Chapter Fourteen: It Is Written
Father William R. Pedersen had led the Opus Dei for almost twenty years before abruptly retiring to the home of his family in the outskirts of Rome in the last year of the reign of John Paul II. The Pedersen family owned the largest tool casting company in the nation and was a strong supporter of the Church. How much they donated was not publicly known, but some in the business world estimated it to be in the millions.
The controversial Opus Dei, a largely lay organization within the Catholic Church, was founded in 1928 in Spain by Josemaria Escriva, canonized a saint by Pope John Paul II in 2002. Opus Dei, “work of God,” is a fiercely religious group whose belief, supported by many in the clergy, is that there is no greater holiness than in the ordinary life of a truly religious Catholic. Thus, a bishop is not by his station more holy than the peasant on the field who raises a family according to the dictates of the Church.
Many men and women who deny themselves the comfort of family to work for the Church, who take vows of poverty and chastity, and who surrender to the autocratic rule of the hierarchy, find the position of Opus Dei difficult to accept. However, the less tacit animosity some in the clergy have against Opus Dei is the organization’s self-initiated and proclaimed watchdog status. Staunchly conservative, the group has little trouble condemning weaknesses, actual and perceived, of the priesthood. A very large part of the movement in North and South America to cleanse the priesthood of sexual molesters was abetted by the organization. While the bishops attempted to avoid scandal and believed that prayer and penitence would aid the sinning clerics in overcoming their demonic curse, Opus Dei believed that the punishment of the predators had to be more dire than saying a rosary or being transferred to a different parish.
The Legion of Christ, which Opus Dei held up to the parishes as the paragon of the priesthood, was of a similar mind. There were to be no second chances for a predatory priest, ever. That was why the accusations of sexual misconduct against the founder of the Legion, Marcial Maciel, hurt so much. If the Legion of Christ, the best of the best, could be blemished, the world was not as black and white as the conservative minds of Opus Dei would like to believe.
As the clerical leader, or prelate, of the Opus Dei, it was Fr. Pedersen’s job to act as liaison between the Church proper and the laic organization. He was a successful lobbyist for the group and had been a close associate of Fr. Marcial Maciel. However, just before the death of Pope Paul II and Michel’s becoming director of the Legion of Christ, Fr. Pedersen, only 61, retired to the family estate.
Michel had never met Fr. Pedersen’s but knew of his success and loyal support of the Opus Dei and of his deep respect for the work of the Legion. Legionaries with whom Michel spoke could offer no reason for the retirement and suggested that perhaps there had been a health problem. In any event, everyone counted his absence a loss.
Michel knew it unlikely that a respected leader would leave his people wondering about why he left them if the reason were merely heath related. Politics was more likely the impetus, and if so, politics could be the impetus for Fr. Pedersen’s return to service even if only part time. A man of his reputation and experience would be invaluable, especially given Michel’s own part time status.
Gaunt with a thick shock of gray hair, Fr. Pedersen looked older than his years. His skin was deeply wrinkled, and his greenish eyes looked out under thick, gray eyebrows. He had a short, hooked nose, and he wore black horn rimmed glasses too large for his narrow face. To Michel’s eyes, Fr. William looked rather like an owl as he entered with raptor-like quiet in Michel’s office.
“Thank you for coming,” said Michel with his best smile as he rounded his desk offering his hand. “Please have a seat.” Pedersen’s hand was long and thin and Michel felt he had grasped it a bit too tightly for his visitor’s comfort.
“Thank you, Your Eminence.”
“I hope I have not taken you away from any pressing business.”
“Retirement insures that there is no pressing business,” said Pedersen attempting a smile.
“I understand your family has a sizable vineyard,” said Michel as he returned to his desk. “That must be pressing.” Michel waited for a reaction to his play on words.
“I’m afraid I am not much of an outdoorsman. My brother is the vintner in the family,” replied Pedersen whose nervousness blocked any awareness of the niceties of expression.
“Cardinal Belli’s family has a vineyard. Their wine is quite good.”
“Yes, it is,” said Pedersen.
“It is,” Michel agreed, “but “I believe their red is better.”
“I think so.”
“But you can’t tell Belli that.” Michel grinned. “He once spent twenty minutes explaining how a pinot chardonnay he bottled tasted. I suspect he thought that it was possible to use words to change vinegar to wine.” Pederson smiled almost embarrassingly.
They talked a bit about wine, which led to a discussion of the importance of time in other than the oenological, and that led Michel finally to ask Fr. William the reason for his premature retirement. Out of a sense of obedience, Pedersen, with trepidation, explained.
A year earlier in a Turkish museum, ancient palimpsests were uncovered amid a cache of manuscripts dating from 1044AD. Four leaves of goatskin, each only slightly larger than a page from a novel, contained Latin homilies scribed by monks. In order to reuse the parchment, the original writing had been scraped off so new writing could be written over the old. The palimpsests, literally scrapings of parchments, had originally contained writings in Greek, but only a few words were discernible by the Opus Dei church scholar who brought them to Pedersen.
Pedersen and two scholars, with permission from the Curia, accompanied the parchments to a Munich laboratory with the technology to render the original Greek readable. X-rays with sensitivity to the iron in the original ink were used in an arduous process to uncover the ancient Greek. After seven days in the German laboratory the palimpsests revealed a graphic description of the invasion of Constantinople by Muslim invaders. Pedersen, recognizing the political ramifications of the discovery, saw to it that the laboratory’s hard drive was cleansed of the work and took the palimpsests, the printout, and CD copy back with him to Rome.
However, when he presented them to Cardinal Ratzinger, then the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, Pedersen was cautioned to remain silent while a decision about how to proceed could be made. After six months and not having heard from Ratzinger, he called and asked for an audience. In what he considered to be short shrift from the prefect, Pedersen was told that the Holy Father did not want the palimpsests publicized and that Pedersen was cautioned that he was to tell no one what they contained. When Pedersen asked Ratzinger if he could get an audience with Pope John Paul, the prefect told him that it would be impossible and bade him good day. Pedersen requested and was granted his retirement within the month.
“What was written in Greek dates from hundreds of years before the other manuscripts, yes?” asked Michel of the palimpsests.
“Yes.”
“And they are of such nature that you have been held to keep their secret.”
“Yes.”
“What can you tell me about the content of the parchments --- without betraying your vow of secrecy?”
“They recount in vivid detail the attack of the Eastern Church. The Holy Father believed that it would be best if those documents remained hidden.”
“And you do not agree.”
“I thought at first they should be made public, yes. But if the Holy Father were opposed…”
“If,” interrupted Michel. “You sound as though you are unconvinced.”
“The decision my have been made by the prefect,” offered Pedersen tentatively.
“And the prefect may have told you it was a papal decision only to satisfy you?” offered Michel to offer Pedersen a way out of the corner he had found himself.
“Yes. I would have hoped that I had reached a level of trust that the prefect seemed not to afford me. I was admittedly miffed by his abrupt manner.”
“I am told that that the Holy Father can be…businesslike.”
“Please understand that my retirement was not because of the secrecy …” explained Pedersen.
“I understand,” said Michel warmly. “It was your treatment.” He paused. “Perhaps your retirement is premature?”
“Perhaps, Your Eminence.”
“Could I convince you, then, to return? Possibly under my direction. A man of your experience working with the Opus Dei out of the Legion’s office would be much valued and appreciated.”
“Thank you; that is good of you to say,” said Pedersen looking at Michel owlishly.
“Well,” said Michel after a moment, “you can think about it. If you decide that the pressing problems at the vineyard are not too great, please excuse the pun, I would be most happy to arrange for your return.”
l
Michel’s understanding of the American term political correctness involved the notion of speech that could be considered offensive to certain groups, mainly minorities and the downtrodden. A standard emanating from academe and solidified by major American publishing houses, it had become a thorn in the side of conservatives who felt that while the standard may indeed be political, it was certainly not correct. They argued that the status of any group ought not require certain restrictions of speech if indeed the speech were accurate. They believed further that to engage in political correctness was a duplicitous act designed largely to signal one’s own particular sensitivity to the plight of a group or class. It was, they maintained, the speech of the limousine liberal who may say anything but will sacrifice little to improve the lot of those whose cause they seem to champion.
Michel had little doubt that much anti-Christian attitude of the Twentieth Century was due to this topsy-turvy phenomenon. Men had power; women did not. Whites had power; blacks did not. Christianity was the religion of the powerful; Islam was not. Under this system, being a white, male Catholic was as politically incorrect as it was possible to be, and it was necessary, according to this new standard, that no one doubt the guilt one carried for being so.
Michel knew also that the Church itself had, however inadvertently, acceded to the notion of political correctness. Even the Pope apologized for anti-Semitic words uttered over the past two thousand years. The Church tried not to appear overbearing lest it be excoriated in the secular press for being insensitive to the needs of others, brutish and heavy-handed. With the exception of two or three emirates, Islam was not the religion of world leaders. It was a religion of largely Third World people being shocked into modernity. It bothered Michel that it was politically incorrect to speak against the religion of Islam, even if that speech demonstrated the true evil that twists around its core like a serpent.
Michel believed it likely that the Holy Father prevented the Opus Dei from publicizing the horrors of Islam because doing so would be politically incorrect. What good, after all, would there be to publicize Muslim atrocities that occurred a thousand years earlier? And, could not the same atrocities be ascribed to Christian crusaders who raped and plundered their way across Europe and the Middle East on the way “to defend God?”
