Chapter Eleven: Slaughter of Innocents
The sun made its barest appearance on the horizon of the Indian Ocean off the western coast of Malaysia as Sister Margaret Arcone limped, bucket in hand, to the town well. The ancient fishing village of Bukit Talam had the area’s only hospital, a converted Quonset hut from World War II, and Sister Margaret needed the fresh water for drinking and to boil bandages for the day’s work. Ghostly broken piers, twisted and black, rose from the water’s edge in the morning mist. The cry of a long tailed macaque echoed across the sleeping village as Sister Margaret slowly made her way to the crumbling well. Her arthritic knee had developed into osteomyelitis, and while she was only fifty-one, she moved as if she were seventy. Sometimes the knee was so bad she cried, but regardless, she was always at the well at daybreak.
The wind was swirling hard that morning from the east, not as it usually did from the sea, and dust from the streets and around the shacks blew everywhere. Sister Margaret hoped it was a sign of much needed rain as she raised her kerchief over her nose like a cowboy on the range. She recalled ten years earlier when the drought had been so bad that the well had run dry. There were many deaths then.
Bukit Talam, as most of Malaysia, was ruled by Shari’a law despite the official non-sectarian government. Of the 26 million Malaysians, 60% were Malay Muslims who answered only to Shari’a law. The minorities, ethnic Chinese, Indians, and the smaller Christian communities, while officially governed by civil courts, were often at the mercy of the Muslim majority, which had long-standing hatred for infidels. It made little difference that all of the patients in the Catholic hospital were Muslims; Christians were particularly irksome to Muslim radicals, of whom the number had been growing since the British left over forty years before.
That Sister Margaret’s patients were Muslim made little difference to her also. She had dedicated her life of hardship to the poorest of the poor, and in the decaying weather-washed village of Bukit Talam, which had been over-fished years before, Sister Margaret had found the right place. How much longer she would be able to work was questionable, but God would provide the answer in His time. Until then, her pain and dedication were her offerings to the Lord.
The wire handle of the bucket dug into her hand as he trudged along the dirt path back to the hospital. She found carrying it on the opposite side of her bad leg was less painful than the other way around, but still the extra weight of a full bucket caused the leg to tingle with hot needles.
Sister Margaret’s habit blew in the sandy wind like a black ensign on one of the many dhows that rocked in the unprotected harbor. The shore birds were already signaling their territories when the roar of an old Willy’s jeep drew her attention. It had been painted yellow but did little to hide the rust which appeared everywhere in large splotches. Wearing bright black and white check turbans, four young men, automatic weapons pointing to the heavens, sped up to her and stopped shortly in a choking cloud of brown dust.
“And what are you up to?” asked one of the men with disdain in a Sunni dialect.
Sister Margaret looked down at the bucket but said nothing.
He climbed out of the jeep, and with hate oozing from his lips snarled, “Where did you get that water?”
Sister Margaret lay the bucket down and motioned toward the well.
“That’s Shari’a water,” he said standing over her. His eyes were narrow and he reeked of alcohol.
She pulled down her kerchief and said firmly, “It’s for Shari’as.” She motioned toward the hospital with a large, faded red cross painted on the side of the pea green building. “I’m bringing it to them.”
“No one asked you to!” he said slipping the weapon from his shoulder.
“Leave her alone. Let’s go,” called the driver impatiently.
“I can’t stand them,” answered the gunman, slamming the butt of his AK-47 against her skull with angry force. Sister Margaret spun two steps backward, her face buried in the dirt. Blood oozed from her head, her frail body twitching. “One less,” said the gunman as he kicked over the bucket and got back in the jeep. Blood and water seeped quickly into the parched turf.
The incident had been witnessed by one of the nurses, and an official complaint had been made. The Kuala Lumpur newspaper ran the story which was picked up by the Associated Press. It appeared only in a few Catholic papers, one of which Michel read two days later at breakfast.
Muslim terrorists killed a Catholic nun, Margaret Arcone, 51, early this morning outside of the hospital at which she worked in Bukit Talam. The assailant has not been identified, and no motive for the crime established. That brings the yearly total to 26 of Catholic clerics killed in Malaysia. The police are investigating.
Stories of this sort had become commonplace, used or not by editors to fill space when needed, but they were sharp pricks in Michel’s side. The wanton killing of innocents was not limited to Malaysia, of course; it was metastasizing in any number of Muslim countries, and nothing really was being done about it. Of course, authorities without cooperation of the citizenry could do little, but what bothered Michel more than the ineffectual citizens and their police was the silence of Muslim clerics. Why would they not en masse condemn the murder of non-Muslims unless they themselves either encouraged the savages or tacitly approved? In either case, Islam as it had become practiced, was to blame, in Michel’s mind at least.
Yet the Church remained supportive of what was on its face a religion of violence. From the Koran which supports killing of infidels to the mosques which preach hatred for all things Western, Islam had become a major enemy of the Catholic Church. Indeed, it had declared a major jihad against it.
Frustration and anger knotted in his throat, and Michel could barely swallow his morning biscuit. Here he was at the cardinal’s dining room, large tapestries hundreds of years old hanging from twenty-foot walls, and every comfort afforded him by modern technology, while a sister who dedicated her life to help the impoverished was slaughtered like a rabid animal. Michel tossed the rest of the biscuit on the table in disgust and rushed from the room.
As all successful members of any organization know, honesty and openness are too often liabilities. Organization politics requires an understanding of when to speak one’s mind, when to remain silent, and when to lie. Pragmatists have little trouble coping with this exigency; idealists find it next to impossible. That was why Michel kept his journal. For him, the truth had to come out, even if it did so in the silence of his computer screen.
“God, on the head of this bishop and champion of Thine, I put the helmet of defense and salvation. That with forehead thus adorned, head onto the horns of both Testaments, he may appear fearsome to the enemies of truth.”
This was the prayer recited at my coronation as well as that of each bishop in the world, including that of the bishop of Rome. However, over time, the words have become hollow, an anachronism wrought by those in the Church who have become fawn-eyed Quakers in their pacifism. Led by a succession of popes who seem to ignore their roles as defenders of the faith, my Church has become effete. It has become a church of amelioration at all costs. How “fearsome” is the bishop of Rome to the wolves who kill the sheep of the Church with impunity while its shepherds, safe in their cathedrals, issue mere words of condemnation and woe?
The founding fathers of the Church knew well the need for strength against the uncivilized. Wolves are not asked to stop killing sheep; they are prevented from doing so, even when that prevention includes force. So it is with Muslim terrorists who slaughter innocents. Words of reason have not worked, and those plaintive words have only emboldened the enemy. Why has the Church not at least called for the state to use its might to protect its followers instead of decrying violence of any sort? Why has there been no action against the Wahhabi mosques which teach hatred of the West, especially that of Christendom, and encourage their sons to kill? But can the state be responsible for following the very admonition of the pope to abjure violence? Perhaps the condemnation of all war by recent popes has served to prevent the state from declaring a just war against fanatical Muslims.
It is no mark of civilization to condemn all wars; it is a mark of idealism born of hope but characterized by lack of understanding laced with lassitude. Civilization from time immemorial has provided for just wars waged to prevent the slaughter of innocents by the uncivilized.
We have learned from the Old Testament that God Himself commissioned Michael the Archangel to wage a war against Satan and his evil minions.
Yet we have learned also the words of His Son on whom we rest our Church. The Prince of Peace has commanded us to love our enemies. Can we both love them and kill them? For those who read the Gospels as the last word of Christ and ignore the Church he founded to whom he gave the power to act in his place, the answer would be no.
However, Jesus obliged Peter and his followers to keep his Church alive through their actions divinely inspired by God. Christ did not build a static church to survive under Roman rule only to collapse when forces around it become oppressive. Christ founded a universal church, a church to function for all time, and times change.
When Muslim marauders ransacked the Eastern Church, Pope Urban II encouraged defense. When secular armies stood by, Christian crusaders took up arms to save the lives of innocents slaughtered only for their beliefs. The Church of Christ is pacifist by nature, but even the Vatican maintains an army.
By the grace of God, civilization in most parts of the world has advanced sufficiently to protect the Church, and the need for arms has diminished. Popes of the last centuries have not had to resort to a new set of crusades. Unfortunately, we can no longer remain complacent and expect the secular world to protect us. Secular governments no longer respect the traditions of the Church and have become hostile to its traditions. Catholicism is seen as just another religion, and today religion is seen as a dividing force. If Muslims bomb a school bus of Hebrews, the problem is seen not as the fault of the bomber but of religion. Without religion, there would be no animosity, they think. Thus, all religions become the enemy of secularism.
To ask a secular government to protect Catholics against Muslims in these times is no different from asking a citizen to be protected from the Mafia. Secularist governments see no holy war, only the acts of terrorists against citizens. Yet there is a holy war that will grow more fierce in the next century, and Catholics are losing that war.
It is impossible to believe that God would want his Church of two thousand years to lose its influence as the leader of Western civilization to those religious and secular destroyers.
Of course, God’s will be done. He has not yet seen fit to influence the Holy Father that action must be taken. It is only a question of time, of course, when a succeeding pope will lead the Church back to prominence --- when the Bishop of Rome will remember that on his forehead sits the “fearsome helmet of defense.” Or He will send Michael himself to smite the demons in His name. I pray that the day will come soon so I might be part of that defense.
Michel shut his computer knowing that one day he would be able to make public the words he had just written, words which others would consider incendiary but words which needed expression. The time, sadly and nerve-wrackingly, was not right, even if many would agree. It would be necessary to achieve and maintain success as cardinal so that his reputation might grow among his peers. For now, only God knew of his feelings. There would surely come a time when others would also.
