The Accidental Pope (54 page)

The pope paused and took in the others with a glance. “Maybe it was because I was on the outside and could look at the Church I love in a more objective light,” he continued. “I could see, hear, and understand what Catholics were saying about it. Not only about the ordination of women or about married priests, but about those critical issues like birth control, capital punishment, abortion, gays and lesbians, and the annulment of marriages. I realize that these matters cannot be determined by what is termed ‘politically correct' or what the elite media and the polls have to say. No. God's teaching and what is best for the Church must determine our future.”

The pope was silent, uninterrupted for a moment. Then he spoke up again. “And another area of deep concern to me is, what are we going to do about reforming the Vatican Bank?”

Patsy's head sank, and a drained feeling seemed to weaken his entire body.

“This has become a matter of deep embarrassment to the Church,” the pope said sternly, looking at Patsy. “In the past we have had certain officials who many believe did not act in our Church's interests, but in their own financial interests. Has this changed? That area also needs investigation and reform.” The pope nodded at his declaration. “At least the windows need to be open and some fresh air let in. The same goes for the opening of our Vatican archives for scholars.”

“Those are very big and powerful toes you want to step on, Your Holiness.” After a pause Robitelli added dryly, “It has been tried before but without much success.”

“No success in allowing the laity to be more involved in their Church? To decide what is to be done with their funds the Church collects?” Bill exclaimed. “We have experts in the pews who are not permitted to use the particular talents God gave them on behalf of the Church. Should engineers, carpenters, accountants, lawyers, and doctors remain mute? A sad thought, because such specialists could become more ‘active' and help us. We need priests and bishops to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and perform other priestly duties.”

The pope stopped suddenly, an affronted look coming across his features. Then, “But should we not open the Church up and expand the role of women? Allow them to serve us in meaningful positions of authority? After all, aren't they also God's children? Has anyone here served God and Church better than Mother Teresa? Are we more important in God's eyes than she is just because we are men?”

The pope paused, but the question remained unanswered. “We don't need to apologize for the past,” he continued, “but rather to build on it. The laity at one time were poor, uneducated immigrants who could hope for nothing more than the mere necessities of life. Their one breath of fresh air was the faith that when they passed on, they would secure a better life under God. Now that they are educated they should not seem a threat but rather a strong right arm. We must become servants as Christ was, or turn into an empty shell. Based on what I've experienced from both sides of the altar, I know that the Holy Spirit will direct us through these adjustments that cry out to be made. We respect sacred Scripture, but must seek ways within Church law to effect change, reform, and inclusion. I know that God will guide us in this important matter, Your Eminence.”

The pope's lecture to the key members of the curia was interrupted suddenly by a loud knock on the door. Cardinal Robitelli, astonished, turned to see who could be possibly interrupting them.

“Come in!” The pope called out, also surprised by the interruption. The door slowly opened to reveal a flushed workman and a very disheveled Meghan standing with her head down, covered with dust and dirt from head to toe.

“Sorry, Your Holiness,” the man began. “May we speak with you?”

The pope was already on his feet and moving toward his daughter. Robitelli and the four other key members along with Patsy stood with a look of horror at a sight they had probably never seen before, certainly not in the Vatican.

“Dear God, child! What happened to you?”

She looked up sheepishly at her father. “I … I fell into a hole, Dad.”

“It was an accident,” the worker cut in before she could finish. “Please, Your Holiness, I am to blame. I should have been watching more closely. I was told you wanted Meghan to watch us work as we were excavating beneath the basilica. We got busy and I did not watch her closely. She went into the area we had not yet secured or even explored. I am sorry I did not watch her closer, Your Holiness.”

The pope watched as the curia members hastily left the pope and Robitelli in the private meeting room, the nervous worker mangling his cap in his hands. Bill also caught the expression on his daughter's face. It was all he needed, and parenthood took over. “Go back to your work, friend. Meghan will be fine.”

The pope closed the door as the embarrassed man hurried off.

