intellectual now teaching at Sacred Heart University
in Fairfield, Conn., “I do not believe his successor could go back to
the old ways.”
For Higgins, “it’s been the best 100 days in papal history, probably
the most consequential since Innocent III.”
Higgins means consequential
in a diametrically opposed way: when Innocent came to the papal throne
815 years ago, his reign completed the apotheosis of the heir of the
fisherman into the ruler of Christendom, a figure suspended between
heaven and earth.
Francis, on the other hand, “has begun a process of
demystifying the office that’s been as far-reaching as turning the House
of Windsor into a Scandinavian monarchy—from Benedict to him, it’s been
like going from the London landau to riding a bicycle through
Copenhagen.”
Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the former cardinal-archbishop of Buenos
Aries—first of his papal name, nationality, continent and religious
order—began walking his different path immediately after his election,
by asking the crowd outside St. Peter’s to pray for him, rather than
offering them a blessing.
He hopped on a minibus to go back to his
hotel, rather than the papal limo. He wears a plain cross, not
pontifical jewels. He nixed the customary change-of-regime bonuses paid
Vatican employees (they averaged $2,100 after Benedict was elected).
He
lives in a Vatican guest house, not the papal apartments, where he eats
breakfast with the staff and other guests, talking freely to them all.
Against all custom he travels in elevators with other passengers.
He has
kind words for atheists, and even the possibility of their salvation,
at least if they are dedicated to the service of the poor.
He washed the feet of women as well as men, Muslims as well as
Catholics, in an unprecedented, even shocking version of the ancient
Holy Thursday ritual. He refers to himself almost always not by any of
his exalted titles, such as Vicar of Christ, but as bishop of Rome, a
pastoral office.
He has condemned “the cult of money” and the suffering
exacted by austerity measures in Europe, “slavery” in the Bangladeshi
garment industry, and the Mafia. He preaches about the devil as often as
he does about St. Francis. He may well have performed an exorcism in
St. Peter’s Square.
Most disconcertingly, he says what he’s thinking
while he’s thinking it.
There are holy people in the Curia, the Vatican
bureaucracy, Francis told a group of visiting Latino nuns and monks, but
also a “current of corruption,” and a network of gay men: “We will have
to see what we can do.”
Francis seems, in the opinion of Arthur Liebscher, an American Jesuit
who often encountered him in Argentina in the 1980s, to be working out
his thoughts—aloud, in public—on just what problems face the world’s
largest Church and what should be done about them, with very little
reference to precedent or ruffled feathers.
He is engaged in a “radical
rewriting of his office, from a theocratic pulpit to a ministry,” says
Higgins, who believes the most revealing comment about his pontifical
aims that Francis has yet made came in a mass only two weeks after his
election. Priests, the Pope said, again departing from a prepared text
and clearly including himself, must be close to the people, “shepherds
with the smell of sheep.”
It has all made Francis the most wildly unpredictable pope in
centuries. Dangerously unpredictable, in fact, for those heavily
invested in the ecclesiastical status quo. They include lower-level
bureaucrats for whom maintaining papal protocol, liturgical fidelity and
court ceremonial is “their life,” as Higgins put it, and those far
higher in the Vatican food chain, where misconduct has historically been
swept under a rug. Those caught swimming in the “current of corruption”
cannot expect a soft landing this time.
For no one doubts, despite the deliberate pace so far—the bank
appointment was among the first crucial personnel moves—that under this
pope massive change is coming to the Church.
In the same conversation in
which he mused about seeing “what we can do” about the Curia, Francis
added that “the cardinals of the commission will move it forward,” in
October when they start issuing recommendations to him.
He was referring to the eight cardinals from every continent whom he
appointed to advise him in reforming the bureaucracy. The panel, which
has only one Vatican cardinal, is loaded with the Curia’s severest
critics, all men who are (or were), like Francis, also pastors of their
dioceses.
They include Sean Patrick O’Malley, currently the archbishop
of Boston and a Capuchin friar who has garnered enormous respect for the
forthright way he has tackled his grim lot, cleaning up the sexual
abuse situations he inherited in every diocese where he has served, and
George Pell, archbishop of Sydney, Australia, who was perhaps the most
outspoken critic of the Curia in the cardinals’ pre-conclave meetings.
Participants in those discussions sought term limits on Vatican
postings to prevent priests from becoming career bureaucrats, and
demanded the Vatican strip the secrecy from its opaque finances through
better financial reports. Virtually everyone, including Cardinal
Bergoglio, agreed the bureaucracy needed a wrenching directional change,
oriented to serving bishops in their dioceses, rather than the
opposite.
The papacy remains an absolute monarchy, though, and the eight
cardinals are advisers, not legislators. In the end, Francis will make
the call. Vatican watchers naturally try to read the tea leaves of his
off-script remarks for hints of future action—no easy task, as shown by
his recognition, newsworthy primarily for its frankness, of the presence
of homosexuals in the Curia.