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The events of the religious world go largely unreported by the press, and readers learn only the barest information of what, despite this age of secularism, continues to be a major factor of the actions of man. Depending on whether there was, for example, a hurricane occurring at the time, apologies from Pope John Paul II for the Church’s anti-Semitism would not and did not everywhere receive front page coverage. However, at the turn of the 21st Century, religious news took center stage. It was not the news that a closer relationship between Christians and Jews had been struck, but that the World Trade Center had been.
The attack of September 11, 2001 was for many the clarion of a religious war underway between Muslim fundamentalists and the West. For Michel, who had seen the confrontation building from before Time magazine declared the Ayatollah Khomeini 1979 man of the year, it was a vindication as well as a spur.
It was not the niceties of religion that grabbed the headlines after the attack in New York, of course, but the damaging effects of religion. It was the resumption of the ancient conflict between East and West and among Muslims, Jews, and Christians. To be sure, Muslims and Jews had been fighting over Israel since its inception in 1948, but fighting was limited to the Middle East and the Pacific islands. Once Muslims took the fight to the heart of the Western world, and did so on religious grounds, the significance of religious differences became pronounced, and its deadly consequences were underscored by cosmopolitans world over.
Secularists had for a long while pointed out that the wellspring of world discord was religion itself. The attack in New York provided testament to their view. Were it not for religious differences, they averred, there would be far less conflict throughout the world. As it stood, however, those with no religion were faced with trying to patch the world being rent by the religious. Thus, another alliance had been added to the battle royal of the major religions: the anti-religious. In some nations, even sectarian charitable organizations were assailed lest with their charity they proselytize. The irony did not escape Michel that in an age celebrating diversity, religion was not only restricted in its celebration, it was to be restricted to private property. In his own country, the size of a crucifix around one’s neck had been regulated.
Rising against such a background was the Michelian movement in France.
Cardinal Michel Abruzzi had turned the French Church from listless institution of dwindling numbers to a vibrancy unseen in that country’s Catholics for generations. The Michelian movement had grown not only in the countryside as might be expected but also in cosmopolitan Paris. The media, of course, played a central role in popularizing him as “the miracle worker,” and his name had become known not only to Catholics. However, that fame would not have been sustained had it not been for the changes he made in his churches, changes admired even by secularists.
Under Michel, the French church moved toward a new populism. Its riches had been eschewed in favor of direct, and widely promoted, support for the poor. Parishes publicized that their return to the more ascetic allowed development of programs directly affecting the streets of Paris. Those who had been living on the streets were given housing, food, and counseling by non-clerical volunteers. When wealthy parishioners saw the divestiture of the Church’s wealth, their contributions grew at an unheard of rate. Where the government failed to provide, the Michelians stepped in. In only a few years, the average Paris citizen could see on their streets real change, and tourism grew.
However, not only social changes had been effected; the religious tradition of the French church had become more conservative. There was a return to the Latin Mass, and absolution in confessionals was harder to receive. Parishioners were exhorted by priests in the pulpit to attend Mass without fail, to involve themselves actively in parish functions, and to ensure their children’s Catholic education. However, the effort was not made only at the pulpit. Church members campaigned to involve their neighbors in church activities without asking for more contributions. Only those with the means were targeted for increased financial support, and that effort proved highly successful. In effect, the poor and middle class were asked for their time, the rich for their money.
The secular media, perhaps in an effort to balance its religious coverage and opinion, lauded the changes Cardinal Michel had brought to the Church in their country. Several Protestant leaders publicly approved Michel’s divestiture of wealth and reduction of ostentatious display and viewed it as an acknowledgment of Martin Luther’s objections five centuries before. Politicians approved of the successful and largely non-sectarian housing and treatment of the city’s homeless. Even secularist educators and journalists were satisfied to note a change of tradition in the Catholic Church, the very apotheosis of tradition they so often decried.
Ironically, the greatest resistance to the Michelian movement toward a new asceticism came from Rome. Vatican leaders were privately critical of the French Church obviously not for its attempt to reach a more Christ-like state but for moving on its own. Despite the Curia’s admonitions to move slowly, Michel proceeded apace, and that led some to question the French Cardinal’s humility. What, if not false pride, would move a Cardinal to act without the backing of the Vatican?
However, the resurrection of his church in a nation that had considered it an irrelevant anachronism could not be gainsaid, and the Roman press was laudatory. Michel’s popularity grew even in the world press, and Pope John Paul II felt compelled to comment on a movement not generated from the Holy See but from the most secular of nations.
“The Church in France under the able leadership of Michel Cardinal Abruzzi has this day seen a resurrection,” said the Pope with Michel by his side as he addressed the crowd of the faithful from the Vatican balcony on Easter Sunday. “From church attendance to the number of vocations, we have seen a rebirth. The people of France have taken Cardinal Michel to their hearts, and he has led them back on the path to the Holy Mother Church. We congratulate the Cardinal, thank him for his noble and tireless work, and celebrate with him his divinely inspired success. And in our celebration we remember that the Catholic Church is a universal body which, while it speaks and moves as one, recognizes the individuality of the nations and cultures under its wing.”
The day before that statement, the elderly pontiff had invited Michel for a private audience. John Paul, robed in white and sitting in a cherry red motorized wheelchair, led Michel along the walk in the Vatican south garden. It was early on a beautiful spring morning, and the shadows of the trees and statuary were long in the rosy light. Out of earshot but eagle-eyed stood the Pope’s valet and a medical aide in the arched doorway that had a newly fashioned wooden ramp for the wheelchair.
“That’s a Japanese maple, a red dragon,” said the Pope in Italian, stopping in front of the five foot tree with delicate deep scarlet leaves sustained by gracefully turned branches. His voice was barely above a whisper and his speech terribly slurred. “It is my favorite,” he remarked. Michel had to bend closer to him to hear. “The older I get, the more I appreciate the quiet natural world. I grew up in the city,” he continued weakly, “where there didn’t seem to be time.” He managed to look up into Michel’s eyes. “Now the time is short.”
“It is lovely,” said Michel studying the fine beauty of the little tree. “How old is it?”
“About as old as I am,” answered John Paul with a grin that even his palsy could not hide. “But much more hardy.”
“With age, we weaken, Your Holiness. I don’t think that is so of trees.”
“Come, let’s sit by the fountain,” said the Pope as he turned his chair toward the ornate fountain of the Laocoon several yards away. “This chair is wonderful; it provides at least some measure of independence.”
There was an iron bench facing the centuries old fountain of Laocoon, serpents with long fangs wrapped around Apollo’s priest in deadly battle. Water flowed from the mouths of four grotesque fish.
“Sit,” said John Paul, with the touch of a joystick turning his chair to see both the fountain and his guest.
At the base of the fountain, etched in dark gray concrete, were the words Equo ne credite, Teucri / Quidquid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, the literal translation of which is "Do not trust the Horse, Trojans / Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks even bearing gifts."
“Is that a Bernini?” asked Michel as they sat.
“Probably not,” John Paul answered, looking at the sculpture. “It’s thought to be by one of his students; it has the look.”
“It is powerful,” remarked Michel.
“And frightening. The situation is hopeless, and his death will be horrible.” Michel could not help think the aging pontiff was thinking of his own imminent death.
“A death visited upon him because he saw what lay ahead and knew the enemy for what they were,” remarked Michel referring to the myth of Laocoon who angered Poseidon for warning the Trojans of Greeks bearing gifts.
John Paul did not answer, and it looked to Michel that he was saving his breath for what he had to say.
“I am sure you are aware,” started the pope struggling to look up from his perpetually bowed head, “that there are some who are unsettled by your approach, which they see as not only rash but dictatorial.”
“I am, Your Holiness.”
“But I am not one of them, and I told them so, and tomorrow I will say so publicly.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness.” Michel was much relieved. With the Pope’s support, the criticism of others would abate, publicly at least.
“Yet I have concerns, my son. You have spoken loudly against the enemies of the Church, but your words must be tempered with understanding … with caritas.” John Paul struggled in pain and was almost breathlessness. Michel looked over to the attendants whose concern was evident.
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“I know you to be a strong defender of the faith and strong administrator,” John Paul continued. “I am calling on you to serve in the Curia and administer the Legion of Christ. It requires a strong leader … to control with tight reins what is becoming a powerful force. You must also deal with the Opus Dei and their zeal which, as you know, can be difficult.”
“I would be most happy to serve, Your Holiness.”
“I have selected you because the Legion will respect your strength and respect for tradition,” said the Pontiff in a voice growing still weaker. He wiped his lips with his handkerchief and paused a long while before continuing. “As we move forward in the new millennium, the Church must first look inward … to itself … to insure it provides the light to guide all of the children of the world.” He paused again then added, in French, with a look of strength that belied his frail exterior. “All of God’s children, Michel.”
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Within the year, John Paul II was laid to rest, and German Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger became Pope Benedict XVI.
Antonio Cardinal Belli had been appointed secretary to the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, the oldest and most powerful of the Roman Curia’s congregations. Charged with the maintainance and defense of the integrity of the faith, it is the supreme court of the Curia. Before his elevation to the papacy, Cardinal Ratzinger had been prefect of the congregation. The prefect is always a respected scholar of theology and usually selected from univerity professorates. The secretary to the prefect is the second highest position in the congregation and leads the practical operation.
