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What did the funeral of Pope Francis in Rome say to the world about today’s Catholic Church? A Catholic requiem mass and funeral is almost always impressive; it holds grief within the formal framework of a profound and meaningful liturgy. A Pope’s funeral does much more. A spectacular ceremony, the words, symbols, prayers, deep human emotions and messages, attract a global audience. Where else and when do the world’s national and political leaders - except perhaps on this occasion Trump - appear like respectful but unimportant spectators, awkward bystanders hoping a fraction of the crowd’s devotion might rub off on them?
At the most trivial, the Church’s farewell to a Pope says that the Vatican is as good as Britain at creating a spectacular, memorable, newsworthy event. Better actually. We really don’t need , pace Alastair Campbell, mawkish labels like the “People’s Pope”. The backdrop, St. Peter’s Basilica, the beautiful square, take a lot of beating, made for that unique mixture of gravitas and solidarity that can bring silence to a crowd of a quarter million. Pope Francis’ funeral was an unusual event for the Vatican, the grand assertion of hierarchy somewhat sabotaged by the memory of his life and his wishes for the ceremonies accompanying his death. The plain coffin, the journey metaphorically across the tracks to Santa Maria Maggiore on the converted Popemobile, the homeless and vulnerable waiting to greet his body in death as he had greeted them in life, were fulfilling his instructions. And in case anyone missed the message, Cardinal Re in his sermon delivered a faithful, fearless account of Francis’ priorities: respect for human dignity and the environment, caring for immigrants, building ‘bridges not walls’, and ‘war always a defeat for humanity’. These reminders drew applause from the crowds in Rome and doubtless also the watching millions at home. The BBC did a good job. Watching on TV, we had a proficient translator, though sadly not for the bidding prayers - no indication who was giving them either - and many must have been wondering if President Trump would understand what Cardinal Re, who spoke in Italian, was saying . It was refreshing not to have any commentary for much of the time but, when it was needed, clear explanation for non-Catholic viewers. And yet… and yet. The view of the pall-bearers moving with dignity – one doing a little surreptitious puffing – and from high above inside the basilica the two lines of Cardinals, captivating camera-work. And when the Cardinals processed out of the Basilica it reminded me of the clergy at Westminster Cathedral processing for Cardinal Hume’s funeral. Not a woman in sight. It must have said to many of those watching “the Church still doesn’t get it”. One woman from the Vatican Press Office had brief prominence in the Mass, giving the first reading . Two others made very short appearances during the bidding prayers. No sign of any Women Religious (nuns), let alone the few women appointed to senior positions in Vatican departments. We saw nuns in the square amongst the pious onlookers. Around the altar and in the square all the front ranks were taken by men. There are so many things that can be said about this absence of women it is difficult to know where to start. Worldwide there are some 640,000 nuns thousands of whom get up every day to work in development, peacemaking, health and education. Nuns exemplify Francis’ message of service to humanity, working for the poor and vulnerable around the world, often unseen, sometimes in very hazardous situations. I noticed one newspaper recently describing Cardinal Vincent Nichols, Archbishop of Westminster, as having led the Catholic movement against sexual trafficking. It was, of course, nuns who initiated this work, though Cardinal Nichols gave it warm approval and support. But the nuns are somehow invisible. The failure to acknowledge the role of women in the Catholic Church on such a public occasion as Pope Francis’ funeral suggests a systemic problem alongside sexual abuse. It overlooks the fact that, when it comes to the transmission of faith to the next generation, the heavy-lifting is done mostly by mothers, and in Africa, after the depredations of HIV, sometimes grandmothers. In the USA, Dorothy Day founded the Catholic worker communities. In the UK CAFOD - the Catholic organization which at the international level most closely follows Francis’ vision of solidarity and service - was begun by Catholic Women in 1960. In every parish the Saint Vincent de Paul Society, supporting the most in need, relies mainly on women volunteers. It was a woman, Mildred Nevile, who founded CIIR, The Catholic Institute for International Relations (later known as Progressio) that promoted the option for the poor around the world. Official reasoning seems to be that the 12 apostles, appointed some 2,000 years ago in another culture, were all men and therefore, when it comes to who has authority and seniority in decision-making in the Church today, with a few exceptions introduced by Francis, women should be excluded. Many, many hours have been spent discussing whether there should even be women deacons. Diversity and inclusion today are now widely seen as the key to increased creativity in organisations. But the Church continues to exclude from most leadership positions, such as priesthood, the commitment, creativity and wisdom of the majority of Catholics who happen to be women. Meanwhile the gradual transformation of women’s lives and roles outside the Church continues. Religious patriarchy seems to be treated by Catholic leadership as an integral part of Catholic identity and faith. But need not be. It is part of an entrenched culture, a set of man-made rules that could be changed. And, of course, organizational cultures are notoriously difficult to change. Such change is not something that should be dealt with in “the perspective of eternity” but with faith in the future ‘taking us deeper into the saving mystery of Christ’ - Cardinal Nichols’ words describing the dynamic sought from the next Pope, on the BBC last Sunday. In this important regard what Francis’ funeral says is that the Church needs to catch up and to catch up fast. See TheArticle 28/04/2025
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There will be many wonderful, long prepared and detailed tributes to Pope Francis. But for many Catholics his death will simply have come as a shock – oddly, as he was obviously dying – and as a moment for tears and for cherishing personal memories. Heaven above knows how many people he greeted, shook hands with after visits, meetings and conferences, how many babies blessed and held, how many prisoners, sick, disabled, spoken to with love. There was something very moving about those daily phone calls to the Church of the Holy Family in Gaza, something, I would dare to say, that defined this papacy.
