The Accidental Pope

by Ray Flynn

  Bill Kelly was not unaware of all these attitudes within the Church. In his new position of power he had his finger on everything happening in the world due to the vast communications network the Vatican had at its disposal. He was becoming more conscious of why it was that many popes seemed to spend so much time in prayer. How could mere humans deal with it all? Most of the world was in violent turmoil, either economic conflict or bloodletting strife. Most people were starving, either literally or for a better way of living, as they sought the means to buy those goods and services that made for a few fleeting moments of happiness. Those at the top of financial and social affairs maintained an iron grip on their lucrative stations in life, fending off the many who strove to approximate their freedom and success. Materially, the rich were getting richer and the poor poorer and nobody else cared very much about either extreme on the human spectrum.

  Cardinal Robitelli was now overtly demonstrating why so many had considered him the best-suited Roman cleric for the pontificate. He spoke with the total voice of authority in every circumstance and informed his Vatican colleagues that the new pope was slowly learning the process but needed more time to attain the self-confidence necessary to begin public appearances and discussions with various Vatican officials. The cardinal, perhaps prematurely, was truly enjoying his newfound role as puppet-master. It was a measure of Tim Shanahan’s tact and quiet behind-the-scenes manipulations that few, if any, close to the curia noticed the gradually escalating power of this self-effacing although effective éminence grise.

  Still, a twinge of discomfort stalked Robitelli whenever he discussed Church affairs with Bill Kelly. The cardinal’s years of contact with the public had honed his powers of observation. He was fully aware that while this proletarian American “fool” continued to smile and agree with each point he made, wheels were spinning in his head, storing up information for future discussion and manipulation. The pope frequently asked questions that seemed to have an ultimate negative intent. What did the Jews think of this? How did non-Catholic Christians feel about that? How could he learn more about the other side?

  Pope Bill, as Peter II was frequently called, was not your ordinary stupid man. He was a scrutinizer, seldom if ever satisfied with one answer. And now, with the rector of NAC mysteriously appearing beside and behind the pope, where would it all lead? What would this man do when his day came to take over? Would he take over? Would he content himself with being just a figurehead managed by a curia, which, of course, Robitelli ordinarily ruled? Only time would tell.

  Was there a way in which the cardinal could turn that time to his own advantage and machine all the parts of the Vatican apparatus into an entity so formidable that it couldn’t be shifted or tampered with? Could he make the Vatican impervious to the aggressive Pope Peter II that Robitelli strongly suspected he soon would have on his hands? Reaching that objective would require skill, even subterfuge, but if it meant saving God’s traditional Church, he was more than willing to sacrifice himself.

  And, of course, there was another presentiment slyly intruding on the cardinal’s mind, one he was unwilling to entertain on the conscious level but that he could not exorcise, try as he might. Could it be that a working-class layman was indeed God’s choice for pontiff? That Bill Kelly, or indeed any number of other possibilities like him, would in the future be the ones to please the Holy Spirit? If so, God had been forced to go to unimaginable historical lengths to make his wish known and finally accepted. Was “God’s joke” in actuality God’s only available instrument or weapon left for communicating his sacred wishes to his sacred conclave? Certainly it had not been Comiskey’s intent to bring Bill Kelly’s name before the conclave anyway, other than in a purely metaphorical manner of speaking.

  * * *

  A pressing matter now demanded the cardinal’s attention. He called the pope and arranged to meet him after his daily Italian training session with Monsignor Cippolini. It was three in the afternoon when he knocked on the open door of the pope’s private office.

  “Come in, Gino.” Bill’s usual smile greeted the cardinal as he entered. “Now, what is this very important matter that we need to deal with?”

  “Well, er, Holy Father, as you may know, there is another title bestowed on the pope upon his election. He is also ‘bishop of Rome.’”

  “I thought we took care of that in the conclave,” the pope replied.

  “That was a secret, like everything that happens in the Sistine during the conclave. It took care of the cardinals who elected you. But now we need to let the Catholic world know you have been ordained a bishop.”

