The Accidental Pope

by Ray Flynn

  “I talked to Ed Kirby yesterday,” the pope said. “He’s close to the leadership of the American Jewish community due to his helping the president develop diplomatic relations between Israel and the Vatican under you and John Paul II. He thinks the Jewish leaders are bound to raise the Holocaust apology issue.”

  “No doubt,” replied Robitelli. “Even though this is a get-acquainted meeting, expect a serious discussion on several controversial issues. And you can be sure they will bring up the ten thousand hidden Jews,” he added. “Children who were saved from Hitler by adoption into Catholic families and then baptized.”

  The cardinal sighed deeply. “A Mr. Gabe Wolfson of the Jewish Anti-Defamation League in New York, a friend of Kirby’s, was urging us—especially Church officials in eastern Europe—to turn over baptismal records to international Jewish agencies, for determining every child’s religious lineage. Those records are not kept here, they were in the churches where the children were baptized. Most were destroyed during the war. In fact many records were not kept to protect the children from the Nazis.”

  “I suppose that when Secretary of State Madeleine Albright discovered she was Jewish, not Catholic, it revived the issue,” the pope said. “Although John Paul II’s visit to Israel healed some wounds, many apparently still remain.”

  “I have arranged for Father Remi, who is our secretary for the Religious Relations Commission with Jews, to drop in this morning and brief you and answer any questions that you may have.”

  “Thank you, Gino.” He held up his folder of notes. “I’ll be ready.”

  “The meeting itself will be in the Vatican Picture Gallery, a beautiful and quite historic setting. The group has asked for a private tour of the museums and the Sistine Chapel, and a group photo with you in front of a famous painting by Pinturicchio and Perugino called Moses Journeying to Egypt.”

  The pope scribbled notes of his conversation with Robitelli. “Gino, have a papal chair placed at the head of that large Italian marble table. We can all sit around it and be comfortable. Find out what rabbis like and have some of our special wine there and light snacks, OK? And make sure it’s kosher.” Although the requests were unusual for a papal audience, the cardinal recognized what the pope was thinking and rose to attend to the details.

  “Deference to the roots of Jesse … I must admit, that is a nice touch, Bill.”

  “Thanks, Gino. And oh, would you ask Sister Miriam to attend as well? Her family background—you know, coming from Brooklyn—and her education and religious training would make her prepared and qualified to be there. I may also have to dictate things if they make any requests. Be prepared for anything, eh?”

  At twelve noon the gathering of eighty-three Jewish rabbis, scholars, and a few other representatives from Jewish groups from throughout the world were seated around the marble table in the magnificent Vatican Picture Gallery. They noticed that a painting of a German-born Jew, Edith Stein, killed by the Nazis at the Auschwitz concentration camp, was hanging there. Stein, the first Jewish-born canonized saint, had converted to Catholicism and had been a Carmelite nun.

  Bottles of kosher wine, mineral water, juice, and crackers and cheese were in ample supply. At the far end on a slightly raised platform sat a gilded, cushioned papal chair that elicited negative comments from among the rabbis, bothered by the noticeable sign of authority. “What to expect from this new pope?”

  A door at the front of the room opened and the pope entered in his simple white cassock and skullcap, accompanied by a tall thin nun but no other aides. The rabbis rose to show their respect. The pope stopped just short of the main chair and raised his hands.

  “Shalom aleichem and good Shabbat. Dear brothers, I am honored to have you at the Vatican.” He ventured further welcoming comments in Hebrew or Yiddish. Then, “May I ask which of you is Rabbi Koburn?”

  An elderly and bearded rabbi near the front of the room raised his hand. The pope walked over and grasped it. “I’m happy to meet you, Rabbi.” He turned to the group. “Please be seated and feel at home.” Then, still holding the hand of the rabbi, “Now, Rabbi, ever since I knew I would be meeting you, I’ve had one burning desire. Would you do me a favor?”

  The rabbi seemed nonplussed at being singled out, but fumbled a reply. “Why, yes, if I can. What may I do for you, Your Holiness?”

