Pope or pew warmer: everyone has a vocation

"Vocation is our willing participation in God's dreams for us... Pope, pew warmer or neither, God has dreams for each one of us. We glimpse those dreams in the pattern of call and response." 

"Who would ever want to be king?"

A couple of years ago, Cold Play had a hit song called “Viva la Vida”.  It was a song my family played repeatedly and loudly one Christmas, as we danced around the kitchen doing dishes. The lyrics are difficult to decode, and I’m not quite sure what the song actually means.

One verse in particular makes me think about the challenges of holding a position of immense responsibility and authority.  The lyrics convey the sense of isolation, the difficulty of making decisions, and the criticism of being top dog: “Revolutionaries wait/For my head on a silver plate/Just a puppet on a lonely string/ Ah, who would ever want to be king?”

These lyrics have been clattering about in my head, over the last week as I followed the media coverage on the election of a new pope.  With the myriad of challenges facing the institutional Roman Catholic Church and with increasing public pressure on the cardinals for reform, I found myself wondering,  “Who would ever want to be pope?”

The newly elected pope, Pope Francis, formerly Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio of Argentina, inherits a Church in crisis. He will have to respond quickly to the social realities of the times that contradict Church teaching. He must reach out compassionately to the growing number of disaffected Catholics in many countries of the developed world. He will need to reform the dysfunction within the institution.

Hans Kung, one of the most highly regarded theologians of our age, noted in a New York Times article, that the Church could “fall into a new ice age and run the danger of shrinking into an increasingly irrelevant sect” if the new pope fails to usher in a “Vatican Spring”.

In this climate, why would anyone want to be pope? Why would anyone want a position that Canadian Cardinal Marc Ouellet (who was considered a top papal contender) once quipped would be a “nightmare”?  Why would anyone accept a ministry that leaves him isolated, despite the many advisers around him?  Why would someone be open to public criticism regardless of the leadership style he takes, decisions he makes, or reforms he institutes?

Personal ambition alone cannot supply the answer

While I am not naïve enough to totally rule out a cardinal’s personal ambition in the desire to become pope, ambition by itself cannot supply the answer. The fullness of the answer lies within the concept of vocation.

Vocation is not limited to those people who are ordained or consecrated to religious life. I like to think of vocation more broadly; it is our willing participation in God’s dreams for us. Vocation has a way of tugging at our heartstrings, stubbornly refusing to go away until we make some sort of response.  It is a mysterious inner movement that draws us out of uncertainty and reluctance into service for others.

Like the prophets of old, we do not always choose our vocation. Sometimes, it chooses us. Sometimes, we feel compelled, though we are hard pressed to explain why, to assume a task or a position we do not seek. Once we respond, it may surprise us with delight, or burden us with dismay.  I have experienced it both ways.

I recall my reaction when asked to teach a catechism class. I hung up the phone, flopped on the bed with my arms outstretched, and humorously whined, “No! Why me? I don’t want to do this!”  At that moment, I had said “yes”, and I was glad that I did.

There have been other times when my “yes” became a heavy burden. While I did not enjoy those moments, I learned much from those experiences, and in retrospect, I am glad for them, too.

Call and response: the rhythm of faith, the stuff of life

Life is a series of calls and responses. Some calls are easier to handle than others.  Some will leave us uplifted, enthusiastically embracing the task and living life with élan, while others will leave us discouraged, battle scarred and weary.  During those moments, we may wonder, “Ah, who would ever want to be me?”

But here’s the thing. Pope, pew warmer, or neither, God has dreams for each one of us. We glimpse those dreams in the pattern of call and response.  This is the rhythm of faith, and the stuff of human life. Responding to God’s call, be it grand or humble, helps us to decode the lyrics of our own song, until we find their meaning in our ultimate vocation: oneness with God.

Pope Francis

What's in a name? I'm hoping that Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio's choice of Francis I for his new identity as pontiff signifies that some reform is going to blow through the Church, that there will be good stiff breeze of fresh air to clear the stuffiness of an institution that is growing a bit musty.

It must be significant that his man did not pick the name of any previous popes. Is he trying to tell the world that he hopes to bring something new to Catholicism? Will he chart a new course for the bark of Peter? A course that is in keeping with the charism of Saint Francis, who saw a Church in need of change, and went about changing lives?