Yet, doubts whispered in the back of Michel’s mind. If the palimpsests contained only the descriptions of what had already been known, why was secrecy mandated? It made little sense to keep hidden what everyone knew: there was violence between Muslims and Christians at Constantinople. Perhaps the Pope had concerns that Opus Dei would be clumsy in its handling of the parchments, perhaps impolitic in their commentary at the time of their publication. But if so, he could have circumvented the Opus Dei and released the translations through the Curia which would cast the documents appropriately.
Michel began to believe that there was something in the palimpsests other than vivid descriptions of Muslim on Christian violence that the Pope did not want to become public, by any means, through the Opus Dei or the Curia. If it had been descriptive of Christian atrocities, Pedersen’s Opus Dei would hardly want that made public. Michel was relatively certain that the documents contained more damning information about Islam, and given Benedict’s reference to an anti-Muslim statement made centuries before, further negative references to Islam would certainly be politically incorrect and politically damaging. The question for Michel was what exactly had been written on the goatskin over a thousand years before?
That was the question he asked Antonio Cardinal Belli, the secretary of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith.
“Do you ask the secretary or the friend?” said Belli looking up from his desk at Michel who had made a surprise visit to his office.
“Would the answers be different?” asked Michel as he took a seat in one of the two red Luis XV armchairs that faced the secretary’s desk.
“Probably.”
“Then as a friend,” said Michel unsure if he were kidding.
“I don’t know,” admitted Belli over the tops of his reading glasses.
“Then the answer would have been the same; you didn’t know in either case!” Michel exclaimed with mock exasperation, knowing he was being teased.
“Not at all,” said Belli. “I would have said that the documents were not for general consumption.”
“I see,” said Michel now fully engaged in the game. “Discussion of the documents with the Cardinal of Paris and Director of the Legion of Christ represents general consumption.” said Michel.
“Yes, pity,” said Belli returning dismissively to the papers on his desk.
“In either case, then, your response was valueless.”
“Yes, pity,” said Belli not looking up and unable to contain the slight upturn on the right side of his mouth. It was an expression Michel had come to know and delight in. Belli might have made the world’s worst poker player, but Michel knew him to be the world’s best friend.
“Then why have I come here?” asked Michel as if he had given up.
There was a pause before Belli, looking up slyly over his glasses, said, “Because I have access to them.”
“Of course! You are not so valueless as I had thought,” remarked Michel with a boyish grin.
“I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“And for years I never believed you.”
“Perhaps you will after you read them,” said Belli before adding, “but perhaps you will not. He looked up into Michel’s eyes and seriously asked, “What can be your reason for pursuing them?”
“Prurient interest.”
“I am sure there is nothing prurient about any interest of yours,” said Belli as he tore a piece of paper from a pad and put it in his jacket pocket.
“Maybe so, maybe not.”
“What do you expect to find?” asked Belli getting up and heading for the door.
“Confirmation,” answered Michel, following his rotund friend.
Tourists to the Vatican see the astounding collection of art that is part of the tradition of the Catholic Church. What tourists do not see is the unrivaled collection in magnitude and age of the written record of Western Civilization. Their collections contain documents in hundreds of languages through centuries upon centuries across the entire world. Scholars continue to study, translate, and catalogue the millions of leaves of writing, from animal skins to bond paper and even computer entries. Much of the effort, and cost, is in the preservation of the physical documentation.
Deep in the foundation of the ancient Palace of the Roman Curia lies some of the most valuable treasure in Vatican City. There, in the Archive of the Secretariate of State, are catalogued secret texts that only few are entitled to read. The Curia keeps these documents, most over a thousand years old, hidden for a variety of reasons, the main reason of which is fear of misinterpretation by the unschooled or the hostile. It is not only their content that is fragile, however. The parchments themselves, after years upon years of neglect, must now be kept away from the damaging effects of normal atmospheric conditions. Electronic vaults with delicately balanced light, heat, and humidity house these priceless leaves, and entry to them is strictly limited.
The two cardinals walked down the narrow stairs to the lowest level of the Palace of the Roman Curia leading to a long, dark corridor with steel doors. Lighted keypads sat alongside each numbered door visible in the dim light only because of the large size of the numerals. One of the doors had an unlit keypad signifying that the room was unlocked and being used.
The ancient stone walls of the corridor were uneven and rather foreboding as they loomed even tighter as the men walked on to the invisible end. It might have been the catacombs of the pagan city except for the hollow rush of air and the hum of heat pumps mourning soulfully above their heads.
In the dim light, Belli struggled in front of Door 12 to read the keypad combination he had taken from his office.
“Can you make it out?” asked Michel reaching for his cell phone.
“Barely,” said Belli holding the paper near the keypad for extra light. Michel shined the light from his cell phone on the paper, and the men entered.
The small 10’ by 12’ room was filled with parchments hanging vertically in racks that ran along the left and right walls in two rows, an upper and lower. Not unlike the periodical racks in a library which contained the day’s newspapers, these parchment racks held each leaf pressed between treated glass with a number assigned to each parchment “folder.”
In the middle of the room was a desk and chair. Along the wall opposite the door were shelves with plastic file boxes corresponding to the numbered parchments.
“The claustrophobic need not apply,” said Michel surprised at how tightly everything fit. The two men could not pass each other around the table.
“These rooms are terribly expensive not only to construct but to maintain. Those up a level without the atmospheric controls are larger, of course,” explained Belli who stood at the door to allow Michel to move more freely.
“Which are they?” asked Michel of the Constantinople palimpsests. “I believe there are three of them.”
“Numbers 21 through 23.”
Michel noticed them immediately as they were the shortest of the parchments on either wall. Michel removed number 21 from its cradle and saw a largely a blank parchment with only the barest traces of the original Greek. Along the sides of palimpsest remained the Latin scribe’s paginal adornment.
“They used x-rays to read the Greek,” said Michel holding the glass folder to give Belli a better view of it. “You can see some of the writing which contains enough iron, apparently, to read it --- at least on their computers.”
“Now as I understand it,” said Belli looking toward the plastic file boxes, “the transcription of the original Greek and the Latin translation are in there. Some also have Italian, English, and Mandarin.”
Michel opened the box marked “21 a 23” and saw that only a Latin translation had been made. He took the single page translation to the desk where track lights from the ceiling lit the table for easy reading.
And the Mohammedans descended on them on horses, swinging Saracen blades and yelling in their blasphemous tongue. I could understand only the word “Allah,” the odious appellation of the Devil. Our army defeated, the Arab horsemen could not be stopped. The Devil’s children laughed as they sliced the heads from the children so their mothers would cry out “My baby!” Then they gutted the mothers like butchers, blood and entrails everywhere. What their cold blades could not sever, they burned. What would not burn besmeared with horse and human waste. And all this they did in the name of Allah. Nor would they hear our pleas to save our old and infirm whom they trampled and beat with merciless abandon.
At the bottom of the page were the words Michel had been seeking.
Later, with the Christian legions hard upon them, when they knew their numbers were insufficient, then they met at a convocation of the leaders. The high priest spoke to his minions from atop the wall by the church, so to show his status. “We will be as crafty as Greeks who defeated their enemy by cunning. All of Islam will avow its love for its enemies, whom we loathe because they are infidels, that Allah commands us to love them just as the prophet Jesus does. Then, when they are emasculated by time, we shall once again lay waste their temples, their priests, and their people who worship false gods and deny the all-powerful Allah who could crush them like ants. And so it is Allah’s wish. Each Muslim man and son will…”
The translation stopped in mid-sentence, but whatever followed could not have made a difference; it was clear why the Pope did not want to publicize the palimpsests.
“So you see, Antonio, why the Holy Father would keep this from general circulation.”
Belli’s response was a less than enthusiastic yes. Michel returned the translation to its file folder and placed the box back on its shelf, and the men left the room. Michel turned to see the keypad relight as the door closed.
“How does the keypad know that we left the room?” asked Michel.
“It is one of the great mysteries,” remarked Belli. “As mysterious as why we spent so much time on so very little.” The two dark figures filled the width of the hallway as they walked back to the light at the end of the tunnel.
“I do not share your view that it is of no consequence,” said Michel on the defensive.HH
“Yes, I know,” said Belli opening the door to the stairwell. “And you will have to explain that to me at dinner tonight. I have already fallen behind today.”
However, that dinner conversation never took place. Michel returned to Paris, and the next time he returned, the ancient palimpsests had, like memos on the bottom of an inbox, become less pressing than they had originally appeared. Michel, nevertheless, felt vindicated. Had the Vatican published the text, the Muslim world would have been offended and the press would have sided with the offended party. What value was this in today’s times, they would have asked, and was not the Vatican insensitive to Muslims by publishing the writing of an obviously biased Christian? Would this not only drive a wedge between the faiths rather than a bridge?
Michel also would not have published the palimpsests for the same reason Pope Benedict had not: political correctness. There would have been more to lose than to gain if the text had been tossed in the open field for media jackals to chew on. However, within the Curia, Michel would certainly have cited the text, not because it showed the duplicitous nature of Muslims, that was already known; but because it would serve as yet another spur to the flanks of the horses of war.
l
Michel had been called to meet with Pope Benedict at his summer residence about 30km from Rome. Benedict had been on vacation in the mountains in the northern Veneto region where ninety years before, Pope Benedict XV spoke condemning the ravages visited upon that area in WWI. The day before his meeting with Michel and from the same place as his namesake, Benedict XVI called for an end to all war, which he described as useless slaughters that bring hell to people on Earth.
