Chapter Seven: Cardinal Sins
Aside from piety, the greatest gift of a church leader is language, and for Michel Abruzzi, language was his forte. Not only did he understand the power of words and how they could best be used to convey meaning and convince an audience, he understood the critical importance of time in the equation.
“It serves no purpose to speak to those not ready to understand,” he one said to Montaire before meeting with the European bishops in Yalta. “Those with ideas bound to fall on deaf ears must wait until those ears are ready to hear. Like a fisherman, we cast our net slowly and broadly lest we frighten the fish.”
Michel had learned as a young priest at meetings of his superiors that ideas finally adopted by the group were those offered closest to the end of the meetings. Ideas, even the best ones, too soon presented were almost always assailed and seldom ended up carrying the day. People needed to work through the process of decision-making, and the wisest speakers allowed time for that process, dropping a key word here and there at critical junctures in discussions to lead their colleagues in desired directions.
And so it was in Michel’s notebook that contained the raw ideas for which not only his fellows but also most of the modern world were not ready. To effect his ideas, Michel would use precisely the right words at precisely the right time, and that is why his sermons were astutely drawn and why they were widely accepted. As Christ used metaphor to educate his flock, Michel did the same. However, for Michel Abruzzi, the metaphors he chose tended toward the bellicose.
“Freud’s Adler saw fear as the primary motivator of man,” Michel had written on the first page of his first notebook. “If I am to motivate the faithful to act, and as a leader I am thus obliged, I must use the human condition to effect.”
Originally, Michel wrote in notebooks kept hidden under papers in his bottom desk draw. However, when he got his first computer, he destroyed the notebooks after scanning them onto his hard drive and securing the text with the password “Revelations.”
Michel’s sermons were always published in at least one of the French Catholic journals, and their translations on the web had begun to generate positive response across Europe and especially in South America. Oddly, he had not yet been noticed in the Americas.
“Perhaps their ears are not yet ready to hear,” answered Michel with a shrug when he was asked why by his friend and confidant Father Montaire. “After all, American secularism has more recently become, how do they say, ‘politically correct.’ We have fought it longer here in Europe so we are perhaps ready to hear.”
What they heard were sermons like the following:
“Like Michael the Archangel, sent by God to battle Lucifer, the faithful must fight against the forces of the devil which today seek to destroy our only means of salvation, the Holy Mother Church. The forces of secularism have grown stronger and themselves militarized since the horrors of both world wars. They have also opened a front in the mass media, which they now control from several positions. The devil, having infiltrated government and the media, has from that vantage point weakened the family, and his minions have outlawed even reference to God in the public square. Like the fat, self-indulgent aristocracy of Rome in the first four centuries after Christ, well-fed people have become soft. As the Romans allowed the Vandals to sail up the Tigris and sack their temples with hardly an objection, modern man has become too comfortable to fight back against the forces of evil which have tempted him with lives of ease and have thus kept him from defending himself against those forces. Lucifer has warred against our families, our governments, and our Church, and without these three bulwark institutions, mankind is doomed. Lucifer has used his preternatural power to influence governments to adopt secularist ways that naturally and inevitably lead to atheism, and it is atheism that is Lucifer’s greatest weapon, and it is the tolerance of atheism that is the greatest victory of the Serpent since he seduced our parents in the Garden.
“We have lost the reverence for humility and simplicity, and having done so, we have given Satan a foothold on our ladder to heaven. We have ignored Christ’s warning that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven. Naturally there is nothing wrong with wealth in itself, but when we are rich, we tend toward sloth and become self-content. We rely too much on what we own, and we want only not to lose it. Like the Romans, we have become too comfortable to risk what we have to do battle with the Vandals. And who are the Vandals of today? They are secularists, anti-Catholics, and atheists. They are the children of the devil though some may not even know it. These damned souls claim they want only fairness and freedom, but they already have those things. What they call their ‘freedom’ is in fact the diminution of our faith. Prompted by Lucifer, they would deny us the freedom to maintain our world based on the principles of our Creator in favor of a society of the godless, the a-theistic, the anti-Christ.”
Cardinal Abruzzi was not content, however, to leave his words echoing in the cathedral. Like a modern Robespierre, he called his troops to action.
“So you have now heard these words I humbly offer, words you have no doubt thought and said yourselves. You know these things, and we feel them as one. We are, through the blessed sacrament of Confirmation, soldiers of Christ. It is none other than the Holy Ghost who has provided us the power to defend the faith against the forces of darkness, and with that power comes the obligation to do battle with Satan, no matter how great his army, wherever and however the Serpent manifests itself. But how shall we fight? And what will happen if we allow ourselves to be listless Romans sitting along the river watching their world crumble around them?
“Unlike Romans, our world is not merely of this earth, and our fight is infinitely more great and the stakes infinitely more profound. ‘For what doth it profit a man if he owns the world but loses his soul?’ To allow Satan and all the other evil spirits of the world to grow in strength and ferocity, we doom ourselves to hell on earth, and those who do not fight risk their immortal souls not only to a lower place in heaven but perhaps even to the eternal fires. A soldier who does not fight is a traitor, after all, and where in heaven is there room for traitors?
“Those of us fortunate enough to have been to the Vatican have seen ‘The Last Judgment,’ and we have quaked in front of it, so harrowing is its warning. We have trembled as we gazed upon the horror on the faces of those who have lost their souls to Satan, and we know that we will be one of those faces if we allow our lassitude to continue unchecked. We have no choice but to fight, as Michael the Archangel did, in defense of ourselves and in honor of our Creator.
“Alas, all of us cannot be St. Michael, all of us cannot confront head-on the forces of Satan. But each of us can fight against his army, and we are, each of us, so obliged.
“Yes, the Son of God has told us to love our enemies, and this we must do above all. But even as God the Father loved Lucifer, he commissioned Michael the Archangel to do battle with him and ultimately to drive him into the flames of hell. We can do the same, each in our own way. But not only with empty words, for they are the devil’s ammunition. Serpentine words were used in the Garden of Eden to convince our parents to sin, and twisted words are used in legislatures, in courtrooms, in classrooms, in the movies, and on TV. No, my fellow soldiers of God, words alone are not enough. We must also act.
“And what action must we take? What action can we take to turn the tide of this war against the forces of evil? First and foremost we must reject our lives of ease, our worship of the false gods of material possession and comfort. We must mobilize our strength, use our wealth, and dedicate our lives to rejecting those things the devil uses to tempt us. Everywhere we see his forces, we must use whatever we own to fight them. Where we see evil politicians, we must support their opponents. Where we see demonic judges enabling anti-Christian elements seeking to destroy our ways of life, we must replace them. Where we see the forces of darkness polluting the airways, we must stop them. To do these things we must spend our fortunes, and we must do so willingly.
“How can we swim in backyard pools sipping sherry and at the same time believe that we are defenders of the faith? How can we hide in our air conditioned homes and claim that we are defenders of the faith? How can we accept manifestly hostile philosophies and pretend that we are defenders of the faith? We must, each of us, heed the warnings of our Savior and reject the trappings of the material world lest we become camels too fat to pass through the narrow paths of. We must defend our children and ourselves or we are damned. Only the love of God can save us.”
At the end of each of his sermons, Bishop Abruzzi circulated among the parishioners a listing of those who renewed their Confirmations and become members of the Corps of Catholic Defenders. Those who signed, and that was virtually all who heard him, vowed to support financially and otherwise the war against those who were perceived as anti-religion, anti-Christian, and particularly anti-Catholic. However, Michel knew that unless he led the fight, and did so in a most public way, his army would dissolve before the first battle.
With his elevation to cardinal, Michel wasted little time in his quest to lead the Church in France, but being only one of four cardinals in the country, and being the newest, he had to move wisely. Two cardinals, Blanquette and Resaunt, were not far from retirement, and Michel knew it would be difficult for men their age, despite their intellects, to support change of the kind he sought. For the elderly, change is often seen as likely to cause more harm than good; the fear of change is the fear of failure. Cardinal Phillip Gower was younger and had the reputation of being particularly pious, without ego, though not terribly intellectual. Michel thought Phillip, a ghostly prelate who looked like an aged Ichabod Crane, would be most likely to accept change if it were rightly intentioned, and all of them would accept it if he could show success. Of course, Michel would have to move his archdiocese first if he were to expect all 200 bishops in the nation to march as one. It was at his first meeting with the archdiocese of Alsace that Michel Cardinal Abruzzi began his campaign.