It was the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith under the leadership of Cardinal Ratzinger that examined the allegations of sexual impropriety of Father Marcial Maciel, the founder of the Legion of Christ. Because evidence of sexual misconduct was not absolute, the congregation, despite grave suspicions, could take no action. Once Cardinal Ratzinger became pope, however, he asked for Maciel’s retirement; and the Legion of Christ, stained by the scandal, was placed under the leadership Cardinal Michel Abruzzi, the French media’s miracle worker and conservative bishop of the people.
To satisfy the demands of bureaucratic symmetry, the Legion of Christ was placed in the Curia’s Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples, once called the Sacred Congregation of the Propagation of the Faith and under the prefecture of Ivan Cardinal Diaz. However, knowing how strongly Pope John Paul II felt about the Legion of Christ, and its extreme dedication to the papacy, its director was given the same autonomy as a prefect.
The headquarters of the Propaganda fide faces the Piazza di Spagna and was designed by architect Bernini in the 17th Century. Rhomboid in shape, it is a massive six story building that fills a city block. The Legion of Christ had its offices on the least desireable top floor, and while there was an elevator, it was at the opposite corner of the structure, and no one who did not have to be at the Legion’s offices went there. Most of the staff took the dark, narrow stairs to their desks.
In an age of computers, it had been thought that Michel could maintain his bishopric while administering the Legion of Christ. He would ultimately decide when or if commutation became too burdensome. If it did, the Legion would take precedence, and he would have to move to Rome. It did not take long, however, before Michel had become inured to his semimonthly plane rides from Paris to Rome, the narrow seats of tourist class, and the routine delays. The bright spot was that in Rome Michel was the house guest of the very Italian Cardinal Belli.
From the time they first met after “The Miracle,” both men drew close despite the miles and their proclivities which separated them. They were opposite in basic personality, social views, religious leanings, and palate. While Michel was friendly, he had only one friend. Belli had scores. Michel was conservative, Belli liberal. Michel wanted a return to strict religious tradition, Belli preferred a more inclusive, laissez-faire Church. Michel was an aesthetic minimalist; Belli appreciated the Baroque and the outré. They were not, however, the Odd Couple.
Both men were deeply religious, powerful intellects who knew the Church well and their places in it. They had the capacity to listen as well as to speak, to tease as well as to be teased, and they both enjoyed the other’s ability to laugh and quip in the middle of the most profound discussions. Both fans of American movies, they might have been in a “buddy flick” tossing off one-liners while under a hail of bullets. The difference was that the hailstorm was ideational.
Even when Michel’s committee work at the Vatican did not include Belli, they were sure to meet socially. They corresponded frequently and even more so with the advent of email. Almost every time the two friends met they found a way to play tennis. The two squat 60-year-olds, one fat and the other flabby from having been so, were doubles partners and gracious losers.
They had both, though separately, toured the United States during the 1980’s when the tennis craze peaked, and because the game requires only one other player and takes less than an hour, a busy executive could get in his needed exercise while venting any hostility he may have pent up sitting behind a desk or at interminable meetings. It had become a source of amusement that like boorish Americans they used nicknames on the court. “Yours, Mike. Nice shot, Tony,” they would say in English. It helped them lose.
Secretary Antonio Cardinal Belli lived according to his rank. His cardinal bishop’s residence sat across the street from the Vatican’s Eagle Fountain. The 500-year-old gray limestone house sat behind a stone fence and was blocked from street view by ancient elms and beeches. The double front doors were twelve feet high, six inches thick, and so precisely hung on well-oiled iron hinges that they could be moved with the slightest touch.
By comparison, Michel lived like a Trappist monk. It was a cause of disagreement between the two good friends: Michel believed in and led his followers to live a more simple life, a life closer to the flock he tended.
“A shepherd cannot lead his flock from the palace,” Michel said half-kiddingly as they sat on the porch of Belli’s residence.
“An analogy cannot substitute for reality,” Belli returned. “Were we shepherds, I would agree. As members of the Curia, however, I cannot.”
“And why is that? Why should we be different from our brethren?”
“Because, my communistic friend, we are. In all things there are levels. Even among the angels there is hierarchy.”
“So, my capitalistic friend, you use analogy which you deny me,” smiled Michel. “We are not in heaven as the angels.”
Belli laughed. “You are too smart for me, but in this you are wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I have two thousand years of tradition on my side.”
“Tradition! You sound like Tevye, the fiddler on the roof.”
“But he was the father, not the fiddler,” Belli pointed out.
“But like the fiddler, he was on the precipice, so he was symbolically the fiddler.”
“Well I am obviously less literary than you. But tell me, then, how is it that I am also a fiddler on the roof?” asked Belli.
“You are not, my friend. I merely said you sound like the fiddler when you use the term tradition to justify arguments that can be justified in no other way.”
“Wait a moment,” objected Belli. “I did not say there was no other argument; I simply said that, unlike you, I have tradition on my side.”
“And is it traditional for a diocese --- that had to pay $35 million to pay parishioners who had been sexually abused --- to spend $190 million on a new cathedral? That is what the bishop did in San Diego, California. I believe that the majority of parishioners are poor Mexicans, immigrants who struggle to keep their families in shoes.”
“As it happens, we had a discussion of that commitment last week,” said Belli, armed with the facts and ready to parry. “Did you know that the construction is needed to replace the original cathedral which had been destroyed by an earthquake?”
“But $190 million?”
“That represents a $60 million dollar increase in building costs,” explained Belli. “They had to postpone the construction for years to pay the $35 million restitution.”
“Then 130 million. Excessive by any standard.”
“I do not agree,” argued Belli. “The diocese is rich, despite its Mexican poor. In that edifice will be the bishop’s residence, the diocesan offices, and a 1300-seat cathedral. It sits on several acres and has a park.”
“If I had $190 million for a new 1300-seat cathedral, offices and a residence, I would have $90 or $100 million left over. Notre Dame has already been built; to build another is profligacy.”
“Perhaps you can say that because you have Notre Dame,” offered Belli. “And because you grew up rich. Having everything, one can find it easy to take material possessions for granted. Those who grow up looking at the riches of others tend to admire the things of the world.”
“But are we not to lead the way to the spiritual rather than the corporeal?”
“And one path to the spiritual is through symbol. We build majestic structures to reflect the majesty of Christ. The work and the sacrifice that goes into a cathedral are themselves spiritual offerings. And when we stand in the cathedral and look up, it is easy to feel the power of the Lord and easy also to feel like a poor mouse. We need symbols, Michel. They teach and they speak to us in ways words cannot.”
“I suppose,” said Michel reluctantly. “Yet I am uncomfortable with riches, with the display of wealth.”
“As are many others. The orders, of course,” said Belli of those clergy who take strict vows of poverty. “Even many of the rich themselves.” Then he added, “It is no longer possible to tell a rich man by his clothing; a millionaire is likely as not to wear jeans and sandals while shopping.” He smiled at the irony.
“I prefer it,” admitted Michel.
“But I must tell you, most seriously, Michel, that it is arrogant to expect others to see the world according to your view. Because you are uncomfortable by a certain tradition does not mean that the tradition is at fault. Of course, it may be,” said Belli with an upturn of his palms stretched out in front of his chest, “but then one must question why the tradition has lasted so long. You must look inside yourself to see why that tradition is bothersome. You see?” The index fingers of both hands pointed back at his heart.
Michel nodded.
“In your case, perhaps it is that you have had everything as a youth and you gave it up for the priesthood. Then you even donated your inheritance. You have reacted against…perhaps it is fair to say rebelled…against your father’s wealth. And you are satisfied that what is good for you is best for your followers. You must beware judging things by your own measure. When you do that, Michel, I am afraid few of us can measure up.”
A black Mercedes drove up to take the cardinals to the Palace of the Curia, and the men got in the back seat.
Michel understood very well the warning of his friend. Belli had said he was arrogant, and Michel knew he was right. The question was whether the arrogance were justified or born of hubris. If a leader of any organization cannot look inside himself to find the truth, where must he look? To his colleagues who tend to speak like a Greek chorus echoing the past because it is safe from criticism?
“Traditions change,” said Michel after they settled in the stuffy air of a closed car. “Jesus changed two thousand years of tradition. Robespierre changed the tradition of a powerful nation. That is what great men do, after all.”
“Well, my great man,” said Belli looking seriously at Michel, “we must be careful that the traditions we change require changing. What is the term Americans use, change agent? They believe any change is good change, but they are, of course, mistaken.”
“Of course,” agreed Michel. “The changes of Vatican II were not all for the better. So I agree, traditions should be maintained when those traditions are best. The argument is when to change traditions that have worn out. Our Church is a living body. It must change to stay alive. That is why Jesus gave the keys to Peter, and that …”
“And that is why we have a pope,” interrupted Belli, his normally loud voice drowning out his friend’s. “We are merely servants, perhaps advisors, of the pope. The world is bigger than Paris and Rome, Michel. The change in Paris may be warranted there but not in Peru or Seoul.”
Michel nodded. “That I have come to see as director.” He looked vacantly out his window. “The Legion has provided a perspective I could never have had from my seat in Paris. In some ways it has modified my views,” he said before turning back to Belli, “but in others it has reinforced what I had already felt, already known for years.”
“And what is that?” Belli asked as the car pulled up in front of the Curia where there was to be a meeting of the prefects. Michel had been asked to attend as the agenda of Prefect John Miller of the Congregation for Catholic Education included the expansion of higher education, a major goal of the Legion of Christ.
After the meeting which accomplished less than Michel had hoped, Belli learned what knowledge had been reinorced by Michel’s experience with the Legion of Christ.