Michel had read the statement in the Vatican paper before leaving for Castel Gandolfo, a small town in Lazio that occupies a height overlooking Lake Albano about 30 km south-east of Rome, in the Alban Hills. It was the same kind of statement popes have made for the past 100 years, and it reminded Michel of the parish priest who every year dusts off a particular homily without worry that the parishioners have all head it before. They needed reminding. And apparently the world needed reminding that war was bad. But perhaps the extreme passivism expressed by a succession of popes had emboldened its enemies. Certainly Muslim dogs see the Church as weak as they relentlessly bite at its heels by killing its members. The secular press sees the Church as an institution that will take without objection the calumnies leveled at it by their writers and pundits. Jews continue to force reference to Jesus Christ from the public square because they have been shown that the Church will not use its power in self-defense. Among all of its enemies, perhaps the only group unaffected by Pope Benedict’s message was atheists whose opposition to religion is based on their belief that religions cause violence. It is difficult to level that charge against a church whose leader abjures war at all cost.
Benedict’s ten days away from Vatican City was for rest, but rest for the Pontiff was only three or four hours a day of reading and two or three more of meetings with individuals. Dress was informal at Castel Gandolfo, and for the bishop of France and the bishop of Rome that meant a cassock and skullcap, the former red, the latter white.
It was Michel’s first visit to the ancient castle which sprawled majestically on the edge of a limestone cliff high above the lake. The sunlight shimmered on the crystalline blue water more brightly than a heaven full of stars, and standing at the window of the Pope’s drawing room, Michel wondered why this was not the Pope’s residence year-round.
“It is a magnificent view,” said Pope Benedict as he entered the airy drawing room, one wall of which was floor to ceiling windows. Michel turned from the windows and walked toward the Pontiff, his hand extended. The morning sun streamed across the room’s terra cotta tiles turning them a rich orange. Oils of vineyards and towns decorated the peach colored walls and were pleasing adjuncts to the 19th Century Tuscan dark walnut furnishings.
“Your Holiness, how are you?” he asked as they shook hands warmly. The tradition of kissing the ring had passed.
“Never better,” said Benedict. “And you?”
“Well … well. I believe I have taken strength simply from looking at this vista.”
“It is quite spectacular and I believe it salubrious. It is a comfort to know that at the end of the day, no matter how difficult or trying, the beauty remains to comfort me.”
“I hope my visit today will not be too trying,” said Michel waiting for Benedict to take a seat before he did so. In the center of the room and facing the windows, two leather chairs sat angled toward each other and separated by an intricately carved, ponderous maple table. One of the chairs was in green leather, high backed, and secured by large brass tacks with round hammered heads. Grapevines were carved in the dark oak frame and ran along the arms. The other chair was its twin except for its brown leather. The Pope sat in the brown chair.
“On the contrary, Michel. I always look forward to our meetings.” Benedict lifted a folder from the table whose worn and scratched surface evinced its two centuries service. “Do you?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Yes, Your Holiness,” answered Michel with a nod. In truth, Michel and Benedict were in agreement on most issues; both were strong leaders and devout churchmen. Others considered both of them conservative though Benedict more scholarly and Michel more practical. Over the past three fiscal years, however, Benedict had refused Michel’s request for loans to build Legion high schools and colleges. There was little to believe that this year would be different.
“Well that is good,” said Benedict looking into Michel’s chestnut eyes, his smile gone. “Because then you will not feel too unhappy that I must again this year deny your request for capital expenditures.”
“In the Americas and here?” Michel asked. The Legion of Christ had grown sufficiently in size to expand their school building program, and while most of its funds had been generated by the Legion itself, Michel looked to the Vatican for help.
“Both,” answered the Pope. “I’ve read it,” he added referring to Michel’s budget outline, “and you support each item with great detail. I have no doubt that the funds you request are needed if you are to meet your goals. It is, simply, a question of limited treasury.” Benedict read Michel’s disappointment. “It is not that your goals are not realistic --- we are unable to grant your request and at the same time meet other needs in other areas.”
“I understand,” said Michel.
“No, I do not believe you do,” replied Benedict, his dark eyes sad and distant. “I never knew precisely how our success, the success of the Holy Mother Church, was dependent upon finance. Cardinal Ratzinger thought the Church was an inexhaustible fount of cash; Pope Benedict XVI knows it is not.”
Michel sat in silence as there really was nothing left for him to say on the topic. He had decided before the meeting that regardless of the decision about the Legion’s building program, he would make use of the private time with the single most influential cleric in the world.
“There is next year, of course,” said Benedict placing the report back down on the table signaling the end of their meeting.
“Yes, I will resubmit. Until then we will do what we can with what we have.”
Benedict nodded and smiled. “I look forward to seeing how much can be accomplished in the next year. It is and always has been education which supports the Church.”
“It is, Your Holiness,” agreed Michel who resisted asking that if it were so fundamental, why was there no money for it. Or why they were sitting in a huge medieval castle of incalculable value so he could be told there was no more money for education. “Pope John Paul told me that the Church must first look inward to improve itself. In truth, he more than told me; he warned me. I believe he knew that it makes little difference if we teach the tenets of our faith but do not insist upon their observance.”
Benedict rose from his seat and stared out over the lake. A lone sailboat, its jib luffing in the light air, did its best to catch what little wind there was.
“Do you sail, Michel?” asked the Pope.
“When I was young. My father had boats and he taught me.”
“Then you know better than I what that sailor is trying to do,” said Benedict looking out the sunlit windows. Michel joined him and saw the large sailboat that from their elevation looked like a white toy on a blue sheet.
“He has let the fore sail out to catch the wind, but he does not have enough wind to fill it, so it wobbles. There is not much he can do in this situation,” explained Michel. “He must wait for better circumstances.”
“Indeed,” said Benedict leaving Michel standing by the window as he walked to a writing table on the opposite side of the well-lit room. Benedict picked up a newspaper from the walnut table and carried it back to the green leather seat Michel had sat in.
“Have you read this yet, Michel? Yesterday’s address in the Veneto?” he asked, taking a seat in the green chair.
“I have, Your Holiness,” answered Michel as he walked toward the seated Pontiff. What he did not say was that he felt that in this pacifist stance Benedict made no room for just wars, and that idealism could not work in the real world. God had waged war against Satan, popes had waged war against Islam, and Europe waged war against Hitler. To say all war is evil is historically naive and theologically inaccurate. Coming from the foremost theologian in the Church, however, it gave Michel pause.
“Good,” he said inviting Michel to sit in his brown chair with a quick flick of the wrist. “Now, I thank you, Michel, for sharing your anecdote of John Paul. Perhaps, you did so for my edification, so let me ask you then what you had in mind, specifically, that would edify this pope.”
“I do not presume to edify Your Holiness,” said Michel, his spine now bolt upright and his mind on high alert. “I mean only to suggest the wisdom I have received from Pope John Paul.”
“Then kindly share that wisdom with me plainly, specifically.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” said Michel formally. It was no source of pleasure to be at once familiar with the pope and then be formal, but that was often the way with scholars who sometimes were wanting in the social graces. “I understood John Paul to mean that if we strengthen ourselves first from within, we will increase the probability of success with our enemies from without.” Michel said a bit too hurriedly but nevertheless succinctly.
“Yes,” agreed Benedict. “That has been the Legion’s approach.”
“If, Your Holiness, you consider the Church being besieged by secularists on the one hand, hostile religious groups on the other, and by our own weak sisters,” said Michel with animation and holding up three fingers of one hand, “we see a battle royal. Secularists opposed to the Church and other religious groups. The other religious groups attacking secularism itself as well as the Church. And the Church fighting both armies.” Michel used the index finger of his other hand to illustrate the troika.
Benedict nodded and was silently aware of the passion the topic generated in his combative cardinal. It was little wonder that John Paul had selected Michel to lead the Legion of Christ.
Michel continued. “Starting from within, Your Holiness, it is my view that we should exert pressure on all Catholics to resist secularism. Specifically, Catholics who hold positions of authority and influence in the secular world. They must be urged to use their power in furtherance of doctrine, not as an impediment to it, as has been done of late.”
Benedict nodded. “You refer specifically to politicians.”
“Yes. One cannot be a Catholic, other than in name, who votes for abortion, who votes to allow pornography to pollute the media, who violates the dicta of the Church --- and still remain in the Church. It is logical incongruity.”
“And what ought be done?”
“By their actions they not only themselves violate the supremacy of doctrine but scandalize others. If the Church does not show its displeasure toward leaders who ignore its doctrine, we tacitly approve. Catholics who continue to violate the most basic principles of the faith, either in private life or public, must not receive absolution.”
Benedict countered, “However, a politician who votes a certain way or who runs on a certain platform does so because he must be elected by all of the electorate. What would be your response to the politician who says that his own religious beliefs cannot affect his political decisions because he is a representative of all the people?”
“Then he is simply a secularist. What is, after all, the definition of a secularist: one whose actions are informed by non-religious motives.”
“You see the problem then, don’t you? We have discussed this very issue with the Congregation,” said Benedict of the Congregation for Doctrine of Faith. “If Catholic politicians must follow the dictates of the Vatican, they will not be elected. Their allegiance to the nation they serve would be subordinate to the dictates of the pope. Under such condition, no Catholic politician could compete, certainly not on the national level.”
Michel raised one hand to shoulder level, palm up, and in a sad-but-true tone. “There are few Catholic politicians, not at the executive level.” Benedict seemed to agree. “From Vicente Fox back to John Kennedy, the Church for a politician is at best an uncomfortable cross they attempt to bury. It holds no moral sway for them when they act as public servants.” He caught the Pope’s eyes and focused tightly. “No matter how one attempts to twist it, a politician who knowingly approves a sinful act is guilty of that sin, and the Church cannot condone the behavior by remaining silent. If it does, it renders itself irrelevant.”
