It’s not every day you go to Mass and your local parish
church has, that very day, changed its name.
But with yesterday’s canonization of Popes John XXIII and John
Paul II on Sunday, 27 April, here in Bigfork MT, Blessed Pope John Paul II
parish is now Saint John Paul II
parish. When the woman who welcomes us at the beginning of the service welcomed
us to the latter instead of the former, there was loud applause from the
congregation. The parish was founded months before John Paul’s death, so there
is a strong affinity with John Paul for many. He was a living memory; he was
Pope in the lifetime of most, a constant presence. I guess it’s only natural…
Perhaps it is needless to say that I had mixed feelings.
At the risk of being needlessly cynical, the choice of these two particular Popes seemed calculated to perfectly appeal to two wings of the Church without offending either. What I mean is that it would be extremely difficult to imagine either one of these men being canonized singularly in the current cultural context of the Catholic Church. John XXIII seems to be there to appeal to progressives within the Church. This was, after all, the Pope who called the Second Vatican Council (1962-65) and delivered the famous encyclical Pacem in Terris. As someone whose theology is rooted in liberation theology, which in some ways was both a catalyst and a fruit of the Latin American bishops’ efforts to practically implement the far-reaching implications of the Council, John XXIII in a sense represents for me the probing Church, the seeking Church; the Church of optimism and opportunity, openness, and transformation; the Church grappling with and embracing the modern world in all its complexity and dynamism. John XXIII embodies for me the question, ‘how broad and expansive might the Church be?’
At the risk of being needlessly cynical, the choice of these two particular Popes seemed calculated to perfectly appeal to two wings of the Church without offending either. What I mean is that it would be extremely difficult to imagine either one of these men being canonized singularly in the current cultural context of the Catholic Church. John XXIII seems to be there to appeal to progressives within the Church. This was, after all, the Pope who called the Second Vatican Council (1962-65) and delivered the famous encyclical Pacem in Terris. As someone whose theology is rooted in liberation theology, which in some ways was both a catalyst and a fruit of the Latin American bishops’ efforts to practically implement the far-reaching implications of the Council, John XXIII in a sense represents for me the probing Church, the seeking Church; the Church of optimism and opportunity, openness, and transformation; the Church grappling with and embracing the modern world in all its complexity and dynamism. John XXIII embodies for me the question, ‘how broad and expansive might the Church be?’
John Paul II, on the other hand, was there for the
conservatives, those who’d always been suspicious of Vatican II and all that
followed it. John Paul II, it would not be wholly unfair to say, spent the
majority of his papacy rolling back and corralling much of Vatican II’s
possibilities- or at least what its most expansive interpreters might have hoped
for. Progressive seminaries were closed; hierarchical positions went to the
most conservative candidates; Leonardo Boff was silenced, Jon Sobrino
reprimanded and much of the most dynamic aspects of the movement were either
condemned, co-opted or sanitized; Archbishop Oscar Romero was unsuccessful in
gaining from John Paul an official condemnation of El Salvador’s brutal regime,
which eventually killed Romero; John Paul was scathing in his criticism of the
Base Christian Communities movement in Central America; any discussion of a
more nuanced understanding of gender, sexuality and reproductive issues were
off limits under John Paul’s papacy; centralization and autocracy were
hallmarks it. John Paul II embodies for me the question, ‘how can we more
rigidly define and control what the Church should be?’
This is not to overlook John Paul II’s many positive
policies and stances- his implacable opposition to state communism, war, and organized
crime, as well as being the first world leader to use the word ‘genocide’ to
describe the 1994 events in Rwanda. His spirituality and religious devotion are
beyond dispute, and he was a man of personal righteousness.
So, my difficulties with John Paul II are not over this
issue or that issue; we are simply two different sorts of men and two different
sorts of Christians. At bottom, I am a revolutionary- not a liberal, not a
progressive- a revolutionary. I seek liberty, justice, equality, reparation, and
social transformation; I don’t seek it from a government, a class, my ‘betters’,
or from beneficiaries. In the face of systematic oppression, marginalization,
theft, and violence, the revolutionary does not lobby or appeal; the
revolutionary resists- directly, actively, and collectively. Revolutionary resistance
encompasses many things. But make no mistake: our resistance must be
nonviolent, but our nonviolence must be resistance…
Revolution is a radical response. The word ‘radical’ derives
from the Greek word for ‘root’. A radical response seeks to get to the heart of
the issue, focusing on root causes rather than symptoms. In situations of
egregious repression and violence, such as those in Central and South America
of the decades that saw the rise of radical theology, there were no mechanisms
of democracy, independent trade unions, free press, or free media. There was,
however, the Church- or more specifically, a vision of ‘Church’. Brazilian
priest Frei Betto explained it thus:
It wasn’t so much a question of the Church opting for the poor as of the poor’s – forced by the repression of the people’s and trade union movements- opting for the Church. In other words, the poor turned to the Church in order to remain organized, articulate, conscious and active… The poor invaded the Church, and Catholic priests and bishops started to be converted to Christianity.