“OK, baby, Dad knows that guilty look. What really happened?”

Meghan's red face told him he was on the right track. “It wasn't Antonio's fault at all. I got a little bored watching them clean stuff. I thought I would scout around a bit … I went into the restricted area when they were not looking and the ground dropped out from under me.”

The pope grabbed his daughter's shoulders with both hands, shaking his head in disbelief and anger. “You could have been buried alive. I told you to stay in the assigned area with the other students. You kids will be the death of me yet!” He stepped back to examine her more closely. “Are you hurt or cut?”

“Just a few bruises. I only fell about six feet and landed on my feet.”

“Well, you'll have to stop going down there.”

“No, Dad, please, not now. It's a big find. Everyone is excited.”

“What do you mean … ‘big find'?”

“Dad, I found what they have been digging for for the last three months. They were wrong in their calculations on which way the tunnel ran. I found the burial entrance site they were looking for!”

“Found? It sounds more like you just fell into it.” He smiled at Cardinal Robitelli. “Gino, would you go check on this whole thing and let me know what is going on down there? Also, tell that Antonio guy that it's not his fault. The culprit has confessed.”

The cardinal stared in disbelief. Evidently the Holy Family came before the Holy See. “Very well, Bill. We'll finish our conversation later if you wish.” He was out the door before the pope could frame a reply.

“And you, young lady, go get cleaned up.” He looked down at his own soiled white cassock. “I will, too.” She reached out to hug her father, but his hand stopped her. “I'll take a hug later when you're clean. Get going.”

He gathered his papers into a neat pile on his desk and glanced at the empty chairs where Cardinal Robitelli and the others had been in session. He felt distinctly ashamed as he realized that right in the middle of a heated debate, he had sent his secretary of state out to check on a hole in the ground.
Well,
he thought,
even laypeople have an effect on the magisterium.
He made his way to Meghan's bedroom. She had showered and dressed in clean clothes and was putting a Band-Aid on her leg to cover a minor cut.

“Well, baby, you had better take a few days off, away from the catacombs, and you'll stay in one piece.” He leaned over to kiss her on the head.

“Dad, I know I was wrong. Am I to be punished?”

He smiled at the question, then decided it might be a good idea. “Why, yes, maybe we should punish you. Now, let's see … how does a pope punish his child? It can't be a spanking … no, the pope's daughter must have a truly papal punishment. Let's say that you have to read one of the four Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John … completely. How's that?”

“Dad, you're off the wall!”

“True. But that's it. Let me know the one you read and I'll test you on it.”

“Dad … you really mean it?” His stern look answered the question. “OK, give me a week,” she said.

Bill Kelly, satisfied, left his archeology-minded daughter to finish cleaning up from her explorations.

The pope returned to his office and started reviewing his notes when the phone rang. It was Cardinal Robitelli. “Your Holiness, do you think we spoke long enough? Perhaps I should begin organizing certain things. And with your permission, I'll talk to Church scholars and theologians from the Angelicum and the Gregorian University.”

“I appreciate your willingness to go where you are opposed to exploring, Gino,” Bill said gratefully.

“Yes. The Jesuits and Dominicans can have much fun playing with this ‘hot potato,' as you Americans say.” Robitelli chuckled mirthlessly. Then, after a pause, “In regard to the accident, I checked into it personally. It seems that your daughter has become the outstanding archeologist of the year. That hole—or perhaps we should say tomb—she uncovered is a site that has eluded the Church for centuries. It appears Meghan has discovered the actual burial crypt of St. Paul!”

The cardinal was silent a moment, contemplating this revelation. Then, “It was thought by some that St. Paul was buried in a vineyard where San Paolo fuori le Mura, St. Paul's Church outside the walls, is presently located, but other historians say his remains had never been found. The remains of many saints and Church heroes were buried in secret locations in Rome and elsewhere in pagan times so the emperors could not exhume and desecrate them. It is possible, even likely, that Meghan has found St. Paul.” The excitement in the voice of the cardinal secretary of state reverberated over the line.

