And trusting the Holy Spirit will touch the men who are called to be there
By George Valadie
On occasion you’ve heard someone toss out the question, “If you could share a meal with anyone, past or present, with whom would you choose to dine?”
Sometimes this query is posed as part of a unique job interview, or possibly as an icebreaker in a gathering of new employees, and sometimes it’s the last bullet you’ve got at a boring party with boring people.
But regardless of the setting, the answers can be diverse and amazing. Some seek a glimpse into the mind of genius—DaVinci or Curie, Socrates or Einstein. Others want to walk through the psyche of the courageous—Churchill or Lincoln, Rosa Parks or Joan of Arc.
Still others have a curiosity to discern the motivation underlying evil—Hitler, Manson, Jack the Ripper.
And, of course, for many—they just want a glimpse of the Christ.
I may be weird, but I’ve always preferred to imagine unique “situations” in the world where I would have loved to have been present, no matter the personalities there. Sitting “up close and personal” in the front row of history.
And sometimes, when I’m thinking way too highly of myself, I’ve even imagined being a participant, perhaps contributing some microbe of insight that might have impacted, or perhaps reshaped, what we read in the history books of today.
(You’d think I don’t have enough to do, wouldn’t you?)
For example, I’ve always wanted to be in the Situation Room of the White House when the air is tense and the decisions are critical. How does it work? Who speaks? Who dares not?
Morbid as it sounds, I would have wanted to have been in the operating room at Parkland Hospital in 1963 Dallas when President Kennedy was wheeled in. To see the chaos unfold and the trauma unit battle back. Some trying to save their leader; others already trying to save their job.
Imagine those days when Pilate pondered Christ’s fate with his wife and advisers. I wish I could have peeked at his spiral notebook—one a list of “pros,” another of “cons.” Did anyone dare offer advice or question his decision? And what would I have said if he had turned and asked, “So, what do you think?”
On the more joyous end of life, who wouldn’t want to have been standing right beside Dr. Christiaan Barnard when that first-ever transplanted heart lit up the EKG—on its own. Talk about joy!
But most of all, I would trade our dog and a daughter to get to close the door of the Sistine Chapel—from the inside—just after the papal conclave was called to order. “OK, folks, everyone else needs to go! We’ve got some work to do here.”
I’d have wanted to stay. To sit in the corner. Wouldn’t have taken a selfie or a keepsake photo. Wouldn’t have whispered a word. They could have taken my iPad, iPhone, and laptop. Forever. I’d just love to have been there.
I don’t think it’s a sacrilegious desire. In fact, I imagine I’m hardly in the minority.
There are the mysteries in our faith we shall never know. And then there are the secrets few of us get to know. And this one has long intrigued me.
Let me be clear: I wish we didn’t have to have another one. I will miss Pope Francis. Not everyone’s favorite, I know, but he was mine.
He was but hours into the job, and I knew I would love him.
With the votes tallied, white smoke in the skies, and all the participants headed back to their lodging, he declined the papal limousine and instead hopped on the minibus with those who had changed his life. “No thanks, I’m going back with the guys.”
Those same voting cardinals were headed to the Vatican guesthouse set aside for them, but Francis had opted to stay instead at a nearby Sisters-run hotel for regular clergy. On the morning after, he showed up at the front desk to check out, “I need to settle up for my room.” And as the clerk turned to look for his paperwork, he offered, “Oh, yeah, I may have checked in under a different name.”
No, humor and humility do not qualify one to be the spiritual leader of the world’s Catholics, but I somehow felt like they had elected a regular person who would look after the 1.4 billion of us other regular people. And that’s who we are mostly.
When I heard he’d said, “You can’t shepherd the poor if you don’t smell like the sheep,” he demonstrated the only qualifications for which many had prayed.
Yet, here we were once again, praying the cardinals might somehow again find the next right “guy,” though all 1.4 billion of us have different opinions of who and what that might be.
Francis had been elected on the second day and the fifth ballot. Some past conclaves have been a bit more arduous. The worst? Upon the death of Pope Clement IV, they couldn’t agree—for three years.
When finally elected, Pope Gregory X’s first order of business was to reform the conclave process. Smart man.
In a more recent gathering, reputable sources tell of Cardinal Carlo Martini who—in a pre-conclave discussion about favorites and likelies—was being seriously considered by many voters as a possible option to the other most-discussed name, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger.
However, in the days just prior to the start of the conclave, Cardinal Martini is said to have confided to friends, “The next pope is already chosen. I have seen the white light around him.”
Though unwilling to share a name, he declined to campaign (as some very much do), nor would he allow his name to gain traction.
And when Cardinal Ratzinger (Benedict XVI) was elected, Martini said, “This is as it should be.”
And it was. Needless to say, not all of them experience the Holy Spirit in the same way.
On a Sunday before this year’s conclave, a priest we know offered something similar, “… the Holy Spirit has already chosen the next pope. It’s just the cardinals don’t know it yet. But they will.”
And there. Right there. That’s what I’ve been wanting to see for so long. To watch the Holy Spirit at work in a room of 100-plus men charged with getting it right for the world. I’ve wanted to see the grace of God at work.
And to see if His inspiration among our Church leaders looks different than when He chats with me. Because honestly, I’ve never been able to tell when He’s speaking to me or when I’m just talking to myself. Imagining it’s Him. Hoping it’s Him. Praying it’s Him.
All these people and events of our history were put in their place and their time for a reason. But none included us.
Thus, it only seems reasonable—or my personal faith tells me—He must need us here for this place and this time. But it’s just so hard to know why and what and the will of God.
Here’s hoping they hear Him more clearly than I do.
Dear God—You put us in this time and place for a reason. What is it? Amen.
George Valadie is a parishioner at St. Stephen Church in Chattanooga and author of the book “We Lost Our Fifth Fork … and other moments when we need some perspective.”