  The pope turned and pointed to the gilded chair. “It would delight me to no end if you would sit in that big chair there with the papal seal. As you well know, it has been centuries since we had a Jewish pope. I’d love to have for my desk a picture of you in that papal chair.”

  Tension was lifted in a flash. Laughter rang out, nervous yet relieved, along with the clapping of hands. Rabbi Koburn, blushing, met the challenge. He walked up and seated himself, looked down from the dais, and waved a papal blessing as Sister Miriam snapped photos with a small camera. The rabbi stood up and returned to his seat. Kelly settled down in a chair directly across from Koburn in the middle of the group. No visible sign of superiority or subservience was to be evident at this historic meeting. Full attention was focused on Bill Kelly as he pushed himself out of his chair and stood behind it to be better seen. He made an effort to maintain eye contact with each of his visitors.

  “Thank you for coming here.” Bill paused for effect. “I hope to put you more at ease by first saying that the wine and food are kosher and are prepared to be taken. Feel free to indulge while we talk. I’ll have some myself. I see we have no formal agenda per se, except we were all asked to comment generally on Jewish-Catholic relations. I was given a great deal of information, too much perhaps, before your coming. Some members of our college of cardinals offered me suggestions about what I might say, others on what I ought not to say.” More laughter, greater relaxation.

  “I thanked them for their concern, but after much thought, and prayer, I decided that I must do this my own way and explain my feelings to you about what we Christians would call the ‘Jewish question.’ Has the Church done enough through the years? During the war years? That’s the debate that has driven us to a position of division and mistrust. I know my predecessor tried to begin the healing with his historic visit to Israel shortly before his death.”

  After a moment of silence he met the stares, some curious, some on the verge of hostility. Pope Peter continued. “I want to close those wounds, once and for all. Not by finger-pointing or accusations, but through mutual understanding. If I may, I would like to back up a bit and refer to the New Testament, specifically the Acts of the Apostles, chapter five, verse thirty-four, which I’m sure most of you know. Then it was hardly the ‘Jewish question’ but rather the ‘Christian question.’ You recall it says, ‘A Pharisee named Gamaliel, a teacher of the law, who was honored by all the people, stood up at the Sanhedrin and ordered the Apostles to be put outside while he addressed the assembly.’”

  The pope fixed one after another of the rabbis with his bright blue eyes. “Now, may I say that the next part of this speech has both bothered and delighted me ever since I was a young man studying for the priesthood at my seminary. Here we have this famous honored man reminding his brothers that if the Christian movement were merely human it would die out, but if from God, it could not. Thus we Christians through the centuries have boasted that since the Church has not died out, it must therefore—eo ipso, ipso facto, and ergo—be divine.”

  Once again the pope looked from one rabbi to the next before continuing. “The sad point I wish to make to you is that the story pointed out also the sincerity of those gathered with Gamaliel, for they agreed with him. How then did it happen that this persecution of Jews by Christians burgeoned for two millennia? I was appalled at this history. Edward Cardinal Casey of New Zealand, who has worked with religious and political leaders throughout the world, gave me a thorough review of the issue. The slaughter of Jews in western Europe during the first three of our Crusades. The extermination of Jews in Palestine. Jews expelled from England in 1290. Three hundred Jewish
communities destroyed under the Holy Roman Empire in 1349. Jews expelled from France in 1494, Spain in 1492, and Portugal in 1497. I know you are painfully aware of these things and that they comprise but a small part of your Diaspora history. I state these few to let you know I am aware of them. Dear God, when will it ever end?

  “Several cardinals have asked that I try to do what I can to help heal this original breach between Christians and Jews. I know that to ask the Jewish people to accept Jesus as the Messiah, however, would be as difficult as your asking me to give up my faith in Jesus as the Christ. We Christians, again as you know, have endured centuries-long struggles trying to come to some agreement amongst ourselves! But I would say, in that regard, there is a major difference in the several factions. I mentioned this to my cardinal secretary of state and he concurred. I said that other Christian communities, were they a part of the Roman Church, would then swell our number. But this cannot be said of Jews. If Jews recognized Jesus as the Messiah, as a few of you do, they would not be by extension Roman Catholics.”

