When Pope John Paul II visited Malta in 1990, he was introduced to all the members of Parliament. He insisted on meeting all of us individually, making it a point to shake our hands and give us a personal blessing.
My own encounter was noted by a Nationalist MP, known for his cynical wit, and who evidently thought he knew me well enough. “I was delighted,” he told me afterwards, “to see you shake the Pope’s hand.”
“Does this mean that you were not as delighted,” I immediately retorted, “to see the Pope shake my hand?”
Alas, I am often not given the credit that my track record with living popes deserves! It often surprises people who think they know me well to learn of the depth and warmth of my feelings towards the popes of my lifetime.
My attitude goes back to my childhood. However, it has been formed and fed as well by my abiding interest in history and my years in politics. All these sources have informed my reaction to Pope Benedict XVI’s surprise resignation and my understanding of its likely impact on the Church.
I was eight years old the first time I met a Pope, then the saintly John XXIII. I was in Italy with my parents. My father had the impression that we could just call at Castel Gandolfo, the Pontiff’s summer palace, and meet the Pope or visit the palace.
The taxi driver was very obliging. Of course, he dropped us off, collected a hefty fee and quickly sped away. It was a Thursday and we were informed at a cafe that the Pope held audience only on the weekend.
The following Saturday we returned and were blessed by Pope John. I was thrilled and was so taken by him that I cried when, a year or so later, the news of his death was announced.
On that occasion, I also visited the Vatican for the first time. Of course, we visited St Peter’s Basilica, with its distinctive spiral columns by Michelangelo. In my own small boy’s way, I was awed. On that occasion, I was not allowed to enter the Sistine Chapel, the very place where papal conclaves are held and the new Pope is elected. Ten years later, barely an adult, I managed it. A great awe took hold of me again, as I beheld what I still consider the most significant work of art, and intelligence, in the whole of Europe.
Such awe and wonder have shaped my ideas about the papacy, not just popes.
The charisma of John Paul II, for me, went hand in hand with the impact of Michelangelo’s genius. The charisma and the art both conveyed a paradox. A worldly spirituality. Or maybe a spiritual worldliness. A knowledge of the world that pointed to something beyond itself.
“Worldliness” is a word usually used to criticise religious figures. Not for me, however. For a politician, worldliness means being grounded.
For a historian, with the slightest interest in the papacy, worldliness is not necessarily a criticism, either.
Not when one keeps in mind the impact of some excessively unworldly popes.
Although I never had the occasion to meet Pope Benedict, I did get to visit the tomb of the medieval Pope who has been much mentioned these days: Pope Celestine V, the last Pope, before Pope Benedict, to resign of his own free will (and not under pressure), in 1294.
My visit took place on December 8, 1997. I was visiting Italy on ministerial business. I was taken from Pescara to Aquila, where Celestine is buried at the Basilica Santa Maria di Collemaggio.
Naturally, I read up on Celestine, a most untypical Pope. A monk, he lived the life of a hermit, as close as possible as that of St John the Baptist, even founding a religious order. He became Pope in a way he never anticipated. A papal conclave had taken two years attempting to select a Pope, without success. Rather in the style of St John the Baptist, he sent them a letter full of dire warnings of divine vengeance if they did not quickly elect a Pope.
So the cardinals chose him! His unworldliness, however, made him a disastrous Pope. He himself missed his life of prayer and resigned after just five months, having given enough time for a careerist cardinal to pave the way for his own accession.
What a contrast with Pope Benedict’s resignation! As I interpret it, it is full of that spiritual worldliness. It shows a strong awareness that if the Pope does not administer, someone else, behind the scenes will. Pope Benedict has taken the careerist bureaucrats by surprise, as he has everyone else.
Above all, his resignation has a spiritual lesson. The papacy should not be a career move. It can be a sign of power and strength of mind to give it up. A decision taken because of physical frailty, it will nonetheless affect stronger men in the College of Cardinals for decades if not centuries to come. Elected as a conservative, Pope Benedict may yet become known for his radicalism.
John Attard Montalto is a Labour MEP.