The Accidental Pope

by Ray Flynn

  The cardinal paused to see if he was getting his message across. “It is not something we are happy with, Your Holiness. It is, however, part of the world we must live in.” He smiled at the humbled pontiff. “To be honest, Your Holiness, I thought I was going to be in for a verbal battle. Thank you for your consideration. Perhaps you fail to appreciate the significance of all our traditions even as Pope Peter II. The robes, the miter, all serve to remind us of God’s authority and power.”

  For a moment Bill was tempted to give the cardinal the Polish pope’s avviso to read, but some instinct told him, Not yet. Instead he asked, “What of the authority of the many millions of people whom we serve in God’s name? The ‘people in the pews,’ as we used to call them. Particularly in America, these masses are questioning the basic traditions sometimes taken for granted. No less a political American icon than Senator David Lane, from one of our richest, most powerful Catholic families, called some Roman Catholic traditions, and I quote him, ‘Catholic gobbledygook’ and called himself a ‘cafeteria Catholic.’ He’ll decide which teachings of the Church to follow.”

  Cardinal Robitelli ignored the barb. “They have had no training in Church history. Please understand that we need to be firm to these traditions just as each of us was while rising up the ladder of authority. We have a glorious history to live up to.” He smiled patiently at the pope, who was listening intently to his words. “I hope you will allow our learned historians to give you further instruction so that we may come to some agreement on these issues. We must have order and discipline in our ancient traditions.”

  The cardinal paused in his lecture, seeing the pope’s face flush and his eyes narrow and harden. There was no hint of agreement. Robitelli began to feel quite uncomfortable as Pope Peter rose from his chair and leaned his hands on the desk.

  “Cardinal, I have read a great deal of Church history. Not only written by Catholic and Protestant historians but by just plain old everyday historians who, incidentally, had less of an ax to grind or point to prove. Maybe, just maybe, you are the one who doesn’t see clearly. Maybe you have only one quite narrow view of the entire tapestry. The word ‘religion,’ as you know, comes from the Latin ligio, which means ‘to connect.’ As ligaments connect our body parts. As I see it, you don’t completely connect. The fancy robes and miters and titles have more to do with earthly authority than with God’s Church. I think the feudal Middle Ages is where all this hierarchical pageantry comes from.”

  Pope Peter stared at his uncharacteristically cowed Vatican secretary of state and added yet another thought. “Good God, ‘Your Holiness,’ ‘Your Eminence,’ ‘Your Excellency’—it makes me want to throw up my hands in frustration.” Bill paused to bow his head, realizing he might have gone too far, perhaps allowed himself to be too forceful.

  He raised his head and stared into the eyes of the bewildered cardinal. His mind spun as he searched for words. Suddenly in a rush they came. “Tell me, Your Eminence, do you recall what Our Savior replied when questioned by the young man? ‘Good master, what must I do to be saved?” Bill paused but did not wait for a reply. “I believe he said, ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good … only God.’ If Jesus abhorred the idea of being considered better than the rest of mankind, then what are we talking about? Sometimes I feel that tradition is an excuse for not doing something that needs getting done. God is not Church tradition. He is always NOW! Everything is in the Present to him. By emphasizing tradition we avoid responsibility for all new, forward action.”

  The two Churchmen looked each other in the face. Bill began to feel his mouth had betrayed him again. “I’m, I’m sorry if—”

  The cardinal lifted his hand to interrupt. “Please, no more.” He turned and left the pope’s office.

  25

  BISHOP OF ROME

  When Cardinal Robitelli failed to appear for his usual midafternoon meeting, Pope Peter began to have qualms of conscience about his sudden outburst a few hours before. He felt at sea in a world with which he found it difficult, nearly impossible, to come to grips. He placed another call to his faithful friend in Dublin, only to hear the operator report that the cardinal was unavailable.

  “Do you wish to leave a message, Your Holiness?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll speak to him tomorrow when he comes here to see me.” He hung up the telephone and began pacing despondently back and forth over the length of his office. He tried to pray, but nothing seemed to help. He dropped into the seat behind his desk and reached for the telephone.