Forty-two bishops met at Cote Cavagnet, a once operational winery near the German border. It had been destroyed in World War II, though two large buildings still stood. The property, on rolling hillocks halved by a rivulet, was gifted to the archdiocese by the Cavagnet family and now served as a retreat used mostly by nuns and brothers. Those vines not burned and still standing on their piers continued to produce grapes, but they were mostly eaten by the birds and deer. The smaller building was refurbished to provide a large meeting space and three smaller rooms, one of which opened unto a courtyard leading to the main guesthouse. There were three floors of bedrooms, a kitchen in the basement, and three small dining rooms which could seat not much more than fifty in all. Participants had to share bedrooms and wait to use bathroom facilities. And there was no air conditioning.
When the sun shone on Cote Cavagnet it was delightfully quaint. A mixture of oak, beech, and pines surrounded the property rendering it a world apart from surrounding emerald hills spotted by small farms. On the south side was a path to an overlook of the Mediterranean, and from that point the vast expanse opened to eternity. Before World War II it had been among a handful of beautiful and successful small vineyards in eastern France, and only by the sorriest of misfortunes had the German army found it. The family’s loss, however, was the Church’s gain, and for many years Cote Cavagnet provided an external refuge that provided internal serenity sought by those in retreat.
It was raining hard on that unusually warm April morning, and the oaks and beech that added so much to the beauty of Cote Cavagnet had not yet begun to leaf. Yet the greens of the firs and ground covers managed to keep the winter brown at bay even on that dreary day. The bishops ran without umbrellas through the courtyard to the meeting building to hear for the first time as cardinal the man who had risen from their ranks largely on a reattached hand and only tangentially on his gift of language.
The rustic long, rather narrow room had a simple altar on the far end opposite the entrance. There was a bank of five windows on one side with doors to the smaller rooms on the opposite wall. Tables from the dining room had been placed in a square in the middle of the hall, and the young Cardinal sat at the tables with his back to the altar facing the door. He made eye contact with each bishop as he entered and greeted by name as many as he could. What shocked each man as he entered was not that Cardinal Abruzzi was sitting there waiting for them but that he was wearing a heavy, gold embroidered red cape and orphreyed mitre as if he were about to celebrate High Mass. It was traditional at retreats for everyone to wear skullcaps, simple slacks, shirts and Roman collars.
It was also traditional that the day’s mass was celebrated at the conclusion of the convocation, and many of the forty-one participants assumed, given the Cardinal’s dress, that the mass would be said first, but it was not clear why, if that were the case, Michel was seated and not at the altar. The ceiling fixtures were unlit and two large electric fans whirred on either side of the altar. Each window was open enough to allow air to circulate but keep the rain out. Despite the ventilation, however, the room was musty and more than a bit humid.
“I am aware that many of you are surprised that I have chosen to change venues,” began Michel in his rich baritone once everyone was seated and the door closed. “Certainly were are accustomed to meeting in more comfortable circumstances. But I make no apology for meeting here at Cote Cavagnet.” He was restrained and not projecting, and his voice competed poorly against the spinning fans. “I remember with fondness a number of retreats I attended here as a young priest, as I am sure many of you do. It is comforting to see that it has changed little over the years, though the weather today has not cooperated.”
He rose from his seat and walked slowly to one of the fans. “Air conditioning has yet to appear at Cavagnet,” he said looking at his audience over his shoulder. “And perhaps that is not at all bad.” He pulled the chain stopping the fan. “Of course, we have become used to our comforts,” he added. A few surreptitious pairs of eyes met.
“What was it like, I wonder, for the bishops before us who celebrated mass wearing vestments like this, laden with rich weaves of gold and silver --- and wearing heavy mitres --- with no air conditioning or even a fan?” He pulled the chain stopping the second fan.
Michel walked to the center of the altar, genuflected, and turned back to the men. “I can say this,” he said with a sheepish grin, “they were hot.” His audience chuckled.
“If it were not raining so hard, we could open the windows and the door, and perhaps it would be more comfortable in here --- and breathing would be easier.” He moved slowly toward the windows as he spoke, not looking at his audience.
“Those two words: comfort and ease. We live lives of comfort and ease --- we the leaders of the Lord’s Church --- do we not, each of us?” He turned from the windows and looked back at the eyes fixed on him. “Except last night, of course,” he added with a smile. “When was the last time you had to share a room, or wait to use the toilet? And when have any of us been asked to attend a conference without air conditioning, for heaven’s sake?”
Michel walked slowly back to the altar and placed his mitre on one of the two ancient altar chairs. His head was wet with perspiration, and he took just a breath of extra time wiping it with his handkerchief. Then he removed his cape breathing a sigh of relief.
“I hope I have made you more comfortable,” he said with a smile. The men laughed with more than a little of their own relief.
“And should we not have air conditioning? It is after all one of the advantages of living in the modern world --- that is if one is advantaged enough to afford it. Many of our parishioners, of course, cannot. But we can, for we are comfortable and we live lives of ease --- we are, after all, bishops.”
It was the way he said “bishops,” tinged with derision, that caused several of them to shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“I see I have put you ill at ease,” he said stepping closer to them. “I sense that I have made you somewhat uncomfortable. Ease and comfort. Well, my brothers in Christ, I make no apology. We are, each of us, far --- too --- comfortable.”
He began for the first time to raise his voice. “And it is to your discomfort I am dedicated, for only if we eschew our lives of ease and comfort can we be servants of Christ. I pray to God that my words will convince each of you to join me in this war against the ancient devil and his modern temptations.”
He sat at his place, lowered his voice, and caught as many eyes as he could. “It is not, my brothers in Christ, air conditioning, or satellite TV, or any thing else that is the problem. These things allow us to perform better, to learn more, to be better leaders of men. It is, rather, our dependence on them, our fear of losing them --- this prevents us from understanding our true purpose, and, I believe, from the fight before us. We are, of course, at war yet we do not live lives like warriors. In truth, we live like kings.”
He paused for effect and moved like he was circling his prey, ready to pounce. “How can we win a war unless we know precisely who are enemy is, where the battle lines are drawn, and arm ourselves appropriately? Think for a moment, how many of us sitting here in this humidity with no electricity would elect to remain bishops if it meant giving up what we have at home? Of course, we are not monks.”
He paused again making direct eye contact with his audience. “Why I was selected among you to lead this archdiocese only His Holiness know for certain, but I am certain that I would be remiss if I failed to lead as I believe I should.” His eyes were searching the faces before him, reading them as if their expressionless countenances could prevent it. “I ask you now, therefore, to offer your counsel, honestly and openly, so that I will know how best to lead. We are sitting around the same table, bishops of Alsace, plotting strategy to direct our bishoprics as one. I will hear all voices, respect all opinions, and with the help of God, make the best decisions of which I am capable.”
Michel directed the bishops to a publication that sat in front of each man. It was the sermon he delivered at his installation, and he asked that each bishop reread it.
“Is there anything in this which gives any of you pause?” asked Michel after it seemed all had read the piece. There was no response.
“Then I take it that each of you agrees with what I have said and written both as bishop and now cardinal.”
There was still no verbal response though several heads nodded.
“Good, then what remains is to agree on what we must do. What must our archdiocese do to effect the necessary changes? What is in front of you suggests what I believe must be done, but without you, my mission cannot be successful…the Corps of Catholic Defenders will wither like a tender flower before it ever blooms.”
“Your Eminence,” offered Carl Foulards, a friend of Michel’s, “I was moved by this sermon when I heard it, as I think we all were, but reading the text I noticed two things I admit I had not seen before. I noticed your use of words of war, words like battle, army, forces. These I think are particularly good to suggest we are defenders of the faith --- we must not lose track of that.” Foulards was short and round with thick lips and a wide nose which supported exceedingly thick-lensed eyeglasses. While his eyesight was myopic, his insight was not. “The other is what may be seen as an intolerance, perhaps a desire to separate ourselves from those who lack faith, of those who may oppose the Church, or of those with different faiths.” Michel waited, and that gave time for Foulards to add, “Is there a suggestion that we do battle with those who, for example, want to separate religion from the state or even from those who have different faiths?”
Michel nodded his head. “Both,” he said and waited a long moment to explain. “I believe we must separate ourselves from those whose faith takes us from Christ. All religion is not the same, of course, and it is a grave error to conflate them. When we talk of Christians, do we equate Unitarianism with Anglicanism? When we talk of Jews, do we equate Reform Jews and the Hassidim? Is there no difference between the Wahhabi and other Muslims? And if we see great differences in these, how much greater difference is there between them and us? We have as much to fear from the solipsism of other religions as we do secularists, most of whom also claim a belief in God.” Michel sensed accord among the prelates.