It was after dinner, and both men sat comfortably in easy chairs in the lavishly appointed sitting room of Belli’s home. Flourishes of Baroque art mixed in an oilo of reds, yellows, and purples making the room feel more Spanish than Italian. The Louis XV furnishings, dark and foreboding, were crowded in the room in no discernible pattern.
“Are you planning a second career as a furniture salesman?” asked Michel who noticed an increase in the nummber of pieces in the room since he had been there last.
“Residences change so I take the period pieces,” answered Belli.
“Are they originals?”
Belli shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“They should be appraised; they may have great value.”
“Are you going to make me sell them if they are?” asked Belli with a broad grin.
“Well, the room could use a paring. There seems an excess of pieces in the room, as large as it is,” answered Michel craning his neck to eye the pieces behind his chair.
“I like the excess; it matches the period,” said Belli. “It makes a nice counterpoint to the modern world, wouldn’t you say? Besides, I hate to see anything thrown away.”
“You have a big heart, Antonio. A crowded, messy room is always a sign of a big heart.”
“But you have nothing in your room,” noted Belli.
“See what I mean?”
“Nonesense!” Belli said and quickly changed the subject. “So what was it you were going to tell me? What have you learned from the Legion, that you could not from Paris?”
Michel let out a tired sigh.
“You are tired; perhaps it is the work.”
Michel nodded reluctantly. “Perhaps so,” he said almost begrudgingly. It was the first time Michel admitted to anyone that he was anything but a bulwark of resolution and direction. “I do not believe I will be forced to leave Paris, though it may come to that. I feel strong, but perhaps I am not so strong as I convince myself I am.”
“And others,” added Belli.
“Except you, my cherished friend.”
“Then tell me, Michel, tell your friend what you have been reluctant to tell others. It is not late, and this demitasse will keep me up half the night anyway.”
Michel nodded that he would.
Whether or not the garrulous Italian, a popular Vatican figure who knew and was known by everyone, could be trusted absolutely presented Michel with a dilemma. On the one hand, Belli had become his best friend, and Michel had been carrying a cross of secrecy for more than twenty years, reserving his thoughts only for his password-protected computer. On the other, expressing what Belli would likely consider radical notions could give the impression to him and eventually to others that Cardinal Michel Abruzzi was a bit too edgy to be taken seriously.
“I shall, knowing that you will keep the confidence I will share with my friend.”
Belli’s eyes tightened. “You frighten me with what sounds as if it should be the object of the confessional.”
Michel smiled. “Not at all, Antonio. You shall see. But I do ask for your confidence.”
“And that you have, of course, as you have had always.”
“You are aware of the Myanmar monks, the Buddhists?” asked Michel as he began to reveal himself.
“Of course,” said Belli nodding his head once and at complete attention.
The news from what was once Burma had reverberated around the globe. Buddhist monks, during a peaceful demonstration in front of government offices, were angrily handled by police in breaking up the rally. The next day the monks burned government vehicles in protest while hundreds of citizens, outraged at the disrespect shown their religious leaders, surrounded government offices keeping the officials from leaving for hours.
“Indeed, it has been everywhere,” said Michel. “But what hasn’t was a story about a Malaysian nun beaten to death by Muslim soldiers. She was a nurse at a hospital that treats Muslims, but that is irrelevant. In the same part of the world, then, were reported two stories of religious people. In the first, a Catholic nun was slaughtered and nothing was to be done. In the second, not only did the normally taciturn Buddhist monks take the law into their own hands, the citizenry helped them. They did not stand by and wring their hands when their people were mistreated --- not injured, not maimed, not killed --- merely mistreated. The anger was justified and the response appropriate, would you not say?”
“I do not know,” said Belli with a slight shrug. “I have no idea of their laws about demonstrations. Their customs…”
“Their customs!” interrupted Michel. Is it customary in any civilized place on earth to beat peaceful clerics?”
“Of course not,” agreed Belli. “I was merely…”
“You were merely kowtowing to those in power,” said Michel with a trace of disgust. “And that is the problem. We have become too permissive of what we know to be not only unethical but also immoral. How can the beating of monks be justified?”
“I have not said that it is.”
“But when I asked if the citizens’ reaction to the mistreatment of their priests were justified, you said you did not know.”
“Only from the Myanmar point of view,” replied Belli. “The military junta rules with an iron hand.”
“And from your point of view?”
“I agree that some sort of protest was in order … what form that protest should take is another question,” explained Belli.
“And what of the Malaysian nun?”
“I would think that some sort of protest should be lodged.”
“And you know none was.”
“And that is unfortunate, but we … it is difficult to fault the lack of protest in an area controlled by Muslims.”
“For you perhaps, but not for me,” said Michel, his anger tightening his throat. “Under no circumstances should violence against innocence be tolerated by the Church. To remain silent is to condone the actions of those nations which allow free reign of terrorists while at the same time claiming, for public consumption, their hatred of violence.” He paused to collect himself.
“No one condones these actions.”
“Have you heard recently the Vatican protest the hundreds of priests and nuns slaughtered by Muslims around the world?”
“No.”
“Then this is what I share with you, Antonio. Catholics would be as dynamic as the Myanmar Buddhists if our clergy did as the monks did and showed some backbone. I am certain of this, yet I remain silent.” Michel shifted uncomfortably in his chair and then in a soft voice that came from deep inside, confided in his friend. “This is what continually gnaws at my conscience … that I do nothing. As a cardinal charged with the defense of the Church, why do I allow my church to falter?”
“Because, Michel, you have a big heart which feels the pain of others, and to mask that pain, your anger rises. It protects you from feeling as Christ did on the cross the sins of mankind. Your intellect has not allowed you to share this anger publicly because it would be counterproductive. So it eats at you inside.”
Belli had seen and expressed in a few sentences what Michel had not in twenty years of journal keeping. Yet his answer was psychological: anger was a shield for the pain felt at the abuse the Church continued to endure. However, Belli never addressed whether his anger or his call for action were justified.
Michel had hoped seeing the stark contrast between the Buddhists’ action and the Catholic inaction would convince Belli that there ought to be a change in Church policy toward those who attack it. The problem, Michel thought, was that while Belli was a considerable intellect, he was not a leader. He was an excellent number two man, and that explained his appointment as secretary to the prefect and not the prefect. To lead, one needed to be at least somewhat fearless and able to withstand criticism from the comfortable majority. Even were Belli to agree in principle that strong action had to be taken to defend the Church in what had become an obvious battle royal, it would be puffery. He would declare with the éclat of a Caesar that action shall be taken, but he would wait for that action to be taken by someone else.
“You are probably right, Antonio. You usually are. I am angry, and I feel the Church should act aggressively against its enemies, but I am alone in this, and how can I alone be right? So I have kept silent on this issue. I know that God will lead us in His way and in His time. Of that I have no doubt.”
“You are a holy and wise man,” said Belli placing his hand on Michel’s forearm. “We all have notions --- ideas that are born not only of the intellect but of the heart. You are a strong leader of a powerful and aggressive order, and you are angered by those who attack the Church in word and in deed. It is the anger, Michel. It provokes your thoughts, and you are resourceful enough to find an argument, a means by which to placate that anger.”
l
Michel sat at the escritoire across from the bed in the dimly lit guest bedroom. He flipped open his laptop, entered his password, and wrote until he could no longer keep his eyes open. This is what he should have told Belli.
Jesus opposed the traditions of his people despite knowing he would be crucified for doing so. He knew also that his followers would pay the price for their rebellion, but he encouraged them to build his church despite their loss of life. Without strong leadership, no institution can survive. The Roman Church has managed to survive so long because of great leaders who understood the politics of their time. Today in the 21st Century, we live on the twin horns of the politics of terrorism and secularism, both deadly in their way. We must adapt or be rendered irrelevant. It is only by strength that we can maintain our Church in the face of those who seek to destroy us through the courts, through academia, and through the secular media; and of those who have declared a violent jihad on us.
First, as John Paul cautioned, we must rid ourselves of those within our Church who by laxity --- and other reasons --- fail to live up to the standards of our tradition. We cannot allow those who claim to be Catholic to scandalize the true believers as they have been doing. A Catholic cannot favor birth control and abortion and still claim to be Catholic. Catholic lawyers and politicians across the world must use their influence to defend the Church; they cannot support sin publicly and remain Catholic. When they choose Caesar over God, they must pay the price. The Church must beware the Devil in all his guises lest the rats of the godless continue to gnaw at the foundation of the Church.
Moreover, since we are in the throes of a war, one that has already weakened the reputation and influence of the Church, those who abet the enemy, namely Catholic politicians, are traitors. They side with the godless enemy, and that simply cannot go unpunished. We do not tell a soldier who supports the enemy that he may have had a good reason to do so; therefore please continue.
Second, the pure of heart must defend themselves from violent attacks, even if that means supporting violence to do so. When Muslims attacked the Eastern Church in Constantinople, Christians took up arms to defend it. In the 21st Century, the Church must declare a new crusade, this time against Muslim terrorists. Where Muslim radicals attack the clergy and the governments do nothing about it, we must send crusaders to root out the devils…to send them to hell before they commit more atrocities and establish even larger and more virulent cells.
Of course, given the tenor of our time, we will be condemned. Secularists and fallen Catholics especially will speak out against us, but they are effete and will do little to stop us. Such action will energize our base, and while we will lose many of the feint-hearted, our resolve and strength will attract many others. In time we will regain our leadership in the world. Our dedication and single-mindedness, our strength and success, will serve as a paragon for the institutions of the world. We will recapture the respect we have lost since Vatican II. It is only through strong, central leadership that our Church will not only survive but also be a beacon of the way and the light.
