#414: The Pope and His Saint: 10 Keys to Understanding Francis

Here are 10 reasons why our first Jesuit pope may in fact be the greatest “Franciscan” of all.

Once a pope makes the covers of Time and Rolling Stone, it’s obvious the PR machine is hard at work shaping that man’s public image.  This makes Pope Francis both more visible and easier to misunderstand, since PR is prone to pigeon-hole people so that our impressions of them are reduced to the mental equivalent of sound-bites.  When Rolling Stone says Francis is to John XXIII as Keith Richards is to Chuck Berry, it creates a sharp image for a generation raised on rock music, but gives us no insight into the difference between guitarists and popes.  To understand this pope, we need a more nuanced perspective.

Everyone knows that Francis is Jesuit.  And everyone knows he named himself after Saint Francis of Assisi.  So is worth asking: why choose the founder of the Franciscans rather than the famous Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier?  And the answer opens the gate to deeper understanding, for it turns out that our new pope is, in many ways, as much a “Franciscan” as he is a Jesuit.

Most Americans have a vague sense of Saint Francis’ importance.  San Francisco bears his name.  The California missions reflect the legacy of Franciscan missionaries.  The San Diego Padres are named after them. Some Americans attend Franciscan schools, and many coffee-lovers know that cappuccino is so named because its color matches the traditional Franciscan “capuche” (hood).

But to grasp this pope’s “Franciscan” identity, one must look to Saint Francis himself.  In a recent re-reading of Donald Spoto’s biography The Reluctant Saint, I found 10 ways in which the pope echoes the saint.  Each is a key to a fuller understanding of Pope Francis.

1. Identifying With the Poor.  Saint Francis made the poor a chief focus of his work.  This was a radical move in a time when (much like ours) the Church was seen as a place of privilege and ambition.  Spoto says “Francis’ identity with the social fringe could have been seen as a revolution against the Church.” He also points out that Francis chose poverty for himself as well.  This “did not primarily mean having no possessions but rather not been possessive about anything or anyone”--to make sure that nothing wedged into the bond between himself and God.

Pope Francis has likewise made the poor his priority from day one, and his work and lifestyle in Argentina and in Vatican City embody a commitment to a simple detachment from possessions.

2. Action Over Theory.  Saint Francis was a man of prayer, but he was no theologian.  Rather than ponder the subtleties of scripture, he acted out its Gospel spirit.  Thus he mixed contemplation and action, breaking the monastic tradition of cloistered living.  This fusion of the “via contemplativa” and the “via activa” proved a powerful inspiration for several 20^th century heroes: Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, Dag Hammarskjold, and Martin Luther King.  And it inspires Pope Francis today as he calls for a Church that proves its spiritual values by acting them out. This contrasts sharply with Benedict XVI, who never escaped the persona of an ivory-tower intellectual more comfortable in his study that in the trenches.

3. Preaching Peace and Service.  Saint Francis was known as a powerful but simple preacher, and Spoto tells us that the theme of his preaching was “Invariable: peace among individuals.” By this Francis meant the refusal to seek vengeance to defraud, to hurt others--but also it meant “the conformity of every life to the spirit of the gospel, which meant an ethic of loving service.”

Clearly Pope Francis has embraced Peace as his own theme: thus his early decision to wash the feet of prisoners (men and women, Christians and Muslims alike) and his recent public appeals for peace in Syria and Ukraine.

4. A New Model of Evangelization.  When Saint Francis abandoned the old monastic model, he introduced a new but simple strategy: he went out to people, “meeting them wherever they were and speaking to them in their own language and style.”

From the day of his election, Pope Francis has modeled himself on the saint: asking for the crowd’s blessing on his first appearance, wading into the slums of Rio during World Youth Day, proclaiming to clergy everywhere the need to become less enclosed, less “self-referential,” and to reach out to others.  When an Italian journalist (a non-believer) published an open letter to the pope, Francis personally called him to arrange an interview.

5. Rejecting Anger.  Saint Francis’ time was tainted, like ours, by corruption among clergy.  Yet he urged only charity in confronting them:

We must be careful not to be angry or disturbed at the sin of another, for anger and disturbance impede charity in us and others. 