“However,” he continued looking directly at Foulards, “you are as usual a step ahead of me. Yes, we are at war against the devil in all his forms, as we have been since the beginning. And as in the past we have had to alter the way we do battle to suit the new initiatives of the enemy. Our adversaries are most clever. The battlefront has moved and the weaponry is far more sophisticated, and so we must adapt. And the first step in this new battle is to arm ourselves. We must first look inside to insure that we are strong enough to meet the enemy and the new weapons he employs. This we must do first before taking the battle to them.
“Our first step is to strengthen ourselves, to wear the armor of simplicity, of modesty, and of even greater sacrifice than we have become used to.” Michel stood up, allowing his last words to linger in the heavy air. Slowly he walked to the window nearest him and closed it.
“How can a shepherd lead his flock from the comfort of his cottage?” he asked as he closed the second window. “Is not the best general the one who leads his troops, who provides an example, who asks no more than he gives?” The third window slid closed.
“We must take the first step, my brothers in Christ, and that first step in this modern war is to divest ourselves of the Trojan horse of the modern world to focus on our target. We must come out of our lordly towers and join the battle.” He closed the fourth window with a loud thud. “In short, we must lead our sheep from the lush and tempting pastures patrolled by hungry wolves hiding behind bushes of tempting fruit. We must provide our flocks with the safety, the safety to which, as shepherds of the Church, we have committed ourselves.
Michel stared out of the window, his back to the group. “Of course, we can maintain our course. We can make no changes, remain tepid,” he said before a long pause, “but then there are the words of our Savior.” He turned back to the men, “You may recall He said in Rev 3:15 ‘I know your deeds, that you are neither hot nor cold; I would that you were hot or cold.’”
Michel paused again to let the imagery sink in, making eye contact with several men. Then he smiled slightly as he recollected a personal story.
“When I was in America studying English as a boy, I was taken for a car ride in the countryside. There were many churches along the roads, and many had signs in front. They would give the denomination, Protestant of one type or other, and perhaps a quote from Scripture. It was during summer holiday, and it was quite hot. My English was still weak but I could read most of the signs, and I remember one of them to this day. It did not have a quotation but a message from the pastor and read: “If you think it’s hot in here, wait!”
The men laughed, and Michel walked back to the closest closed window. “Did I answer your question, Carl?”
Foulards nodded with a grin.
“So, let us begin by letting in God’s fresh air, such as it is today,” said Michel opening the last window. He opened each of the other windows and turned the fans back on. They seemed far louder than they had before, and Michel had consciously to speak above them.
“What actions must be taken to address the problems outlined in front of you?” Michel waited for a response, but these were seasoned bishops, themselves leaders, and they knew Michel already had made up his mind about what would be done. Not one of the men had not himself conducted meetings in which he would elicit suggestions designed to garner greater support by virtue of engendering a feeling that the group as a whole made the decisions and that a course of action had not been predetermined.
“Naturally, I have already thought about what we should do, and it is rather uncomfortable in here … we need no more hot air. Perhaps it would be best if I suggested the following broad tactics and allowed for discussion afterwards.” Carl Foulards nodded.
Michel proposed that the archdiocese undergo a movement to divest itself of ostentatious displays of wealth. Bejeweled garments and church trappings would be removed and replaced with simple, inexpensive pieces. Limousines would be sold, and any new cars purchased would be as inexpensive as possible. In addition, the archdiocese would make this divestiture highly visible, and toward that end there would be instituted a public relations committee comprised of representatives of each bishop’s office. Money saved would be accounted for and donated to the Corps of Catholic Defenders which would support people and organizations on the front lines. In effect, the Corps would function as a political action committee or lobby supporting the interests of the Church against its detractors and foes.
Philip Mariette, one of the eldest of the bishops, was the first to object. He was gaunt and nervous with angry eyes that darted lizard-like as he spoke. “Do you intend to undo two thousand years of tradition?”
“I intend to win, and if that means a change, then so be it,” answered Michel. His rich voice, beginning to wilt in the heat, was significantly lower than it had been.
“Many of these vestments and altar pieces were donated and are centuries old. Do we just sell them, cast them aside as if they are nothing?” Mariette’s voice quavered.
“Bishop Mariette, do you recall Jesus or any of his bishops wearing diamonds and rubies?”
“Of course not, the Church was in its infancy. It has over time blossomed. We can’t simply…”
“And it has become fat, the Lord might say obese, over time.”
“Only if you consider gifts to the Church fat,” argued the seventy-seven-year-old Mariette, sweat dripping from below his red skullcap. “People of the world give according to their stations.”
“I do,” said Michel picking up the mitre that sat in the altar chair and holding up for all to see. “Do you see these jewels?” asked Michel. “Would the mitre be any less a holy garment were they removed? What if they had already been removed and substituted for by paste, would it be less beautiful?”
“I believe so,” answered Mariette taking off his glasses and wiping his face with his handkerchief. “It would be destructive of the gift and destructive of the tradition of honoring the Lord with the things of this world.” His hands trembled from a slight palsy.
“You are correct,” answered Michel; “it would destroy the tradition, but a tradition that perhaps should be destroyed.” He fingered a large ruby. “How can we battle if our armor is laden with jewels and precious metal?”
“There are other ways.”
“And what may they be?” asked Michel without looking at Mariette and placing the hat back on the chair.
“A battle’s outcome is not dependent on uniforms,” answered Mariette.
“And if the uniform is too heavy, if it is out of date?” said Michel as he walked back to his seat. “What if the uniforms cause the enemy to see their chinks, shouldn’t they be changed? And what if,” said Michel deliberately wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, “the uniform makes one sweat?”
Mariette replied with a sardonic grin. “Perhaps not everyone feels the heat.”
“I am sure they do not,” answered Michel. “But tell me, Bishop Mariette, tell all of us, how you would propose to solve the problems you have just agreed are problems?”
“Is the way to sit in oppressive heat in unadorned cells as if we are prisoners?” called out Emil Jencks who was sitting next to his friend Mariette. Jencks was only a few years younger than Mariette, but his eyes were still young and bright. His high voice pierced the humid air like a piccolo.
“Not as prisoners but as warriors in camp girding ourselves for battle,” answered Michel fixing his eyes on his new combatant.
“I think what they are saying,” offered Carl Foulards, “is that we must insure that any changes we make will be seen as positive.”
“Thank you for your translation,” answered Michel, “I am sure only you could have understood that from what the two bishops from the west said. But you are a saint, and I lack your … grace. What I do not lack, however, is resolve. I am certain that in this time of blatant materialism, in this time when spiritualism is under attack from all around us, when the Church in France has become weak and is grappling to stay alive, we cannot have old men walk around in jeweled cloaks and be driven in limousines. The idea strikes me, frankly, as ludicrous.”
“Then we are to be Protestants,” said Jencks. “We will have bare churches and dress like monks in an abbey.”
Michel looked for a long moment directly at Jencks before responding. His voice was low but still maintained its fullness. “Why do we do this? Why does the argument have to be won at all costs, even at the expense of understanding?” Michel said as much to himself as to the group and sighed, “We are weak.” He straightened the papers in front of him while at the same time straightening the ideas that flooded his mind for a response.
“Father Jencks sees no ground between ridding ourselves of ostentation --- of extreme riches and of sheer pomp, and the heresy of Protestantism. To win his argument, he would have us believe that any change in the external trappings of a tradition will make us Quakers. Please, Emil, before consigning each of us to hell, let us share our ideas honestly without rhetoric.”
“My rhetoric pales alongside of yours, Your Eminence, but I apologize if I have put words in your mouth.”
“Thank you,” said Michel. “And of course I do not suggest we destroy our gifts. Those given to us in love will be cherished, but those given to us from ill-gotten or doubtful means will be sold. Not to do so gives ammunition to our enemies. Is it not scandal to drink from thousand-year-old cups dripping with jewels when so many of our parishioners are unemployed? Today we must fight our battles not only in philosophical tracts but also in the marketplace of ideas … in public, in the media. We must everywhere and in every way fight materialism and more importantly the perception of it. How can the Church in France regain its influence if it is perceived as living in contradiction? Can we be rich and continue to flaunt those riches while our brethren live in poverty?
“We are, each of us, children of Christ. We have each sacrificed a great deal in His honor, and we continue to do so. We are bishops of Christ, of course, and we are also Frenchmen ... most of you more than I, my father being a stubborn Italian from Abruzzi, where I understand stubbornness is a virtue.” There was some tittering. “But in birth and in my heart I am French, and we have never been afraid to challenge tradition when the cause is just. We are leaders, and the Church in France is being called upon to lead once again.”