  “Please place a call to my home in Massachusetts and buzz me when you get through,” he requested. Fifteen minutes passed before the buzzer sounded. His heart quickened its pace as he anticipated the comfort of his children’s comments on his general situation.

  “Your Holiness, your son Ryan is on the phone. He states that your other children have gone shopping. Do you want to speak to him?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He heard his son’s voice over the line. “Ryan, how are you, boy? Good … No, I just wanted to gab with you kids. I miss all of you. I was feeling a bit down so I thought you all could cheer me up. How is the fishing? … Yes, it must be hard. I can’t expect you to easily understand why I did this, son. I know Uncle Sean tried his best to explain. No, I can’t say I’m enjoying myself. Please don’t be sarcastic. It has nothing to do with ‘enjoyment,’ son. Just my own feeling that this is what I am called to do at this point in my life.” He pictured his son on the other end of the line.

  “It’s asking a lot of you to run the business, I know. But you’re a grown man, Ryan. And I have the greatest confidence in you. I’ve written you a long letter about the business. You are to be the owner, son. The same as when my father turned it over to me when I gave up the priesthood. Manny and Jerry will help you. Yes, I know you’d be happier to have me. It was sudden for us all but I really know this is where I need to be, where I belong right now…” He hesitated a moment.

  “Your sister said you were pretty upset about the girls and Roger coming here to live and you staying. Please try to see it in the light of your faith in God. I know you will make a good boss and treat the men as equals. And tell the guys that I send my very best … What? Yes, it should be easy enough to find some medals and send them a special blessing. I’ll get you some medals of St. Peter, a fisherman like us, Ryan.”

  For the first time that day Pope Peter laughed aloud. “He said that? That’s funny. Stan is Jewish, you know, but if he wants a medal, he gets one! I’ll tell the engraving department to make me a nice big St. Abraham medal for Stanley. How’s that?

  “No, I never heard of him either but I can take care of that. I’ll just declare him a saint. I’ll have the medals in the mail this week. Tell the others that Uncle Brian is coming to see me tomorrow. And Ryan, when the press folks contact you, just remember you are the pope’s son and don’t swear at them.” The pope laughed at his son’s reply. “I’ll call and tell you all about Uncle Brian’s visit.”

  The pope felt better as he hung up but decided to go to his private chapel to see if God was in a talkative mood.

  He knelt slowly, breathing deeply as he looked up at the tabernacle. What was there to say? His depression returned as he tried to articulate his dilemma. “Look, I’m not asking for visions or miracles. Just tell me what I should do. How can I settle these issues I’m supposed to settle? I used to think You gave special knowledge to the pope. If You will help me, show me the way, I’d really appreciate it.” Silence seemed to muffle the chapel. He felt devoid of inspiration. He put his face in his hands and let taciturnity envelop him. He lost track of time until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked up into the ascetic, aristocratic face of Cardinal Robitelli.

  “Your Holiness, sorry to disturb you. I want to apologize for leaving so abruptly.”

  “It was my fault, Gino. I was far too outspoken. I don’t know what came over me. So much change and pressure, I guess.”

  “No matter. I recall we had
originally agreed to discuss our differences. I should have heard you out. I am aware of your point of view. We can go over it tomorrow if you wish.”

  The pope rose from the kneeler and seated himself in his chair. “I’ve been thinking about my consecration as bishop.”

  “Oh?” the cardinal responded cautiously, seating himself beside the pope.

  “I have asked Cardinal Comiskey to come here tomorrow. My plan was to have him consecrate me a bishop and skip all the ceremonies.”

  “I suspected you might be thinking along those lines.”

  “I suppose the idea upsets you.”

  “In some respects. But there is sense to it. Under the circumstances it is best not to make your consecration too public, or not public at all. Totally private, in fact. Do what God guides you to do. You are the pope, after all!”

