popes

San Juan, PR. “La Rogativa” by Lindsay Daen. Photo by the author.

Who is your favorite pope?

Doesn’t everyone have one? I mean, we have favorite actors, comedians, musicians, dancers, painters, chefs, industry moguls, Real Housewives, and dog breeds. Why hasn’t Buzzfeed promoted a list of favorite popes? Ok, perhaps that’s too Catholicentric, so…who’s your favorite religious figure?

In Catholic school, we were encouraged to revere the Bishop of Rome as the Holy Father, the spiritual leader and unifying symbol of the world’s largest religious group. Conveniently, much of the parochial school curriculum omitted the darker history of the evolution of papal authority and its function as a border-crossing political, financial, and military empire. For some, he was an object of worship, the one human with direct contact to the Creator, but my mother’s antidote from this idolatry was her frequent and emphatic distinction between her respect for the papacy and her suspicion of popes. “He’s just another priest,” she’d say when John Paul would be feted with pomp and circumstance. One of my favorite photographs of her caught the moment in an audience with John Paull II when my mother appears to be speaking to the pope with the posture and facial expression that usually accompanied the phrase, “and let me tell you another thing.” When JPII or any Vatican authorities acted in concert with conservative and retrogressive factions in the Church, she’d cluck her tongue and remind whoever was in earshot of the primacy of conscience, the principle that one’s conscience, not Church teaching, not Church authorities, not even the pope himself, is the closest thing to God. Even when it violates local laws and Church teaching, she’d underline, we are obligated to follow the guidance of our conscience.

When Jorge Bergolio was elevated as Pope Francis, Mom was hopeful about the direction of the Church. She was raised in Chicago at the time of the liturgical reform movement, when Catholics were innovating with spiritual renewal, more direct engagement, and liturgies that highlighted the meal and the table at the heart of Eucharistic practice, not the ritual sacrifice and smells and bells of formal worship. This movement contributed to the reforms of the Second Vatican Council, including the radical revisioning of the Mass. Latin was replaced with the daily tongue of each congregation. The priest turned to face the congregation during the Eucharistic rites, and altar rails that separated the sacred from the profane, the priest from the people, disappeared. What was treated as magic and superstition because of archaic practices and unfamiliar language was suddenly accessible and inviting. Catholics suddenly heard the Gospel in a new light, and liturgical renewal was closely tied to the social teachings of the Church that emerged in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Popes of that era published encyclicals that highlighted the evils of unfettered industry and consumption, that mandated the uplifting of human dignity in all arenas. For Mom, her spiritual life and commitment to social justice were intertwined. After decades of JPII and Benedict XVI, theological purists who opened the door to liturgical regression and looked the other way when the truth of sexual abuse by clergy and coverups by Church authorities came to light, Francis was a breath of fresh air and a return to the language of justice in the Church and in the world. Had she met Francis, that photo might’ve shown him chuckling in agreement to her assertion, “You know, you’re just another priest.

Surrounded by a dozen students and a handful of other faculty, I watched the white smoke emerge from the Sistine Chapel after Bergolio’s election by the College of Cardinals. It was after school hours, and when word of imminent white smoke spread, we connected a laptop to a projector for anyone left on campus to gather and watch. The Curia-watchers among us had made our guesses about who might be selected, but when the senior Cardinal followed his Habemus papam with Jorge our jaws dropped. Jorge Cardinale Bergolio would become Franciscus, the first to invoke the name of the saint of Assisi who rejected his inheritance for a life of poverty, prayer, and service to the poor. A Jesuit would, for the first time in the Society of Jesus’ half-millennium history, lead the global Church. The group of us standing together, all formed by Jesuits at some point in our educations or careers, stood in shock (and a little tingle of glee) at the thought of the Jesuits’ mission–commitment to spiritual engagement, intellectual growth, and service to the poor and excluded–guiding the global Church.

It was a stark contrast from the day his predecessor was elevated. Journey back with me for a sec…In 2005, John Paul II died after a long and steady decline and 27 years wearing the Shoes of the Fisherman. John Paul I took his name from his predecessors–John XXIII and Paul VI–suggesting an extension of their legacies and work to implement the vision of the Second Vatican Council. Someone didn’t like that idea, and his papacy ended with his death 33 days later. Conspiracy theories abound unproven, but in the history of the papacy, the sudden death of a pontiff is, at the very least, a heavy coincidence, and at the very worst, proof that the Vatican is rife with nefarious plots. When the conclave elected Karol Wojtyla, he took his short-lived predecessor’s name but made no commitments to the Council. Quickly, the world took his election as a rebuke of the influence of Communism and the Soviet Union, and JPII, charismatic and multitalented, drew crowds like a rockstar that edified the wall of opposition to Russian encroachment. Behind the walls of the Vatican, though, Joseph Ratzinger functioned as JPII’s #2. He ran the Congregation for Doctrine of the Faith, which targeted Catholic heresies and, as he later described, laid the groundwork for creating a Church more faithful to pre-Vatican II theology.

