I
really like this new Pope. Last Holy Thursday, he washed the feet of 12 people,
in a reenactment of Jesus Christ washing the feet of his 12 apostles. It’s a
ritual to reaffirm the Catholic Church’s commitment to humility, its highest
official himself submitting to this lowliest gesture. Nothing new there of
course except for this: The feet belonged to the inmates of a juvenile
correctional in Rome, two of whom were girls, and one of whom was Muslim.
It had
Christian traditionalists, who applauded Pope Benedict XVI’s efforts in the
past to restore grandeur and majesty to the papacy, howling their heads off. Of
course Pope Francis had done it before in Buenos Aires when he was still
Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio; he washed the feet of women along with men on
Holy Thursday, but they didn’t expect him to continue with that when he was
already pope. “The horror,” one conservative Latin American archbishop said.
“The official end of the reform of the reform—by example,” Rorate Caeli, one of
the traditionalist blogs, cried.
Elsewhere
the Pope’s act was welcomed enthusiastically by faithful and nonfaithful alike.
It was of course all of a piece with what Pope Francis had been doing these
last few weeks, and you are stunned to realize he has been pope for just a
month or so. Yet he might as well have been there for a year or more, given the
extent to which he has turned things around in the Vatican.
True
enough by example: From the very start, he shunned the regal trappings of the
papacy, opting for simpler vestments. On his inauguration as pope, he begged
off from wearing the red velvet cape, used for grand official functions,
preferring instead to just wear a simple white cassock. He received the
cardinals’ professions of loyalty not from a chair on a pedestal but standing
up on the same level with them.
Then on
Holy Thursday, he did the above. The following day, Good Friday, he led the
Stations of the Cross where the prayers that were recited at each cross were
composed by young Lebanese. They called for an end to “violent fundamentalism,
terrorism and the wars and violence which in our days devastate various
countries in the Middle East.” Pope Francis himself capped the meditations by
extending the hand of friendship to “our so many Muslim brothers and sisters”
who are suffering the same fate.
I
really like this new Pope. The power of what he has done, or at least
initiated, goes beyond his exhortations for us to hark to the needs of the
poor, to care for the poor, to help the poor. Or the marginalized generally,
which in Christendom has also meant, particularly during Benedict’s time, not
just the poor, but also women and non-Christians. That is no mean feat in
itself, wrought as it has been in such a short time. Indeed, wrought as it has
been amid ferocious opposition, within an institution that has seemed as
impervious to change as, well, a rock, as it calls itself.
But
more than this, the power of what he has done lies in that he has, true enough
by sheer example, persuaded us, guided us, compelled us, to see the poor.
Last
Holy Week was by no means the first time I saw a pontiff kissing the feet of
the lowly, the down-and-out. Other popes had done it in the past, it is
hallowed tradition during Lent. But this is the first time I’ve seen it and
been moved by it. That picture of Pope Francis last Thursday kissing the feet
of the modern-day version of the apostles was startling not just because of the
composition of the lot, which truly reminds us of how ragged and destitute the
original apostles were, but because it looked absolutely genuine. It wasn’t
just ritual, it wasn’t just routine, it wasn’t just something popes had to do
once a year. It was something he did out of belief, out of compassion, out of
an immediate and powerful connection with the poor.
Those
people weren’t just props in a Lenten rite, they were real people to him. He
had walked with them, talked with them, broken bread with them. He could see
them.
It’s
not the easiest thing to do, to see the poor. Particularly from the lofty perch
Pope Francis occupies now, particularly with the base jealousies and fears he
has unleashed among an elite unwilling to give up their privileges. You see
that right where we are. Though we teem with poor right at the heart of the
city, we do not see them. What we see are malls, cars and the bright lights of
the city. The poor are just the vague and fleeting shadows that weave around
cars and buses and jeepneys, badgering commuters for coin, but whose faces we
are not quite able to transfix into reality, into shape and form, into flesh
and blood.
We do
not see them. They are invisible. They might as well not be there.
Not to
Pope Francis. Any more than it is so to people like Chito Tagle and Tony
Meloto. It awes me that there are people like them, people who have reached the
heights they have, but who, having come from the poor themselves or hovered
around its margins, have never forgotten poor. They congregate with the poor,
they live with the poor, not out of obligation, not out of a sense of duty, but
because it is the most natural thing in the world. That is the congregation,
that is the faithful. The same congregation the founder of their church faced
every day, the same faithful the builder of their faith turned the once
faithless into. Pope Francis, Tagle, Meloto: They wash the feet of the poor not
just on Holy Thursday but every day, if in a figurative sense, and in doing so
they do not see a formless mass, they see people. They do not see slime and
grime, they see the faces of the apostles.
Before
you can be concerned with the poor, you must first see them. That is what Pope
Francis by everything he’s done these past weeks has been helping us to do. See
them.
He’s
the real deal, this Holy See.