“I have made that same argument both as prefect and now as pope, and I have made another one,” said Benedict. “It is, I am afraid a pragmatic one, but an argument nonetheless. Having Catholic politicians has not had a positive impact. The Church has not benefited from their holding office and in fact may have been hurt by their bad example.”
“In my years I have seen only disadvantages,” agreed Michel whose own dealings with Parisian officials, most of them Catholic, was often difficult because of fear that it appear Cardinal Abruzzi was being given special consideration.
“Then we seem to be of a mind on that issue,” said Benedict in a that’s that attitude. “Let’s move on. What else would you have the pope do?”
“Internally or externally?”
“Either, aside from divestiture,” answered Benedict. “What works in France does not in Argentina.” It was clear that Rome was not about to adopt the Michelian movement’s eschewal of material possession, and Michel moved to even a more controversial position.
“Externally, I would say the first step is to point out that the Church has enemies and indicate precisely who and why they are so. By separating the Church from other religions, we are not conflated with them and their obvious weaknesses. The world needs to know that there is a difference between a Protestant and a Catholic, a Christian and a Jew, and certainly a Muslim.”
“Again, Michel, you have forwarded the same argument I have, but there has been grave concern that the spirit of ecumenism would be violated by such an undertaking. You saw the reaction to my reference to the historical record. How much worse will it be if we separate ourselves from the great religions of the world?”
“It will be worse, of course. But then, after the initial turbulence, the Church will be seen as distinct because it insists on being seen in a different light, its true light. One of the great weapons used against the Church by secularists is that religion itself causes strife. Of course, only Islam does. To say that Islam is a great religion is in my view to excuse the violence done in its name. Islam is a flawed religion and the Church should separate itself from it.”
“And what would you say about Judaism and Protestantism? We cannot undo the work of Vatican II, John XXIII and John Paul II.”
“That would not be my intention.”
“But that would be the result,” said Benedict. “At the moment we distance ourselves from other Christians, we weaken the religious network throughout the world. Our work first must be to oppose godlessness; in this we are one. We will leave the theologians to debate among themselves.”
That the “work” was getting nowhere seemed obvious to Michel. It had been years since the spirit of ecumenism descended upon the Church, and in that time things had not improved. An undeclared but insidious war against Christianity was being waged in the courts by Jews, and even some Protestant sects had joined them in the fray. Unfortunately, Benedict was not of the cast to lead the Church in battle against its enemies. While he was academically the nonpareil among the cloth, he seemed unwilling or incapable of direct confrontation. That he backed away from a simple historical reference to Islam was evidence of that disinclination.
Michel knew he had gone as far as he could, and he left thinking that he had perhaps been a stimulus for Benedict to speak out on an issue he had already shared with the Curia. As it turned out, he was correct; within weeks Benedict issued a statement that prohibited Catholic politicians from supporting sinful behavior. Those who did so, he stated, should not receive the Blessed Sacrament.
His statement received little coverage outside the Catholic press, which seemed to offer less resistance than Michel had thought it might. While the Pope’s statement was not a shot across the bow of the enemy, it was perhaps the loading of cannon. Many interpreted that statement to mean that a Catholic politician who supported abortion, for example, was excommunicated. It was argued that a pope’s telling them they are unworthy to receive the Holy Sacrament was in effect excommunication. Others pointed out that the Pope’s not having spoken ex cathedra means that such a statement was subject to revision and therefore not absolute. Nevertheless, Michel felt that the Church had gone a long way in achieving the will of John Paul II: change must be initiated from within. This particular change seemed to serve a dual purpose in that it was a change from within by addressing Catholic politicians, and it also signaled the beginning of an attack on secularism, which for Catholics now was not even to be tolerated. Politicians could no longer straddle the fence by accepting secularism while accepting the Holy Eucharist. Extramarital sex, including homosexuality; artificial birth control; abortion; and fetal stem cell destruction --- hallmarks of the modern secular world --- were to be repudiated globally by all Catholics. It would only be a matter of time, Michel was sure, before the other religions were called to task, as the politicians had been, for kneeling at the secular altar of licentiousness.
lFather William R. Pedersen had led the Opus Dei for almost twenty years before abruptly retiring to the home of his family in the outskirts of Rome in the last year of the reign of John Paul II. The Pedersen family owned the largest tool casting company in the nation and was a strong supporter of the Church. How much they donated was not publicly known, but some in the business world estimated it to be in the millions.
The controversial Opus Dei, a largely lay organization within the Catholic Church, was founded in 1928 in Spain by Josemaria Escriva, canonized a saint by Pope John Paul II in 2002. Opus Dei, “work of God,” is a fiercely religious group whose belief, supported by many in the clergy, is that there is no greater holiness than in the ordinary life of a truly religious Catholic. Thus, a bishop is not by his station more holy than the peasant on the field who raises a family according to the dictates of the Church.
Many men and women who deny themselves the comfort of family to work for the Church, who take vows of poverty and chastity, and who surrender to the autocratic rule of the hierarchy, find the position of Opus Dei difficult to accept. However, the less tacit animosity some in the clergy have against Opus Dei is the organization’s self-initiated and proclaimed watchdog status. Staunchly conservative, the group has little trouble condemning weaknesses, actual and perceived, of the priesthood. A very large part of the movement in North and South America to cleanse the priesthood of sexual molesters was abetted by the organization. While the bishops attempted to avoid scandal and believed that prayer and penitence would aid the sinning clerics in overcoming their demonic curse, Opus Dei believed that the punishment of the predators had to be more dire than saying a rosary or being transferred to a different parish.
The Legion of Christ, which Opus Dei held up to the parishes as the paragon of the priesthood, was of a similar mind. There were to be no second chances for a predatory priest, ever. That was why the accusations of sexual misconduct against the founder of the Legion, Marcial Maciel, hurt so much. If the Legion of Christ, the best of the best, could be blemished, the world was not as black and white as the conservative minds of Opus Dei would like to believe.
As the clerical leader, or prelate, of the Opus Dei, it was Fr. Pedersen’s job to act as liaison between the Church proper and the laic organization. He was a successful lobbyist for the group and had been a close associate of Fr. Marcial Maciel. However, just before the death of Pope Paul II and Michel’s becoming director of the Legion of Christ, Fr. Pedersen, only 61, retired to the family estate.
Michel had never met Fr. Pedersen’s but knew of his success and loyal support of the Opus Dei and of his deep respect for the work of the Legion. Legionaries with whom Michel spoke could offer no reason for the retirement and suggested that perhaps there had been a health problem. In any event, everyone counted his absence a loss.
Michel knew it unlikely that a respected leader would leave his people wondering about why he left them if the reason were merely heath related. Politics was more likely the impetus, and if so, politics could be the impetus for Fr. Pedersen’s return to service even if only part time. A man of his reputation and experience would be invaluable, especially given Michel’s own part time status.
Gaunt with a thick shock of gray hair, Fr. Pedersen looked older than his years. His skin was deeply wrinkled, and his greenish eyes looked out under thick, gray eyebrows. He had a short, hooked nose, and he wore black horn rimmed glasses too large for his narrow face. To Michel’s eyes, Fr. William looked rather like an owl as he entered with raptor-like quiet in Michel’s office.
“Thank you for coming,” said Michel with his best smile as he rounded his desk offering his hand. “Please have a seat.” Pedersen’s hand was long and thin and Michel felt he had grasped it a bit too tightly for his visitor’s comfort.
“Thank you, Your Eminence.”
“I hope I have not taken you away from any pressing business.”
“Retirement insures that there is no pressing business,” said Pedersen attempting a smile.
“I understand your family has a sizable vineyard,” said Michel as he returned to his desk. “That must be pressing.” Michel waited for a reaction to his play on words.
“I’m afraid I am not much of an outdoorsman. My brother is the vintner in the family,” replied Pedersen whose nervousness blocked any awareness of the niceties of expression.
“Cardinal Belli’s family has a vineyard. Their wine is quite good.”
“Yes, it is,” said Pedersen.
“It is,” Michel agreed, “but “I believe their red is better.”
“I think so.”
“But you can’t tell Belli that.” Michel grinned. “He once spent twenty minutes explaining how a pinot chardonnay he bottled tasted. I suspect he thought that it was possible to use words to change vinegar to wine.” Pederson smiled almost embarrassingly.
They talked a bit about wine, which led to a discussion of the importance of time in other than the oenological, and that led Michel finally to ask Fr. William the reason for his premature retirement. Out of a sense of obedience, Pedersen, with trepidation, explained.
A year earlier in a Turkish museum, ancient palimpsests were uncovered amid a cache of manuscripts dating from 1044AD. Four leaves of goatskin, each only slightly larger than a page from a novel, contained Latin homilies scribed by monks. In order to reuse the parchment, the original writing had been scraped off so new writing could be written over the old. The palimpsests, literally scrapings of parchments, had originally contained writings in Greek, but only a few words were discernible by the Opus Dei church scholar who brought them to Pedersen.
Pedersen and two scholars, with permission from the Curia, accompanied the parchments to a Munich laboratory with the technology to render the original Greek readable. X-rays with sensitivity to the iron in the original ink were used in an arduous process to uncover the ancient Greek. After seven days in the German laboratory the palimpsests revealed a graphic description of the invasion of Constantinople by Muslim invaders. Pedersen, recognizing the political ramifications of the discovery, saw to it that the laboratory’s hard drive was cleansed of the work and took the palimpsests, the printout, and CD copy back with him to Rome.