In fact, this was the saint’s attitude to everyone: public sinners, reprobates, even felons.  That same attitude has been the pope’s all along.  He began by calling himself a sinner, uttered his famous “Who am I to judge?” about gays, and has proclaimed that atheists and non-believers can be good people and even partners in building peace and justice.  He has made himself a model of charity like his model saint. 

6. No Condemnations.  This attitude led both the saint and the pope to proclaim a God of mercy rather than condemnation. As Spoto observes:

There was in Francis none of the sanctimonious sensor; he rarely alluded to damnation, and he pronounced no condemnations against any person or any specific belief.  Such a loving, positive of the embrace of the Gospel had not been heard of in anyone’s memory. 

Clearly the pope has gone out of his own way to avoid anathemas, stressing God’s mercy at every turn and conveying the strong message that God’s church welcomes everyone.  Spoto refers to the saint’s “habit of forgiveness,” and we see this constantly in the pope.  Witness his recent moves to honor and rehabilitate the founder of liberation theology, Gustavo Gutiérrez, after years of Vatican censorship. 

7. Getting Beyond Rules.  When one of his friars became deathly ill fasting on Francis’ orders, Francis realized that his true power had to depend on something beyond rules:

From this time, he was on the alert never to set down all require adherence to an abstract set of laws; the norms of charity and good example would henceforth always take precedence.

When the pope washed the feet of laypeople instead of seminarians, when he refused to live in the papal palace, when he rode with fellow bishops to pay his own hotel bill, when he carried his own luggage--on all these occasions, Pope Francis shown a willingness, even a penchant, for making good example his priority even if it meant going beyond the rules, protocols, and customs that surround the papacy.

8. Courtesy.  Saint Francis was from a moneyed family. Early on he aspired to knighthood, and all his life he remained a francophile--so the spirit of chivalry was built into his character: “Ever the courtly knight, Francis believed that kindness and gratitude superseded mere human prescriptions.”

So for him, simple courtesy was often reason enough to set aside the usual norms.  When his old friend Jacoba arrived at his deathbed, she was challenging the rule against women in his private quarters.  But his chivalrous spirit prevailed even as he lay dying: “The command against it need not be observed in the case of this lady,” he said.

Pope Francis, like any pope, lives a life apart from others, yet he repeatedly demonstrates his own chivalrous nature.  Whether he is donning funny hats, waving a soccer jersey, joining a group of teens for history’s most famous “selfie,” kissing a man afflicted with skin disease, or simply allowing a young child to hug his leg while he continues preaching, the pope’s public appearances offer ample evidence of his natural kindness and warmth.

9. Doctrinal Conservatism.  Saint Francis broke no ground on church teachings.  Not only was he not a theologian or bishop, he was also essentially conservative in relation to the controversial movements of his day.  Against the heretical Cathars, he praised the material world.  He remained faithful to the Church’s creeds, he did not favor distributing vernacular bibles.  He did not even claim the right to preach doctrine at all.

So too, Pope Francis shows no inclination to challenge official teachings.  Rather, he seems bent (as was his namesake) on challenging the failure of even his fellow bishops to live up to those teachings or present them in an authentic way.  He seems especially convinced that many bishops have strayed from the central priorities of our tradition.  Like his namesake, he models a focus on the radical core of Catholic tradition over a preoccupation with its bells and whistles.  Ironically, this promotes a radical renewal without touching doctrine!

10. Resistance from the Guardians of the Status Quo. Spoto describes the gap between Saint Francis’ hopes for his “lesser brothers” and the clerical order the Franciscans became, and blames that gap on church officials bent on protecting the existing hierarchical system from Francis’ radical vision:

The hierarchy of the church, struggling to retain its identity against the tide of Muslims and heretics, simultaneously admired and feared Francis of Assisi…In the end, as institutions will do, the church did away with everything that identified the friars with the poor…The lesser brothers became a clerical order.”