The sun made its barest appearance on the horizon of the Indian Ocean off the western coast of Malaysia as Sister Margaret Arcone limped, bucket in hand, to the town well. The ancient fishing village of Bukit Talam had the area’s only hospital, a converted Quonset hut from World War II, and Sister Margaret needed the fresh water for drinking and to boil bandages for the day’s work. Ghostly broken piers, twisted and black, rose from the water’s edge in the morning mist. The cry of a long tailed macaque echoed across the sleeping village as Sister Margaret slowly made her way to the crumbling well. Her arthritic knee had developed into osteomyelitis, and while she was only fifty-one, she moved as if she were seventy. Sometimes the knee was so bad she cried, but regardless, she was always at the well at daybreak.
The wind was swirling hard that morning from the east, not as it usually did from the sea, and dust from the streets and around the shacks blew everywhere. Sister Margaret hoped it was a sign of much needed rain as she raised her kerchief over her nose like a cowboy on the range. She recalled ten years earlier when the drought had been so bad that the well had run dry. There were many deaths then.
Bukit Talam, as most of Malaysia, was ruled by Shari’a law despite the official non-sectarian government. Of the 26 million Malaysians, 60% were Malay Muslims who answered only to Shari’a law. The minorities, ethnic Chinese, Indians, and the smaller Christian communities, while officially governed by civil courts, were often at the mercy of the Muslim majority, which had long-standing hatred for infidels. It made little difference that all of the patients in the Catholic hospital were Muslims; Christians were particularly irksome to Muslim radicals, of whom the number had been growing since the British left over forty years before.
That Sister Margaret’s patients were Muslim made little difference to her also. She had dedicated her life of hardship to the poorest of the poor, and in the decaying weather-washed village of Bukit Talam, which had been over-fished years before, Sister Margaret had found the right place. How much longer she would be able to work was questionable, but God would provide the answer in His time. Until then, her pain and dedication were her offerings to the Lord.
The wire handle of the bucket dug into her hand as he trudged along the dirt path back to the hospital. She found carrying it on the opposite side of her bad leg was less painful than the other way around, but still the extra weight of a full bucket caused the leg to tingle with hot needles.
Sister Margaret’s habit blew in the sandy wind like a black ensign on one of the many dhows that rocked in the unprotected harbor. The shore birds were already signaling their territories when the roar of an old Willy’s jeep drew her attention. It had been painted yellow but did little to hide the rust which appeared everywhere in large splotches. Wearing bright black and white check turbans, four young men, automatic weapons pointing to the heavens, sped up to her and stopped shortly in a choking cloud of brown dust.
“And what are you up to?” asked one of the men with disdain in a Sunni dialect.
Sister Margaret looked down at the bucket but said nothing.
He climbed out of the jeep, and with hate oozing from his lips snarled, “Where did you get that water?”
Sister Margaret lay the bucket down and motioned toward the well.
“That’s Shari’a water,” he said standing over her. His eyes were narrow and he reeked of alcohol.
She pulled down her kerchief and said firmly, “It’s for Shari’as.” She motioned toward the hospital with a large, faded red cross painted on the side of the pea green building. “I’m bringing it to them.”
“No one asked you to!” he said slipping the weapon from his shoulder.
“Leave her alone. Let’s go,” called the driver impatiently.
“I can’t stand them,” answered the gunman, slamming the butt of his AK-47 against her skull with angry force. Sister Margaret spun two steps backward, her face buried in the dirt. Blood oozed from her head, her frail body twitching. “One less,” said the gunman as he kicked over the bucket and got back in the jeep. Blood and water seeped quickly into the parched turf.
The incident had been witnessed by one of the nurses, and an official complaint had been made. The Kuala Lumpur newspaper ran the story which was picked up by the Associated Press. It appeared only in a few Catholic papers, one of which Michel read two days later at breakfast.
Muslim terrorists killed a Catholic nun, Margaret Arcone, 51, early this morning outside of the hospital at which she worked in Bukit Talam. The assailant has not been identified, and no motive for the crime established. That brings the yearly total to 26 of Catholic clerics killed in Malaysia. The police are investigating.
Stories of this sort had become commonplace, used or not by editors to fill space when needed, but they were sharp pricks in Michel’s side. The wanton killing of innocents was not limited to Malaysia, of course; it was metastasizing in any number of Muslim countries, and nothing really was being done about it. Of course, authorities without cooperation of the citizenry could do little, but what bothered Michel more than the ineffectual citizens and their police was the silence of Muslim clerics. Why would they not en masse condemn the murder of non-Muslims unless they themselves either encouraged the savages or tacitly approved? In either case, Islam as it had become practiced, was to blame, in Michel’s mind at least.
Yet the Church remained supportive of what was on its face a religion of violence. From the Koran which supports killing of infidels to the mosques which preach hatred for all things Western, Islam had become a major enemy of the Catholic Church. Indeed, it had declared a major jihad against it.
Frustration and anger knotted in his throat, and Michel could barely swallow his morning biscuit. Here he was at the cardinal’s dining room, large tapestries hundreds of years old hanging from twenty-foot walls, and every comfort afforded him by modern technology, while a sister who dedicated her life to help the impoverished was slaughtered like a rabid animal. Michel tossed the rest of the biscuit on the table in disgust and rushed from the room.
As all successful members of any organization know, honesty and openness are too often liabilities. Organization politics requires an understanding of when to speak one’s mind, when to remain silent, and when to lie. Pragmatists have little trouble coping with this exigency; idealists find it next to impossible. That was why Michel kept his journal. For him, the truth had to come out, even if it did so in the silence of his computer screen.
“God, on the head of this bishop and champion of Thine, I put the helmet of defense and salvation. That with forehead thus adorned, head onto the horns of both Testaments, he may appear fearsome to the enemies of truth.”
This was the prayer recited at my coronation as well as that of each bishop in the world, including that of the bishop of Rome. However, over time, the words have become hollow, an anachronism wrought by those in the Church who have become fawn-eyed Quakers in their pacifism. Led by a succession of popes who seem to ignore their roles as defenders of the faith, my Church has become effete. It has become a church of amelioration at all costs. How “fearsome” is the bishop of Rome to the wolves who kill the sheep of the Church with impunity while its shepherds, safe in their cathedrals, issue mere words of condemnation and woe?
The founding fathers of the Church knew well the need for strength against the uncivilized. Wolves are not asked to stop killing sheep; they are prevented from doing so, even when that prevention includes force. So it is with Muslim terrorists who slaughter innocents. Words of reason have not worked, and those plaintive words have only emboldened the enemy. Why has the Church not at least called for the state to use its might to protect its followers instead of decrying violence of any sort? Why has there been no action against the Wahhabi mosques which teach hatred of the West, especially that of Christendom, and encourage their sons to kill? But can the state be responsible for following the very admonition of the pope to abjure violence? Perhaps the condemnation of all war by recent popes has served to prevent the state from declaring a just war against fanatical Muslims.
It is no mark of civilization to condemn all wars; it is a mark of idealism born of hope but characterized by lack of understanding laced with lassitude. Civilization from time immemorial has provided for just wars waged to prevent the slaughter of innocents by the uncivilized.
We have learned from the Old Testament that God Himself commissioned Michael the Archangel to wage a war against Satan and his evil minions.
Yet we have learned also the words of His Son on whom we rest our Church. The Prince of Peace has commanded us to love our enemies. Can we both love them and kill them? For those who read the Gospels as the last word of Christ and ignore the Church he founded to whom he gave the power to act in his place, the answer would be no.
However, Jesus obliged Peter and his followers to keep his Church alive through their actions divinely inspired by God. Christ did not build a static church to survive under Roman rule only to collapse when forces around it become oppressive. Christ founded a universal church, a church to function for all time, and times change.
When Muslim marauders ransacked the Eastern Church, Pope Urban II encouraged defense. When secular armies stood by, Christian crusaders took up arms to save the lives of innocents slaughtered only for their beliefs. The Church of Christ is pacifist by nature, but even the Vatican maintains an army.
By the grace of God, civilization in most parts of the world has advanced sufficiently to protect the Church, and the need for arms has diminished. Popes of the last centuries have not had to resort to a new set of crusades. Unfortunately, we can no longer remain complacent and expect the secular world to protect us. Secular governments no longer respect the traditions of the Church and have become hostile to its traditions. Catholicism is seen as just another religion, and today religion is seen as a dividing force. If Muslims bomb a school bus of Hebrews, the problem is seen not as the fault of the bomber but of religion. Without religion, there would be no animosity, they think. Thus, all religions become the enemy of secularism.
To ask a secular government to protect Catholics against Muslims in these times is no different from asking a citizen to be protected from the Mafia. Secularist governments see no holy war, only the acts of terrorists against citizens. Yet there is a holy war that will grow more fierce in the next century, and Catholics are losing that war.
It is impossible to believe that God would want his Church of two thousand years to lose its influence as the leader of Western civilization to those religious and secular destroyers.
Of course, God’s will be done. He has not yet seen fit to influence the Holy Father that action must be taken. It is only a question of time, of course, when a succeeding pope will lead the Church back to prominence --- when the Bishop of Rome will remember that on his forehead sits the “fearsome helmet of defense.” Or He will send Michael himself to smite the demons in His name. I pray that the day will come soon so I might be part of that defense.