Emil Jencks rose in his seat. “Your Eminence, you have my support, of course, but there are considerations I am afraid…”
“Good, Emil,” Michel cut in, “and who better to address those considerations than Bishop Jencks. Let us meet later about your concerns.” Jencks forced a smile and took his seat, and Michel returned to the group.
“In the meantime, I have one other note on the Corps of Catholic Defenders. As is true in all wars, finance is of paramount importance. If the Corps is to be instrumental in leading anti-Catholic forces to victory, it will need financial support from all areas. Toward that end, I have divested myself completely of my family’s wealth and have transferred it to the Corps, which will be stewarded by Monsignor Father Joseph Montaire. By Monday, the Corps will have working capital of four million francs. Of course, as the parishes find ways to economize, the fund will grow, and our archdiocese will lead by example the others of France.”[1]
l
The French media looked favorably upon the new austerity program, though some Catholics rumbled as they had at Cote Cavagnet. Michel expected resistance to change, and while it bothered him to hear the objections, some of which he had not anticipated, in truth they were less strong than he had imagined. He was surprised to learn how powerful his new position was, and he had every reason to believe he was moving at the right speed.
The media, of course, saw what Michel intended them to see; they failed to examine his sermons and note the onset of a lesser tolerance of social diversity. Catholics who wrote about the Michelian Movement touched on what seemed to be a turn from ecumenism, but their writings hovered well below the radar screens of the major media. Within months, the archdiocese was receiving positive coverage in the national media, and Michel rode the wave of public opinion to an audience with the three other cardinals.
The meeting was at the residence of Cardinal Blanchette, the eldest of the prelates. Rich with tapestries from around the world, Blanchette’s quarters were much like a map room at the Vatican with high ceilings and sunlight streaming in through large stained glass windows. Michel’s commitment to the Corps, made obvious by his donation of all of his inheritance to it, easily won the support of Cardinal Gower, and together the younger cardinals, pointing to the favorable media coverage of the new austerity program, convinced Cardinals Blanchette and Resaunt that their dioceses would benefit similarly.
“I fear,” intoned the ailing, white-haired Blanchette, “that in some of your work there are the seeds of a turn from ecumenism, and that must never be.” Blanchette was ninety-one and suffered cripplingly from emphysema. An oxygen canister sat by his power lounge chair, and most of the day and night he found relief from its mask, removing it only when it was necessary. His red skullcap seemed brighter than it actually was against his ashen skin, and his breathless speech was slightly slurred from several mild strokes. “But I support you, Cardinal Abruzzi, your Corps, because you have convinced me that you respect Vatican II,” the ancient prelate breathed, “and John XXIII, and John Paul II. The people of God must remain united against those against Him. Remember, nothing is more important.” His ghostly voice trailed off in the spacious room but echoed deeply in Michel. Ecumenism had gotten them to the state they were in.
Given the mounting success of the Michelian Movement both at the parish level and among the Church hierarchy, in addition to the positive public opinion it generated, few would question Michel’s success in his first year. However, Michel had a lingering question that mitigated his sense of success.
It was November 20, the first anniversary of his appointment as cardinal, and Michel used that date to reflect on his recent successes, his future goals, and the state of his soul. He would spend that day not in celebration, as had been expected, but in his room, in study and in prayer. That morning he did not shave or dress but chose to stay in his nightclothes: the day was to be given to the Lord. He would fast in thanks for his position, and he would pray that his motives were pure and not driven by hubris, for it was hubris that Michel knew to be his bete noir.
Michel’s desk, as was the other few pieces of furniture in his unadorned room, was small and simple. The gooseneck lamp that sat on the desk was old and split along its green shade allowing the light through. As the desk’s surface was old and rough, a blotter was necessary to allow writing, but it too was split, and Michel used tape to keep it together. Only the Old and New Testaments were permanently on the desk, and they were held upright by large bookends made of highly polished petrified wood from Arizona. The costly souvenir, marble-like and largely black, was a gift from his sister and, despite being hugely out of place in his monastic décor, Michel prized them for the age, their beauty, and their simple functionality.
The chair was straight and hard and painted many times, most recently white. From it, Michel could reach a bookcase of a dozen or so of his favorite texts from his school years, some of which he read two or three times; each of which he would occasionally browse. One of them was a little known volume, in Latin, by a fourth century apologist named Lucius Lactantius entitled Divine Institutes. The book was written to show the fallacy and absurdity of paganism and was now nothing more than an historical oddment written three hundred years after Christ.
Michel liked the book because it was different from other ancient texts in that it had been written not by a scholarly cleric but a practical man whose knowledge of scripture left much to be desired but whose unadorned faith and simple logic spoke to him as a man who knew the human spirit as it was. In one of the chapters, Book VI, Lactantius wrote of the Greek concept of metanoia, an overt acknowledgement of sin. More than simple confession, metanoia suggested a more public admission of one’s weakness, and with that admission would come greater ability to avoid falling prey to it again.
Therefore He who is at once the Lord and most indulgent Parent promises that He will remit the sins of the penitent, and that He will blot out all the iniquities of him who shall begin afresh to practice righteousness. For as the uprightness of his past life is of no avail to him who lives badly, because the subsequent wickedness has destroyed his works of righteousness, so former sins do not stand in the way of him who has amended his life, because the subsequent righteousness has effaced the stain of his former life. For he who repents of that which he has done, understands his former error; and on this account the Greeks better and more significantly speak of metanoia, which we may speak of in Latin as return to a right understanding. For he returns to a right understanding, and recovers his mind as it were from madness, who is grieved for his error; and he reproves himself of madness, and confirms his mind to a better course of life: then he especially guards against this very thing, that he may not again be led into the same snares. In short, even the dumb animals, when they are ensnared by fraud, if by any means they have extricated themselves so as to escape, become more cautious for the future, and always avoid all those things in which they have perceived wiles and snares. Thus repentance makes a man cautious and diligent to avoid the faults into which he has once fallen through deceit.
Michel carried the book with him to his bed and lay down. His finger holding the book open on the page, Michel crossed his hands on his chest and closed his eyes. Public confession, he thought. How could a man, a cardinal at that, confess publicly his sins when he had not yet done so in the dark anonymity of the confessional?
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have set the Church in France on a course I have publicly and steadfastly championed but about which I have doubts. I have further plans to engage the Church in what amounts to a holy war, which, though my arrogance, I believe is demanded, despite the teachings of two great Popes. I believe I know better and am smarter than the beloved John XXIII and even the world renowned John Paul II. I, who can never be as holy as they, insist I am doing the will of God. I who have risen in the Church on an accident at the seashore…”
Michel groaned at the absurdity of such a confession and sat up at the edge of his bed. And to whom would he confess if such a confession were possible?
He put the book back on the shelf and stared at the barbed whip hanging on his wall. It was a black snake tempting him and laughing at him. If it were possible to feel evil crawl up his spine into the back of his head, Michel knew the devil had entered the room, his fangs eager to taste flesh. He knelt by the side of his bed and laid his head on it. But he did not immediately pray.
The snake whispered in an all too familiar voice:
A confession could be useful. The right kind of confession, to the right people. Metanoia, perhaps.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…”
A public confession would get noticed.
“Blessed art thou amongst women…”
Everyone has doubts; everyone is conflicted. Admitting one’s pride would show humility, not weakness. A leader who believes strongly in a course of action and fights for it with his all, despite the doubts that he may be driven by hubris, is natural, and a leader who admits that human element is likely to be both respected for his strength and loved for his honesty. It was the humanity of John XXIII that made him popular, and the same was true for John Paul II. Pius XXII would have lost to both if he were alive today, and the next Pope will also be a humanist.
“And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”
All men of high intelligence struggle with pride. They are naturally superior, and that superiority is a natural source of pride.
“Show me a humble leader, and I’ll show you a good actor,” Michel said aloud as he rose from his knees. His prayer had ended.
In truth, Michel could not prescind hubris from his belief that the Church had to turn inward. Was it truly the devil suggesting a course of action, or was it God’s will that his servant use the gift of intelligence He provided to move the Church to its rightful prominence in the world? All great leaders make changes that others doubt should be made. They are great because the changes turned out for the better. Robespierre changed the tradition of his government, but did he do so without some doubt that the change was motivated by hubris?
Michel needed some proof of the purity of his intention. He would have to make even greater sacrifice than his personal fortune that honestly meant little to him. He would have to sacrifice he greatest pleasure, and for Michel it was food. Michel would continue his fast on this his first anniversary as cardinal and would become as trim as he would make the church of France.
[1] Unaccountably, the organization became known as The Michelians /Mi-chel-i-ans/, and while Michel thought the name was perfect, he insisted that “Corps of Catholic Defenders” be used in all documentation.