However, when he presented them to Cardinal Ratzinger, then the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, Pedersen was cautioned to remain silent while a decision about how to proceed could be made. After six months and not having heard from Ratzinger, he called and asked for an audience. In what he considered to be short shrift from the prefect, Pedersen was told that the Holy Father did not want the palimpsests publicized and that Pedersen was cautioned that he was to tell no one what they contained. When Pedersen asked Ratzinger if he could get an audience with Pope John Paul, the prefect told him that it would be impossible and bade him good day. Pedersen requested and was granted his retirement within the month.
“What was written in Greek dates from hundreds of years before the other manuscripts, yes?” asked Michel of the palimpsests.
“Yes.”
“And they are of such nature that you have been held to keep their secret.”
“Yes.”
“What can you tell me about the content of the parchments --- without betraying your vow of secrecy?”
“They recount in vivid detail the attack of the Eastern Church. The Holy Father believed that it would be best if those documents remained hidden.”
“And you do not agree.”
“I thought at first they should be made public, yes. But if the Holy Father were opposed…”
“If,” interrupted Michel. “You sound as though you are unconvinced.”
“The decision my have been made by the prefect,” offered Pedersen tentatively.
“And the prefect may have told you it was a papal decision only to satisfy you?” offered Michel to offer Pedersen a way out of the corner he had found himself.
“Yes. I would have hoped that I had reached a level of trust that the prefect seemed not to afford me. I was admittedly miffed by his abrupt manner.”
“I am told that that the Holy Father can be…businesslike.”
“Please understand that my retirement was not because of the secrecy …” explained Pedersen.
“I understand,” said Michel warmly. “It was your treatment.” He paused. “Perhaps your retirement is premature?”
“Perhaps, Your Eminence.”
“Could I convince you, then, to return? Possibly under my direction. A man of your experience working with the Opus Dei out of the Legion’s office would be much valued and appreciated.”
“Thank you; that is good of you to say,” said Pedersen looking at Michel owlishly.
“Well,” said Michel after a moment, “you can think about it. If you decide that the pressing problems at the vineyard are not too great, please excuse the pun, I would be most happy to arrange for your return.”
l
Michel’s understanding of the American term political correctness involved the notion of speech that could be considered offensive to certain groups, mainly minorities and the downtrodden. A standard emanating from academe and solidified by major American publishing houses, it had become a thorn in the side of conservatives who felt that while the standard may indeed be political, it was certainly not correct. They argued that the status of any group ought not require certain restrictions of speech if indeed the speech were accurate. They believed further that to engage in political correctness was a duplicitous act designed largely to signal one’s own particular sensitivity to the plight of a group or class. It was, they maintained, the speech of the limousine liberal who may say anything but will sacrifice little to improve the lot of those whose cause they seem to champion.
Michel had little doubt that much anti-Christian attitude of the Twentieth Century was due to this topsy-turvy phenomenon. Men had power; women did not. Whites had power; blacks did not. Christianity was the religion of the powerful; Islam was not. Under this system, being a white, male Catholic was as politically incorrect as it was possible to be, and it was necessary, according to this new standard, that no one doubt the guilt one carried for being so.
Michel knew also that the Church itself had, however inadvertently, acceded to the notion of political correctness. Even the Pope apologized for anti-Semitic words uttered over the past two thousand years. The Church tried not to appear overbearing lest it be excoriated in the secular press for being insensitive to the needs of others, brutish and heavy-handed. With the exception of two or three emirates, Islam was not the religion of world leaders. It was a religion of largely Third World people being shocked into modernity. It bothered Michel that it was politically incorrect to speak against the religion of Islam, even if that speech demonstrated the true evil that twists around its core like a serpent.
Michel believed it likely that the Holy Father prevented the Opus Dei from publicizing the horrors of Islam because doing so would be politically incorrect. What good, after all, would there be to publicize Muslim atrocities that occurred a thousand years earlier? And, could not the same atrocities be ascribed to Christian crusaders who raped and plundered their way across Europe and the Middle East on the way “to defend God?”
Yet, doubts whispered in the back of Michel’s mind. If the palimpsests contained only the descriptions of what had already been known, why was secrecy mandated? It made little sense to keep hidden what everyone knew: there was violence between Muslims and Christians at Constantinople. Perhaps the Pope had concerns that Opus Dei would be clumsy in its handling of the parchments, perhaps impolitic in their commentary at the time of their publication. But if so, he could have circumvented the Opus Dei and released the translations through the Curia which would cast the documents appropriately.
Michel began to believe that there was something in the palimpsests other than vivid descriptions of Muslim on Christian violence that the Pope did not want to become public, by any means, through the Opus Dei or the Curia. If it had been descriptive of Christian atrocities, Pedersen’s Opus Dei would hardly want that made public. Michel was relatively certain that the documents contained more damning information about Islam, and given Benedict’s reference to an anti-Muslim statement made centuries before, further negative references to Islam would certainly be politically incorrect and politically damaging. The question for Michel was what exactly had been written on the goatskin over a thousand years before?
That was the question he asked Antonio Cardinal Belli, the secretary of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith.
“Do you ask the secretary or the friend?” said Belli looking up from his desk at Michel who had made a surprise visit to his office.
“Would the answers be different?” asked Michel as he took a seat in one of the two red Luis XV armchairs that faced the secretary’s desk.
“Probably.”
“Then as a friend,” said Michel unsure if he were kidding.
“I don’t know,” admitted Belli over the tops of his reading glasses.
“Then the answer would have been the same; you didn’t know in either case!” Michel exclaimed with mock exasperation, knowing he was being teased.
“Not at all,” said Belli. “I would have said that the documents were not for general consumption.”
“I see,” said Michel now fully engaged in the game. “Discussion of the documents with the Cardinal of Paris and Director of the Legion of Christ represents general consumption.” said Michel.
“Yes, pity,” said Belli returning dismissively to the papers on his desk.
“In either case, then, your response was valueless.”
“Yes, pity,” said Belli not looking up and unable to contain the slight upturn on the right side of his mouth. It was an expression Michel had come to know and delight in. Belli might have made the world’s worst poker player, but Michel knew him to be the world’s best friend.
“Then why have I come here?” asked Michel as if he had given up.
There was a pause before Belli, looking up slyly over his glasses, said, “Because I have access to them.”
“Of course! You are not so valueless as I had thought,” remarked Michel with a boyish grin.
“I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“And for years I never believed you.”
“Perhaps you will after you read them,” said Belli before adding, “but perhaps you will not. He looked up into Michel’s eyes and seriously asked, “What can be your reason for pursuing them?”
“Prurient interest.”
“I am sure there is nothing prurient about any interest of yours,” said Belli as he tore a piece of paper from a pad and put it in his jacket pocket.
“Maybe so, maybe not.”
“What do you expect to find?” asked Belli getting up and heading for the door.
“Confirmation,” answered Michel, following his rotund friend.
Tourists to the Vatican see the astounding collection of art that is part of the tradition of the Catholic Church. What tourists do not see is the unrivaled collection in magnitude and age of the written record of Western Civilization. Their collections contain documents in hundreds of languages through centuries upon centuries across the entire world. Scholars continue to study, translate, and catalogue the millions of leaves of writing, from animal skins to bond paper and even computer entries. Much of the effort, and cost, is in the preservation of the physical documentation.
Deep in the foundation of the ancient Palace of the Roman Curia lies some of the most valuable treasure in Vatican City. There, in the Archive of the Secretariate of State, are catalogued secret texts that only few are entitled to read. The Curia keeps these documents, most over a thousand years old, hidden for a variety of reasons, the main reason of which is fear of misinterpretation by the unschooled or the hostile. It is not only their content that is fragile, however. The parchments themselves, after years upon years of neglect, must now be kept away from the damaging effects of normal atmospheric conditions. Electronic vaults with delicately balanced light, heat, and humidity house these priceless leaves, and entry to them is strictly limited.
The two cardinals walked down the narrow stairs to the lowest level of the Palace of the Roman Curia leading to a long, dark corridor with steel doors. Lighted keypads sat alongside each numbered door visible in the dim light only because of the large size of the numerals. One of the doors had an unlit keypad signifying that the room was unlocked and being used.
The ancient stone walls of the corridor were uneven and rather foreboding as they loomed even tighter as the men walked on to the invisible end. It might have been the catacombs of the pagan city except for the hollow rush of air and the hum of heat pumps mourning soulfully above their heads.
In the dim light, Belli struggled in front of Door 12 to read the keypad combination he had taken from his office.
“Can you make it out?” asked Michel reaching for his cell phone.
“Barely,” said Belli holding the paper near the keypad for extra light. Michel shined the light from his cell phone on the paper, and the men entered.
The small 10’ by 12’ room was filled with parchments hanging vertically in racks that ran along the left and right walls in two rows, an upper and lower. Not unlike the periodical racks in a library which contained the day’s newspapers, these parchment racks held each leaf pressed between treated glass with a number assigned to each parchment “folder.”
In the middle of the room was a desk and chair. Along the wall opposite the door were shelves with plastic file boxes corresponding to the numbered parchments.
“The claustrophobic need not apply,” said Michel surprised at how tightly everything fit. The two men could not pass each other around the table.
“These rooms are terribly expensive not only to construct but to maintain. Those up a level without the atmospheric controls are larger, of course,” explained Belli who stood at the door to allow Michel to move more freely.
