Caritas In Veritate: The Two Popes and Hope For Us
In the last year, I’ve been increasingly disappointed in the believer-believer relationship. How at odds two can be, claiming to be in the same fight. How obvious an assault under the unsuccessful guise of correction, of truth. How silly we must seem to onlookers, God help us.
I was encouraged today rewatching one of my favorite films, The Two Popes, which tells the touching story of two men who have reached a theological conundrum. Both of great authority, both seeking the reparation of Christ’s church and doing so from entirely opposing ends.
Pope Benedict — a stodgy conservative from Germany who eats alone, consoling himself with classical music pieces, hiding behind his books and his study, terrified that his people might see him for who he really is.
Cardinal Bergoglio (who would eventually become Pope Francis) — a more forward-thinking archbishop who enjoys watching Argentinian fútbol, dancing the tango, who feels as though the transgressions of his lived experience must surely disqualify him from a place of popularity and power.
One believes God to be static, unmoving, and one believes God is to be found in all kinds of different places on our inevitably changing journeys. One believes giving communion is some kind of reward for the virtuous and one believes it is food for the starving. One believes a good house is built with strong walls to protect against an “anything goes” mentality and one is sure that Jesus’s mercy is the dynamite that blows down such walls — is a face that says, “the bigger the sinner, the warmer the welcome.” One of these men can hear the laughter of God and one, for the life of him, cannot.
Bergoglio implores Benedict to come right out and see that, “We have spent these last years disciplining anyone who disagrees with our line on divorce, on birth control, on being gay. While our planet was being destroyed, while inequality grew like a cancer. We worried whether it was alright to speak the Mass in Latin, whether girls should be allowed to be altar servers. We built walls around us, and all the time, all the time, the real danger was inside. Inside with us.” He goes on to speak about the disease of Catholic priests who have participated or been complicit in the molestation of young ones.
“I don’t agree with anything you say,” Benedict says back, placating his own pride.
Bergoglio, visiting the pope’s summer residence, comes over one night to do business. Benedict declines: “I know we have our differences, our disagreements but please, this evening, let’s be simply brothers together, shall we?” He retires to his grand piano and plays for Bergoglio his favorite Czech lullaby.
They talk about The Beatles and Benedict tells about how he once turned down an offer to play a show in “some church or something.” Bergoglio asks if he means Abbey Road and Benedict says yes, that’s the one, disinterested. Bergoglio leans back with a gobsmacked eye roll. He tells a seminarian joke about smoking and praying and Benedict takes too long to get it.
They break out a bottle of red wine which they both like, Benedict plays Enrique Granados, Bergoglio listens pleasantly, and they stumble clumsily like bowlegged fawn, feeling whatever common ground is beneath them.
We see Benedict trying the whole time to resign from the papacy and Bergoglio urging the pope to sign his papers in resignation of the bishopric. Both see a need for systemic reform and both feel ill-equipped for the heavy-laden job. After several humanizing days together, Benedict unwinds thoughtfully: “Your style and your methods are entirely different to mine but for some strange reason now I can see a necessity for a Bergoglio.”
If you watch it, you’ll get lucky to see two broken boys who have not heard the voice of God in quite sometime and coincidentally hear it again in the voice of each other.
Which leads me imperfectly to the crux of our issue and it’s that most of us are doing the very best we can with the information we have at our current cultural moment. Leaning right or left or probably tired of leaning at all. Making our next move based on whatever nuanced story we come from — the ways we were beaten into submission, forged by fear, encumbered by all we don’t know, or worse, encumbered by all we do. Kicked off the horse of our own inflated ego, antagonized intellectually rather than loved wholly, guided tenderly.
The common ground will be thin and crumbly but by God, it’s there. Making war, doing business hasn’t found it — shall we be simply brothers this evening instead? It seems to me if we are to hear the voice of God come through, there is much red wine to be had. Dancing in courtyards, whistling ABBA, sipping Fanta, eating pizza, telling irreverent jokes and then having to explain the punchline. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, I absolve you of your sins and offer you this reminder that “Truth may be vital, but without love, it is unbearable. Caritas in veritate.” Caritas in veritate — charity in truth.