Michel shut his computer knowing that one day he would be able to make public the words he had just written, words which others would consider incendiary but words which needed expression. The time, sadly and nerve-wrackingly, was not right, even if many would agree. It would be necessary to achieve and maintain success as cardinal so that his reputation might grow among his peers. For now, only God knew of his feelings. There would surely come a time when others would also.
l
The events of the religious world go largely unreported by the press, and readers learn only the barest information of what, despite this age of secularism, continues to be a major factor of the actions of man. Depending on whether there was, for example, a hurricane occurring at the time, apologies from Pope John Paul II for the Church’s anti-Semitism would not and did not everywhere receive front page coverage. However, at the turn of the 21st Century, religious news took center stage. It was not the news that a closer relationship between Christians and Jews had been struck, but that the World Trade Center had been.
The attack of September 11, 2001 was for many the clarion of a religious war underway between Muslim fundamentalists and the West. For Michel, who had seen the confrontation building from before Time magazine declared the Ayatollah Khomeini 1979 man of the year, it was a vindication as well as a spur.
It was not the niceties of religion that grabbed the headlines after the attack in New York, of course, but the damaging effects of religion. It was the resumption of the ancient conflict between East and West and among Muslims, Jews, and Christians. To be sure, Muslims and Jews had been fighting over Israel since its inception in 1948, but fighting was limited to the Middle East and the Pacific islands. Once Muslims took the fight to the heart of the Western world, and did so on religious grounds, the significance of religious differences became pronounced, and its deadly consequences were underscored by cosmopolitans world over.
Secularists had for a long while pointed out that the wellspring of world discord was religion itself. The attack in New York provided testament to their view. Were it not for religious differences, they averred, there would be far less conflict throughout the world. As it stood, however, those with no religion were faced with trying to patch the world being rent by the religious. Thus, another alliance had been added to the battle royal of the major religions: the anti-religious. In some nations, even sectarian charitable organizations were assailed lest with their charity they proselytize. The irony did not escape Michel that in an age celebrating diversity, religion was not only restricted in its celebration, it was to be restricted to private property. In his own country, the size of a crucifix around one’s neck had been regulated.
Rising against such a background was the Michelian movement in France.
Cardinal Michel Abruzzi had turned the French Church from listless institution of dwindling numbers to a vibrancy unseen in that country’s Catholics for generations. The Michelian movement had grown not only in the countryside as might be expected but also in cosmopolitan Paris. The media, of course, played a central role in popularizing him as “the miracle worker,” and his name had become known not only to Catholics. However, that fame would not have been sustained had it not been for the changes he made in his churches, changes admired even by secularists.
Under Michel, the French church moved toward a new populism. Its riches had been eschewed in favor of direct, and widely promoted, support for the poor. Parishes publicized that their return to the more ascetic allowed development of programs directly affecting the streets of Paris. Those who had been living on the streets were given housing, food, and counseling by non-clerical volunteers. When wealthy parishioners saw the divestiture of the Church’s wealth, their contributions grew at an unheard of rate. Where the government failed to provide, the Michelians stepped in. In only a few years, the average Paris citizen could see on their streets real change, and tourism grew.
However, not only social changes had been effected; the religious tradition of the French church had become more conservative. There was a return to the Latin Mass, and absolution in confessionals was harder to receive. Parishioners were exhorted by priests in the pulpit to attend Mass without fail, to involve themselves actively in parish functions, and to ensure their children’s Catholic education. However, the effort was not made only at the pulpit. Church members campaigned to involve their neighbors in church activities without asking for more contributions. Only those with the means were targeted for increased financial support, and that effort proved highly successful. In effect, the poor and middle class were asked for their time, the rich for their money.
The secular media, perhaps in an effort to balance its religious coverage and opinion, lauded the changes Cardinal Michel had brought to the Church in their country. Several Protestant leaders publicly approved Michel’s divestiture of wealth and reduction of ostentatious display and viewed it as an acknowledgment of Martin Luther’s objections five centuries before. Politicians approved of the successful and largely non-sectarian housing and treatment of the city’s homeless. Even secularist educators and journalists were satisfied to note a change of tradition in the Catholic Church, the very apotheosis of tradition they so often decried.
Ironically, the greatest resistance to the Michelian movement toward a new asceticism came from Rome. Vatican leaders were privately critical of the French Church obviously not for its attempt to reach a more Christ-like state but for moving on its own. Despite the Curia’s admonitions to move slowly, Michel proceeded apace, and that led some to question the French Cardinal’s humility. What, if not false pride, would move a Cardinal to act without the backing of the Vatican?
However, the resurrection of his church in a nation that had considered it an irrelevant anachronism could not be gainsaid, and the Roman press was laudatory. Michel’s popularity grew even in the world press, and Pope John Paul II felt compelled to comment on a movement not generated from the Holy See but from the most secular of nations.
“The Church in France under the able leadership of Michel Cardinal Abruzzi has this day seen a resurrection,” said the Pope with Michel by his side as he addressed the crowd of the faithful from the Vatican balcony on Easter Sunday. “From church attendance to the number of vocations, we have seen a rebirth. The people of France have taken Cardinal Michel to their hearts, and he has led them back on the path to the Holy Mother Church. We congratulate the Cardinal, thank him for his noble and tireless work, and celebrate with him his divinely inspired success. And in our celebration we remember that the Catholic Church is a universal body which, while it speaks and moves as one, recognizes the individuality of the nations and cultures under its wing.”
The day before that statement, the elderly pontiff had invited Michel for a private audience. John Paul, robed in white and sitting in a cherry red motorized wheelchair, led Michel along the walk in the Vatican south garden. It was early on a beautiful spring morning, and the shadows of the trees and statuary were long in the rosy light. Out of earshot but eagle-eyed stood the Pope’s valet and a medical aide in the arched doorway that had a newly fashioned wooden ramp for the wheelchair.
“That’s a Japanese maple, a red dragon,” said the Pope in Italian, stopping in front of the five foot tree with delicate deep scarlet leaves sustained by gracefully turned branches. His voice was barely above a whisper and his speech terribly slurred. “It is my favorite,” he remarked. Michel had to bend closer to him to hear. “The older I get, the more I appreciate the quiet natural world. I grew up in the city,” he continued weakly, “where there didn’t seem to be time.” He managed to look up into Michel’s eyes. “Now the time is short.”
“It is lovely,” said Michel studying the fine beauty of the little tree. “How old is it?”
“About as old as I am,” answered John Paul with a grin that even his palsy could not hide. “But much more hardy.”
“With age, we weaken, Your Holiness. I don’t think that is so of trees.”
“Come, let’s sit by the fountain,” said the Pope as he turned his chair toward the ornate fountain of the Laocoon several yards away. “This chair is wonderful; it provides at least some measure of independence.”
There was an iron bench facing the centuries old fountain of Laocoon, serpents with long fangs wrapped around Apollo’s priest in deadly battle. Water flowed from the mouths of four grotesque fish.
“Sit,” said John Paul, with the touch of a joystick turning his chair to see both the fountain and his guest.
At the base of the fountain, etched in dark gray concrete, were the words Equo ne credite, Teucri / Quidquid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, the literal translation of which is "Do not trust the Horse, Trojans / Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks even bearing gifts."
“Is that a Bernini?” asked Michel as they sat.
“Probably not,” John Paul answered, looking at the sculpture. “It’s thought to be by one of his students; it has the look.”
“It is powerful,” remarked Michel.
“And frightening. The situation is hopeless, and his death will be horrible.” Michel could not help think the aging pontiff was thinking of his own imminent death.
“A death visited upon him because he saw what lay ahead and knew the enemy for what they were,” remarked Michel referring to the myth of Laocoon who angered Poseidon for warning the Trojans of Greeks bearing gifts.
John Paul did not answer, and it looked to Michel that he was saving his breath for what he had to say.
“I am sure you are aware,” started the pope struggling to look up from his perpetually bowed head, “that there are some who are unsettled by your approach, which they see as not only rash but dictatorial.”
“I am, Your Holiness.”
“But I am not one of them, and I told them so, and tomorrow I will say so publicly.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness.” Michel was much relieved. With the Pope’s support, the criticism of others would abate, publicly at least.
“Yet I have concerns, my son. You have spoken loudly against the enemies of the Church, but your words must be tempered with understanding … with caritas.” John Paul struggled in pain and was almost breathlessness. Michel looked over to the attendants whose concern was evident.
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“I know you to be a strong defender of the faith and strong administrator,” John Paul continued. “I am calling on you to serve in the Curia and administer the Legion of Christ. It requires a strong leader … to control with tight reins what is becoming a powerful force. You must also deal with the Opus Dei and their zeal which, as you know, can be difficult.”
“I would be most happy to serve, Your Holiness.”
“I have selected you because the Legion will respect your strength and respect for tradition,” said the Pontiff in a voice growing still weaker. He wiped his lips with his handkerchief and paused a long while before continuing. “As we move forward in the new millennium, the Church must first look inward … to itself … to insure it provides the light to guide all of the children of the world.” He paused again then added, in French, with a look of strength that belied his frail exterior. “All of God’s children, Michel.”
l
Within the year, John Paul II was laid to rest, and German Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger became Pope Benedict XVI.
Antonio Cardinal Belli had been appointed secretary to the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, the oldest and most powerful of the Roman Curia’s congregations. Charged with the maintainance and defense of the integrity of the faith, it is the supreme court of the Curia. Before his elevation to the papacy, Cardinal Ratzinger had been prefect of the congregation. The prefect is always a respected scholar of theology and usually selected from univerity professorates. The secretary to the prefect is the second highest position in the congregation and leads the practical operation.
