#396: The Providential Summer of ‘63

Fifty summers ago, dramatic events brought one of those tectonic shifts that alters the landscape for generations...

This summer brings many significant 50^th anniversaries, since the summer of 1963 brought so many significant events. Civil rights leader Medgar Evers was assassinated; Alabama Governor George Wallace stood in a doorway to block access by blacks to the University of Alabama; President John Kennedy delivered three important speeches: on civil rights (to mark the centennial of the Battle of Gettysburg), on freedom for the Soviet bloc, and—on June 26—he stood before the Berlin wall and delivered the famous lines “Ich bin ein Berliner.”

For Catholics, June 1963 and the weeks that followed were particularly dramatic.  And 50 years later, with the benefit of hindsight, we can say that the drama unfolding that summer was no doubt of divine inspiration.

It all began with the death of Pope John XXIII (Angelo Roncalli), who will soon become Saint John XXIII.  

John XXIII lying in state, June 1963

 John had opened Vatican Council II in October 1962, had publicly intervened to help resolve the Cuban missile crisis that same month, and was made Time Magazine’s man of the year in January 1963.  But even then, he knew he was dying.  At his death

on June 3, the world mourned the loss of the most beloved pope in memory.  Because of his achievements, Catholics do not observe his feast day on his death date (as is standard for saints and venerated people of the Church) but on October 11, the opening date of Vatican II.

But June 3 brought crisis, for John’s death created an immediate vacuum that threatened chaos.

When Vatican II began as the largest meeting in history and the first general council since 1871, the conservatives hoped (and many more expected) that it would adjourn quickly after rubber-stamping Catholicism’s status quo.

Instead, the world’s bishops rejected the boilerplate drafts offered by Vatican officials and committed the Council to a full-scale reflection on the nature of Catholicism in its place in the modern world.  This commitment would transform Vatican II into the most important religious event of the 20th century--and one of the three or four most important watersheds in Catholic history.  But it also meant that, by the end of the Council’s first session in December 1962, almost nothing had been finished yet. 

John’s death suspended all plans for a second session, expected in fall 1963.  The next pope’s name was unknown until an election could be held.  Whoever he was, he would be under no obligation to reconvene the council, or--if he did--to continue with John’s (and now the bishops’) agenda. 

So questions abounded: Who will be pope?  Will he continue the Council?  What will he have the Council do?  In a word, all bets were off.

It all ended well.  The next pope, Paul VI (G.B. Montini),

Pope Paul VI

decided to reconvene the Council, and in his opening address he quoted John’s 1962 opening address to confirm that Vatican II was to be nothing less than a “new Pentecost”—a rebirth—of the Catholic Church. Thus the summer of ’63 included serious preparations of the new, more substantive drafts that would ultimately become known as “The Documents of Vatican II.”

But hindsight tells us that none of this happy outcome, none of this surprisingly smooth transition from pope to pope (and from first Council session to second session) was really an accident, or a matter of good fortune.  Looking back upon facts that have emerged over the last 50 years, we can now say that the events of summer 1963 appear to be the result of a plan--a plan not of human design.  In other words, summer 1963 witnessed an act of divine Providence.

The providential pattern leading to the successful continuation of Vatican II was composed of three main elements:

The young Roncalli

A Long Friendship.  As far back as the 1920s, Angelo Roncalli (later John XXIII) and Giovanni Montini (later Paul VI) were friends.  In 1925 Pope Pius XI appointed Roncalli apostolic visitor to Bulgaria.  Roncalli was devastated to be sent out of Italy. But Montini (who worked at the Vatican’s Secretariat of State) encouraged him, saying he would now have opportunities to encounter the Orthodox churches of the east and the Muslim tradition.  This mattered to both men, since both wanted to promote a reconciliation with other faiths.

The young Montini

When, after later serving as Vatican apostolic delegate to Turkey and Greece, Roncalli was made papal nuncio to France in 1945, it was Montini who signed the letter of his appointment. 

Roncalli in France

 Later, it was Montini who also asked him if he were willing to become patriarch of Venice. They corresponded frequently over the years, well beyond the demands of protocol, and one biographer says that Montini became Roncalli’s “Roman confidant.”

When John XXIII observed his 80^th birthday in 1961, it was Montini who celebrated the Mass.  And when John lay dying in June 1963, it was Montini who arranged to fly in his family from Milan to be at his old friend’s bedside.

A Close Partnership. When Pope Pius XII died in 1958,

Pius XII

Montini (now Archbishop of Milan) was a favorite to succeed him--but he was not yet a cardinal and was thought a bit young. Since Pius had ruled for 19 years, the College of Cardinals preferred a shorter interim papacy, and thus an older man.  So they elected 76-year-old Roncalli to be a caretaker of the papal seat.  They expected a brief, uneventful papacy.

When John XXIII shattered expectations by calling for the first council of bishops in a century, even Montini was surprised.  “This holy old boy,” he said, “doesn’t seem to realize what a hornet’s nest he is stirring up.”

