I am now continuing with my promise to put up more about Pope John Paul I. I don’t think that I could do better than to begin my commemoration of these two months that mark the 30th anniversary of his election and death than by posting his homily on the death of Pope Paul VI, who died 30 years ago this month, on Agust 6, 1978. Patriarch Luciani gave this homily at the memorial Mass in the basilica of San Marco in Venice on August 9. This beautiful homily acquires a special significance in light of the fact that less than three weeks later, Luciani himself was asked to take on the task of governing the Church in its “universal dimensions” when he was elected Pope John Paul I.
What is particularly moving to me about this homily is Luciani’s just judgment of Pope Paul’s work for the Church, his compassionate understanding of his personality, and the stress that the Pope’s job is often to suffer. In his first Angelus talk, in fact, on that unforgettable day after his election, on August 27, 1978, Papa Luciani said, “In the fifteen years of his pontificate, this Pope showed not only me but the whole world how to love, how to serve, and how to work and suffer for the Church of Christ.” No, the Smiling Pope was not blind to the suffering of his job. But neither was he overwhelmed by it, as some have said.
It also should be noted that Luciani supported and defended the Pope’s decision to release the encyclical Humanae Vitae in spite of the majority opinion of the papal commission on birth control. Luciani himself had hoped for a change. But he always resolutely defended the decision. Popularity, he stresses here, is not the Pope’s aim. I should add that there have been false things written about John Paul I’s possible plans in regard to artificial contraception as Pope, and I hope to address them in a subsequent post.
The homily was translated from the printed Italian version, but the last paragraph of it was an addition to the text that was later reported, probably taken from the video or audio tape of the event.
“I WILL BE CALLED PAUL”
“By what name do you wish to be called?” he was asked fifteen years ago at the end of the conclave. He said: “I will be called Paul.” Those who knew him would have sworn to us that this would be the name he would choose. Cardinal Montini had always been a passionate lover of the writings, the life, and the dynamic energy of the great Apostle of the Gentiles. And he lived his “Pauline quality” fully and to the last. Last June 29, he spoke of the fifteen years of his pontificate, and he made his own the words that Saint Paul, also near his end, had written to Timothy, “I have preserved and defended the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7). That the faith should be preserved and defended was the first point of his program. In his coronation address, on June 30, 1963, he had declared: “We will defend the Holy Church from the errors in doctrine and morals, which, from within and from without her borders, threaten her integrity and dim her beauty.”
St. Paul had written to the Galatians: “If an angel from heaven should preach to you a Gospel not in accord with the one we have delivered to you, let a curse be upon him.” (Gal. 1:8). In our day we might think of culture, being modern, and being up-to-date, as “angels,” and these are all things which Pope Paul cared about very deeply. But when they appeared to him to be contrary to the Gospel and to sound doctrine, he said no inflexibly. It is enough to mention Humanae Vitae, his “Creed of the People of God,” the position that he took in regard to the Dutch catechism, and his clear affirmation of the existence of the devil. Some people have said that Humanae Vitae was suicide for Paul VI, the collapse of his popularity, and the beginning of savage criticism. Yes, in a certain sense, but he had foreseen it and again, along with St. Paul, he said to himself: “Who would you say I am trying to please at this point — man or God? . . . If I were trying to win man’s approval, I would surely not be serving Christ” (Gal. 1:10).
St. Paul had also said of himself: “I have been crucified with Christ” (Gal. 2:19). Paul VI confided: “Perhaps the Lord has called me to this (pontifical) service, not indeed because I had any aptitude for it, or so that I might govern the Church and save her from her present difficulties, but so that I might suffer something for the Church, and that it might be clear that He, and no one else, guides her and saves her.” He has also said, “The Pope has the difficulties that come first of all from his own human weakness, which, at every moment, is faced with, and almost in conflict with, the enormous and immeasurable weight of his duties and responsibilities.” At times that can even become agony.
The Corinthians made the following evaluation of Paul: “His letters are severe and forceful, but when he is here in person, he is unimpressive and his word makes no great impact.” (2 Cor. 10:10). We have all seen Paul VI on television or in photographs embracing Patriarch Athenagoras: he looked like a little child, disappearing between the arms of a giant with an imposing beard. Even when he spoke, his voice was rather somber; rarely did it reveal the conviction and enthusiasm that were boiling inside him. But his thought! But his writings! These were truly clear, penetrating, profound, and sometimes finely sculpted. “Today the peoples in hunger,” he has written, for example, “are making a dramatic appeal to the peoples blessed with abundance. The Church shudders at this cry of anguish and calls on each one to give a loving response of charity to his brother’s cry for help.” Development, yes, but the full development “of every man and of the whole man.” “Every man,” and not only the fortunate class, “the whole man,” meaning that man must have the means to develop and progress, not only in the economic dimension, but also in the moral, spiritual, and religious dimensions. “To do more, know more, and have more, in order to be more” (Popularum Progressio, nos. 3, 13, 34, 6).