  The audience gasped audibly at this near insult, but Pope Peter continued. “The Vatican, sacred as it is, would cease to be. Jerusalem would once more become the focus of Christianity. You cannot have a branch supporting the tree.”

  Pope Peter glanced about at the intent faces staring at him. “Jews, as St. Paul said, are ‘the root of Jesse.’ We are but the wild olive branch that has been engrafted. And I think it would take an enormous dispensation of grace from our own Jews—Jesus of Nazareth in particular—to cover that change. So perhaps we can begin to make our way, by common effort, first to study and then to measure the way to bring the Old and New Testaments together.”

  Again, after making eye contact at several points about the room, Pope Peter continued. “May I suggest first a Jewish chair of study in our Vatican Library, held by scholars of your choice, with complete access to our ancient and modern records. Also, a Christian chair of study at your Hebrew University or at a comparable venue, for Catholic scholars in Israel. Thus, when both Jews and Catholics make statements, they will be more and more the product of collaboration and love, and not political posturing.”

  There was a long and deliberate pause as the pope reached for a glass of water and some of the rabbis, for the first time, partook of the kosher wine before them.

  “I do not make this request as an offer to appease the Jewish people. Let the chips fall where they may! I request it from a sincere Church burdened by guilt after centuries of persecution. And my own feeling goes beyond mere apologizing. In conclusion, just as the New Testament records Jesus as saying, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’ he meant also, ‘Rome, Rome, Christians, Christians, why are you persecuting my people?’”

  The pope’s voice had quivered as he spoke, touching the amazed and confused, not to say acutely embarrassed, gathering. Those who had begun to drink wine lowered their glasses, listening to this Roman pontiff, the successor of St. Peter, and an American at that, apologizing and admitting to something that had been buried in the minds of all of them. Rabbi Koburn rose from his seat, walked around the table, and warmly and with sincere emotion embraced the deeply moved pope. Light applause rose from the still-skeptical gathering as he returned to his seat.

  A second rabbi stood in his place to face the pontiff. “I’m told you prefer to be called ‘Pope Peter’ rather than ‘Your Holiness,’ or, if people wish to be friendly, you even prefer ‘Bill.’ Well, Bill, I am Victor Weiss. I would like to here and now, in this great Vatican Gallery, volunteer as a contender for that chair of study that you have offered us.”

  The pontiff had regained his composure, vigorously wiped his eyes, and turned to Sister Miriam, seated nervously on the edge of her chair. “Sister Miriam, please note that Rabbi Victor Weiss has been named for consideration to the new office of Jewish chair at the Vatican and, if elected by his peers, will begin work as soon as he is available to us. We, in turn, will submit names to Rabbi Koburn. And since we are on the subject of names, record this, Sister. This gallery, being the place where important papal meetings have been held for centuries, I suggest will signify that all of us are sons of Abraham, and it is fitting that this hall should officially be known henceforth as the Gallery of Abraham.”

  Those gathered were collectively agape at this incredible announcement, but most were deeply touched by the historic gesture. Symbolism maybe, but meaningful, without doubt.

  The pope turned his attention back to the rabbis, most of whom were moved, some of whom were still doubtful. A hand was raised at the far end of the table. The pope motioned in recognition.

  “Bill, I’m Joshua Horvitz, Israeli ambassador to Washington. Although I am pleased to see you trying to bring the religious differences between our great histories together, I, a layman, have to face more practical issues that are important to my government. I am wondering if you might have some insights as to how our governments and religious faiths might handle issues like the West Bank, the Arabs, and the Palestinians. Those are my burdens daily and my country’s major problems.”