Similarly, there are rumblings about disquiet among both the curia and the hierarchy about Pope Francis’ agenda--and the blogosphere is full of “traditionalist” Catholics already convinced this pope is dangerous, a heretic, or even the antichrist.

The difference, of course, is that Pope Francis has power that Saint Francis never had.  He can and has fired bishops, curial officials, and bureaucrats.  He can enforce his vision for a genuine, kind, non-judgmental Church that reaches out and makes service to the poor its priority.

In short, dealing with resistance is the one area where being a pope offers the advantage over being a saint!

But all told, these 10 qualities go long way to explaining what makes our new Francis tick.  For all his Jesuit training and experience, he clearly takes special inspiration from the saint whose name he chose, and whose rare qualities he echoes so loudly today.  In that sense, Pope Francis may be the greatest “Franciscan” of all.

  © Bernard  F. Swain PhD 2014

#413: Struggling to Evangelize? Meet the Beatles!

 Cultural historians have said that the Beatles “changed everything”--and that includes the US Catholic Church. 

As Catholic leaders try to cope with slipping numbers (of sacraments, worshipers, and revenue), they struggle to address cultural factors, often beyond their control, that altered the environment for Catholic life over the last several decades.  The Beatles are a significant case in point.

I have long considered the JFK assassination to be the event that closed the complacent social stability of the immediate post-war period in America (“the fifties”) and opened up a new era of turbulent cultural change (“the sixties”).  So it’s natural for me to see the Beatles’ US debut on the Ed Sullivan Show, just nine weeks after JFK was shot, as America’s first taste of the decade ahead.

With Ed Sullivan

  Hence CBS titled last week’s 50^th anniversary celebration of that event “The Night That Changed America.”

The 50th anniversary "Beatles Reunion"

To see how that change touched Catholic life, one must first recall the impact of the Beatles on pop music, in order to gauge their long-term cultural impact.

When hip-hop, dance, and “bubble gum” pop began to take over the music market in the mid-1990s, it finally ended rock & roll’s reign as America’s dominant pop music—a reign that lasted more than 40 years.  No type of popular music had ever dominated record sales, ticket sales, and the airways for such a long period.  In the past, popular music generally had shifted from one generation to another.  But Rock’s long reign meant that children born in 1990 grew up hearing the same music--often the same songs--their grandparents heard in the 1960s.  And the Beatles made this happen.

When the Beatles arrived on the scene, rock & roll was reeling from the loss of Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley, and had lost most of its popularity and power after only 10 years.  Record sales were bottoming out, and the airwaves were dominated by singers like Lesley Gore, Bobby Vinton, and the Four Seasons.  One heard few guitars, fewer pianos, and virtually no rock bands. Rock was on the verge of falling into minor cultural status, the same way that Swing, Big Bands, New Orleans Jazz, and Rag music had each fallen from popularity after brief periods of dominance during the 20^th century.

"The Night That Changed America"

But the Beatles changed all that, reintroducing the classic sounds of rock: guitars, drums, strong backbeat, and voices in harmony. Their runaway popularity opened a floodgate for the British Invasion, bringing The Rolling Stones and dozens of other rock bands in their wake.  This in turn reinvigorated the US rock scene, which generated hit-making bands for another 30 years.

In short, the Beatles saved rock music and, in doing so, laid a major pop-art foundation for the transformations of the sixties.  Once Bob Dylan followed their lead and went electric, rock was destined to become the defining music not just for baby boomers but also for their children.  Those children are now the very adults and parents who make up the largest group of “de-churched” Catholics in America.  In that sense, evangelizing means reaching out to a generation raised in the rock culture made possible by the Beatles.

But the Beatles change more than music, of course. They changed hair styles, language, and above all an attitude toward conventional ways and wisdom.

If John Lennon shocked Americans by suggesting that the Beatles had become “more popular than Jesus,” the shock was all the more acute for those who knew that he spoke the truth.