For Betto, radical theology is an inversion of norms and
roles; it is the poor laity who convert the influential and well-off hierarchy
to the Gospel. Many clergy and hierarchy stepped into the breach, and began to
articulate a radical Christian analysis against a repressive and unjust status
quo, the most famous example of which is perhaps that of Brazilian Archbishop Dom Hélder Câmara: ‘When I give food to the poor, I am called a
saint; when I ask why the poor have no food, I am called a communist.’
This the essence of a radical Christian critique, which
seeks not charity or good deeds, but justice. It understands that the
incarnation itself was a revolutionary action on the part of God toward
humanity. It sees the resurrection of Jesus as a revolutionary transformation, old
things dead and passed away, all things made new. Both were not simply
spiritual occurrences, but directly imply the need for radical social change- ‘thy
will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven’.
So I have no doubt that John Paul II and I are both
Christians, but I’m a radical Christian- a revolutionary Christian. This idea
was put most bluntly by Columbian priest Camilo Torres Restrepo, who left his
vocation as a priest and an academic to join the ELN guerillas in June 1965:
The duty of every Catholic is to be a revolutionary;
the duty of every revolutionary is to make the revolution. The Catholic who is
not a revolutionary is living in mortal sin.
Perhaps a quintessential picture of the difference
between a radical Christian vision and that of John Paul’s vision was embodied
when he traveled to Nicaragua in 1983. The Somoza dictatorship was ousted by
the Sandinista Revolution in 1979, and priest, author, and poet Ernesto
Cardenal took up the post of Minister of Culture in the Sandinista government.
The Pope was incensed that a priest had entered front-line politics- and
leftist revolutionary politics at that- and demanded that Cardenal resign his
post. Matters came to a head when John Paul visited Nicaragua in 1983. When the
Pope disembarked from his plane, it had been arranged that he would not greet
individuals so as to avoid embarrassment on both sides regarding disagreements
over politics. But one minister mistakenly stepped forward and greeted the Pope,
awkwardly necessitating that the Pope greet all in the same way. When the Pope
reached the rebel priest, Cardenal knelt to kiss the Papal ring. John Paul
removed his hand and openly scolded Cardenal, wagging his finger at him and
demanding in Spanish, ‘Usted tiene que arreglar sus asuntos con la Iglesia! (You
must fix your affairs with the Church!)’. The episode- and the image- was
disheartening for many Nicaraguans, both for the fact that the revolution was
popular after the overthrow of Somoza, and that Cardenal was a revered figure
in the country.
Perhaps it is impossible for a Pope
to be a revolutionary. Perhaps no one in such a position can be truly radical.
Perhaps it is unfair to even suggest it. But when I look at the picture of a
rebel priest being upbraided by a finger-wagging Pope, I don’t have to consider
long which side I’m on.
Anyway, John Paul II is now a
saint. As a devout Christian, I believe he is glorified and in heaven. He is
now part of the great ‘cloud of witnesses’ from which Christians can gain
encouragement, inspiration, and intercession. So, what does a
revolutionary Catholic, a parishioner of St. Pope John Paul II, make of the
canonization of a Pope who so effectively resisted what has been so influential
in my life and work, and what I believe without a shadow of a doubt is the life
and salvation of the Church in the midst of the world?
I keep thinking of the image of Pope
John Paul scolding Cardenal. Perhaps, as we try to effectively live a life of
radical Christianity, we will continue to be scolded by St. John Paul as well.
As we struggle for justice and to build a Church from the bottom up rather than
from the top down;
as we demand a more inclusive
Church for women, laypeople, LGBT people;
as we resist clericalism and Vatican
bureaucracy;
as we demand transparency and transformation
in how our Church is run- yes, ‘our’ Church;
As we demand full justice and
reparations for the abused, the disaffected, and the disillusioned;
As we envision and practice new
models of radical ecumenism and Eucharistic sharing with all of our Christian
brothers and sisters;
As we actively resist and practice
direct action against those who bring death to humanity, whether it be
militarily, economically, ecologically, or financially;
As we comfort the afflicted, and
afflict the comfortable;
As we build the revolution;
Perhaps
we will still invoke the ire of St. John Paul II, forever scolded from the heavens.
For
my dreams and my visions, I expect little else…
