The Accidental Pope (28 page)

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 his 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.”

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.”