  Bill, prepared for a petulant inquiry regarding the avviso, was relieved when he replied. “Yes, Cippolini mentioned it as he tried to get my tongue working around the Italian phrases I would have to say. What do we need to do?”

  “Usually those promoted to the office of bishop spend a week in retreat before the ceremony. We have deliberately delayed your formal installation as pope until you are made a bishop. It seems more fitting and in line with tradition.”

  “May I ask, Gino, what the ordination of a bishop entails?”

  “After a retreat the rite of ordination usually is a solemn celebration of the Eucharist, with several bishops present to assist.”

  “How is that different from simple ordination to the priesthood?”

  “Well, naturally it is one step higher. It is the ‘fullness’ of the priesthood.”

  “Is it really necessary to have several bishops, Gino? After all, we have already had a hundred and nineteen cardinals consummate the deed.”

  “That was in secret. But to be exact it only takes one.” He paused. “But that seldom happens except, say, in some Third World country where there are few bishops present to celebrate. The pope will then designate some individual bishop to perform the rite. But when performed under full ecclesiastical direction, it is a beautiful ceremony that has matured over many centuries.”

  “I’m sure it has. But I am of the American school, inspired by our great naturalist and philosopher, Henry David Thoreau. ‘Simplify, simplify.’ I remember our canon law professor telling us that all the ceremonies and words were only trimmings. That to be ordained a priest all that was absolutely necessary was that the bishop have the intention to ordain and then simply lay hands on the person’s head. It was the ‘laying on of hands’ that conferred the priesthood. Is not the rite for the office of bishop exactly the same as for the priesthood?”

  A wry expression crossed the cardinal’s face. “Well, yes,” he said hesitantly, “it is the same, now that you mention it. But we are not talking of the minimum necessary but about the beauty, the magnificence of our Vatican Church ceremonies.”

  “Thank you, Gino. I just wanted to know how different it was from the priesthood. It’s always important to know the details of things, don’t you think?”

  Pope Bill smiled gently at the consternation clouding Cardinal Robitelli’s countenance as he took his leave. “I must be going now, Your Holiness. I’ll be in touch regarding all this as soon as we can work out the details you consider so important. By the way, how are your meetings with Monsignor Cippolini going?”

  “Very well indeed. He is wonderful to talk with and full of amazing and interesting facts and figures. Thanks truly for recommending him to me. Tim Shanahan is working out well, too.”

  “Glad you’re pleased with Al. Do you have anyone in mind to provide you your retreat? You probably don’t know many good retreat masters here. I could recommend a few if you wish; you could review their backgrounds with me.”

  “This is so new to me that I need to think it over awhile. I’m not sure I want this to drag out. I’ll just do it quietly and get it behind me. May I let you know tomorrow?”

  “Most certainly. I’ll drop off a list of those recommended retreat masters to Cippolini.” Robitelli stood a moment as though there were another matter he wanted to bring up. The pope indicated with a nod and redirection of his attention towar
d the door that the meeting was over. With a slight shrug the cardinal turned and left.

  No sooner was the pope alone again than he began jotting his thoughts down on paper. He read them over slowly, then reread them. Finally he crumpled the paper and threw it into the wastebasket. Reaching for the phone, he smiled again. “Please put a call through to Cardinal Comiskey in Dublin and get word to him that I’d like to speak to him as soon as possible.”

  He placed the phone in its cradle and, rising from his chair, walked to the French doors looking out over St. Peter’s Square and pushed them open. Sightseers were wandering around staring at the various architectural masterpieces. One of the tourists taking pictures suddenly raised his hand and waved at the pope. Evidently his high-powered lens had been focused on the balcony door of the papal apartment. Bill waved back. This long-range observer motioned to some of the people near him, who looked up and began to wave also.

  Bill noticed that one member of the group was carrying a sign that said ST. JAMES OF NEW BEDFORD LOVES PETER II. He remembered that he often attended Mass at St. James on holy days and Sundays, or after returning from fishing trips with his crew. Following Mass the crew would then go to the Portuguese Club for pizza and beer.