“Which are they?” asked Michel of the Constantinople palimpsests. “I believe there are three of them.”
“Numbers 21 through 23.”
Michel noticed them immediately as they were the shortest of the parchments on either wall. Michel removed number 21 from its cradle and saw a largely a blank parchment with only the barest traces of the original Greek. Along the sides of palimpsest remained the Latin scribe’s paginal adornment.
“They used x-rays to read the Greek,” said Michel holding the glass folder to give Belli a better view of it. “You can see some of the writing which contains enough iron, apparently, to read it --- at least on their computers.”
“Now as I understand it,” said Belli looking toward the plastic file boxes, “the transcription of the original Greek and the Latin translation are in there. Some also have Italian, English, and Mandarin.”
Michel opened the box marked “21 a 23” and saw that only a Latin translation had been made. He took the single page translation to the desk where track lights from the ceiling lit the table for easy reading.
And the Mohammedans descended on them on horses, swinging Saracen blades and yelling in their blasphemous tongue. I could understand only the word “Allah,” the odious appellation of the Devil. Our army defeated, the Arab horsemen could not be stopped. The Devil’s children laughed as they sliced the heads from the children so their mothers would cry out “My baby!” Then they gutted the mothers like butchers, blood and entrails everywhere. What their cold blades could not sever, they burned. What would not burn besmeared with horse and human waste. And all this they did in the name of Allah. Nor would they hear our pleas to save our old and infirm whom they trampled and beat with merciless abandon.
At the bottom of the page were the words Michel had been seeking.
Later, with the Christian legions hard upon them, when they knew their numbers were insufficient, then they met at a convocation of the leaders. The high priest spoke to his minions from atop the wall by the church, so to show his status. “We will be as crafty as Greeks who defeated their enemy by cunning. All of Islam will avow its love for its enemies, whom we loathe because they are infidels, that Allah commands us to love them just as the prophet Jesus does. Then, when they are emasculated by time, we shall once again lay waste their temples, their priests, and their people who worship false gods and deny the all-powerful Allah who could crush them like ants. And so it is Allah’s wish. Each Muslim man and son will…”
The translation stopped in mid-sentence, but whatever followed could not have made a difference; it was clear why the Pope did not want to publicize the palimpsests.
“So you see, Antonio, why the Holy Father would keep this from general circulation.”
Belli’s response was a less than enthusiastic yes. Michel returned the translation to its file folder and placed the box back on its shelf, and the men left the room. Michel turned to see the keypad relight as the door closed.
“How does the keypad know that we left the room?” asked Michel.
“It is one of the great mysteries,” remarked Belli. “As mysterious as why we spent so much time on so very little.” The two dark figures filled the width of the hallway as they walked back to the light at the end of the tunnel.
“I do not share your view that it is of no consequence,” said Michel on the defensive.HH
“Yes, I know,” said Belli opening the door to the stairwell. “And you will have to explain that to me at dinner tonight. I have already fallen behind today.”
However, that dinner conversation never took place. Michel returned to Paris, and the next time he returned, the ancient palimpsests had, like memos on the bottom of an inbox, become less pressing than they had originally appeared. Michel, nevertheless, felt vindicated. Had the Vatican published the text, the Muslim world would have been offended and the press would have sided with the offended party. What value was this in today’s times, they would have asked, and was not the Vatican insensitive to Muslims by publishing the writing of an obviously biased Christian? Would this not only drive a wedge between the faiths rather than a bridge?
Michel also would not have published the palimpsests for the same reason Pope Benedict had not: political correctness. There would have been more to lose than to gain if the text had been tossed in the open field for media jackals to chew on. However, within the Curia, Michel would certainly have cited the text, not because it showed the duplicitous nature of Muslims, that was already known; but because it would serve as yet another spur to the flanks of the horses of war.
l
Michel had been called to meet with Pope Benedict at his summer residence about 30km from Rome. Benedict had been on vacation in the mountains in the northern Veneto region where ninety years before, Pope Benedict XV spoke condemning the ravages visited upon that area in WWI. The day before his meeting with Michel and from the same place as his namesake, Benedict XVI called for an end to all war, which he described as useless slaughters that bring hell to people on Earth.
Michel had read the statement in the Vatican paper before leaving for Castel Gandolfo, a small town in Lazio that occupies a height overlooking Lake Albano about 30 km south-east of Rome, in the Alban Hills. It was the same kind of statement popes have made for the past 100 years, and it reminded Michel of the parish priest who every year dusts off a particular homily without worry that the parishioners have all head it before. They needed reminding. And apparently the world needed reminding that war was bad. But perhaps the extreme passivism expressed by a succession of popes had emboldened its enemies. Certainly Muslim dogs see the Church as weak as they relentlessly bite at its heels by killing its members. The secular press sees the Church as an institution that will take without objection the calumnies leveled at it by their writers and pundits. Jews continue to force reference to Jesus Christ from the public square because they have been shown that the Church will not use its power in self-defense. Among all of its enemies, perhaps the only group unaffected by Pope Benedict’s message was atheists whose opposition to religion is based on their belief that religions cause violence. It is difficult to level that charge against a church whose leader abjures war at all cost.
Benedict’s ten days away from Vatican City was for rest, but rest for the Pontiff was only three or four hours a day of reading and two or three more of meetings with individuals. Dress was informal at Castel Gandolfo, and for the bishop of France and the bishop of Rome that meant a cassock and skullcap, the former red, the latter white.
It was Michel’s first visit to the ancient castle which sprawled majestically on the edge of a limestone cliff high above the lake. The sunlight shimmered on the crystalline blue water more brightly than a heaven full of stars, and standing at the window of the Pope’s drawing room, Michel wondered why this was not the Pope’s residence year-round.
“It is a magnificent view,” said Pope Benedict as he entered the airy drawing room, one wall of which was floor to ceiling windows. Michel turned from the windows and walked toward the Pontiff, his hand extended. The morning sun streamed across the room’s terra cotta tiles turning them a rich orange. Oils of vineyards and towns decorated the peach colored walls and were pleasing adjuncts to the 19th Century Tuscan dark walnut furnishings.
“Your Holiness, how are you?” he asked as they shook hands warmly. The tradition of kissing the ring had passed.
“Never better,” said Benedict. “And you?”
“Well … well. I believe I have taken strength simply from looking at this vista.”
“It is quite spectacular and I believe it salubrious. It is a comfort to know that at the end of the day, no matter how difficult or trying, the beauty remains to comfort me.”
“I hope my visit today will not be too trying,” said Michel waiting for Benedict to take a seat before he did so. In the center of the room and facing the windows, two leather chairs sat angled toward each other and separated by an intricately carved, ponderous maple table. One of the chairs was in green leather, high backed, and secured by large brass tacks with round hammered heads. Grapevines were carved in the dark oak frame and ran along the arms. The other chair was its twin except for its brown leather. The Pope sat in the brown chair.
“On the contrary, Michel. I always look forward to our meetings.” Benedict lifted a folder from the table whose worn and scratched surface evinced its two centuries service. “Do you?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Yes, Your Holiness,” answered Michel with a nod. In truth, Michel and Benedict were in agreement on most issues; both were strong leaders and devout churchmen. Others considered both of them conservative though Benedict more scholarly and Michel more practical. Over the past three fiscal years, however, Benedict had refused Michel’s request for loans to build Legion high schools and colleges. There was little to believe that this year would be different.
“Well that is good,” said Benedict looking into Michel’s chestnut eyes, his smile gone. “Because then you will not feel too unhappy that I must again this year deny your request for capital expenditures.”
“In the Americas and here?” Michel asked. The Legion of Christ had grown sufficiently in size to expand their school building program, and while most of its funds had been generated by the Legion itself, Michel looked to the Vatican for help.
“Both,” answered the Pope. “I’ve read it,” he added referring to Michel’s budget outline, “and you support each item with great detail. I have no doubt that the funds you request are needed if you are to meet your goals. It is, simply, a question of limited treasury.” Benedict read Michel’s disappointment. “It is not that your goals are not realistic --- we are unable to grant your request and at the same time meet other needs in other areas.”
“I understand,” said Michel.
“No, I do not believe you do,” replied Benedict, his dark eyes sad and distant. “I never knew precisely how our success, the success of the Holy Mother Church, was dependent upon finance. Cardinal Ratzinger thought the Church was an inexhaustible fount of cash; Pope Benedict XVI knows it is not.”
Michel sat in silence as there really was nothing left for him to say on the topic. He had decided before the meeting that regardless of the decision about the Legion’s building program, he would make use of the private time with the single most influential cleric in the world.
“There is next year, of course,” said Benedict placing the report back down on the table signaling the end of their meeting.
“Yes, I will resubmit. Until then we will do what we can with what we have.”
Benedict nodded and smiled. “I look forward to seeing how much can be accomplished in the next year. It is and always has been education which supports the Church.”
“It is, Your Holiness,” agreed Michel who resisted asking that if it were so fundamental, why was there no money for it. Or why they were sitting in a huge medieval castle of incalculable value so he could be told there was no more money for education. “Pope John Paul told me that the Church must first look inward to improve itself. In truth, he more than told me; he warned me. I believe he knew that it makes little difference if we teach the tenets of our faith but do not insist upon their observance.”
Benedict rose from his seat and stared out over the lake. A lone sailboat, its jib luffing in the light air, did its best to catch what little wind there was.
“Do you sail, Michel?” asked the Pope.
“When I was young. My father had boats and he taught me.”