Nonetheless Montini began advising John as early as 1961 on the best approach to a successful Council.  And he offered public support in a pastoral letter to the people of Milan in which he said “It is the whole Church that expresses itself in the Council…And we are the Church.”

Montini as Archbishop of Milan

In June 1962, only weeks before the opening of the council, John sent Montini to the final meeting of the central committee preparing for the Council.  Montini delivered the pope’s message: the Council was not to concentrate on condemnations and anathemas (like many previous councils), but was to emphasize mercy and love.  Cardinal Ottaviani, the Grand Inquisitor, spoke for many of the “intransigenti” (church officials opposed to reform) when he said, “I pray God that I may die before the Council’s end.  That way I can die a Catholic”!

We now know that that during Vatican II’s first session in the fall of 1962, John invited his friend Montini (and no one else) to reside in the papal apartments.  John did not attend council meetings himself, so he relied on Montini to keep him abreast of the mood among the bishops.  We also know that Montini led the progressive bishops in overcoming the resistance of the intransigenti.  This ensured that the council would not be brief and unproductive, but would last four years and transform Catholicism.

When John was made pope, the first man he chose to become a new cardinal was Montini.  And after the dying John receive the last rites on June 1, 1963, he told those around him that he guessed Montini would be his successor.  Three weeks later, his prediction came true, and his close partner and old friend) took over the reins of Vatican Council II.

Thus, when the College of Cardinals elected Montini himself as John’s successor 50 years ago on June 21, 1963, the cardinals were uniting two friends in one office.

A Shared Vision.  As preparations for the second session of the Council proceeded during the summer of 1963, the partnership these two friends had forged began to bear fruit in an inspired vision of how the Council could renew the Church and its mission in the world

Both men were francophiles influenced by the “new theology” of Jesuits Henri de Lubac and Jean Daniélou and Dominicans like Yves Congar and Marie-Dominique Chenu.  Both shared an optimistic view of modern life and a critical view of clerical church customs and structures.  Both believed that the wisdom of Catholicism was a key to steering the power of modern technology, science, and culture toward good rather than the evil--and they were both convinced that only a transformed Church could accomplish this. Both saw this transformation as the Council’s purpose and agenda.

When John addressed the Council’s opening session on October 11 1962 he called for a “New Pentecost.”  And when Montini became Pope Paul VI in the summer of 1963, he made that rebirth his own top priority.  As summer ended and the Council reconvened, Paul repeated John’s call for a “new Pentecost” and made it clear that John’s vision of a renewed and updated Church was now in the capable hands of his former friend and partner.

Two years later Paul addressed the United Nations just as the Council was finishing its work.  Here is how he described himself and the Church he represented:

Like a messenger who, after a long journey, finally succeeds in delivering the letter which has been entrusted to him, so we appreciate the good fortune of this moment, however brief, which fulfills a desire nourished in the heart for nearly twenty centuries. For, as you well remember, we are very ancient; we here represent a long history; we here celebrate the epilogue of a weary pilgrimage in search of a conversation with the entire world, ever since the command was given to us: Go and bring the good news to all peoples.

Paul VI addressing the UN General Assembly

And here is how he described the historic, even heroic vision that had inspired both him and John:

The hour has struck for our "conversion," for personal transformation, for interior renewal. We must get used to thinking of humanity in a new way...With a new manner, too, of conceiving the paths of history and the destiny of the world...The edifice of modern civilization must be built upon spiritual principles which alone can, not only support it, but even illuminate and animate it.

Looking back, we can only marvel.  The troubling questions that were provoked by John’s death in June 1963 were answered by summer’s end--but only later have we realized that the answers were engraved by the wisdom of divine Providence in the hearts of two men whose paths had converged 40 years earlier and whose shared accomplishment still touches us deeply, 50 summers later.

  © Bernard   F. Swain PhD 2013

# 83 Freedom’s Façade is Not Enough

A Selection From CrossCurrents Archives to Prepare for Election Day...

We’ve all been duped, from time to time, by Hollywood’s magic. We sit mesmerized by palaces and monuments, spaceships and ships at sea, ancient villages and frontier towns, and even places that exist only on another planet. Sometimes they’re only background pictures, or miniature models—but often they’re full-size sets, mere facades of buildings propped up from behind, beautiful balconies that beckon the hero through an elaborate doorway leading nowhere.

Falling for such facades is part of the make-believe pleasure movies give us, but real life is different. In life, we need to know if an attractive image has any inner life beyond the entryway.

Lately we’ve been hearing “freedom” ringing over our airwaves as repeatedly and rhythmically as the “Hail Mary” at a Rosary meeting. For Americans the word has the sound of sacred truth—who can be against freedom? And when “freedom” is linked to "democracy,” another sacred sound, the call to arms can be irresistible.