For Bill Kelly it was a revelation similar to the moment he saw Brian on the dock during the conclave and cried out, “Oh, my God! So it's true!”

“Thank you, Gino. My course is now clear, crystal clear. I know exactly what to do so long as the Holy Spirit allows me to live. Saul of Tarsus, the Apostle Paul, St. Paul has given Pope Peter II the sign I was looking for. It is so bright, so clear, and so unmistakable. Crete becomes Africa today! I am where I should be.”

Shaken at the sudden resolve, the unchallengeable self-confidence so suddenly taking over the pope's total psyche, Cardinal Robitelli beat a mental retreat from further confrontation with Bill Kelly, hanging up the phone.

The pope leaned back peacefully in his chair, now certain he was on the correct path for at least the start of his ambitious African program. If only his usual good health could be reestablished, he now felt confident that he would accomplish all the reforms the Holy Spirit had helped him envision when it had worked the miracle of Bill Kelly and the bark of St. Peter.

The enigmatic virus Bill had contracted was reminiscent of the one that had stricken the famous White House lawyer, Charles Ruff, on a visit to Africa as a young man, Ed Kirby had pointed out. It had put him in a wheelchair for life. But he had managed the vigorous defense of President Clinton in 1999, and Bill Kelly prayed that, whatever happened, he too could remain equally effective.

Nevertheless, it was impossible for the pope not to reflect on the
avviso
left to him by his predecessor. If he seemed to be accomplishing his mission, his life would indeed be endangered, as had the life of John Paul II when he set out to destroy European Communism. The former pontiff's warning that the Orthodox Church would be a powerful adversary to Catholicism had been reinforced by the meeting with the patriarch. But now his spirit rejoiced at the clear sign from St. Paul telling him the course he had set in Africa was right and to keep on following it, undeterred by distractions and the disapproval of others.

The pope decided to pause and say a bit of his Rosary to refocus his spirits. He caressed the silver beads, miraculously burnished to a bright new luster on his fishing boat that last morning, and his finger touched the sharp nick in the joiner inflicted thirty-five years before when he had tightened the screw on Brian's doorknob at the seminary. Bill was just heading into the third decade of his prayer when there was a knock at his library door.

Since only the highest-ranking members of the Vatican family could even approach this entrance, the pope called out to come in. His calm dissipated when Cardinal Bellotti entered. This visit meant a further attempt to dissuade the pope from his Africa program.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Holiness, but I thought you might be interested in some news I have.”

Bill Kelly was really confused as he watched the cardinal pause by the small serving table and glance down.

“Tell me, Bill, are those real peanuts or treated red ants?”

This was not the usual Bellotti. The pope regained his composure. “Help yourself to the real thing, Eminence.” Bill Kelly had never been drawn to calling this cardinal by his first name, the majestic “Leonardo.” “The coffee there is still hot.”

The cardinal indulged himself and sat down in front of the pope's desk.

“Well, now, Bellotti, what is this interesting news you have?”

The cardinal gulped another mouthful of coffee to clear the nuts and smiled omnisciently. “Bill, I have been involved in a most absorbing situation here.”

“I'm listening.”

The cardinal's black eyes gleamed hypnotically. “It seems that my outstanding charm has motivated a nonreligious personage within the Vatican family to approach me to learn a bit more about the Church. As you know, we cardinals do not often get involved in proselytizing, but since it was you who specifically asked that some non-Catholics be welcomed here, I thought I would accept the challenge.”

Bellotti paused, gauging the pope's interest in the point he was trying to make, and thought he caught a sympathetic gleam in the pontiff's eye. “And so, with my usual brilliance”—he smiled at his own self-mockery—“I was able to show how sweet the gentle Jesus really is, despite some idiots who try to serve him. In short, Your Holiness, I have made a convert. So I thought it would be appropriate if I offered a private Mass in the pope's chapel—with his permission, of course. Then my convert could have a private breakfast with the pope and me. To use your vernacular, what do you think of those apples?”