After their famous 1965 Shea Stadium concert, the Beatles retired from public performance.  So more than half of their career was spent recording music they never played in public.  For five years, this meant no tours, concerts, radio, or TV--no live performances of any Beatles songs written after Shea Stadium.  Such a move was without precedent, and remains unique today.  The Beatles became the first and only real “recording artists” in pop music.  We inherit the “standards” songs they created by the dozens not (as with traditional standards) as sheet music, but as actual, definitive performances by the authors themselves.

They abandoned the practice of marketing albums with one or two hit singles and ten unknown songs.  Instead, they produced albums full of songs that were radio hits in their own right, without ever being singles.

They also abandoned the common practice of singing music written by professionals songwriters, releasing albums written entirely by themselves, a practice that became the norm for rock bands everywhere ever since.  Thus it was no longer enough to sing or play, one also had to become a songwriter.

With the release of “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” in 1967, they broke new barriers. They invented the “concept album,” where the album’s songs, rather than a random collection, were related to a single theme.  They also printed all the lyrics on the album.  These innovations also took hold across the industry.

All this while their music evolved in all directions at once, incorporating classical forms, British music hall, country music and blues, and even Indian music and electronic avant-garde.  By the end of their brief careers, “rock music” denoted a musical range that had not existed even six years before.

Finally, the Beatles began Apple records, and became their own publishers.  To this day, their music is released on the Apple label.

In short, the Beatles broke virtually every existing rule of the music business, and in fact re-wrote those rules.  As Dave Groh said at the Ed Sullivan TV special last week, “The Beatles knew no boundaries.”

All this raises two questions.  First, how did they get away with it--how did they break all the rules and survive?  Second, what effect of that have on American culture?

The first one is easy.  The Beatles got away with it because their brilliant music made them so popular they could flaunt all the commercial conventions, do everything their own way--stop touring and promoting and appearing live--and still dominate record sales with every album.  And they sustained that brilliance-driven-popularity until they broke up.

What effect did this all have?  Well first of all it meant that the Beatles exhibited palpable irreverence for the established conventions of both their industry and the culture at large.  Like true sixties icons, they questioned authorities at every turn and often decided to simply go their own way.  And they inspired many others to follow suit.

But notice that, for the Beatles, “going their own way” did not mean fighting the system, or simply transferring from one record label or manager to another.  It meant taking their fate into their own hands without institutional support.  They no longer depended on impresarios to produce shows, agents to promote them, company executives to tell them what to do, marketers to tell them what would sell, or accountants to tell them how much to spend on the next album.

In other words, the Beatles declared their independence from virtually all of the institutions that had previously controlled nearly everyone in their field.  They pursued their careers and lived their lives as if they were perfectly content to continue on without needing those institutions at all.  By breaking from those institutions, they modeled a kind of existential freedom to others-- and, given their iconic status, “others” meant tens of millions of baby boomers and their children.

The Beatles were not, of course, the only cultural force moving to such “existential freedom” in the 1960s.  The folk movement, the civil rights movement, the student protests, the antiwar movement, and the feminist revival all fueled the growing feeling that depending as little as possible on institutions and institutional authority, traveling light and living “free,” was the best way to live.  Thus life became not about following rules, but about making choices.

The Beatles’ example inspired Steve Jobs, who considered them to be the very model businessmen of a new age. He named his company after theirs and dedicated himself to building a computer business that broke all the rules upon which IBM’s monopoly depended.  Apple computers won, and IBM’s dominance declined.

All of which brings us finally back to evangelization.  Catholic leaders seeking to reach out and welcome disaffected baby boomers and their children (Americans between 15 and 65) face an obvious cultural barrier.  Such leaders represent a massive institution with a highly visible authority structure.  They lead a Church that too often presented Catholicism as a set of rules to be followed under the threat of punishment.  Yet their target population has embraced a culture that prizes personal freedom, distrusts authority, dislikes institutions, and prefers to break rules whenever possible.

If it seems too much of a stretch to credit the Beatles for this gap between institutions and the 15-65 group, recall that the original “generation gap” of the sixties began with a clash between parents and their sons over the length of their sons’ hair.  More than any other image of the counter-culture’s rejection of conventional authority and institutions, long hair was the iconic emblem of a rebellious generation.  And where did those kids get their idea to adopt long hair as the sign of their personal declaration of independence?  Why, that idea came, of course, from the Beatles!