  The pope noticed the rabbis were looking straight at the ambassador as though he had tried to change the subject or was putting the pope on the spot. Bill indicated it was all right, smiling and directing his attention back to the ambassador. “Joshua, your question is like asking me to explain God in five sentences or less. The legislative scene has always been hard for me to follow. I am not a bureaucrat. For now, though, I know the American ambassador to the Holy See, Edward Kirby, believes that John Paul II’s historic visit to the Holy Land has generated so much positive publicity for all sides. With that, peace in the Middle East must be seized upon. But if you don’t mind listening to the ravings of a crazy fisherman, when this meeting has concluded I invite you and anyone else interested to come up to my library and have a short political discussion.”

  The ambassador bowed his head slightly. “It will be an honor, Bill.” The limited invitation brought a round of appreciative applause from the rest of the group and reestablished the earlier calm. The remaining hour was spent in small talk, wine imbibing, and the shaking of hands (and heads) as the members came forward to greet this strangest of popes. At one-thirty the chief rabbi of Rome, Elio Toaff, thanked the pope on behalf of the audience. The rabbi reminded the pope that the group was looking forward to seeing him at the synagogue located in the Jewish quarter, known as “the Ghetto,” for prayer and reflection preceding dinner. It would be only the second time in history that a pontiff had set foot inside the most historic Roman synagogue.

  The ambassador and a few other rabbis followed the pope and Monsignor Cippolini back to the private papal library next to the apartment. Once they were seated on the sofa and chairs in the library alcove and a bottle of wine had been opened and placed with glasses on the table, Pope Peter opened the discussion.

  “Joshua, I would like to relate your concerns to some of my thoughts on Judaism over the years. Naturally my ideas are biased by the New Testament, particularly the writings of St. Paul.”

  The Israeli ambassador smiled and gestured at the pope, encouraging him to hold forth. “Bill, I will probably understand what you say, since I have read St. Paul—Rabbi Saul, we call him—with some interest myself.”

  The pope smiled but shook his head. “No, Joshua, I don’t think you know what I will say. I’m not a biblical scholar. My thoughts on St. Paul are my own. But I believe they are true. I am absolutely sure, for a start, that the Jewish race was chosen by God as his special instrument in his plan for the world. You are the chosen people. We Gentiles, let me use the word, are part of God’s universal salvation, but only through the chosen people. What bothers me so much, in all due respect, is that you are missing your calling. Struggling so hard to form a Promised Land, you have lowered your calling to the level of the rest of us. Arabs, Germans, Americans … no matter who you pick. Looking for a special piece of Near Eastern real estate, you are less different, indeed no longer differen
t. Trying to reclaim a special place, you have lost the concept of that ‘special people.’ The Promised Land is in God himself. We all hope to be part of that. If you feel a need for a place of your own, why not just join with the other eastern groups and call the whole area not Zion but, in a common federation, the Promised Land, like the United States of America? People could then come and go inside any area they please. Boundaries only have meaning in relation to history and to the elections of local politicians. In pushing that idea you would truly be chosen … chosen to bring peace to lands that have not experienced genuine peace for thousands of years.

  “Perhaps the ideal path, in my mind, that is, would be to build all those extra houses in the West Bank, every other house occupied by separate nationalities—one Jew, one Palestinian, and so forth. Build synagogues and mosques side by side, as in Jerusalem.” Bill grinned slyly. “Throw in a Christian Church for good measure. Nothing like a good bingo game on a quiet Monday night.”

  Joshua and the rabbis who had accompanied him smiled, as if in pain, however. One guffawed outright.

  “And lastly, only one police force, composed of equal numbers of Jews and Palestinians, or, if that proved impossible, ask the United Nations to send in a security force temporarily. They would be the only ones legally permitted to bear arms until things settled down. Well, there you have it, Joshua. What about those apples?”

  Although there was no sign of outright anger in the faces before him, there was little indication of agreement either. The ambassador took a sip of his wine and rubbed his chin as he cleared his throat. “Well, now, Bill, I can agree with at least one of your pronouncements: The ideas are all a bit odd.” Laughter rose from the small gathering.