Winfield Myers: Two Saints For Our Day

April 3, 2005
Two Saints for Our Day
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The death of one of the twentieth century’s greatest men, John Paul II, has brought forth remembrances and commentaries far superior to anything I can hope to compose. And this has been a time when contemplation seemed more appropriate than action; or better, when communication about the life of the Pontiff is ubiquitous, but not always best accomplished through words. The silence of the faithful in St. Peter’s Square spoke more eloquently than could any number of commentaries.

And yet, even those occasions which transcend language call it forth, for man is a communicator, a name giver. One of the best remembrances I’ve read thus far is by Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, Archbishop of Westminster. It is long, but worthwhile, for he knew the Pope well. Like others who were long acquainted with this giant of humble beginnings, Cardinal Murphy-O’Connor has a story to relate; several, in fact (you’ll find them in his essay in today’s Sunday Telegraph). Here is one of them:

[In 1975] he invited me, along with some English-speaking bishops, to the Polish Centre for a reception. After half an hour of mingling and general conversation, a rich baritone voice suddenly broke out - Cardinal Wojtyla was singing a Polish song. The other Poles joined in and we had a sing-song. I gathered together the English-speaking bishops - British, Americans, Irish, Australians - and tried to find a song we could reply with. We managed, I think, The Rose of Tralee. The Poles listened politely, then Cardinal Wojtyla began another song. It struck me that here was a man who enjoyed people, was easy with people and not afraid, among his fellow bishops, to start a sing-song. That was the first impression and now, after the end of this epic papacy, it remains with me as an abiding image of his humanity.

Theodore Cardinal McCarrick recalled in an impromptu press conference yesterday that his first meeting with the future pope occurred in the early 1970s in New York. Cardinal McCarrick, then a monsignor, had to cancel his vacation to meet the visiting Polish Cardinal, and he playfully told him so and asked if he thought he’d be able to make up those lost vacation days. In three future meetings after Karol Wojtyla became John Paul II, the pope inquired of Cardinal McCarrick (and with a wry grin) whether or not he had ever gotten those vacation days back.

That such learned men would remember one of their own with stories that illustrate the latter’s wit and common wisdom goes some way toward explaining his charisma. Although hyper-educated in the old school, meaning that he was among the elite of his generation’s intellectual prodigies, the pope wore his learning easily. Utterly without pretension or affectation, vices not uncommon among intellectual elites, he approached individuals as their fellow man, created in the image of God and therefore sharing the dignity of all people across time and space. He didn’t challenge them to a mental duel, nor engage in a contest to prove that he was holier. Had he done so, he would be mourned today, but perhaps not so missed.

John Paul II had an aristocrat’s self-assurance and a common man’s grasp of the plight of others. The latter might be expected of a small-town Pole, born in modest circumstances yet bearing gifts of the intellect and spirit. The former is more surprising, at least upon first thought. I don’t mean to imply, and it certainly would be inaccurate to do so, that he carried himself as an aristocrat; nothing could be further from the truth. But he shared with them a certainty of his station, or in this case, his vocation, from which he never wavered or shrank. His duty was clear to him, and this enabled him to make others’ duty clear to them. Comfortable in his own skin, he made those around him comfortable in their own. And they loved him for it.

Yet his charisma rested on much more than comfort, for he could speak truth to power, and unflinchingly. I remember in particular his insistence on the dignity of the human person in occupied Poland, where civil society had been crushed by centuries of overlords, the Nazi death machine, and Soviet oppression. Still, beneath the false layer of calm that brutality foists on the vulnerable, he knew that the soul of a nation persevered. He knew what ideologues always forget: that our nature is immutable, our souls eternal. Between (within, and among) these unchangeable truths is life, lived of necessity in the world, yet not, at its best, merely of the world.

Let me close with a passage from one of John Paul’s own writings, his Apostolic Letter “Proclaiming Saint Thomas More Patron of Statesmen and Politicians.” I think it apt for this occasion because John Paul, like Thomas More, knew hard choices first hand. Each man faced the possibility of death in his own country; one suffered it, the other risked it, for his faith. Towering intellects embroiled in the battles of their day, they yet possessed the joy and sense of humor of the true believer. One man, More, proved that faith and the individual conscience could triumph over principalities and powers – even those he helped rule. Member of Parliament, Speaker of the House of Commons, knight, member of the King’s Council, the first layman to become Lord Chancellor, Renaissance philosopher, devoted family man, More ascended as high as his vocation could take him in his day.

As did Karol Wojtyla in his vocation, but in another realm, the sacred rather than the secular. Deeply holy and, like More, graced with a humbleness of spirit that refused to decay into pride, the future pope rose through the hierarchy to the pinnacle of the Catholic Church, where he became the world’s most visible and beloved Christian. Here is a bit of what he wrote about St. Thomas More:

There are many reasons for proclaiming Thomas More Patron of statesmen and people in public life. Among these is the need felt by the world of politics and public administration for credible role models able to indicate the path of truth at a time in history when difficult challenges and crucial responsibilities are increasing. Today in fact strongly innovative economic forces are reshaping social structures; on the other hand, scientific achievements in the area of biotechnology underline the need to defend human life at all its different stages, while the promises of a new society — successfully presented to a bewildered public opinion — urgently demand clear political decisions in favour of the family, young people, the elderly and the marginalized.

In this context, it is helpful to turn to the example of Saint Thomas More, who distinguished himself by his constant fidelity to legitimate authority and institutions precisely in his intention to serve not power but the supreme ideal of justice. His life teaches us that government is above all an exercise of virtue. Unwavering in this rigorous moral stance, this English statesman placed his own public activity at the service of the person, especially if that person was weak or poor; he dealt with social controversies with a superb sense of fairness; he was vigorously committed to favouring and defending the family; he supported the all-round education of the young. His profound detachment from honours and wealth, his serene and joyful humility, his balanced knowledge of human nature and of the vanity of success, his certainty of judgement rooted in faith: these all gave him that confident inner strength that sustained him in adversity and in the face of death. His sanctity shone forth in his martyrdom, but it had been prepared by an entire life of work devoted to God and neighbour.

— Winfield Myers Apr. 3, 2005 9:48 PM TrackBack (0)