Aside from piety, the greatest gift of a church leader is language, and for Michel Abruzzi, language was his forte. Not only did he understand the power of words and how they could best be used to convey meaning and convince an audience, he understood the critical importance of time in the equation.
“It serves no purpose to speak to those not ready to understand,” he one said to Montaire before meeting with the European bishops in Yalta. “Those with ideas bound to fall on deaf ears must wait until those ears are ready to hear. Like a fisherman, we cast our net slowly and broadly lest we frighten the fish.”
Michel had learned as a young priest at meetings of his superiors that ideas finally adopted by the group were those offered closest to the end of the meetings. Ideas, even the best ones, too soon presented were almost always assailed and seldom ended up carrying the day. People needed to work through the process of decision-making, and the wisest speakers allowed time for that process, dropping a key word here and there at critical junctures in discussions to lead their colleagues in desired directions.
And so it was in Michel’s notebook that contained the raw ideas for which not only his fellows but also most of the modern world were not ready. To effect his ideas, Michel would use precisely the right words at precisely the right time, and that is why his sermons were astutely drawn and why they were widely accepted. As Christ used metaphor to educate his flock, Michel did the same. However, for Michel Abruzzi, the metaphors he chose tended toward the bellicose.
“Freud’s Adler saw fear as the primary motivator of man,” Michel had written on the first page of his first notebook. “If I am to motivate the faithful to act, and as a leader I am thus obliged, I must use the human condition to effect.”
Originally, Michel wrote in notebooks kept hidden under papers in his bottom desk draw. However, when he got his first computer, he destroyed the notebooks after scanning them onto his hard drive and securing the text with the password “Revelations.”
Michel’s sermons were always published in at least one of the French Catholic journals, and their translations on the web had begun to generate positive response across Europe and especially in South America. Oddly, he had not yet been noticed in the Americas.
“Perhaps their ears are not yet ready to hear,” answered Michel with a shrug when he was asked why by his friend and confidant Father Montaire. “After all, American secularism has more recently become, how do they say, ‘politically correct.’ We have fought it longer here in Europe so we are perhaps ready to hear.”
What they heard were sermons like the following:
“Like Michael the Archangel, sent by God to battle Lucifer, the faithful must fight against the forces of the devil which today seek to destroy our only means of salvation, the Holy Mother Church. The forces of secularism have grown stronger and themselves militarized since the horrors of both world wars. They have also opened a front in the mass media, which they now control from several positions. The devil, having infiltrated government and the media, has from that vantage point weakened the family, and his minions have outlawed even reference to God in the public square. Like the fat, self-indulgent aristocracy of Rome in the first four centuries after Christ, well-fed people have become soft. As the Romans allowed the Vandals to sail up the Tigris and sack their temples with hardly an objection, modern man has become too comfortable to fight back against the forces of evil which have tempted him with lives of ease and have thus kept him from defending himself against those forces. Lucifer has warred against our families, our governments, and our Church, and without these three bulwark institutions, mankind is doomed. Lucifer has used his preternatural power to influence governments to adopt secularist ways that naturally and inevitably lead to atheism, and it is atheism that is Lucifer’s greatest weapon, and it is the tolerance of atheism that is the greatest victory of the Serpent since he seduced our parents in the Garden.
“We have lost the reverence for humility and simplicity, and having done so, we have given Satan a foothold on our ladder to heaven. We have ignored Christ’s warning that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven. Naturally there is nothing wrong with wealth in itself, but when we are rich, we tend toward sloth and become self-content. We rely too much on what we own, and we want only not to lose it. Like the Romans, we have become too comfortable to risk what we have to do battle with the Vandals. And who are the Vandals of today? They are secularists, anti-Catholics, and atheists. They are the children of the devil though some may not even know it. These damned souls claim they want only fairness and freedom, but they already have those things. What they call their ‘freedom’ is in fact the diminution of our faith. Prompted by Lucifer, they would deny us the freedom to maintain our world based on the principles of our Creator in favor of a society of the godless, the a-theistic, the anti-Christ.”
Cardinal Abruzzi was not content, however, to leave his words echoing in the cathedral. Like a modern Robespierre, he called his troops to action.
“So you have now heard these words I humbly offer, words you have no doubt thought and said yourselves. You know these things, and we feel them as one. We are, through the blessed sacrament of Confirmation, soldiers of Christ. It is none other than the Holy Ghost who has provided us the power to defend the faith against the forces of darkness, and with that power comes the obligation to do battle with Satan, no matter how great his army, wherever and however the Serpent manifests itself. But how shall we fight? And what will happen if we allow ourselves to be listless Romans sitting along the river watching their world crumble around them?
“Unlike Romans, our world is not merely of this earth, and our fight is infinitely more great and the stakes infinitely more profound. ‘For what doth it profit a man if he owns the world but loses his soul?’ To allow Satan and all the other evil spirits of the world to grow in strength and ferocity, we doom ourselves to hell on earth, and those who do not fight risk their immortal souls not only to a lower place in heaven but perhaps even to the eternal fires. A soldier who does not fight is a traitor, after all, and where in heaven is there room for traitors?
“Those of us fortunate enough to have been to the Vatican have seen ‘The Last Judgment,’ and we have quaked in front of it, so harrowing is its warning. We have trembled as we gazed upon the horror on the faces of those who have lost their souls to Satan, and we know that we will be one of those faces if we allow our lassitude to continue unchecked. We have no choice but to fight, as Michael the Archangel did, in defense of ourselves and in honor of our Creator.
“Alas, all of us cannot be St. Michael, all of us cannot confront head-on the forces of Satan. But each of us can fight against his army, and we are, each of us, so obliged.
“Yes, the Son of God has told us to love our enemies, and this we must do above all. But even as God the Father loved Lucifer, he commissioned Michael the Archangel to do battle with him and ultimately to drive him into the flames of hell. We can do the same, each in our own way. But not only with empty words, for they are the devil’s ammunition. Serpentine words were used in the Garden of Eden to convince our parents to sin, and twisted words are used in legislatures, in courtrooms, in classrooms, in the movies, and on TV. No, my fellow soldiers of God, words alone are not enough. We must also act.
“And what action must we take? What action can we take to turn the tide of this war against the forces of evil? First and foremost we must reject our lives of ease, our worship of the false gods of material possession and comfort. We must mobilize our strength, use our wealth, and dedicate our lives to rejecting those things the devil uses to tempt us. Everywhere we see his forces, we must use whatever we own to fight them. Where we see evil politicians, we must support their opponents. Where we see demonic judges enabling anti-Christian elements seeking to destroy our ways of life, we must replace them. Where we see the forces of darkness polluting the airways, we must stop them. To do these things we must spend our fortunes, and we must do so willingly.
“How can we swim in backyard pools sipping sherry and at the same time believe that we are defenders of the faith? How can we hide in our air conditioned homes and claim that we are defenders of the faith? How can we accept manifestly hostile philosophies and pretend that we are defenders of the faith? We must, each of us, heed the warnings of our Savior and reject the trappings of the material world lest we become camels too fat to pass through the narrow paths of. We must defend our children and ourselves or we are damned. Only the love of God can save us.”
At the end of each of his sermons, Bishop Abruzzi circulated among the parishioners a listing of those who renewed their Confirmations and become members of the Corps of Catholic Defenders. Those who signed, and that was virtually all who heard him, vowed to support financially and otherwise the war against those who were perceived as anti-religion, anti-Christian, and particularly anti-Catholic. However, Michel knew that unless he led the fight, and did so in a most public way, his army would dissolve before the first battle.
With his elevation to cardinal, Michel wasted little time in his quest to lead the Church in France, but being only one of four cardinals in the country, and being the newest, he had to move wisely. Two cardinals, Blanquette and Resaunt, were not far from retirement, and Michel knew it would be difficult for men their age, despite their intellects, to support change of the kind he sought. For the elderly, change is often seen as likely to cause more harm than good; the fear of change is the fear of failure. Cardinal Phillip Gower was younger and had the reputation of being particularly pious, without ego, though not terribly intellectual. Michel thought Phillip, a ghostly prelate who looked like an aged Ichabod Crane, would be most likely to accept change if it were rightly intentioned, and all of them would accept it if he could show success. Of course, Michel would have to move his archdiocese first if he were to expect all 200 bishops in the nation to march as one. It was at his first meeting with the archdiocese of Alsace that Michel Cardinal Abruzzi began his campaign.