But St. Paul was above all the Apostle of the Gentiles, of those who then were considered outsiders to the Jews. He fought for them, in spite of the perplexity of the other apostles, and he traveled and suffered so much on their behalf. He wrote: “Five times at the hands of the Jews I received forty lashes less one, three times I was beaten with rods; I was stoned once, shipwrecked three times; I passed a day and a night on the sea. I traveled continually.” (2 Cor. 11:24-26). Like him, Paul VI has traveled 80,000 miles by air: Palestine, India, the headquarters of the United Nations, Fatima, Turkey, Colombia, Africa, and the Far East, have been the principal stages of his travels. All of these travels, perhaps, have not obtained any conversions, but they have created a feeling that the Church is close to the peoples of the world and their problems.
Another type of closeness — or better rapprochement — that Paul VI has sought, is that of contacts with governments that profess themselves atheist. A sensitive point, this: the Pope has been criticized on it by some. Undoubtedly, there was a risk. But a limited and calculated risk. Limited, because he did not give way on principles, on the basis of the Gospel saying iota unum aut unum apex non praeteribit a lege [not the smallest letter of the law, nor the smallest part of a letter, shall be done away with] (Mt. 7:18). Calculated, because, although with sometimes slender hope, he sought the advantage of religion. There is the problem of so many Catholics living under persecuting governments: the Pope really must send them bishops or try to obtain for them a few crumbs of religious liberty. The atheists themselves are a problem: there are so many, so many; can the Church shut itself off from them? St. Paul had written “I have made myself all things to all men, in order to save at least some of them.” (I Cor: 9:22). Why then, not admire the courage of a Pope who takes risks? When Pius VII was negotiating the concordat with Napoleon, he had open opponents even among the cardinals. “Negotiate with that criminal!” they said. “And sweep away from their dioceses all the old bishops, many of whom can be considered martyrs for the faith! And put in their place the bishops that the First Consul wants!” Pius VII, with anguish in his heart, asked the old bishops to suffer, or made them suffer, not only for the Church, but also from the Church; he made to the First Consul all the concessions that were morally legitimate in order to have, in return, tremendous advantages for religion. Naturally, the happy outcome of the negotiations were not seen immediately, but with time. History runs its course and repeats itself. So does the history of the Church.
In the patriarchal archives, there still exist some letters exchanged between Patriarch Roncalli and the deputy Secretary of State Montini. The Pope, Roncalli writes in one, wants a certain priest in Rome: granting this is a heavy sacrifice for Venice, but I am granting it, because in the Church “we must see broad and far.” Thank you, Montini answered him; thank you for the priest you gave up, and for the “broad and far.”
My brothers and sisters, no man is perfect; even Paul VI, who we mourn so deeply, may perhaps have done some things imperfectly. It seems to me, however, that, very cultured as a man, exemplary as a priest, as Pope he truly saw “broad and far.”
All of us must lift our gaze beyond every boundary and all work in a truly evangelical spirit, beyond every limit, with the Church of Christ, in universal dimensions.
Translated by Lori Pieper
From Albino Luciani, Opera Omnia, 8:584-86.
This is a photo of the event John Paul mentioned in that same Angelus talk, when Paul VI, in a prophetic gesture, “invested’ him with the papal stole in front of the Basilica of San Marco, on September 16, 1972. He said, laughing, “I have never turned so red!”
I’m amazed to realize it’s been over a month since I’ve posted anything here. I’m also amazed that I’ve posted so little so far about one of the things I hold most dear – my work on the life of Pope John Paul I, who died 30 years ago this September 28. It’s also the 30th anniversary of that whole “year of three Popes”: of the death of Paul VI, the unexpected election and even more unexpected death of John Paul I, and the election of John Paul II, the “Pope from a far country” — all incredible historical events. Beginning with Pope Benedict’s visit, I seem to have become absorbed again with all things papal, including my research on Papa Luciani, the 33-day Pope. So I’ve decided that I’ll post a series of things on the anniversary here. And first of all the story, from the beginning, of my devotion to John Paul I.