It was the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith under the leadership of Cardinal Ratzinger that examined the allegations of sexual impropriety of Father Marcial Maciel, the founder of the Legion of Christ. Because evidence of sexual misconduct was not absolute, the congregation, despite grave suspicions, could take no action. Once Cardinal Ratzinger became pope, however, he asked for Maciel’s retirement; and the Legion of Christ, stained by the scandal, was placed under the leadership Cardinal Michel Abruzzi, the French media’s miracle worker and conservative bishop of the people.
To satisfy the demands of bureaucratic symmetry, the Legion of Christ was placed in the Curia’s Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples, once called the Sacred Congregation of the Propagation of the Faith and under the prefecture of Ivan Cardinal Diaz. However, knowing how strongly Pope John Paul II felt about the Legion of Christ, and its extreme dedication to the papacy, its director was given the same autonomy as a prefect.
The headquarters of the Propaganda fide faces the Piazza di Spagna and was designed by architect Bernini in the 17th Century. Rhomboid in shape, it is a massive six story building that fills a city block. The Legion of Christ had its offices on the least desireable top floor, and while there was an elevator, it was at the opposite corner of the structure, and no one who did not have to be at the Legion’s offices went there. Most of the staff took the dark, narrow stairs to their desks.
In an age of computers, it had been thought that Michel could maintain his bishopric while administering the Legion of Christ. He would ultimately decide when or if commutation became too burdensome. If it did, the Legion would take precedence, and he would have to move to Rome. It did not take long, however, before Michel had become inured to his semimonthly plane rides from Paris to Rome, the narrow seats of tourist class, and the routine delays. The bright spot was that in Rome Michel was the house guest of the very Italian Cardinal Belli.
From the time they first met after “The Miracle,” both men drew close despite the miles and their proclivities which separated them. They were opposite in basic personality, social views, religious leanings, and palate. While Michel was friendly, he had only one friend. Belli had scores. Michel was conservative, Belli liberal. Michel wanted a return to strict religious tradition, Belli preferred a more inclusive, laissez-faire Church. Michel was an aesthetic minimalist; Belli appreciated the Baroque and the outré. They were not, however, the Odd Couple.
Both men were deeply religious, powerful intellects who knew the Church well and their places in it. They had the capacity to listen as well as to speak, to tease as well as to be teased, and they both enjoyed the other’s ability to laugh and quip in the middle of the most profound discussions. Both fans of American movies, they might have been in a “buddy flick” tossing off one-liners while under a hail of bullets. The difference was that the hailstorm was ideational.
Even when Michel’s committee work at the Vatican did not include Belli, they were sure to meet socially. They corresponded frequently and even more so with the advent of email. Almost every time the two friends met they found a way to play tennis. The two squat 60-year-olds, one fat and the other flabby from having been so, were doubles partners and gracious losers.
They had both, though separately, toured the United States during the 1980’s when the tennis craze peaked, and because the game requires only one other player and takes less than an hour, a busy executive could get in his needed exercise while venting any hostility he may have pent up sitting behind a desk or at interminable meetings. It had become a source of amusement that like boorish Americans they used nicknames on the court. “Yours, Mike. Nice shot, Tony,” they would say in English. It helped them lose.
Secretary Antonio Cardinal Belli lived according to his rank. His cardinal bishop’s residence sat across the street from the Vatican’s Eagle Fountain. The 500-year-old gray limestone house sat behind a stone fence and was blocked from street view by ancient elms and beeches. The double front doors were twelve feet high, six inches thick, and so precisely hung on well-oiled iron hinges that they could be moved with the slightest touch.
By comparison, Michel lived like a Trappist monk. It was a cause of disagreement between the two good friends: Michel believed in and led his followers to live a more simple life, a life closer to the flock he tended.
“A shepherd cannot lead his flock from the palace,” Michel said half-kiddingly as they sat on the porch of Belli’s residence.
“An analogy cannot substitute for reality,” Belli returned. “Were we shepherds, I would agree. As members of the Curia, however, I cannot.”
“And why is that? Why should we be different from our brethren?”
“Because, my communistic friend, we are. In all things there are levels. Even among the angels there is hierarchy.”
“So, my capitalistic friend, you use analogy which you deny me,” smiled Michel. “We are not in heaven as the angels.”
Belli laughed. “You are too smart for me, but in this you are wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I have two thousand years of tradition on my side.”
“Tradition! You sound like Tevye, the fiddler on the roof.”
“But he was the father, not the fiddler,” Belli pointed out.
“But like the fiddler, he was on the precipice, so he was symbolically the fiddler.”
“Well I am obviously less literary than you. But tell me, then, how is it that I am also a fiddler on the roof?” asked Belli.
“You are not, my friend. I merely said you sound like the fiddler when you use the term tradition to justify arguments that can be justified in no other way.”
“Wait a moment,” objected Belli. “I did not say there was no other argument; I simply said that, unlike you, I have tradition on my side.”
“And is it traditional for a diocese --- that had to pay $35 million to pay parishioners who had been sexually abused --- to spend $190 million on a new cathedral? That is what the bishop did in San Diego, California. I believe that the majority of parishioners are poor Mexicans, immigrants who struggle to keep their families in shoes.”
“As it happens, we had a discussion of that commitment last week,” said Belli, armed with the facts and ready to parry. “Did you know that the construction is needed to replace the original cathedral which had been destroyed by an earthquake?”
“But $190 million?”
“That represents a $60 million dollar increase in building costs,” explained Belli. “They had to postpone the construction for years to pay the $35 million restitution.”
“Then 130 million. Excessive by any standard.”
“I do not agree,” argued Belli. “The diocese is rich, despite its Mexican poor. In that edifice will be the bishop’s residence, the diocesan offices, and a 1300-seat cathedral. It sits on several acres and has a park.”
“If I had $190 million for a new 1300-seat cathedral, offices and a residence, I would have $90 or $100 million left over. Notre Dame has already been built; to build another is profligacy.”
“Perhaps you can say that because you have Notre Dame,” offered Belli. “And because you grew up rich. Having everything, one can find it easy to take material possessions for granted. Those who grow up looking at the riches of others tend to admire the things of the world.”
“But are we not to lead the way to the spiritual rather than the corporeal?”
“And one path to the spiritual is through symbol. We build majestic structures to reflect the majesty of Christ. The work and the sacrifice that goes into a cathedral are themselves spiritual offerings. And when we stand in the cathedral and look up, it is easy to feel the power of the Lord and easy also to feel like a poor mouse. We need symbols, Michel. They teach and they speak to us in ways words cannot.”
“I suppose,” said Michel reluctantly. “Yet I am uncomfortable with riches, with the display of wealth.”
“As are many others. The orders, of course,” said Belli of those clergy who take strict vows of poverty. “Even many of the rich themselves.” Then he added, “It is no longer possible to tell a rich man by his clothing; a millionaire is likely as not to wear jeans and sandals while shopping.” He smiled at the irony.
“I prefer it,” admitted Michel.
“But I must tell you, most seriously, Michel, that it is arrogant to expect others to see the world according to your view. Because you are uncomfortable by a certain tradition does not mean that the tradition is at fault. Of course, it may be,” said Belli with an upturn of his palms stretched out in front of his chest, “but then one must question why the tradition has lasted so long. You must look inside yourself to see why that tradition is bothersome. You see?” The index fingers of both hands pointed back at his heart.
Michel nodded.
“In your case, perhaps it is that you have had everything as a youth and you gave it up for the priesthood. Then you even donated your inheritance. You have reacted against…perhaps it is fair to say rebelled…against your father’s wealth. And you are satisfied that what is good for you is best for your followers. You must beware judging things by your own measure. When you do that, Michel, I am afraid few of us can measure up.”
A black Mercedes drove up to take the cardinals to the Palace of the Curia, and the men got in the back seat.
Michel understood very well the warning of his friend. Belli had said he was arrogant, and Michel knew he was right. The question was whether the arrogance were justified or born of hubris. If a leader of any organization cannot look inside himself to find the truth, where must he look? To his colleagues who tend to speak like a Greek chorus echoing the past because it is safe from criticism?
“Traditions change,” said Michel after they settled in the stuffy air of a closed car. “Jesus changed two thousand years of tradition. Robespierre changed the tradition of a powerful nation. That is what great men do, after all.”
“Well, my great man,” said Belli looking seriously at Michel, “we must be careful that the traditions we change require changing. What is the term Americans use, change agent? They believe any change is good change, but they are, of course, mistaken.”
“Of course,” agreed Michel. “The changes of Vatican II were not all for the better. So I agree, traditions should be maintained when those traditions are best. The argument is when to change traditions that have worn out. Our Church is a living body. It must change to stay alive. That is why Jesus gave the keys to Peter, and that …”
“And that is why we have a pope,” interrupted Belli, his normally loud voice drowning out his friend’s. “We are merely servants, perhaps advisors, of the pope. The world is bigger than Paris and Rome, Michel. The change in Paris may be warranted there but not in Peru or Seoul.”
Michel nodded. “That I have come to see as director.” He looked vacantly out his window. “The Legion has provided a perspective I could never have had from my seat in Paris. In some ways it has modified my views,” he said before turning back to Belli, “but in others it has reinforced what I had already felt, already known for years.”
“And what is that?” Belli asked as the car pulled up in front of the Curia where there was to be a meeting of the prefects. Michel had been asked to attend as the agenda of Prefect John Miller of the Congregation for Catholic Education included the expansion of higher education, a major goal of the Legion of Christ.
After the meeting which accomplished less than Michel had hoped, Belli learned what knowledge had been reinorced by Michel’s experience with the Legion of Christ.