  Impulsively Bill decided to walk outside and say hello to the group.

  Strolling past the Swiss guards, he was met with looks of shock and disbelief. “Your Holiness,” one of the guards stammered in surprise, “you must not go out without our making the necessary preparations.”

  “Oh, it’s OK. I’ll only be a few minutes,” Bill replied airily as he walked down the long marble stairs onto St. Peter’s Square, almost a head taller than the last two Swiss guards at the door, and moved toward the fountain where the New Bedford group was staring up at his apartment window.

  The pope noticed the group had increased in size as more passersby were attracted to the small crowd. Oh God! What have I done now? he thought. Well, let’s see what comes out of it. I’ve been cooped up inside too long anyway. He sauntered over to the crowd, followed anxiously by several Swiss guards.

  Glancing back at the contingent of worried sentinels, he said, “It’s OK. Don’t be worried.” The captain of the sectional guard quickly approached him. “Your Holiness, where are you going? May we help you?”

  “I just want to go out and chat with some friends of mine from America—New Bedford, actually,” he replied with a grin.

  “Your Holiness, I … er … I know this is all very new to you, but please understand. We are charged to protect you. The pope never goes anywhere anymore without protection. We need to plan ahead. Like the Secret Service does for your president.”

  “Oh, I’ll be just fine. I will only be a few minutes.”

  The startled guards followed closely behind the pope, motioning to other guards as they passed. The group he had waved to ran to meet him. The guards stepped in front of them, battle-axes crossed, to halt the surge.

  “Stop!” one shouted.

  A momentary stalemate ensued. Bill Kelly walked slowly to the guards and said, “It’s OK.”

  The confused Swiss sentinels glanced at their captain, who signaled them to attention. “Please, Your Holiness, be careful!”

  “Yes, yes.” He noticed numbers of guards encircling the group.

  Pope Peter II walked slowly into the visitors, shaking hands as he moved. They were delightfully confused, not knowing if they should bow, kiss his ring, or kneel. He sensed their air of uncertainty, but told them how pleased he was to see their poster. All the tourists told the new pope how proud they were of him.

  The ice melted immediately as the visitors gathered around him like tourists visiting a shrine. They introduced themselves, posed for pictures, and began to swap stories about the New England coast from New Bedford to Cape Cod. But when he observed the crowd gathering beyond the circle of halberd bearers he felt it would be wise to return to his prison before causing any more trouble.

  “I’m sorry I can only visit with you for a short time. I’d much prefer to join you in a local café and all of us could have a glass of wine together. But I really have to leave now.”

  “Please, Your Holiness, may we have your blessing?”

  Everyone around him dropped to their knees. He blushed at their show of simple faith. “I have to tell you, my friends, I feel quite humble giving you a blessing. I believe that the pope is merely the servant of the servant of God. I should be asking your blessing. So let’s compromise. I’ll ask Our Savior to bless you if you all ask Him to bless and aid me.”

  His eyes searched heavenward as he raised his hand. “Lord Jesus, I beg you to send your blessings on these good people who have so clearly shown their deep faith in you by coming all this way to visit this beautiful basilica and your humble servant.”

  As he finished the blessing he dropped to a kneeling position and bowed his head. Many had tears in their eyes. This man was very different from what they had expected. Was he saintly, or perhaps a bit too simple and humble?

  Pope Peter arose, waved good-bye, and turned back toward the Apostolic Palace, followed closely by the unnerved Swiss guards. A somber Cardinal Bellotti stood in the entranceway watching him return. “Your Holiness, I’m sure you impressed the people, but you must realize you could have been in terrible danger. You recall what happened to Pope John Paul II. Please try to remember we have customs here based on years of experience. We certainly want you to meet and bless the people, but we also want you to stay alive. I, for one, am not anxious to be shut up in another conclave! The last one was enough for me!”

