Four Men on a Balcony

Last night I was feeling very gloomy, but I cheered up after watching this video from Jimmy Akin, my favourite Catholic apologist and evangelist. The subject matter might be dismissed as rather insubstantial-- it's a comparison of the different ways the last four Popes greeted the pilgrims in St. Peter's Square, immediately after their election.

I actually don't think it's insubstantial at all. But, even if it was, the whole premise of the video delighted me. I love anything that skips over the surface of history, so to speak. Like an article about James Bond theme tunes, or general election traditions, or memorable blackouts. I like the idea of jumping over years and decades to link particular moments and create a distinctive capsule history.

I specifically liked this video because it looks at a very particular tradition, one that occurs rarely and irregularly, and that's seldom considered apart from the whole drama of the papal election.

I love tradition for many reasons. One reason is that traditions so often combine opposites in a pleasing way. The tradition of the Pope appearing on the balcony is, of course, one that touches on profound and grave spiritual realities. It's very serious, and it's surrounded by all the dignity and pomp of the Vatican.

But it's also a party atmosphere. The square is full of smiling faces, of people of all sorts-- chanting, clapping, carrying signs.

It's a funny thing, a strange thing-- watching the video, I felt "the healing fountains start", at the sight of these cheering crowds over five decades,

I suppose, without realizing it, I have started thinking of the life of faith as all suffering, crisis, controversy, and endurance. I'm sure this has something to do with the storms of the last pontificate, and something also to do with the constant attack on the Faith in the modern world.

There is, of course, a profound joy in Christianity even in the face of suffering, loss, tribulation, etc. But it was refreshing (and more than refreshing) to be reminded of simple joy, lighthearted joy.

Another pleasure I took in the video, which I take in all Jimmy Akin's videos, is his very calm and genial presentation.

To turn to the content of the video...I found it very surprising. Of the four Popes, which would you imagine to be the most animated and exuberant when he came to the balcony?

To my own great surprise, it was...Pope Benedict! Yes, it was the shy scholar-Pope who waved both his arms, clenched his hands in a triumphant gesture, and wore a huge smile.

Now, who was the least animated and expressive?

Again to my surprise, it was Pope Francis. The author of The Joy of the Gospel simply stood on the balcony and stared at the crowds, hardly even smiling. He waved a few times, that's all.

Well, one might easily say, perhaps he was simply stunned and overwhelmed. And perhaps he was. But it's still a striking contrast.

Pope John Paul II was not quite as animated as Pope Benedict, but much more so than Pope Francis. He raised his palms upwards to heaven in a gesture that he seems often to have used, judging by pictures. It's as though he was urging the faithful upwards.

The video stirred up, once again, my love for St. John Paul II.

All through my life, he always appeared to me as an icon of pure goodness. I can remember there was a large photograph of him on the wall of my very first classroom. The image radiated a grandfatherly benevolence.

I am most definitely a JPII Catholic, even though I only started practicing my faith during the pontificate of Benedict. I think I absorbed the influence of the great Polish Pope without ever paying a huge amount of attention to him. Around the turn of the millennium, I bought my father a thick biography of JPII called Man of the Century, for Christmas, though I only skimmed it myself.

Perhaps more than anything else, John Paul conveyed a tremendous strength and solidity, truly the "rock" of St. Peter. And yet, when I turned to his writings, I discovered a graciousness and fundamental optimism which is quite a contrast to the embattled tone of many conservatives.

That's what I experience most when I read his writings: optimism. Somehow, the road doesn't seem quite as difficult as before.

When I watched Pope Benedict come to the balcony, actual tears came into my eyes. We know what it cost him now. We also know how viciously he was slandered and demeaned by the media.

As for the new Pope, my reaction is pretty much the same as everybody in my own theological tribe: I am impressed by the dignity and gentleness of his bearing. There is a sense that normal service has been resumed, and I pray that this is doesn't turn out to be false.

Which brings us back to Pope Francis.

In the video, Jimmy Akin said that he was reluctant to criticize Francis when he was the reigning Pope. Now that this is no longer the case, he is more willing to do so.

This was my attitude as well. After an initial reaction of dismay, when I was pretty vocal-- especially about Amoris Laetitia-- I resolved to be more respectful and restrained. Especially as I witnessed the gleeful abandon with which many Catholic commentators were laying into the Holy Father. Increasingly it seemed as though everything he said or did became a trigger for denunciation-- even when it was perfectly reasonable.

However, much of what he did and said did actually distress me.

His first appearance on the balcony was a good (albeit minor) example. The media loved the fact that he appeared in simple white papal robes. But virtually all conservative Catholics were perturbed by it. As G.K. Chesterton once wrote: "Humility will always, by preference, go clad in scarlet and gold; pride is that which refuses to let gold and scarlet impress it or please it too much." More to the point, ecclesial garments aren't there for the glory of the wearer but for the glory of God, and for the sake of symbolism and tradition.

Perhaps Pope Francis has been too harshly criticized for this. After all, John Paul the First refused to don the traditional papal tiara, and every subsequent Pope has followed his example. But how far can you go in jettisoning ceremony and tradition? Would a Pope eventually have to emerge on the balcony in jeans and a t-shirt, the ultimate in humility?

In my workplace, I've long been bothered by the phenomenon of longstanding employees choosing not to have any kind of event when they retire. A colleague who worked in the library since I was an infant didn't even tell anyone she was retiring until that very day, and asked for no fuss about it at all. This really bothered me, especially since she had been a mentor and a friend to me for so long. It seemed wrong not to have some kind of marker.

Recently, I said to another colleague: "The event isn't just for the sake of the person leaving. It's for other people just as much". He agreed. (Of course, there might be good reasons someone doesn't want to have an event-- for instance, if they are just too emotional. I asked not to have any kind of workplace event when I was getting married, since I was so stressed by all the questions about the preparations and didn't want to encourage them. I regret it now, though.)

A lot to say about one video, I know. But it really did make an impression on me.