It was after dinner, and both men sat comfortably in easy chairs in the lavishly appointed sitting room of Belli’s home. Flourishes of Baroque art mixed in an oilo of reds, yellows, and purples making the room feel more Spanish than Italian. The Louis XV furnishings, dark and foreboding, were crowded in the room in no discernible pattern.
“Are you planning a second career as a furniture salesman?” asked Michel who noticed an increase in the nummber of pieces in the room since he had been there last.
“Residences change so I take the period pieces,” answered Belli.
“Are they originals?”
Belli shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“They should be appraised; they may have great value.”
“Are you going to make me sell them if they are?” asked Belli with a broad grin.
“Well, the room could use a paring. There seems an excess of pieces in the room, as large as it is,” answered Michel craning his neck to eye the pieces behind his chair.
“I like the excess; it matches the period,” said Belli. “It makes a nice counterpoint to the modern world, wouldn’t you say? Besides, I hate to see anything thrown away.”
“You have a big heart, Antonio. A crowded, messy room is always a sign of a big heart.”
“But you have nothing in your room,” noted Belli.
“See what I mean?”
“Nonesense!” Belli said and quickly changed the subject. “So what was it you were going to tell me? What have you learned from the Legion, that you could not from Paris?”
Michel let out a tired sigh.
“You are tired; perhaps it is the work.”
Michel nodded reluctantly. “Perhaps so,” he said almost begrudgingly. It was the first time Michel admitted to anyone that he was anything but a bulwark of resolution and direction. “I do not believe I will be forced to leave Paris, though it may come to that. I feel strong, but perhaps I am not so strong as I convince myself I am.”
“And others,” added Belli.
“Except you, my cherished friend.”
“Then tell me, Michel, tell your friend what you have been reluctant to tell others. It is not late, and this demitasse will keep me up half the night anyway.”
Michel nodded that he would.
Whether or not the garrulous Italian, a popular Vatican figure who knew and was known by everyone, could be trusted absolutely presented Michel with a dilemma. On the one hand, Belli had become his best friend, and Michel had been carrying a cross of secrecy for more than twenty years, reserving his thoughts only for his password-protected computer. On the other, expressing what Belli would likely consider radical notions could give the impression to him and eventually to others that Cardinal Michel Abruzzi was a bit too edgy to be taken seriously.
“I shall, knowing that you will keep the confidence I will share with my friend.”
Belli’s eyes tightened. “You frighten me with what sounds as if it should be the object of the confessional.”
Michel smiled. “Not at all, Antonio. You shall see. But I do ask for your confidence.”
“And that you have, of course, as you have had always.”
“You are aware of the Myanmar monks, the Buddhists?” asked Michel as he began to reveal himself.
“Of course,” said Belli nodding his head once and at complete attention.
The news from what was once Burma had reverberated around the globe. Buddhist monks, during a peaceful demonstration in front of government offices, were angrily handled by police in breaking up the rally. The next day the monks burned government vehicles in protest while hundreds of citizens, outraged at the disrespect shown their religious leaders, surrounded government offices keeping the officials from leaving for hours.
“Indeed, it has been everywhere,” said Michel. “But what hasn’t was a story about a Malaysian nun beaten to death by Muslim soldiers. She was a nurse at a hospital that treats Muslims, but that is irrelevant. In the same part of the world, then, were reported two stories of religious people. In the first, a Catholic nun was slaughtered and nothing was to be done. In the second, not only did the normally taciturn Buddhist monks take the law into their own hands, the citizenry helped them. They did not stand by and wring their hands when their people were mistreated --- not injured, not maimed, not killed --- merely mistreated. The anger was justified and the response appropriate, would you not say?”
“I do not know,” said Belli with a slight shrug. “I have no idea of their laws about demonstrations. Their customs…”
“Their customs!” interrupted Michel. Is it customary in any civilized place on earth to beat peaceful clerics?”
“Of course not,” agreed Belli. “I was merely…”
“You were merely kowtowing to those in power,” said Michel with a trace of disgust. “And that is the problem. We have become too permissive of what we know to be not only unethical but also immoral. How can the beating of monks be justified?”
“I have not said that it is.”
“But when I asked if the citizens’ reaction to the mistreatment of their priests were justified, you said you did not know.”
“Only from the Myanmar point of view,” replied Belli. “The military junta rules with an iron hand.”
“And from your point of view?”
“I agree that some sort of protest was in order … what form that protest should take is another question,” explained Belli.
“And what of the Malaysian nun?”
“I would think that some sort of protest should be lodged.”
“And you know none was.”
“And that is unfortunate, but we … it is difficult to fault the lack of protest in an area controlled by Muslims.”
“For you perhaps, but not for me,” said Michel, his anger tightening his throat. “Under no circumstances should violence against innocence be tolerated by the Church. To remain silent is to condone the actions of those nations which allow free reign of terrorists while at the same time claiming, for public consumption, their hatred of violence.” He paused to collect himself.
“No one condones these actions.”
“Have you heard recently the Vatican protest the hundreds of priests and nuns slaughtered by Muslims around the world?”
“No.”
“Then this is what I share with you, Antonio. Catholics would be as dynamic as the Myanmar Buddhists if our clergy did as the monks did and showed some backbone. I am certain of this, yet I remain silent.” Michel shifted uncomfortably in his chair and then in a soft voice that came from deep inside, confided in his friend. “This is what continually gnaws at my conscience … that I do nothing. As a cardinal charged with the defense of the Church, why do I allow my church to falter?”
“Because, Michel, you have a big heart which feels the pain of others, and to mask that pain, your anger rises. It protects you from feeling as Christ did on the cross the sins of mankind. Your intellect has not allowed you to share this anger publicly because it would be counterproductive. So it eats at you inside.”
Belli had seen and expressed in a few sentences what Michel had not in twenty years of journal keeping. Yet his answer was psychological: anger was a shield for the pain felt at the abuse the Church continued to endure. However, Belli never addressed whether his anger or his call for action were justified.
Michel had hoped seeing the stark contrast between the Buddhists’ action and the Catholic inaction would convince Belli that there ought to be a change in Church policy toward those who attack it. The problem, Michel thought, was that while Belli was a considerable intellect, he was not a leader. He was an excellent number two man, and that explained his appointment as secretary to the prefect and not the prefect. To lead, one needed to be at least somewhat fearless and able to withstand criticism from the comfortable majority. Even were Belli to agree in principle that strong action had to be taken to defend the Church in what had become an obvious battle royal, it would be puffery. He would declare with the éclat of a Caesar that action shall be taken, but he would wait for that action to be taken by someone else.
“You are probably right, Antonio. You usually are. I am angry, and I feel the Church should act aggressively against its enemies, but I am alone in this, and how can I alone be right? So I have kept silent on this issue. I know that God will lead us in His way and in His time. Of that I have no doubt.”
“You are a holy and wise man,” said Belli placing his hand on Michel’s forearm. “We all have notions --- ideas that are born not only of the intellect but of the heart. You are a strong leader of a powerful and aggressive order, and you are angered by those who attack the Church in word and in deed. It is the anger, Michel. It provokes your thoughts, and you are resourceful enough to find an argument, a means by which to placate that anger.”
l
Michel sat at the escritoire across from the bed in the dimly lit guest bedroom. He flipped open his laptop, entered his password, and wrote until he could no longer keep his eyes open. This is what he should have told Belli.
Jesus opposed the traditions of his people despite knowing he would be crucified for doing so. He knew also that his followers would pay the price for their rebellion, but he encouraged them to build his church despite their loss of life. Without strong leadership, no institution can survive. The Roman Church has managed to survive so long because of great leaders who understood the politics of their time. Today in the 21st Century, we live on the twin horns of the politics of terrorism and secularism, both deadly in their way. We must adapt or be rendered irrelevant. It is only by strength that we can maintain our Church in the face of those who seek to destroy us through the courts, through academia, and through the secular media; and of those who have declared a violent jihad on us.
First, as John Paul cautioned, we must rid ourselves of those within our Church who by laxity --- and other reasons --- fail to live up to the standards of our tradition. We cannot allow those who claim to be Catholic to scandalize the true believers as they have been doing. A Catholic cannot favor birth control and abortion and still claim to be Catholic. Catholic lawyers and politicians across the world must use their influence to defend the Church; they cannot support sin publicly and remain Catholic. When they choose Caesar over God, they must pay the price. The Church must beware the Devil in all his guises lest the rats of the godless continue to gnaw at the foundation of the Church.
Moreover, since we are in the throes of a war, one that has already weakened the reputation and influence of the Church, those who abet the enemy, namely Catholic politicians, are traitors. They side with the godless enemy, and that simply cannot go unpunished. We do not tell a soldier who supports the enemy that he may have had a good reason to do so; therefore please continue.
Second, the pure of heart must defend themselves from violent attacks, even if that means supporting violence to do so. When Muslims attacked the Eastern Church in Constantinople, Christians took up arms to defend it. In the 21st Century, the Church must declare a new crusade, this time against Muslim terrorists. Where Muslim radicals attack the clergy and the governments do nothing about it, we must send crusaders to root out the devils…to send them to hell before they commit more atrocities and establish even larger and more virulent cells.
Of course, given the tenor of our time, we will be condemned. Secularists and fallen Catholics especially will speak out against us, but they are effete and will do little to stop us. Such action will energize our base, and while we will lose many of the feint-hearted, our resolve and strength will attract many others. In time we will regain our leadership in the world. Our dedication and single-mindedness, our strength and success, will serve as a paragon for the institutions of the world. We will recapture the respect we have lost since Vatican II. It is only through strong, central leadership that our Church will not only survive but also be a beacon of the way and the light.
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