There is no way of being sure what Francis
actually said, let alone meant: the Spanish-language notes his visitors
made afterwards use an English-derived phrase (“lobby gay”).
The Pope,
who reportedly understands English far better than he speaks it, may
have quoted that now-standard English label, gay lobby, or said
something else his hearers rendered as such. Nor is it possible to
determine how hostile his remark was: Francis did not, by the evidence
of the leaked notes, link the corruption with the gay clerics.
Some observers connect the Pope’s thinking with his cultural
background—the classic Latin American mix of doctrinal conservatism and
economic radicalism. “Even for a South American, Francis’s piety is
traditional,” says Father Liebscher, a specialist in Argentinian history
who teaches at the Jesuit Santa Clara University in California.
Liebscher agrees with those, like Michael Higgins, who see the Jesuit in
the Pope as offering the clearest pointers to his future actions—“the
asceticism, the indifference to rank and the perks of office, the
dedication to service and to the Roman Catholic Church as the church of
the poor,” in Higgins’s words—with a caveat. Bergoglio is an Argentinian
Jesuit, spiritually formed in a distinct religious and social cauldron.
From their founding during the Catholic Reformation, the Jesuits have
had a complicated relationship with the papacy, sometimes the favourite
agents of papal will—“answering those needs that wouldn’t otherwise be
filled,” says Liebscher. “Historically that always meant education and
missions, though today the missions are to the marginalized, not the
heathen.”
Other times, though, the order was suppressed or viewed with
suspicion for its intellectual daring and rebellious streak, as it was
in Latin America during the 1970s heyday of liberation theology, later
condemned by the Vatican for straying into Marxist intellectual
territory. It’s no accident there has never before been a Jesuit pope.
Liebscher was studying in Santa Fe, 400 km northwest of Buenos Aires,
in 1987, when Bergoglio came to stay for a few weeks. “He didn’t speak
much—I’m impressed how chatty he is as Pope—and what we all noticed was
how disciplined he was in his prayer life, an example for the younger
guys. That and the tensions that surrounded his entourage.”
As the past
head of his order in Argentina, Bergoglio had been spiritual director
for a lot of the younger men. “They were all formed by him, sharing his
stern dedication to both the religious life and to the poor,” says
Liebscher, adding “an Uruguayan Jesuit once told me Bergoglio may not
have been a liberation theologian, but ‘he certainly thought like one.’ ”
Bergoglio, in fact, was that very Argentinian figure, a caudillo, a strongman like dictator Juan Perón.
“A religious caudillo, a benign one, but a caudillo,” Liebscher sums him up, a man who made his own decisions and pulled everyone along with him.
What made Bergoglio a polarizing figure in his order was not the
charge raised at his election, that he had effectively handed over two
liberation theology Jesuit activists, kidnapped and tortured in 1976, to
the ruling military by refusing to endorse the priests’ ministry.
“Within the order, the consensus was he did what he could to protect two
guys who didn’t have the sense to get out of the line of fire,”
Liebscher says.
(Both men were freed by Bergoglio’s secret activity: he
arranged for dictator Jorge Videla’s family priest to call in sick so
that Bergoglio could say mass in Videla’s home and successfully plead
for mercy.)
No, what made Bergoglio stand out, the American Jesuit says,
was his total emotional and spiritual adherence to the 1972 decision by
the order as a whole to embrace the preferential option for the poor:
“The Spanish-speaking provinces were more split than any others on the
issue and Bergoglio was always on the cutting edge.”
He has ever since applied his devotion to the cause of the
marginalized entirely within orthodox belief and in an utterly pragmatic
way, “He’s a whatever-works, one-step-at-a-time guy,” says Liebscher,
“so I’m pretty sure there’s no overarching plan for his pontificate.”
But there is one clash the American does see coming. Rome is clericalism
central, heartland of the concept of the priesthood as the real
Church, rightly privileged far above the laity, and the city’s new
bishop is clericalism’s “sworn enemy.”
“The only time I ever saw him
visibly irritated with another person was when someone said, ‘Father
so-and-so preferred to say mass by himself, a private experience.’” A
church rite is no one’s private affair, retorted an angry future pope,
“it is a service for the people.”
Between now and his potentially fateful meeting with his cardinal
advisers in October, Francis won’t be idle. Looming above everything is
his surely triumphant return to South America in late July for Catholic
World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro.
Whether he will connect with young
people in the way John Paul II did is the next big question, but Higgins
has no doubt of the answer. Francis, after all, has connected with
almost everyone (aside from arch-traditionalists) in his diverse,
1.2-billion strong Church.
“I have spoken to countless Catholics, lay
and clergy, and they have all simply been energized by him.” And when
those youths ask him questions, what might he answer? “Who knows?”
laughs Higgins. “He’s capable of anything.”