I was 22 in August 1978, just about to return to my senior year at the University of Northern Iowa. On the afternoon of Sunday, August 6, I was reading a biography of Pope Paul VI on the couch in the living room, when the TV programming was interrupted for the announcement of his death. I was very struck by the coincidence.
This was the first papal election I was able to follow as an adult (I was only seven years old when Pope John XXIII died and Pope Paul was elected). As a Catholic, maturing in my faith, it was an important time of learning and study for me. I had recently been reading the history of the papacy and the biographies of various Popes. I had read and been deeply moved by Pope John’s Journal of a Soul. I read works on the Second Vatican Council.
Now I followed the conclave, and descriptions of the history of papal elections with tremendous interest. And I thought about the late Pope, his work for the Church, and who should be his successor. None of the photos or biographies of the papabili (possible popes), such as Benelli, Pignedoli, Siri, Ursi. . . struck me at all.
As I was heading back to school on August 25, I took with me one of the Catholic papers that had published a two-page spread with the names and photos of all 111 of the cardinal electors. It was there for the first time that I saw Albino Luciani’s face and name. I don’t remember what the picture looked like – I do know he wasn’t smiling in it; it was an “official” photo. But I remember thinking with great interest: hmmm, he’s Patriarch of Venice – just like Pope John! It was only a momentary thought, but that was how I became one of the very few people in the U.S. perhaps to really linger over Luciani’s name or even know who he was, before his election. If the paper had only published the names of the papabili cardinals, his name probably wouldn’t even have been there. He was barely mentioned among the possibilities even in Rome. . .
I got to my dorm, greeted my roommate, and started unpacking. Classes would start on Tuesday. On the news, I watched as the cardinals entered the conclave.
The next day was Saturday, August 26. I wasn’t expecting anything the first day of the conclave, which was supposed to be a long one. I was in my dorm room reading one of my new textbooks early that afternoon when a voice from the radio or TV in the next room told me that Albino Cardinal Luciani had been elected Pope, and had taken the name John Paul I. It was perhaps the greatest surprise election in papal history! I turned on our TV in time for his first blessing. All I can say is that my heart turned a somersault when I saw the new Pope smile so warmly and beautifully as he opened his arms and then waved to the crowd.
I was enthralled as I learned in the next days about how the new Pope would not be crowned but would simply put on the pallium to mark the beginning of his service as bishop of Rome. I learned that he refused the sedia gestatoria and would just walk among the people. (All that seems so far away now in the era of the Popemobile – but at that time it was revolutionary. And John Paul I started it all). I read the texts of his simple talks full of love and wisdom. I looked on in amazement at the very few news clips I was able to watch, as he smiled so radiantly and transmitted such Christian joy to the world. I began collecting all the information I could about him right away, and started a file of news clippings and photos. Then, barely a month after his election, on September 29, I got up and got ready for class. On my way to our dorm cafeteria for breakfast, I stopped in the little student lounge next door to read the paper – and learned that our wonderful new Pope had died during the night. I was devastated.
In all the years since then, John Paul I has remained a spiritual father and teacher to me. I found him an inspiration not only as Pope, but as priest, bishop and cardinal. I learned Italian so I could read all his works from his years in Vittorio Veneto and Venice in the original language, and went through a great deal to get some of those works from Italy. I hoped to write a biography of him, because there wasn’t one in English. (They eventually published his collected works in nine volumes — I have those too).
Then in 1984, a bombshell. An English writer, David Yallop, claimed that John Paul I had been murdered in a book, In God’s Name, that became a best-seller – a work that I thought from the beginning to be pure fiction. But it spurred my interest in writing my biography and trying to refute his claims. At that time I was in graduate school, and started thinking about a trip to Italy to work on my thesis (which was on modern Italian history), and to do some research on the Pope at the same time. The university gave me a grant.
So in the fall of 1985, I went to Italy. I met Pope’s brother, Edoardo Luciani and his wife Anonietta, in Rome, and with them I attended the Mass celebrated by John Paul II marking the seventh anniversary of his death. I went with them to Canale D’Agordo, John Paul’s birthplace, and stayed with them in their home for a week (I even slept in the same guest room that the Pope had used on his visits home through the years). I traveled through the Veneto and interviewed those who knew Luciani in Belluno, Vittorio Veneto and Venice. I got the information I needed to refute Yallop’s claims. I put several years’ work into a full-scale biography of John Paul I. No major publisher in the U. S. would touch it (”not sensational enough”) they told me. That’s because I was going to claim he wasn’t murdered. No Catholic house I contacted would publish it either. “A major publisher should do it,” they said, “so more people will know the truth.” My work fell completely through the cracks.