Forty-two bishops met at Cote Cavagnet, a once operational winery near the German border. It had been destroyed in World War II, though two large buildings still stood. The property, on rolling hillocks halved by a rivulet, was gifted to the archdiocese by the Cavagnet family and now served as a retreat used mostly by nuns and brothers. Those vines not burned and still standing on their piers continued to produce grapes, but they were mostly eaten by the birds and deer. The smaller building was refurbished to provide a large meeting space and three smaller rooms, one of which opened unto a courtyard leading to the main guesthouse. There were three floors of bedrooms, a kitchen in the basement, and three small dining rooms which could seat not much more than fifty in all. Participants had to share bedrooms and wait to use bathroom facilities. And there was no air conditioning.
When the sun shone on Cote Cavagnet it was delightfully quaint. A mixture of oak, beech, and pines surrounded the property rendering it a world apart from surrounding emerald hills spotted by small farms. On the south side was a path to an overlook of the Mediterranean, and from that point the vast expanse opened to eternity. Before World War II it had been among a handful of beautiful and successful small vineyards in eastern France, and only by the sorriest of misfortunes had the German army found it. The family’s loss, however, was the Church’s gain, and for many years Cote Cavagnet provided an external refuge that provided internal serenity sought by those in retreat.
It was raining hard on that unusually warm April morning, and the oaks and beech that added so much to the beauty of Cote Cavagnet had not yet begun to leaf. Yet the greens of the firs and ground covers managed to keep the winter brown at bay even on that dreary day. The bishops ran without umbrellas through the courtyard to the meeting building to hear for the first time as cardinal the man who had risen from their ranks largely on a reattached hand and only tangentially on his gift of language.
The rustic long, rather narrow room had a simple altar on the far end opposite the entrance. There was a bank of five windows on one side with doors to the smaller rooms on the opposite wall. Tables from the dining room had been placed in a square in the middle of the hall, and the young Cardinal sat at the tables with his back to the altar facing the door. He made eye contact with each bishop as he entered and greeted by name as many as he could. What shocked each man as he entered was not that Cardinal Abruzzi was sitting there waiting for them but that he was wearing a heavy, gold embroidered red cape and orphreyed mitre as if he were about to celebrate High Mass. It was traditional at retreats for everyone to wear skullcaps, simple slacks, shirts and Roman collars.
It was also traditional that the day’s mass was celebrated at the conclusion of the convocation, and many of the forty-one participants assumed, given the Cardinal’s dress, that the mass would be said first, but it was not clear why, if that were the case, Michel was seated and not at the altar. The ceiling fixtures were unlit and two large electric fans whirred on either side of the altar. Each window was open enough to allow air to circulate but keep the rain out. Despite the ventilation, however, the room was musty and more than a bit humid.
“I am aware that many of you are surprised that I have chosen to change venues,” began Michel in his rich baritone once everyone was seated and the door closed. “Certainly were are accustomed to meeting in more comfortable circumstances. But I make no apology for meeting here at Cote Cavagnet.” He was restrained and not projecting, and his voice competed poorly against the spinning fans. “I remember with fondness a number of retreats I attended here as a young priest, as I am sure many of you do. It is comforting to see that it has changed little over the years, though the weather today has not cooperated.”
He rose from his seat and walked slowly to one of the fans. “Air conditioning has yet to appear at Cavagnet,” he said looking at his audience over his shoulder. “And perhaps that is not at all bad.” He pulled the chain stopping the fan. “Of course, we have become used to our comforts,” he added. A few surreptitious pairs of eyes met.
“What was it like, I wonder, for the bishops before us who celebrated mass wearing vestments like this, laden with rich weaves of gold and silver --- and wearing heavy mitres --- with no air conditioning or even a fan?” He pulled the chain stopping the second fan.
Michel walked to the center of the altar, genuflected, and turned back to the men. “I can say this,” he said with a sheepish grin, “they were hot.” His audience chuckled.
“If it were not raining so hard, we could open the windows and the door, and perhaps it would be more comfortable in here --- and breathing would be easier.” He moved slowly toward the windows as he spoke, not looking at his audience.
“Those two words: comfort and ease. We live lives of comfort and ease --- we the leaders of the Lord’s Church --- do we not, each of us?” He turned from the windows and looked back at the eyes fixed on him. “Except last night, of course,” he added with a smile. “When was the last time you had to share a room, or wait to use the toilet? And when have any of us been asked to attend a conference without air conditioning, for heaven’s sake?”
Michel walked slowly back to the altar and placed his mitre on one of the two ancient altar chairs. His head was wet with perspiration, and he took just a breath of extra time wiping it with his handkerchief. Then he removed his cape breathing a sigh of relief.
“I hope I have made you more comfortable,” he said with a smile. The men laughed with more than a little of their own relief.
“And should we not have air conditioning? It is after all one of the advantages of living in the modern world --- that is if one is advantaged enough to afford it. Many of our parishioners, of course, cannot. But we can, for we are comfortable and we live lives of ease --- we are, after all, bishops.”
It was the way he said “bishops,” tinged with derision, that caused several of them to shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“I see I have put you ill at ease,” he said stepping closer to them. “I sense that I have made you somewhat uncomfortable. Ease and comfort. Well, my brothers in Christ, I make no apology. We are, each of us, far --- too --- comfortable.”
He began for the first time to raise his voice. “And it is to your discomfort I am dedicated, for only if we eschew our lives of ease and comfort can we be servants of Christ. I pray to God that my words will convince each of you to join me in this war against the ancient devil and his modern temptations.”
He sat at his place, lowered his voice, and caught as many eyes as he could. “It is not, my brothers in Christ, air conditioning, or satellite TV, or any thing else that is the problem. These things allow us to perform better, to learn more, to be better leaders of men. It is, rather, our dependence on them, our fear of losing them --- this prevents us from understanding our true purpose, and, I believe, from the fight before us. We are, of course, at war yet we do not live lives like warriors. In truth, we live like kings.”
He paused for effect and moved like he was circling his prey, ready to pounce. “How can we win a war unless we know precisely who are enemy is, where the battle lines are drawn, and arm ourselves appropriately? Think for a moment, how many of us sitting here in this humidity with no electricity would elect to remain bishops if it meant giving up what we have at home? Of course, we are not monks.”
He paused again making direct eye contact with his audience. “Why I was selected among you to lead this archdiocese only His Holiness know for certain, but I am certain that I would be remiss if I failed to lead as I believe I should.” His eyes were searching the faces before him, reading them as if their expressionless countenances could prevent it. “I ask you now, therefore, to offer your counsel, honestly and openly, so that I will know how best to lead. We are sitting around the same table, bishops of Alsace, plotting strategy to direct our bishoprics as one. I will hear all voices, respect all opinions, and with the help of God, make the best decisions of which I am capable.”
Michel directed the bishops to a publication that sat in front of each man. It was the sermon he delivered at his installation, and he asked that each bishop reread it.
“Is there anything in this which gives any of you pause?” asked Michel after it seemed all had read the piece. There was no response.
“Then I take it that each of you agrees with what I have said and written both as bishop and now cardinal.”
There was still no verbal response though several heads nodded.
“Good, then what remains is to agree on what we must do. What must our archdiocese do to effect the necessary changes? What is in front of you suggests what I believe must be done, but without you, my mission cannot be successful…the Corps of Catholic Defenders will wither like a tender flower before it ever blooms.”
“Your Eminence,” offered Carl Foulards, a friend of Michel’s, “I was moved by this sermon when I heard it, as I think we all were, but reading the text I noticed two things I admit I had not seen before. I noticed your use of words of war, words like battle, army, forces. These I think are particularly good to suggest we are defenders of the faith --- we must not lose track of that.” Foulards was short and round with thick lips and a wide nose which supported exceedingly thick-lensed eyeglasses. While his eyesight was myopic, his insight was not. “The other is what may be seen as an intolerance, perhaps a desire to separate ourselves from those who lack faith, of those who may oppose the Church, or of those with different faiths.” Michel waited, and that gave time for Foulards to add, “Is there a suggestion that we do battle with those who, for example, want to separate religion from the state or even from those who have different faiths?”
Michel nodded his head. “Both,” he said and waited a long moment to explain. “I believe we must separate ourselves from those whose faith takes us from Christ. All religion is not the same, of course, and it is a grave error to conflate them. When we talk of Christians, do we equate Unitarianism with Anglicanism? When we talk of Jews, do we equate Reform Jews and the Hassidim? Is there no difference between the Wahhabi and other Muslims? And if we see great differences in these, how much greater difference is there between them and us? We have as much to fear from the solipsism of other religions as we do secularists, most of whom also claim a belief in God.” Michel sensed accord among the prelates.