  “Sorry, Cardinal. I know you are right and I respect the difficult job the guards have on their hands. Maybe I need to adjust more than I really want to. Pray for me, Eminenza. I am a stubborn man,” Bill confessed.

  The cardinal bowed as he watched the pope wend his way back up to the papal apartment, leaving the embarrassed captain to try to explain to his superiors what had just happened.

  As the pope entered his private office the answering machine was blinking brightly. He pressed the button to answer whoever was on the line. “Your Holiness,” the Vatican operator reported, “Cardinal Comiskey called but you did not answer, so I assumed you were busy. He stated he would be at his residence for another hour.”

  Within two minutes Brian was on the line. After the pleasantries Bill said, “I need to ask you a favor, Cardinal Comiskey.”

  “Just say the word, Your Holiness, and I’ll do what I can.”

  “You have, of course, ordained many priests into the episcopacy, as well as bishops.”

  “If this means you have approved someone on my recommended list for the vacancy in Galway I’d be more than delighted. Just send me your official announcement and I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “I don’t know about any lists yet. In fact, I don’t know much about what goes on here at all. I’m still in boot camp. I want you to come to Rome to perform the rite. Can you fit it into your schedule as soon as possible?”

  “I could come this Friday. But why me? You have closetsful of bishops right there.”

  “Because I want you to consecrate me in this public ceremony, Brian.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, you know … His Holiness Pope Peter II, Bishop of Rome! I need to be consecrated out where anybody can see it happen, not just in the secret conclave. Church regulations, you know.”

  Brian laughed. “Oh, yes. But I haven’t received any announcement. When does the big event take place?”

  “Look, Brian. There isn’t going to be any announcement or any big event. I don’t want to complicate this. Just come here and I’ll explain everything. OK?”

  “Well, you’re the pope. What can I say? See you in two days, buddy … I mean, Your Holiness.”

  “See you Friday. Now good-bye. God bless.”

  As he replaced the phone a smirk flashed across his face. “We’ll just see what happens when this request gets out.”

  The knock on the door to hi
s apartment that Pope Bill was expecting—dreading, really—came late the following morning. A determined-looking Cardinal Robitelli entered the room. “Your Holiness,” he began. Now Bill knew he was in for trouble. Most of the week the secretary of state addressed him as “Pope Bill” when they were alone, as they were at this moment. “Excuse me for bothering you before our scheduled appointment this afternoon. Cardinal Bellotti told me what happened in the square. You must realize you have caused some serious difficulties not only for us but for the guards also.”

  Bill bowed his head, accepting the chastisement, but said nothing.

  “We are more than willing, anxious in fact, to assist you if you wish to meet people, but such meetings always take place in a private audience where they can be controlled. Not everyone in the world loves the pope and the Church, you know. You could have been in terrible danger. It has happened before.”

  Bill nodded somberly, recalling vividly the message and words of Pope John Paul II’s avviso to his heir. If he did his job, it said in effect, he would be in danger at all times. The assassination attempt in St. Peter’s Square had occurred on the anniversary of the original Lady of Fatima apparition.

  “Please allow us to assist you with security. The reason for this period of adjustment is to help you understand your role as head of the Church. It may seem the Swiss guards are a mere decoration, and we sincerely hope that is all they need be. But they are well-trained soldiers, equal to any in the world. They’ll die for you, but they expect you to give them a fair chance to stay alive as well.”

  Bill’s planned rebuttal to the cardinal’s scolding faded swiftly. “I was out of line. I’m sorry for that,” he said contritely. “I’ll try to do better.”

  “You must learn of the outstanding history and work of the Swiss guard, Your Holiness,” Cardinal Robitelli reproved. “I’ll have Monsignor Cippolini give you a complete history of them, right up to the present moment. Suffice it to say, those fluffy uniforms cover more than undergarments. I assure you those guards that formed the outside circle around you yesterday were well equipped to deal with any situation. Also, there were men in positions you would not notice, ready to respond to any emergency.”