When JPII died (also during the first week of Easter…whoa, coincidence!), the Church was in crisis on multiple levels. The sex abuse crisis was no longer news, and diocese after diocese was embroiled in lawsuits with justifiably angry victims. Cover-ups weren’t abberations–they were the norm. It was in the DNA of the Church. Instead of honestly and humbly affirming the truth and seeking forgiveness and reconciliation, the Curia blamed the laity. They blamed homosexuals. They blamed abortion. They authorized and aggressively promoted a new translation of the liturgy. Because, as John Mulaney famously and brilliantly noted, that’s what needed changing in the Catholic Church. The College of Cardinals could’ve identified a leader who would, with compassion and humility bring the Church closer to its too-often forgotten mission to make God’s love known in the world. Instead, they selected Ratzinger, who would take the name Benedict XVI and bring back important customs like red papal shoes and the ermine-trimmed mozzetta that had been discarded along with other princely trappings by his predecessors.

When new outlets reported that the College of Cardinals had a decision, I gathered with a couple other Religion teachers in a colleague’s office. We wondered which way the College would go–balance out the traditionalist decades of JPII with a progressive, or keep the course? After the Habemus papam!, we heard, “Joseph,” and my heart sank. “Cardinale," and my stomach sank. “Ratzinger,” and our jaws dropped. As I drifted back to my classroom, I remember thinking to myself, “Well, so much for liberation theology.” Through the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Ratzinger oversaw countless witchhunts, scrutinizing the work of theologians and threatening women and men religious with punishments, even excommunication. He silenced, or attempted to silence, and degraded the work of most of my favorite Catholic theologians (yes, I have favorite theologians, too). He was not interested in exploring or protecting the diversity of God’s creation; instead, he wanted to wear cute shoes.

So, you see, when Francis appeared in white robes, it was a moment of hopeful joy for Catholics like me. It almost felt like the College of Cardinals was sending a message of apology, like, “Oops, we fucked up with the whole Ratzinger thing, so here’s who we should have elected last time.” Early in his papacy, we caught glimpses of a forward-looking and inclusive vision, including Francis’ off-the-cuff remark about queer people to a plane cabin full of reporters, “Who am I to judge?” He opened his first encyclical by quoting Francis of Assisi’s beloved “Canticle of the Sun” and continuing with his concern for stewardship of our planet.

“Laudato si, mi Signore” – “Praise be to you, my Lord.” In the words of this beautiful canticle, Saint Francis of Assisi reminds us that our common home is like a sister with whom we share our life and a beautiful mother who opens her arms to embrace us. “Praise be to you, My Lord, through our Sister, Mother Earth, who sustains and governs us, and who produces various fruit with coloured flowers and herbs.”

This sister now cries out to us because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irresponsible use and abuse of the goods with which God has endowed her. We have come to see ourselves as her lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will. The violence present in our hearts, wounded by sin, is also reflected in the symptoms of sickness evident in the soil, in the water, in the air and in all forms of life.

His frequent calls for “a poor Church for the poor” and efforts to strip the papacy of its monarchical trappings rubbed traditionalists the wrong way, but the public probably won’t see his most impactful reforms for decades. Behind the walls of the Vatican, he dismantled layers of secrecy that propped up patriarchal power structures and a financial juggernaut. He appointed a woman to lead a Vatican department, the first time senior Cardinals reported to a woman in Vatican history. He opened the door to dialogues about ordaining women as deacons (though that fizzled) and to blessing (if not sacramentally marrying) same-sex unions. It might not seem radical to some, but even asking questions and convening groups to explore topics that his predecessors aggressively dismissed were nearly revolutionary and, to many of us on the Catholic “left,” overdue.

For me, Francis will always be an example to point to–not how to be the best pope (he pissed a lot of people off), how to be the best LGBTQ ally (he put his foot in his mouth plenty), or in any other measurable way. He’s an example of holiness, of someone who devoted his life to his religious calling and who, in his papacy, strove to embody his namesake’s famous prayer. I can only hope that in the coming weeks, the College of Cardinals and the rest of us can do the same.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me bring love.
Where there is offence, let me bring pardon.
Where there is discord, let me bring union.
Where there is error, let me bring truth.
Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.
Where there is despair, let me bring hope.
Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.
Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.
O Lord, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love,
for it is in giving that one receives,
it is in forgoing that one is forgiven,
it is in dying that one awakens to eternal life.