“However,” he continued looking directly at Foulards, “you are as usual a step ahead of me. Yes, we are at war against the devil in all his forms, as we have been since the beginning. And as in the past we have had to alter the way we do battle to suit the new initiatives of the enemy. Our adversaries are most clever. The battlefront has moved and the weaponry is far more sophisticated, and so we must adapt. And the first step in this new battle is to arm ourselves. We must first look inside to insure that we are strong enough to meet the enemy and the new weapons he employs. This we must do first before taking the battle to them.
“Our first step is to strengthen ourselves, to wear the armor of simplicity, of modesty, and of even greater sacrifice than we have become used to.” Michel stood up, allowing his last words to linger in the heavy air. Slowly he walked to the window nearest him and closed it.
“How can a shepherd lead his flock from the comfort of his cottage?” he asked as he closed the second window. “Is not the best general the one who leads his troops, who provides an example, who asks no more than he gives?” The third window slid closed.
“We must take the first step, my brothers in Christ, and that first step in this modern war is to divest ourselves of the Trojan horse of the modern world to focus on our target. We must come out of our lordly towers and join the battle.” He closed the fourth window with a loud thud. “In short, we must lead our sheep from the lush and tempting pastures patrolled by hungry wolves hiding behind bushes of tempting fruit. We must provide our flocks with the safety, the safety to which, as shepherds of the Church, we have committed ourselves.
Michel stared out of the window, his back to the group. “Of course, we can maintain our course. We can make no changes, remain tepid,” he said before a long pause, “but then there are the words of our Savior.” He turned back to the men, “You may recall He said in Rev 3:15 ‘I know your deeds, that you are neither hot nor cold; I would that you were hot or cold.’”
Michel paused again to let the imagery sink in, making eye contact with several men. Then he smiled slightly as he recollected a personal story.
“When I was in America studying English as a boy, I was taken for a car ride in the countryside. There were many churches along the roads, and many had signs in front. They would give the denomination, Protestant of one type or other, and perhaps a quote from Scripture. It was during summer holiday, and it was quite hot. My English was still weak but I could read most of the signs, and I remember one of them to this day. It did not have a quotation but a message from the pastor and read: “If you think it’s hot in here, wait!”
The men laughed, and Michel walked back to the closest closed window. “Did I answer your question, Carl?”
Foulards nodded with a grin.
“So, let us begin by letting in God’s fresh air, such as it is today,” said Michel opening the last window. He opened each of the other windows and turned the fans back on. They seemed far louder than they had before, and Michel had consciously to speak above them.
“What actions must be taken to address the problems outlined in front of you?” Michel waited for a response, but these were seasoned bishops, themselves leaders, and they knew Michel already had made up his mind about what would be done. Not one of the men had not himself conducted meetings in which he would elicit suggestions designed to garner greater support by virtue of engendering a feeling that the group as a whole made the decisions and that a course of action had not been predetermined.
“Naturally, I have already thought about what we should do, and it is rather uncomfortable in here … we need no more hot air. Perhaps it would be best if I suggested the following broad tactics and allowed for discussion afterwards.” Carl Foulards nodded.
Michel proposed that the archdiocese undergo a movement to divest itself of ostentatious displays of wealth. Bejeweled garments and church trappings would be removed and replaced with simple, inexpensive pieces. Limousines would be sold, and any new cars purchased would be as inexpensive as possible. In addition, the archdiocese would make this divestiture highly visible, and toward that end there would be instituted a public relations committee comprised of representatives of each bishop’s office. Money saved would be accounted for and donated to the Corps of Catholic Defenders which would support people and organizations on the front lines. In effect, the Corps would function as a political action committee or lobby supporting the interests of the Church against its detractors and foes.
Philip Mariette, one of the eldest of the bishops, was the first to object. He was gaunt and nervous with angry eyes that darted lizard-like as he spoke. “Do you intend to undo two thousand years of tradition?”
“I intend to win, and if that means a change, then so be it,” answered Michel. His rich voice, beginning to wilt in the heat, was significantly lower than it had been.
“Many of these vestments and altar pieces were donated and are centuries old. Do we just sell them, cast them aside as if they are nothing?” Mariette’s voice quavered.
“Bishop Mariette, do you recall Jesus or any of his bishops wearing diamonds and rubies?”
“Of course not, the Church was in its infancy. It has over time blossomed. We can’t simply…”
“And it has become fat, the Lord might say obese, over time.”
“Only if you consider gifts to the Church fat,” argued the seventy-seven-year-old Mariette, sweat dripping from below his red skullcap. “People of the world give according to their stations.”
“I do,” said Michel picking up the mitre that sat in the altar chair and holding up for all to see. “Do you see these jewels?” asked Michel. “Would the mitre be any less a holy garment were they removed? What if they had already been removed and substituted for by paste, would it be less beautiful?”
“I believe so,” answered Mariette taking off his glasses and wiping his face with his handkerchief. “It would be destructive of the gift and destructive of the tradition of honoring the Lord with the things of this world.” His hands trembled from a slight palsy.
“You are correct,” answered Michel; “it would destroy the tradition, but a tradition that perhaps should be destroyed.” He fingered a large ruby. “How can we battle if our armor is laden with jewels and precious metal?”
“There are other ways.”
“And what may they be?” asked Michel without looking at Mariette and placing the hat back on the chair.
“A battle’s outcome is not dependent on uniforms,” answered Mariette.
“And if the uniform is too heavy, if it is out of date?” said Michel as he walked back to his seat. “What if the uniforms cause the enemy to see their chinks, shouldn’t they be changed? And what if,” said Michel deliberately wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, “the uniform makes one sweat?”
Mariette replied with a sardonic grin. “Perhaps not everyone feels the heat.”
“I am sure they do not,” answered Michel. “But tell me, Bishop Mariette, tell all of us, how you would propose to solve the problems you have just agreed are problems?”
“Is the way to sit in oppressive heat in unadorned cells as if we are prisoners?” called out Emil Jencks who was sitting next to his friend Mariette. Jencks was only a few years younger than Mariette, but his eyes were still young and bright. His high voice pierced the humid air like a piccolo.
“Not as prisoners but as warriors in camp girding ourselves for battle,” answered Michel fixing his eyes on his new combatant.
“I think what they are saying,” offered Carl Foulards, “is that we must insure that any changes we make will be seen as positive.”
“Thank you for your translation,” answered Michel, “I am sure only you could have understood that from what the two bishops from the west said. But you are a saint, and I lack your … grace. What I do not lack, however, is resolve. I am certain that in this time of blatant materialism, in this time when spiritualism is under attack from all around us, when the Church in France has become weak and is grappling to stay alive, we cannot have old men walk around in jeweled cloaks and be driven in limousines. The idea strikes me, frankly, as ludicrous.”
“Then we are to be Protestants,” said Jencks. “We will have bare churches and dress like monks in an abbey.”
Michel looked for a long moment directly at Jencks before responding. His voice was low but still maintained its fullness. “Why do we do this? Why does the argument have to be won at all costs, even at the expense of understanding?” Michel said as much to himself as to the group and sighed, “We are weak.” He straightened the papers in front of him while at the same time straightening the ideas that flooded his mind for a response.
“Father Jencks sees no ground between ridding ourselves of ostentation --- of extreme riches and of sheer pomp, and the heresy of Protestantism. To win his argument, he would have us believe that any change in the external trappings of a tradition will make us Quakers. Please, Emil, before consigning each of us to hell, let us share our ideas honestly without rhetoric.”
“My rhetoric pales alongside of yours, Your Eminence, but I apologize if I have put words in your mouth.”
“Thank you,” said Michel. “And of course I do not suggest we destroy our gifts. Those given to us in love will be cherished, but those given to us from ill-gotten or doubtful means will be sold. Not to do so gives ammunition to our enemies. Is it not scandal to drink from thousand-year-old cups dripping with jewels when so many of our parishioners are unemployed? Today we must fight our battles not only in philosophical tracts but also in the marketplace of ideas … in public, in the media. We must everywhere and in every way fight materialism and more importantly the perception of it. How can the Church in France regain its influence if it is perceived as living in contradiction? Can we be rich and continue to flaunt those riches while our brethren live in poverty?
“We are, each of us, children of Christ. We have each sacrificed a great deal in His honor, and we continue to do so. We are bishops of Christ, of course, and we are also Frenchmen ... most of you more than I, my father being a stubborn Italian from Abruzzi, where I understand stubbornness is a virtue.” There was some tittering. “But in birth and in my heart I am French, and we have never been afraid to challenge tradition when the cause is just. We are leaders, and the Church in France is being called upon to lead once again.”