  Bill still felt the cardinal’s hand on his shoulder as Robitelli rose to leave.

  “I’ve seen other popes and brother cardinals with that look I now see on your face, Your Holiness. I’m not preaching, just imparting a thought someone told me years ago when I was praying for guidance. Our God is a God of silence. He speaks only in silence.” With that Robitelli was gone. Bill Kelly bowed his head and closed his eyes, absorbing the chapel’s tranquillity.

  It was eleven the next morning when Cardinal Comiskey arrived and was escorted up to the papal study. “Brian, come in, come in!” A delighted Pope Bill hastened to greet his best friend, reaching out to give the cardinal a hug and a crushing handshake.

  “Glad to see you, Your Holiness. You don’t look any the worse for wear. Is your new ‘job’ agreeing with you?”

  “If that’s a fact then I can thank Tim Shanahan, and of course you and Ed Kirby for bringing him swimming into my net, so to speak.”

  “I am indeed happy to hear you say that. Has he actually moved into the Vatican?”

  “Not yet. He feels for the sake of harmony he should be readily available but that a gradual intensifying of his influence will better serve the cause.”

  Comiskey frowned and then nodded. “Yes, I suppose he’s right. We don’t want Robitelli and the rest to get their noses out of joint just yet.”

  “For certain everything is much more complicated than I ever dreamed. I came here hoping to do real good for our Church in the world. Now I feel I’m just trying things that will cause the least amount of harm. Tim keeps telling me to hold on and everything will work out just fine.”

  “We can’t please everyone, Bill. Just get as much information as possible before you make a decision. Then pray to God it turns out right.”

  Bill allowed a half smile to cross his lips. “I’ll try to remember that, Coach.”

  “And now, Your Holiness, when do we perform our little ceremony? This afternoon? This evening?”

  “Brian, I hope you’ll understand. I have decided on a Mass in the private chapel. After I receive the Holy Eucharist, just lay your hands on me to consecrate me a bishop and that will be that!”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. No frills. The basic form that the early Church followed. It is valid, you know. Bishops are priests, after all.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s true. But have you discussed this with Robitelli? Or with the other bishops and cardinals here?”

  “I discussed it with Tim and he said the plan was just what he would have suggested. Yesterday I told Gino what I wanted. To my amazement, he agreed. And just before you arrived he phoned me to say that at a general meeting with many of the bishops and cardinals they too agreed. Those who wish to attend the Mass are welcome. It will be at noon and lunch at one. OK?”

  “Wow, you move fast! Do you think I have time to go to the bathroom?” They laughed and embraced once again.

  “The chapel at noon, Brian. Keep it simple … no sermon.”

  * * *

  The chapel, surprisingly, was filled with several cardinals and bishops and numerous clergy, all of whom were staff in the Vatican. They had evidently been informed by Cardinal Robitelli of the momentous event, reduced to ceremonial insignificance at the pope’s request, that was to take place. Many came out of curiosity, to be able to later say they had been present when Pope Peter had been ordained bishop of Rome. Monsignor Timothy Shanahan sat unobtrusively at the back of the chapel.

  Several of those present came forward after the short ceremony to kiss the ring of the newly made bishop. When the celebrant and the new bishop sat down to lunch they had to insist on a reluctant Tim Shanahan joining them. Brian was the first to comment on the disdainful attitude of some of those in attendance. Bill was quick to brush it aside. “I think it’s much too early to make anything of their seeming condescension, Brian. Remember the confused attitudes we had when the Church switched from Latin to the vernacular? I can expect the same. I am a renegade around here.”

  Pope Peter held up his wineglass in silent salute to those before him at the luncheon. Robitelli had made a last-minute excuse for not being among them. Taking a long swallow, the pope continued, “They’ll either accept me in time, if I toe the mark, or”—he smiled wanly—“increase their prayers to the Holy Spirit to take me to my eternal whatever.”

  Shanahan leaned over. “That may be right, Your Holiness. But you are the pope, regardless of what the people attached to this reverent place may feel about you. You may have noticed that Cardinal Robitelli excused himself after you and Cardinal Comiskey insisted on my presence at this table.”