“Then you know better than I what that sailor is trying to do,” said Benedict looking out the sunlit windows. Michel joined him and saw the large sailboat that from their elevation looked like a white toy on a blue sheet.
“He has let the fore sail out to catch the wind, but he does not have enough wind to fill it, so it wobbles. There is not much he can do in this situation,” explained Michel. “He must wait for better circumstances.”
“Indeed,” said Benedict leaving Michel standing by the window as he walked to a writing table on the opposite side of the well-lit room. Benedict picked up a newspaper from the walnut table and carried it back to the green leather seat Michel had sat in.
“Have you read this yet, Michel? Yesterday’s address in the Veneto?” he asked, taking a seat in the green chair.
“I have, Your Holiness,” answered Michel as he walked toward the seated Pontiff. What he did not say was that he felt that in this pacifist stance Benedict made no room for just wars, and that idealism could not work in the real world. God had waged war against Satan, popes had waged war against Islam, and Europe waged war against Hitler. To say all war is evil is historically naive and theologically inaccurate. Coming from the foremost theologian in the Church, however, it gave Michel pause.
“Good,” he said inviting Michel to sit in his brown chair with a quick flick of the wrist. “Now, I thank you, Michel, for sharing your anecdote of John Paul. Perhaps, you did so for my edification, so let me ask you then what you had in mind, specifically, that would edify this pope.”
“I do not presume to edify Your Holiness,” said Michel, his spine now bolt upright and his mind on high alert. “I mean only to suggest the wisdom I have received from Pope John Paul.”
“Then kindly share that wisdom with me plainly, specifically.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” said Michel formally. It was no source of pleasure to be at once familiar with the pope and then be formal, but that was often the way with scholars who sometimes were wanting in the social graces. “I understood John Paul to mean that if we strengthen ourselves first from within, we will increase the probability of success with our enemies from without.” Michel said a bit too hurriedly but nevertheless succinctly.
“Yes,” agreed Benedict. “That has been the Legion’s approach.”
“If, Your Holiness, you consider the Church being besieged by secularists on the one hand, hostile religious groups on the other, and by our own weak sisters,” said Michel with animation and holding up three fingers of one hand, “we see a battle royal. Secularists opposed to the Church and other religious groups. The other religious groups attacking secularism itself as well as the Church. And the Church fighting both armies.” Michel used the index finger of his other hand to illustrate the troika.
Benedict nodded and was silently aware of the passion the topic generated in his combative cardinal. It was little wonder that John Paul had selected Michel to lead the Legion of Christ.
Michel continued. “Starting from within, Your Holiness, it is my view that we should exert pressure on all Catholics to resist secularism. Specifically, Catholics who hold positions of authority and influence in the secular world. They must be urged to use their power in furtherance of doctrine, not as an impediment to it, as has been done of late.”
Benedict nodded. “You refer specifically to politicians.”
“Yes. One cannot be a Catholic, other than in name, who votes for abortion, who votes to allow pornography to pollute the media, who violates the dicta of the Church --- and still remain in the Church. It is logical incongruity.”
“And what ought be done?”
“By their actions they not only themselves violate the supremacy of doctrine but scandalize others. If the Church does not show its displeasure toward leaders who ignore its doctrine, we tacitly approve. Catholics who continue to violate the most basic principles of the faith, either in private life or public, must not receive absolution.”
Benedict countered, “However, a politician who votes a certain way or who runs on a certain platform does so because he must be elected by all of the electorate. What would be your response to the politician who says that his own religious beliefs cannot affect his political decisions because he is a representative of all the people?”
“Then he is simply a secularist. What is, after all, the definition of a secularist: one whose actions are informed by non-religious motives.”
“You see the problem then, don’t you? We have discussed this very issue with the Congregation,” said Benedict of the Congregation for Doctrine of Faith. “If Catholic politicians must follow the dictates of the Vatican, they will not be elected. Their allegiance to the nation they serve would be subordinate to the dictates of the pope. Under such condition, no Catholic politician could compete, certainly not on the national level.”
Michel raised one hand to shoulder level, palm up, and in a sad-but-true tone. “There are few Catholic politicians, not at the executive level.” Benedict seemed to agree. “From Vicente Fox back to John Kennedy, the Church for a politician is at best an uncomfortable cross they attempt to bury. It holds no moral sway for them when they act as public servants.” He caught the Pope’s eyes and focused tightly. “No matter how one attempts to twist it, a politician who knowingly approves a sinful act is guilty of that sin, and the Church cannot condone the behavior by remaining silent. If it does, it renders itself irrelevant.”
“I have made that same argument both as prefect and now as pope, and I have made another one,” said Benedict. “It is, I am afraid a pragmatic one, but an argument nonetheless. Having Catholic politicians has not had a positive impact. The Church has not benefited from their holding office and in fact may have been hurt by their bad example.”
“In my years I have seen only disadvantages,” agreed Michel whose own dealings with Parisian officials, most of them Catholic, was often difficult because of fear that it appear Cardinal Abruzzi was being given special consideration.
“Then we seem to be of a mind on that issue,” said Benedict in a that’s that attitude. “Let’s move on. What else would you have the pope do?”
“Internally or externally?”
“Either, aside from divestiture,” answered Benedict. “What works in France does not in Argentina.” It was clear that Rome was not about to adopt the Michelian movement’s eschewal of material possession, and Michel moved to even a more controversial position.
“Externally, I would say the first step is to point out that the Church has enemies and indicate precisely who and why they are so. By separating the Church from other religions, we are not conflated with them and their obvious weaknesses. The world needs to know that there is a difference between a Protestant and a Catholic, a Christian and a Jew, and certainly a Muslim.”
“Again, Michel, you have forwarded the same argument I have, but there has been grave concern that the spirit of ecumenism would be violated by such an undertaking. You saw the reaction to my reference to the historical record. How much worse will it be if we separate ourselves from the great religions of the world?”
“It will be worse, of course. But then, after the initial turbulence, the Church will be seen as distinct because it insists on being seen in a different light, its true light. One of the great weapons used against the Church by secularists is that religion itself causes strife. Of course, only Islam does. To say that Islam is a great religion is in my view to excuse the violence done in its name. Islam is a flawed religion and the Church should separate itself from it.”
“And what would you say about Judaism and Protestantism? We cannot undo the work of Vatican II, John XXIII and John Paul II.”
“That would not be my intention.”
“But that would be the result,” said Benedict. “At the moment we distance ourselves from other Christians, we weaken the religious network throughout the world. Our work first must be to oppose godlessness; in this we are one. We will leave the theologians to debate among themselves.”
That the “work” was getting nowhere seemed obvious to Michel. It had been years since the spirit of ecumenism descended upon the Church, and in that time things had not improved. An undeclared but insidious war against Christianity was being waged in the courts by Jews, and even some Protestant sects had joined them in the fray. Unfortunately, Benedict was not of the cast to lead the Church in battle against its enemies. While he was academically the nonpareil among the cloth, he seemed unwilling or incapable of direct confrontation. That he backed away from a simple historical reference to Islam was evidence of that disinclination.
Michel knew he had gone as far as he could, and he left thinking that he had perhaps been a stimulus for Benedict to speak out on an issue he had already shared with the Curia. As it turned out, he was correct; within weeks Benedict issued a statement that prohibited Catholic politicians from supporting sinful behavior. Those who did so, he stated, should not receive the Blessed Sacrament.
His statement received little coverage outside the Catholic press, which seemed to offer less resistance than Michel had thought it might. While the Pope’s statement was not a shot across the bow of the enemy, it was perhaps the loading of cannon. Many interpreted that statement to mean that a Catholic politician who supported abortion, for example, was excommunicated. It was argued that a pope’s telling them they are unworthy to receive the Holy Sacrament was in effect excommunication. Others pointed out that the Pope’s not having spoken ex cathedra means that such a statement was subject to revision and therefore not absolute. Nevertheless, Michel felt that the Church had gone a long way in achieving the will of John Paul II: change must be initiated from within. This particular change seemed to serve a dual purpose in that it was a change from within by addressing Catholic politicians, and it also signaled the beginning of an attack on secularism, which for Catholics now was not even to be tolerated. Politicians could no longer straddle the fence by accepting secularism while accepting the Holy Eucharist. Extramarital sex, including homosexuality; artificial birth control; abortion; and fetal stem cell destruction --- hallmarks of the modern secular world --- were to be repudiated globally by all Catholics. It would only be a matter of time, Michel was sure, before the other religions were called to task, as the politicians had been, for kneeling at the secular altar of licentiousness.
Michel took a newspaper clipping from his breast pocket and handed it to Belli. “It’s from Le Monde translated from the American press, Boston. They were doing a series on religion in the States and Canada. It will test your French if nothing else.”
The men were once again in the drawing room of the Cardinal bishop’s residence engaged in what had become their most cherished times. Both hugely busy church administrators were at these times able to sit in private and undisturbed to engage in conversation that required and allowed exchange of ideas of longer than a simple sentence. Academics who have had the misfortune of becoming administrators, even at the highest levels, soon learn that there is little time for any but the most terse examination of alternatives. Buracracies, even clerical ones, require quick decision-making leaving nuance, self-expression, and, heaven forbid, change of position consummations devoutly to be wished. Decisions are based mainly on the pragmatic rather than the ideal, and for that, one’s academic credentials are often rendered superfluous.
The loss of time for the full examination of issues has been exacerbated by the electronic media. Issues of complexity from the political to the psychological have been pared to fit time slots between advertisements and to fit the ever shortening attention-span of those whose main institution of learning has been described as the boob tube. Those engaged by infotainment are entertained far more than informed.