Emil Jencks rose in his seat. “Your Eminence, you have my support, of course, but there are considerations I am afraid…”
“Good, Emil,” Michel cut in, “and who better to address those considerations than Bishop Jencks. Let us meet later about your concerns.” Jencks forced a smile and took his seat, and Michel returned to the group.
“In the meantime, I have one other note on the Corps of Catholic Defenders. As is true in all wars, finance is of paramount importance. If the Corps is to be instrumental in leading anti-Catholic forces to victory, it will need financial support from all areas. Toward that end, I have divested myself completely of my family’s wealth and have transferred it to the Corps, which will be stewarded by Monsignor Father Joseph Montaire. By Monday, the Corps will have working capital of four million francs. Of course, as the parishes find ways to economize, the fund will grow, and our archdiocese will lead by example the others of France.”[1]
l
The French media looked favorably upon the new austerity program, though some Catholics rumbled as they had at Cote Cavagnet. Michel expected resistance to change, and while it bothered him to hear the objections, some of which he had not anticipated, in truth they were less strong than he had imagined. He was surprised to learn how powerful his new position was, and he had every reason to believe he was moving at the right speed.
The media, of course, saw what Michel intended them to see; they failed to examine his sermons and note the onset of a lesser tolerance of social diversity. Catholics who wrote about the Michelian Movement touched on what seemed to be a turn from ecumenism, but their writings hovered well below the radar screens of the major media. Within months, the archdiocese was receiving positive coverage in the national media, and Michel rode the wave of public opinion to an audience with the three other cardinals.
The meeting was at the residence of Cardinal Blanchette, the eldest of the prelates. Rich with tapestries from around the world, Blanchette’s quarters were much like a map room at the Vatican with high ceilings and sunlight streaming in through large stained glass windows. Michel’s commitment to the Corps, made obvious by his donation of all of his inheritance to it, easily won the support of Cardinal Gower, and together the younger cardinals, pointing to the favorable media coverage of the new austerity program, convinced Cardinals Blanchette and Resaunt that their dioceses would benefit similarly.
“I fear,” intoned the ailing, white-haired Blanchette, “that in some of your work there are the seeds of a turn from ecumenism, and that must never be.” Blanchette was ninety-one and suffered cripplingly from emphysema. An oxygen canister sat by his power lounge chair, and most of the day and night he found relief from its mask, removing it only when it was necessary. His red skullcap seemed brighter than it actually was against his ashen skin, and his breathless speech was slightly slurred from several mild strokes. “But I support you, Cardinal Abruzzi, your Corps, because you have convinced me that you respect Vatican II,” the ancient prelate breathed, “and John XXIII, and John Paul II. The people of God must remain united against those against Him. Remember, nothing is more important.” His ghostly voice trailed off in the spacious room but echoed deeply in Michel. Ecumenism had gotten them to the state they were in.
Given the mounting success of the Michelian Movement both at the parish level and among the Church hierarchy, in addition to the positive public opinion it generated, few would question Michel’s success in his first year. However, Michel had a lingering question that mitigated his sense of success.
It was November 20, the first anniversary of his appointment as cardinal, and Michel used that date to reflect on his recent successes, his future goals, and the state of his soul. He would spend that day not in celebration, as had been expected, but in his room, in study and in prayer. That morning he did not shave or dress but chose to stay in his nightclothes: the day was to be given to the Lord. He would fast in thanks for his position, and he would pray that his motives were pure and not driven by hubris, for it was hubris that Michel knew to be his bete noir.
Michel’s desk, as was the other few pieces of furniture in his unadorned room, was small and simple. The gooseneck lamp that sat on the desk was old and split along its green shade allowing the light through. As the desk’s surface was old and rough, a blotter was necessary to allow writing, but it too was split, and Michel used tape to keep it together. Only the Old and New Testaments were permanently on the desk, and they were held upright by large bookends made of highly polished petrified wood from Arizona. The costly souvenir, marble-like and largely black, was a gift from his sister and, despite being hugely out of place in his monastic décor, Michel prized them for the age, their beauty, and their simple functionality.
The chair was straight and hard and painted many times, most recently white. From it, Michel could reach a bookcase of a dozen or so of his favorite texts from his school years, some of which he read two or three times; each of which he would occasionally browse. One of them was a little known volume, in Latin, by a fourth century apologist named Lucius Lactantius entitled Divine Institutes. The book was written to show the fallacy and absurdity of paganism and was now nothing more than an historical oddment written three hundred years after Christ.
Michel liked the book because it was different from other ancient texts in that it had been written not by a scholarly cleric but a practical man whose knowledge of scripture left much to be desired but whose unadorned faith and simple logic spoke to him as a man who knew the human spirit as it was. In one of the chapters, Book VI, Lactantius wrote of the Greek concept of metanoia, an overt acknowledgement of sin. More than simple confession, metanoia suggested a more public admission of one’s weakness, and with that admission would come greater ability to avoid falling prey to it again.
Therefore He who is at once the Lord and most indulgent Parent promises that He will remit the sins of the penitent, and that He will blot out all the iniquities of him who shall begin afresh to practice righteousness. For as the uprightness of his past life is of no avail to him who lives badly, because the subsequent wickedness has destroyed his works of righteousness, so former sins do not stand in the way of him who has amended his life, because the subsequent righteousness has effaced the stain of his former life. For he who repents of that which he has done, understands his former error; and on this account the Greeks better and more significantly speak of metanoia, which we may speak of in Latin as return to a right understanding. For he returns to a right understanding, and recovers his mind as it were from madness, who is grieved for his error; and he reproves himself of madness, and confirms his mind to a better course of life: then he especially guards against this very thing, that he may not again be led into the same snares. In short, even the dumb animals, when they are ensnared by fraud, if by any means they have extricated themselves so as to escape, become more cautious for the future, and always avoid all those things in which they have perceived wiles and snares. Thus repentance makes a man cautious and diligent to avoid the faults into which he has once fallen through deceit.
Michel carried the book with him to his bed and lay down. His finger holding the book open on the page, Michel crossed his hands on his chest and closed his eyes. Public confession, he thought. How could a man, a cardinal at that, confess publicly his sins when he had not yet done so in the dark anonymity of the confessional?
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have set the Church in France on a course I have publicly and steadfastly championed but about which I have doubts. I have further plans to engage the Church in what amounts to a holy war, which, though my arrogance, I believe is demanded, despite the teachings of two great Popes. I believe I know better and am smarter than the beloved John XXIII and even the world renowned John Paul II. I, who can never be as holy as they, insist I am doing the will of God. I who have risen in the Church on an accident at the seashore…”
Michel groaned at the absurdity of such a confession and sat up at the edge of his bed. And to whom would he confess if such a confession were possible?
He put the book back on the shelf and stared at the barbed whip hanging on his wall. It was a black snake tempting him and laughing at him. If it were possible to feel evil crawl up his spine into the back of his head, Michel knew the devil had entered the room, his fangs eager to taste flesh. He knelt by the side of his bed and laid his head on it. But he did not immediately pray.
The snake whispered in an all too familiar voice:
A confession could be useful. The right kind of confession, to the right people. Metanoia, perhaps.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…”
A public confession would get noticed.
“Blessed art thou amongst women…”
Everyone has doubts; everyone is conflicted. Admitting one’s pride would show humility, not weakness. A leader who believes strongly in a course of action and fights for it with his all, despite the doubts that he may be driven by hubris, is natural, and a leader who admits that human element is likely to be both respected for his strength and loved for his honesty. It was the humanity of John XXIII that made him popular, and the same was true for John Paul II. Pius XXII would have lost to both if he were alive today, and the next Pope will also be a humanist.
“And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”
All men of high intelligence struggle with pride. They are naturally superior, and that superiority is a natural source of pride.
“Show me a humble leader, and I’ll show you a good actor,” Michel said aloud as he rose from his knees. His prayer had ended.
In truth, Michel could not prescind hubris from his belief that the Church had to turn inward. Was it truly the devil suggesting a course of action, or was it God’s will that his servant use the gift of intelligence He provided to move the Church to its rightful prominence in the world? All great leaders make changes that others doubt should be made. They are great because the changes turned out for the better. Robespierre changed the tradition of his government, but did he do so without some doubt that the change was motivated by hubris?
Michel needed some proof of the purity of his intention. He would have to make even greater sacrifice than his personal fortune that honestly meant little to him. He would have to sacrifice he greatest pleasure, and for Michel it was food. Michel would continue his fast on this his first anniversary as cardinal and would become as trim as he would make the church of France.
[1] Unaccountably, the organization became known as The Michelians /Mi-chel-i-ans/, and while Michel thought the name was perfect, he insisted that “Corps of Catholic Defenders” be used in all documentation.
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