That generation approaches retirement today, but they and their children still prefer to live without depending on institutional rules and conformity to conventional ways. 

So our efforts at evangelization would do well to pause and “meet the Beatles”--that is, consider how we can approach people who are perfectly content to live without the institutional Church.  We’re asking them to join a faith community, and “community” is certainly a congenial notion for anyone raised in the 1960s.  But to the extent that “faith community” becomes code for institutional structures or rules, we risk alienating the very people we want to reach.

Our culture’s loss of respect for institutions, in other words, affects the church as much as (perhaps more than) any other institution in our culture.  We must acknowledge this fact, recognize that it results from factors beyond our control, and then think how to lighten our own institutional baggage as we reach out to others for whom such baggage will never be an attraction. 

Perhaps we can start by listing to the Beatles “Speaking words of wisdom: Let it be.”

  © Bernard  F. Swain PhD 2014

#412: Pete Seeger: Forever Young

We have lost one of America’s great prophetic voices—a sort of secular saint.

When I was a kid my father belonged to the Colombian Record Club.  It had begun in the mid 1950s with the advent of LP vinyl records, and offered a new record each month.  If a member did not reject that offer, the record would arrive automatically two weeks later.  Sometimes, we just didn’t reply fast enough, or the offer got lost in the shuffle.  In such cases we would get a record we knew nothing about, or at least had no interest in.

In 1960, one of those records was “Children’s Concert at Town Hall,” featuring a banjo-playing singer named Pete Seeger.

   
 We had no idea who he was, and he played what I had always thought of as “hillbilly music.” At first, listening evoked images of the Appalachian back country.  But before long his clear voice, his compelling songs and even his plinking banjo had seduced me.  Little did I know that Pete Seeger had primed me for the folk revival about to explode upon me and most of America.

My first Pete Seeger concert was in 1962 at the old Boston Arts Festival, held outdoors in a makeshift fenced-in theater on Boston’s Public Garden.  The singer had just returned from a voyage in search of music in Africa, and shared many songs with us that today would qualify as “world music.” I remember being struck, at age 13, by several things: the immediacy of his stage presence, the rapt attention of his listeners, and his ability to engage us and the performance by getting us to sing along.

Over the next 50 years I would see Pete Seeger several more times: at Fenway Park in 1968, in the Victory Gardens on Boston’s Fenway in the 1970s, and a union-benefit concert in 1982 in Athol, Massachusetts.  By that time I would be grown, married, with two kids, and by that time Pete Seeger’s legacy would already be part of my life in more ways than one.

BOB DYLAN WITH PETE

The most obvious way was folk music itself.  My adolescence and early adulthood were profoundly enriched by the recordings and concert performances of Joan Baez, Peter, Paul, and Mary, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, the Band, Jim Kweskin, Tom Rush, and Arlo Guthrie--all inspired by Pete Seeger’s work.

SPRINGSTEEN

CABREL

 Part of that enrichment, of course, included a socially significant subset of folk music: protest songs.   That tradition, linking music with social justice, extended to other prominent artists from the 1960s (Tom Paxton, Phil Ochs), and beyond that to the 21st century (Bruce Springsteen) and even abroad (France’s Francis Cabrel).

This link between music, art, and social awareness crystallized at the 1963 march on Washington, where folkies Peter, Paul, and Mary grafted urban folk onto the civil rights movement, and where Pete Seeger’s version of “We Shall Overcome” (which he first performed for Martin Luther King in 1957) became the movement’s national anthem.

And that song, more than any other, certifies Seeger’s status as the greatest song leader in American memory.  Pete was simultaneously so controlled and so charismatic that he could teach a song’s lyrics, leave the main tune to the crowd, and accompany them with two harmony lines--all it once, and with no accompaniment but his thundering 12 string guitar.  To hear Pete in action is to witness breathtaking genius paired with fervent conviction. I know no more powerful example of song leading than Pete Seeger's profoundly moving AND mobilizing, absolutely inimitable rendition of this song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2b24Ewk934g

Audiences were simultaneously galvanized and mesmerized. I recall the story from the Newport Folk Festival, back in the 1960s days when crowd control often broke down and rioting sometimes ensued. One night, in the middle of his concert, the lights went out in the stadium, but Pete kept them rapt and safe for more than 30 minutes in the dark.