That was why these stolen times were so much appreciated by the two cardinals. The niceties of the intellect could be pursued by friends who, despite their occasional needling of each other, wanted only to exchange their views honestly without need to win an argument at all cost to satisfy a delicate ego. Two intelligent and well-schooled clerics could forward a notion to see how it sat in the other’s mind. It was a way to expand the intellect, not the ego. And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.[1]
However, the discussions were not those found in seminaries, abstruse examintions of the number of angels that could fit on the head of a pin. It made no difference to these seasoned administrators whether or not a tree made any sound if it fell in a forest with no one to hear it. The discussions of these men, despite the finepoints of an issue, always had as its end some practical application. Scholars cum administrators have little use for examination of an issue that leads only to a mutual agreement of how bright each of the conversants is.
The short article was by columnist Ellen Goodman and was entitled, “Bedeviled: Demonizing Our Enemies Takes Us Down to Their Level.” The enemies referred to Muslim terrorists in Iraq, but suggested a broader spectrum of those in conflict. The following excerpts were neatly with ruler and red pen underlined by Michel.
…But the polarizing language of good and evil, us and them, frames a clash of cultures at home and a clash of civilizations abroad. The vocabulary of absolutes freezes the way we think and even act. The black and white narrative suggests that anybody who doesn’t side with us has gone to the dark side.
…Elaine Pagels, a Princeton religion professor, explains how these days, the use of Satan is invoked to express human conflict and to characterize human enemies within our own religious traditions. These days the use of Satan to represent one’s enemies lends to conflict a specific kind of moral and religious interpretation in which “we” are God’s people and “they” are God’s enemies, and ours as well.
…Good “us” vs. evil “them.” This is how a handful of radical Islamist theorists twisted Islam’s prohibitions against murder and suicide to justify murder and martyrdom.
…If there is anything Americans shouldn’t do, it would be to fall into the rhetorical traps set by radical Islamists who talk about a holy war. We have to appeal to those people who want to get through the day with promise and without violence. When we resort to nonnegotiable language, we’ve entered the world of absolutes. And when we fall into the clash of cultures at home and civilizations abroad, all hell breaks lose.
Belli looked up after reading it and shrugged in a so-what attitude that peeved Michel a bit.
“That does not bother you?” asked Michel.
“Apparently it should,” Belli looking back at the clipping. “Typical secular press.”
“Look at the underlined passages.”
“I am,” said Belli rereading the first one.
…But the polarizing language of good and evil, us and them, frames a clash of cultures at home and a clash of civilizations abroad. The vocabulary of absolutes freezes the way we think and even act. The black and white narrative suggests that anybody who doesn’t side with us has gone to the dark side.
“She seems to be calling for moderation; no one side is all right or all wrong,” remarked Belli.
“Exactly! Those who bomb innocent people on a bus going to work and school are not any more evil than those riding in it. Fighting those bombers, apparently, makes those who do somehow complicit. She conflates good and evil so that nothing is absolute; nothing is good or evil per se. It is subjectivism at its worst.”
“Of course,” agreed Belli.
“Read the next one.”
…Elaine Pagels, a Princeton religion professor, explains how these days, the use of Satan is invoked to express human conflict and to characterize human enemies within our own religious traditions. These days the use of Satan to represent one’s enemies lends to conflict a specific kind of moral and religious interpretation in which “we” are God’s people and “they” are God’s enemies, and ours as well.
“I don’t know what is meant by these days,” said Belli after reading the Princeton professor’s comments.
“Sly devil conveniently forgetting history,” Michel responded with more than a little edge. “The insidiousness of the commentary is what irks me. If, as she claims, we are wrong for ascribing evil to terrorists, there can be no evil. Those whose religion teaches right from wrong are themselves wrong for doing so. It is religion which is being attacked here.” Michel leaned over and pointed to the next underlining. “You see, because Muslims use their religion to justify their actions, religion is at fault, all religion. Amazingly, the terroristic acts are not evil in and of themselves.”
…Good “us” vs. evil “them.” This is how a handful of radical Islamist theorists twisted Islam’s prohibitions against murder and suicide to justify murder and martyrdom.
“Yes,” said Belli. “And she asserts incorrectly that only a handful of Islamists are radical and that they twisted the Koran. In fact, they have taken it literally and are killing according to Muhammad’s direction.”
“Then in the last section she says the Muslims talk about a holy war, as if they are not engaged in one.”
…If there is anything Americans shouldn’t do, it would be to fall into the rhetorical traps set by radical Islamists who talk about a holy war. We have to appeal to those people who want to get through the day with promise and without violence. When we resort to nonnegotiable language, we’ve entered the world of absolutes. And when we fall into the clash of cultures at home and civilizations abroad, all hell breaks lose.
Belli took a moment to reread the last section. “She denies again any absolute wrong.”
“Yes, she does. But it is even more insidious. She suggests that a belief in evil is in conflict with those who want to get through the day in peace. What causes trouble, in her twisted mind, is a belief in the possibility of acts that in and of themselves are wrong --- God forbid we say evil! Her unstated but implicit position is ‘since religion holds that there exists an objective good and evil, and since not all religions agree on what is good and what is evil, naming good and evil acts as religions do is counterproductive, and since some respond violently to what they see as evil, all religion is to blame for violence.’ Take away the words and ipso facto violence is stopped.”
“Correct,” Belli said looking into Michel’s eyes. “The American press is irreligious.” There was an unmistakable look of ‘so what’ attached to his words. “Perhaps this article is simply a poorly conceived exhortation for us to love our enemies, not an unheard of position after all.”
“But that is not what it says. What it says to me is that our enemies, in addition to Muslim extremists, include the secular press. They have continually attacked religion, specifically Christianity because it obviously cannot reach Islam, and their attacks are ultimately more dangerous. Time magazine incredibly crowned the Ayatollah man of the year. Newsweek published the rankest rumor about Mother Teresa. And what I fear is that even mainstream Catholics are tainted by a continual barrage of this kind of evil, the evil of denying the existence of objective truth.”
“Of course I agree, Michel. But the press is free. In changing and more complex times, our work is far more challenging. But we have the gift of faith, after all, and we will prevail.”
Michel weighed his next words carefully. “I also believe we will prevail, but in order to do so we must change with the times you call complex.
“As director of the Legion of Christ you are in a better position to effect change than I.”
“And we are striving to do so. Our efforts have focused away from the propagation of the faith to a securing of the faithful.”
“How so?”
“Though education of those already in the fold we are seeking to maintain a stronger flock. We are returning to the rigor of doctrine to counter the indoctrination of the secular press against religion, against Christianity, and against God. We are leaving to other orders the propagation of the faith while we secure and strengthen the faithful. ”
Belli nodded. “The Holy Father chose wisely when he appointed you. We are fortunate to have so strong a general in the holy wars.”
“But without the Pope, the Legion’s effect will be little and late.”
“But you have the support of the Pope,” said Belli, a bit surprised.
“The Legion does; I do not.”
“How can that be? You meet regularly with him. You move as the prefects.”
Michel looked for the right words. “But I have not opened my heart to him.”
“Why not? He will be receptive. I am certain.”
“Benedict is a scholar,” Michel remarked looking deeply into Belli’s eyes as if those words had special meaning.
“All the better.”
“All the worse, I’m afraid,” answered Michel. Belli was quizzical. “Scholars teach…they speak…they weigh…they are…moderate.”
“And you want him to be immoderate?”
“By his standards, yes --- not by mine.”
“What do you mean, Michel? You are far too circumspect for one so hopelessly rooted in terra firma.”
“Yes, I know I function way above your head,” said a smirking Michel. “After Benedict’s statement about the warlike Muslim tradition, what did he do? He issued what amounted to an apology.”
“But he did not apologize.”
“What is it, then, when he said he meant no offense?”
“It meant he meant no offense. I don’t see that as an apology. He did not retract his statement,” said Belli with confidence.
“One cannot retract a quote from history, which is all Benedict did ---quote history. And he quoted history rather than stating that he felt the quote was accurate today. And if that is what he believes, otherwise he would not have made the quotation, why did he not say so? Is it error to refer as war-like a religion based on a prophet who tells his followers to kill non-believers?”
“Perhaps it is wise.”
“And why did he find it necessary to placate the suddenly vocal Muslims who are patently not vocal in condemning their mad bombers? They are touchy about truthful words uttered by the Pope but not so touchy when it comes to the murderous thugs who kill for them.”
Before answering in an unaccustomed soft voice, Belli allowed to sink in what had poured from his exercised friend. “Michel,” he started as if in a confessional, “you are a gifted intellect, an extraordinary general of the Church. Surely you know Benedict sees from a vantage point different from your own.”
“No, Antonio,” Michel insisted. “I do not fault Benedict, not at all. I only question as we often do when we do not understand.”
“Of course.”
“I do not understand why His Holiness does not make your ‘complex times’ less so by distancing the Church from all other religions. By doing so we cannot so easily be conflated with the flawed.”
“I think the answer is that to do so may weaken the force of those driven by God against those who do battle against Him.”
“Benedict has said as much, Antonio. It is I, my own devil whispering in my inner ear that I am correct while the rest of my being screams at me that I cannot be. I know absolutely and without the slightest doubt that our Lord acts through Benedict XVI, not the Cardinal of Paris. The Pope will act when and how the Holy Spirit moves him, and Abruzzi will act as he is told.”
[1] Chaucer’s terse description of the Oxford Scholar in The Canterbury Tales.
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