From the balcony above Saint Peter's square, Pope Francis said that the Church begins a journey today, "bishop together with people", and expressed the hope that this journey will be "fruitful for evangelization". Then Pope Francis knelt before the crowd and asked  that the "prayer of the people bring down the blessings of God".  And,  for a moment, a crowd of 100,000 individuals were united in prayer. After the people had prayed for him, Francis gave the papal blessing to those assembled, and by extension to the whole world watching the events live on television. 

The people and the Bishop of Rome were engaged in a dialectic of prayer -a giving and receiving of blessings - a mutuality in Christ. May this mutuality inform the journey ahead, and be a source of blessings for the Church and the world. 

Benedict's resignation resonates

While visiting the hair salon last week, my stylist asked me what I thought about the pope’s resignation, which took effect February 28.  This resignation has been fodder for the rumor mill, and, as you might imagine, we had a lively discussion. 

Speculation and innuendo have been companions to the resignation of Benedict XVI. While Benedict said he was resigning due to a loss of “strength in mind and body”, many believe that the continuing cascade of scandal during his pontificate influenced his decision. Others think the Curia (the cardinals who help govern the Church) forced Benedict out. Some queried the pontiff’s motives, arguing that with his resignation Benedict would be positioned to influence the selection of his successor. As other commentators have noted, this is material for a Dan Brown novel, with innuendo and twists of plot drawing us into a world of intrigue that blurs the distinctions between fact and fiction. 

Beyond innuendo to an essential truth

Benedict’s resignation draws me in for reasons other than the intrigue filtering down from the Vatican through the media.  The text of his announcement takes us beyond innuendo to an essential truth of human experience – our mortality. At some point, the aging process summons us to accept our diminishments, and begin the process of detachment.

In the announcement of his resignation, Benedict publicly stated that due to his age, “both strength of mind and body” have “deteriorated in me to the extend that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me.”  There is a compelling wisdom in this honest admission of decline; beyond the admission, there is the example of resigning one’s self to the realities of aging. While Benedict’s resignation may set a precedent for future aging and ailing pontiffs who (with the exception of a couple of historical examples) hang on until death, it has meaning for us as well.

We avoid admitting our decline

In a culture that worships at the altars of youthfulness and physical vitality, it is no small matter to recognize and accept one’s own decline. We take measures, like coloring our graying hair, to conceal the visible signs of aging. We avoid admitting the diminishment of our physical abilities, balking at using a cane or wearing hearing aids. We express our fear of cognitive impairment, laughing at lame jokes about “senior’s moments”.  We hang onto our driver’s license long past the point of prudence. We do not want to admit, let alone accept, our diminishments.

and detaching ourselves from worldly things

This resignation also points to a process of detaching one’s self from worldly things.  At the pinnacle of clerical success, with the privileges of a head of state, and the status of a celebrity, Benedict relinquishes some of the most sought after signs of success in the world - power, authority, privilege and fame. This pope, who was severely criticized in the early days of his papacy for wearing red Prada slippers, and who likes to appear in the princely regalia of a bygone era, will also have to detach himself from this fondness for the Church’s past with its beautiful trappings of office. In our consumer society, where the accumulation of material possessions, wealth, and the good opinion of others has become a virtue, this resignation reminds us that we go out of the world the same way we came into it – with nothing.

From action to passion

In stating his wish to serve the Church “through a life dedicated to prayer”, Benedict moves from an active lifestyle to a more passive, yet no less vital, way of being. While the movement from action to passion accompanies profound change at any stage in life, here it underscores loss of youth, of wholeness of body and mind, and of the tasks that once defined a person.  When we reach an advanced age, this movement may help us to reflect on our mortality, and aid us in our preparation for dying.

My intention in this column has not been to venerate or defend Benedict XVI.  While I have not been a fan of the conservative direction of the Church under his guidance, and the scandals of the old boys club of which he has been the head grieve me, Benedict’s resignation resonates with truth and deserves my respect. Whether or not the innuendo and rumor have any basis, the truth, symbolized in this resignation, is that eventually we have to accept our graying hair. 

Pink Shirt Day: We need a conversion of hearts

Yesterday was Pink Shirt Day; a day to remind kids (and the rest of us) to take a stand against bullying; a day to drive home the message that bullying is unacceptable.