And Pete Seeger’s skill as song leader did more than inspire audiences and social activists.  It also inspired an entire generation of sacred musicians, who launched the popular form we came to call “Folk Mass.” In parishes across America, song leaders playing guitars replaced choirs, or organ music, or no music at all.  Few of them possessed Seeger’s gifts, and many played faddish music that no one remembers, but it nonetheless marked a dramatic, even profound shift in Catholic worship.  In the best cases (of which they were thousands), it led to a substantial increase in participation in the Mass by Catholic congregations who were previously accustomed to mere passive observance.

My college years were deeply marked by this shift.  Each night at 11:00 PM, 100 or so students would gather for Mass in the campus chapel to sing along with Paul Quinlan, S.J. and his small ensemble.  Quinlan had set dozens of the Psalms to music in folk style, and the mimeographed lyrics served as our prime musical resource night after night.

 Less than five years after my first sight of Pete Seeger (which came just weeks before the opening of Vatican II in October 1962), Catholic liturgy was already transformed from a silence-bound, hidden, “sotto-voce” ceremony into a vibrant community celebration.  This was, of course, exactly what Pete hoped for his music in general, though he never had any direct involvement with church music:

At our college baccalaureate, Quinlan led the gathered graduates and families in singing “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”—Seeger’s poignant lament for war’s waste of life.  The selection was neither random nor political.  It was pastoral: we sang it in memory of the 17 alumni already killed in Vietnam as of 1970, with--we assumed rightly--more to follow.

Years later, as a parent, I was pleased to raise my kids in the “folk-mass” environment provided by Ken Meltz and Boston’s downtown Paulist Center.  For them, the first post-Vatican II generation, Mass was from the very start a communal exercise in active participation.

Seeger did not, of course, write much sacred music, yet ironically his two most famous works had sacred roots.  The Los Angeles rock group The Byrds scored a #1 hit by recording Pete’s “Turn, Turn, Turn,” which was based on the book of Ecclesiastes.  And Pete’s version of “We Shall Overcome” was adapted from a traditional gospel song, which itself was probably based on the old Latin (and Catholic) hymn “O Sanctissima.”

But as powerful as Seeger’s musical influence was, his cultural impact was far wider.  Whenever I struggled in my role as a father, I could hear Pete remind me that “parents have the most difficult and important job in the world.  But they also get the best pay: hugs and kisses.”

Beyond that, Pete taught me a number of valuable life-lessons. 

He taught me the value of participation--in public life, in liturgy, and in collaborative leadership.

He taught me the value of authenticity, displaying the same kind of natural humility that has made Pope Francis so instantly popular.

He taught me the value of healthy discontent--not as an ideological posture, but as an antidote to hide-bound conformity.  Here is how he introduces a final new verse of “We Shall Overcome”:

The best verse is the one they wrote down in Montgomery, Alabama: “We are not afraid.”And the young people taught everybody a lesson—all the older people that had learned how to compromise, learned how to take it easy, and be polite, and get along, and leave things as they were. The young people taught us all a lesson.

He taught me hope, if only because he chose a life of fearless struggle and was unrelenting well into his 90s.

He taught me the value of irreverence--how not to idolize authority.  In a real way, he was the wisdom figure behind the iconic 1960s bumper sticker “Question authority.” 

 Finally, Pete Seeger taught me the value of preserving one’s youth well into old age.  Against the old adage “youth is wasted on the young,” Pete refused to lament as he aged.  Instead, he recycled his own inner youth all through his life.  Even at 93, with his singing voice gone, his youth had not yet been wasted, as he proved in this “ageless” version of Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young”:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ezyd40kJFq0

“You’re never too old to change the world”

  © Bernard  F. Swain PhD 2014