In 1988, the tenth anniversary of John Paul I’s election, came new claims from another “journalist” (I use the term loosely), named John Cornwell, who actually got permission from the Vatican to investigate the Pope’s death within its walls. In the resulting book, A Thief in the Night, he too concluded that the Pope wasn’t murdered – instead he suggested that the new Pope was a simple country pastor, a nervous and timid character, who was incapable of handling the enormous responsibility, and longed to escape the intolerable burden of being Pope. He claims that John Paul was seriously ill and neglected by the Vatican staff. In short, he as good as willed himself to die. . . . An equally ridiculous conclusion for anyone who really knew anything at all about John Paul I’s life and papacy. I set out to add more material to this book to refute these new absurd claims. I got an English publisher interested. He wanted an American house to co-publish it, and started looking for one. But eventually everything fell through.
This took me to around 1994. I eventually had to acknowledge that the book wasn’t going to be published any time soon. I went back to graduate school at Fordham and eventually got my Ph.D. But with the help of the Missionary Servants of John Paul I, the Carmelites of Flemington, NJ, and other lovers of Papa Luciani, I have kept up my work, and translated many of his writings over the years for the English-language version of Humilitas; a collection of these translations was published in the book The Smiling Pope: The Life and Teaching of John Paul I, published in the U.S. in 2004 by Our Sunday Visitor Press. It was accompanied by a short biography by one of the Carmelite nuns in Flemington. This is the only accurate work in English so far. Countless other nonsensical theories about the Pope’s death are proliferating everywhere, many on the Internet.
Many petitions have been sent to Rome through the years, asking for the canonization process of John Paul I to be opened. John Paul II and now Benedict XVI (both of whom knew Albino Luciani as cardinals) have expressed deep admiration for him. On the third anniversary of Pope John Paul I’s election, John Paul II said to the people gathered for the Angelus: “Let us pray to good Pope John Paul I especially for the Church so greatly loved by him that he may obtain for us the grace of unity and sanctity.” Not quite canonization by fiat, but still pretty close. Before he was elected Pope Benedict XVI, Cardinal Ratzinger said of Papa Luciani in an interview, “I am completely convinced he is a saint.”
In 2003, not long before John Paul II’s death, Rome gave permission for the diocesan process of his predecessor to be opened in Belluno (the diocese where Luciani was born). It was concluded in November 2006, and the case in now in Rome. A miracle has been selected for evaluation. Perhaps his beatification will come soon. . . maybe even together in a joint ceremony with that of his successor, John Paul the Great. At any rate, I can now truly hope one day to venerate my dear Papa Luciani as Pope Saint John Paul I.
And with that, and the 30th anniversary of his death, I’m beginning to think my biography will have a chance. Plus, I now have a publishing company of my own to print it, if I can ever update it and finish it. I also have this blog now, to spread the word.
So you can expect me to be writing more in the next few weeks and months. I’ll talk about the Pope’s life, the truth about his death, and perhaps even post translations of a few of his writings. Se Dio vuole, “if God wills,” as Papa Luciani used to say.
And if you don’t believe me about his smile, or have forgotten, just watch this clip of his first blessing on the evening of his election (be patient, it’s at the very end).
Update on June 12
I got to thinking that the original video, which was not by me, is a little blurry — so I put together another one myself, from the news clips and pictures I’ve gathered, that I hope recreates the joyful feeling of those few days. (Check out the part beginning at 1:14 when he’s with the journalists and you’ll see what I mean!).
Just wanted to add that a couple of days ago, I made a contribution to the agonized theological debate over “why did the chicken cross the road?” that has been called “fantastic” and “hysterical” by the Ironic Catholic — I can assure you that this is the first time any of my jokes have been called this. I will have to put this site on my permanent blog roll!
You can read all the inspired contributions here. (Scroll down to the bottom to find mine).
Pausing to look at all the sights on our way to Jerusalem. . . Mainly about faith, the Church, film, writing, famous Christian authors, and anything else I'm interested in at the moment.
Quote of the Month
"Anxiety cannot be cured by a surrender to passions and instincts; the basic cause of our anxiety is a restlessness within time, which comes because we are made for eternity. If there were anywhere on earth a resting place other than God, we may be very sure that the human soul in its long history would have found it before this."
