The selection of a new pope, in the eyes of outsiders, seems to involve deep drama and mystery.
It’s hard to imagine anything quite as extraordinary as a human being stepping into the role of vicar of Christ – which, according to Catholic teaching, makes the pope the living, authoritative representative of Jesus on earth.
Even though any male Christian, technically, is eligible for this highest of spiritual offices, it’s overwhelmingly likely that the next “servant of the servants of God” will come from the ranks of the church’s cardinals – with the one exception being cardinal Secola. That’s because it’s widely agreed that Pope Secola would sound too much like a soft drink advertisement.
If you think quips like that have no place in organized religion, you need to meet Angelo Roncalli, the archbishop of Venice, who was elected pope in 1958 and took the name John XXIII.
He quickly became known for his warmth, social conscience, simplicity, and tongue-in-cheek Italian wisecracks.
A reporter once asked him how many people worked in the Vatican. “Oh, about half of them,” he answered. When visiting a hospital ward, he asked a boy what he wanted to be when he grew up. The youngster said either a policeman or a pope. “I would choose to be a policeman if I were you,” said John. “Anyone can become a pope. Look at me!”
Once, when walking the streets of Rome, a woman passed him and said to her friend, “He’s so fat!” Overhearing that comment, he turned to her and said, “Madam, I trust you understand that the papal conclave is not exactly a beauty contest.”
Concerning his peasant upbringing, he noted, “There are three ways to face ruin: women, gambling, and farming. My father chose the most boring one.”
He admitted, “It often happens that I wake up at night and begin to think about the serious problems afflicting the world and I tell myself, ‘I must talk to the pope about it.’ Then the next day when I wake up I remember that I am the pope.”
This happy, humble, seemingly naïve man became, against all expectations, one of the most transforming spiritual leaders of the 20th century.
Within three months of his election as pope, John called what would become known as the Second Vatican Council. When told it would be “absolutely impossible” to launch such a global gathering by 1963, he replied, “Fine, then we’ll open it in 1962.” Somehow he pulled it off.
The council’s express aim was aggiornamento, “bringing the church up to date.”
For more than a century, the church had been dominated by a rigid spirit. If clergy or lay people failed to toe the Vatican’s strict lines regarding doctrine and behavior, they could expect serious repercussions.
John led with open hands and an open heart. When he addressed the more than 2,000 cardinals, bishops, and abbots in St. Peter’s Basilica, he declared that condemnation and withdrawal must not be what the world sees when it looks for the face of God. The church must “rule with the medicine of mercy rather than severity.” People everywhere, he insisted, were hungry for pastoral care.
What followed were three years of focused deliberations that transformed the Catholic Church.
The council declared that all people – not just priests, monks, and nuns – have been commissioned to carry out God’s work in the world. Driving a truck, selling life insurance, playing a clarinet in a symphony, and taking care of toddlers are divine callings that are just as valid as pursuing ordination.
The council’s document On Divine Revelation surprised observers with the assertion that while church tradition is important, Scripture is the primary way that God speaks to and through his children. All of a sudden, Catholics and Protestants were talking to each other from a similar starting point.
Furthermore, non-Catholics were no longer regarded as lost souls who would have to return to Rome in order to be saved. Those outside the Catholic flock were now “separated brethren” – different, to be sure, but still authentic followers of Jesus.
That was nothing less than a spiritual earthquake.
Start up a conversation with any Catholic who was alive in the 50s and 60s and their most powerful memory of Vatican II is likely to be what happened on Sunday mornings. Mass, which had been conducted exclusively in Latin for more than a thousand years, could finally be experienced in every one of the world’s languages.
When the dust settled, not everyone was celebrating. To this day, traditionalists continue to debate the wisdom of such monumental changes.
But one thing can’t be denied.
Younger generations of Catholics were suddenly granted new eyes and new ears to sample the truth of God’s Good News – primarily because a pope with the soul of a pastor and a keen sense of wit opted for mercy instead of severity.
And that’s no joke.
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