Kids can be nasty, and nastiness has taken on a whole new dimension in the digital age. In the old days, when I was a kid, we'd chant the ditty "sticks and stones can break my bones, but names will never hurt me" with aplomb when someone was mean to us. Of course, the names hurt us, but someone else would join in the chant and the bully ended up being the person on the outside of the group. The bully ended up feeling like a jerk.

In the digital age, bullying has taken on a whole new dimension. The bully can relentlessly, anonomously, and viciously badger their victim with, quite literally, deadly results. 

It is not only kids who are bullies. Teachers can also be bullies, subtly using their position of authority to demean students in front of their peers. Bullying frequently occurs in the workplace, and carries with it both an economic and social cost.

The newspaper in my home town reported on the activities that area schools had planned for Pink Shirt Day with a front page article and colour photo of students in pink shirts. One high school  gave students the chance to trace their hand and sign a piece of paper as a pledge to raise awareness of bullying and to stop it. While this is an engaging activity, with an admirable goal, it will fail unless there is also a conversion of  hearts. 

We need to become nicer people. 

The Italians have a term, "sympatico", which they use sparingly to describe a person.  It is a hard term to translate.  It is more than being nice in the sense of being pleasant and polite. My understanding of "sympatico" is that the person has an uncommon ability of always being attuned to others, and conducts themselves with sensitivity, kindness, and compassion. Not a push over or a doormat, the person who is sympatico is also humble and self-giving.  To be described as "sympatico" is an honour. 

Our aim might be to become "sympatico", but until we do, maybe we should aim to be consistently polite and pleasant to others, and model it for our kids. 

Valentine's Day celebrates loving well

I have always liked Valentine's Day. Its rituals of celebration mirror the way in which our understanding of love develops over time, and deepens as we mature in every way.

 From elementary school ...
From my elementary school days, I fondly recall the paper booklets with punch-out Valentines. They had simple and wholesome pictures with corny phrases that were amusing or promising, depending on your age. A six year old might laugh at a kitten meowing, “You’re purrfect”, while a ten year old might see an invitation in a card with the caption, “Let’s hang out”. 

In those days, teachers did not require us to give everyone in the class a Valentine. Because my mother was ahead of her time, and insisted that no one be left out, everyone received a Valentine from me. Still, like the other girls, I had a hierarchy for giving Valentines. Best friends got the nicest cards. Casual acquaintances got nice cards, and classmates on the periphery got what was left. Selecting cards for the boys required an extra level of attention. While we girls got caught up in this foolishness, the boys were reluctant participants in the Valentine’s Day excitement, until it was time to eat the pink cupcakes with the cinnamon hearts.

I learned something important from those early Valentine’s Day rituals, apart from my standing on the popularity ladder.  Valentine’s Day was an opportunity for inclusiveness. It was a day that encouraged us to extend the hand of friendship to others, and to share in the joy of belonging. I didn’t recognize this immediately because I was self-centered. I was absorbed with the number of Valentines filling the paper bag taped to the side of my desk, and comparing them with those of my friends. My mother was right; it would have been horrible to be left out.

To high school...

In the teenage years, when the boys were more interested, Valentine’s Day rituals celebrated the romantic love affectionately called puppy love. Valentine’s Day was no longer about including others; it was about exclusivity.  It was an opportunity for couples, or would be couples, to declare their affection in some way. I way pretty excited when the guy of my dreams, now my husband of thirty years, offered me a ride home from school one Valentine's Day.

And beyond ...

As a young mother, the focus of Valentine’s Day shifted to a celebration of family. Cards, special treats, and a heart-shaped cake made the day special.  Our little rituals celebrated the uniqueness of each child, and the deep bonds within our family.

An act of will in response to the heart
My appreciation for Valentine’s Day remains undiminished after thirty years of marriage. My husband and I always acknowledge the day in some way.  It’s a chance to express our gratitude for the gift of one another. This is a gratitude that grows deeper with each passing year, and is strengthened in the crucible of life’s joys and challenges. While romance need not fade away, Valentine’s Day is a gentle reminder that love is an act of the will in response to the complex emotions of the heart and the vicissitudes of life.

Valentine’s Day is a celebration of loving well. It celebrates the expansive force of love that moves us from self-absorption towards an ever-increasing awareness of others. For me, Valentine’s Day most profoundly expresses the self-giving love that characterizes the best in human relationships, and mirrors the unconditional, self-emptying love of God.