  “They should show a little respect for the papacy, at least,” Brian grumbled.

  “Down, boy.” Bill grinned. “Cool it. When this lunch is over we can go sit in my library and have a little schnapps or Irish Mist to settle the stomach. Do you want to stay for supper, or do you have to get back?”

  “Needless to say, when I left Dublin, I thought I was in for a long, drawn-out affair, so I canceled all tomorrow’s appointments. Satan at work again!”

  “The Holy Spirit at work again! We can have some real time alone together,” Bill said in pleased tones.

  After the luncheon Bill led Brian and, with some insistence, Monsignor Shanahan back down to the apostolic apartment. He poured a liberal Irish Mist for each of them, and after a few minutes of relaxed banter, Brian asked Tim outright how he was doing as the pope’s closest adviser.

  “At all times I am trying to anticipate our next problem and steer His Holiness here away from it.” Tim sipped his drink. “Until now he has taken my advice. But the less I am seen exerting a strong influence, the better I can serve him.”

  “That has to be corrected,” the pope said. “As soon as possible we should make Monsignor Shanahan a bishop with an official post inside where he can advise me every day as my private secretary.”

  “I agree,” Brian said heartily. “We’re the Irish Mafia.”

  “As your adviser, let me suggest you wait on that,” Tim told the pope. “The correct moment will no doubt arrive, but it sure isn’t now.” All three took a healthy sip of the Mist to let this sink in.

  There will never be a more propitious time than now, Bill thought in this moment of warmth shared with his two most trusted advisers. “There is another bit of information,” he began hesitantly. “I have shared it with no one, although Robitelli certainly is aware of what is causing my concerns even if he does not know precisely what they consist of.”

  “Please, Bill, there is no time like this moment,” Brian urged.

  Monsignor Shanahan put the empty glass down and turned attentively to Bill, anticipating an unburdening of some of the pope’s seldom-revealed anxieties.

  “I call it the warning, avviso, from my predecessor.”

  Bill went on to describe the way Robitelli had presented him with the sealed document. He was conscious of it resting securely in the desk across the library from where the three were seated around a low table. Bill explained to his two closest advisers how he had painstakingly, word by word, roughly translated the Italian writing into Englis
h.

  “Here, I’ll show it to you,” Bill said impulsively. He put his empty crystal glass down and, placing his hands on the arms of the chair, started to push himself up to a standing position.

  “A moment, Holiness.” Monsignor Shanahan’s voice cracked as he put out a hand to restrain the pope. Bill sank back in his chair, leveling a questioning stare at Tim.

  “Have you told Cardinal Robitelli what is in this warning, as you translate avviso?”

  “No, I have not. He has been on the verge of asking me several times, but I managed to turn him off the matter.”

  “Your Holiness … Bill.” There was urgency in Brian’s tone. “Tim is thinking that before you actually allow us to see and read this message, you should at least let the cardinal secretary of state be the first to know what the contents are. If, as you say, the advice from John Paul II is not to let anybody read it but to keep its message clearly in your mind, that’s fine. But to let us read it, even though we’re dying to see it, before discussing the contents with Robitelli would be an error in tactics.”

  Bill knew his two advisers were correct. “Robitelli will, then, be the first to actually read the avviso. It will give him an opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ when he brings up my little solo walk around St. Peter’s Square, of course.”

  “How’s that, Bill?”

  “The avviso in effect tells me that if I follow the Holy Spirit’s plan for my papacy, I will not live longer than it takes to fulfill my mission here. He wrote that Our Lady of Fatima, working against the third prophecy, saved him from dying that day in the square when the Turk shot him. He then lived to rid the world of Communism to fulfill the second prophecy of Fatima. But with his avviso revealing that the greatest loss of life to genocidal behavior, disease, and famine ever seen on Earth will happen at the start of the third millennium, I must work fast to accomplish my mission here.” The pope shrugged in resignation.