So maybe it’s time for some straight talk about freedom. It is an idea that was at the core of Christian faith from the very start. Its meaning and importance have evolved and expanded enormously over the course of Christian history. That history involves Christian theology, ancient and Christian and modern philosophy, varied moral theories, as well as a wide range of political philosophies emerging in recent centuries. That’s all too much to sort through here, but several key points should help get past the rhetoric to the reality:

Freedom is Not an Absolute Value. If everyone does whatever they want, they may be free—but chaos and anarchy are the result. As the old saying goes, my freedom to swing my arms ends at the tip of your nose. Total freedom may be impossible if people are to live together, so restraints are always needed. Iraq offers the perfect current example: until native police can ensure civil order, the freedom people have to commit mayhem and murder will collide with other values: the security and stability Iraq needs.

Freedom is not the Only Value. The American tradition links freedom to the Bill of Rights. But our founders aimed at more than freedom: their slogan “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness” reminds us that securing the rights of all is a balancing act among several sacred values.

The French Revolution touted freedom too, which is why the Statue of Liberty stands in New York Harbor as our oldest ally’s gift to us. But the French balanced “Liberté” with “Egalité” and "Fraternité,” and for more than 200 years the world has acknowledged that all of these, not just liberty, are the “passwords to democracy.” And sometimes those passwords conflict, and then freedom must be compromised. That’s why the pro-life movement knows “freedom to choose” cannot be the only value, if life is thereby jeopardized.

Elections do not produce Freedom. People choosing their own leaders is a good thing, but freedom requires more than that. After all, Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union and Iraq under Saddam all had elections too. If democratic freedom lies in “the consent of the governed,” then people are free only to the extent that they have a voice in all the decisions that govern them: in public policy, in corporate decisions, in the workplace and schools and social organizations and the family and even in the Church.

Choosing which leaders to hire is only a first step toward a real voice in all these areas. Even in America, we have a long way to go before we extend freedom to all areas of our lives—and we’ve been choosing our leaders for a long time (though male landowners have been voting much longer than other males, or females, or blacks).

“Freedom” Can Isolate Us. Often our modern secular culture has redefined “freedom” as a synonym for individual autonomy. To be “free” in this sense means to be left alone, to be unrestrained, to be independent of any obligations, to be subject to no authority except my own. To be “free” means to escape all outside interference—it’s what people mean when they talk about “getting government off our backs.” Carried to the extreme, of course, a “free world” would be a world full of unencumbered individuals who submit to no outside authority and owe each other nothing. This may be “rugged individualism” in its purest form, but it is a far cry from the Christian vision of a world where the golden rule binds us all together as our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers.

Freedom is not just a right.  The rise of modern democratic politics (since England’s Glorious Revolution in 1689) has tended to reduce “Freedom” down to the idea of a human right—the right not to be oppressed. Such “freedom” is merely an external condition that can be legislated by public declarations, and constitutions, and Bills of Rights. In Christian history, this external condition has often been called “formal freedom.”

But Christians have traditionally believed in another kind of freedom, often called “real freedom.” Real freedom isn’t just an external condition or right that can be formally declared, it is a capacity we find within us. Specifically, it is the power to act for the good—not only our own good, but also the good of others.

This goes way beyond freedom from oppression to define a freedom for facing up to life’s tough choices. The very idea of “sin” depends on the recognition that we don’t always make the right choices, even though we are free to do so. Christians have generally believed, in fact, that we humans are incapable of consistently doing the right thing without the help of God. On our own, we haven’t the power, the “freedom for” the choices we should make. But God’s grace is, in Christian faith, the force in our lives that supplies the power we need to do good. That’s why St. Paul says, “For freedom Christ has set us free,” and “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

All this means two things. First, true freedom is much more than we’re led to believe by public leaders. It’s not just something you can produce, like a rabbit from a hat, simply by holding an election or writing a constitution or winning a war. Freedom is not merely a social and political condition we humans create by public acts. It is a moral and spiritual capacity that god creates within each of us.

Second, as people of faith, we cannot sell freedom short, even if others do. Our first instincts are right—freedom is a sacred truth. But God doesn’t offer us freedom for nothing, or just so we can be independent from others. God expects us to respond to his grace, to cooperate with the power he’s given us, to use our power to do his will. If we treat freedom as mere independence or autonomy, we squander that gift and insult its divine giver.

How do we honor the giver? By seeing past the political facade of freedom to its spiritual interior. Popes Leo XIII and Pius XII taught that our mission to re-form the world according to God's plan relies on three spiritual forces: truth, justice, and love. In the early 1960s, John XXIII added a fourth spiritual force: freedom.

So, as Americans we should see freedom as the partner of “Life” and “The Pursuit of Happiness.” As democratic people, we should set Freedom alongside “Equality” and “Fraternity.” And as people of faith, we should embrace freedom as one of the forces the world needs—along with Truth, Justice, and above all Love—if we are to make our world the kind of place God wills it to become. Then we’ve found the fullness of freedom, well beyond its façade.

© Bernard F. Swain PhD 2005