Francis made both the secular and religious-minded aware of a deeply personal way of being Bishop of Rome and leader of the Catholic Church. He cut away so much of the formality of the office. It was not only his stunning workload – an example to all in their 80s - but how he modelled love, concern, and compassion in his interactions with the public. Watching the television pictures I was often reminded of words attributed to Pope Francis’ hero St. Francis of Assisi “Preach the Gospel with all your heart, all your mind and all your soul and sometimes use words”. Francis used plenty of words, easily understood ones, sometimes too loosely for his critics who clung to tradition and didn’t like his approach, nor his emphases. In words and actions he so clearly took the side of the poor and vulnerable. His great encyclicals Laudato Si and Fratelli Tutti, his repeated calls for compassion towards migrants and asylum seekers, used words to great effect. At a time when sexual abuse scandals had eroded the credibility of leadership in the Catholic Church, this mattered a great deal and gave hope, especially for those working for justice, peace and the integrity of creation. Pope Francis was perhaps at his most traditional in his conduct of international affairs, his efforts to protect local Churches as head of the Vatican State. Even in those last hours before his death Pope Francis found time for Easter greetings with the Vice-President of the United States, J.D Vance whom he could so easily have avoided. It could have been no easy matter to engage with the Chinese Communist Party, its persecution of religion, whilst attempting to stay outside the politics of a polarized world. From the crowds in St. Peter’s square it is obvious Popes have symbolic importance for Catholics. Pope Francis also had importance for what he was as a man and as a priest, for other Churches and faiths, and for the secular world who recognized his goodness, humility and sincerity. His spirituality fitted our troubled times. The Spanish poet, Antonio Machado wrote: “Traveler there is no path – we make the path by walking”. Francis taught us how to walk. And following the life of our beloved Pope Christians will emerge on the Emmaus road. It is hard to beat the Suffolk Coast in Spring for old-fashioned Englishness. The tea shops shut at 4pm. Big jars of sweets, awaiting Easter and families heading for Southwold beach or crabbing in the Blythe estuary, look forlorn in Squire’s tea room window. South of neighbouring Walberswick reeds are still cut for thatching. Morris dancers appear on May Day.
In Suffolk there is no church from which you can’t see another church - or so it is said. Yet ‘old maids bicycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist’ are as thin on the ground as butterflies and squashed hedgehogs. The words are taken from George Orwell’s wonderfully titled essay, The Lion and the Unicorn: Socialism and the English Genius, a 1941 morale-booster, post-Dunkirk, as Britain stood alone against Nazi Germany. From 1932 Eric Blair lived intermittently with his family at the top of the High Street in Southwold, a prickly presence, somewhat out of place. in 1993, John Major, with a divisive vote nearing on the EU’s Maastricht Treaty, drew on Orwell for another booster speech. The then Prime Minister assured the Conservative Group for Europe that Britain would 'survive unamendable in all essentials' within the European Union. Forget Jerusalem’s dark satanic mills, we were, and would remain, ‘the country of long shadows on county [cricket] grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers and pools fillers'. Not nearly demotic enough – even then - for the tone of re-assurance demanded of politicians in times of crisis today. But change has come. Beer, (here, Adnams fresh from Southwold’s brewery), is a pleasure routinely taken cooler today. The ‘green suburbs’, and many green fields, have been far from invincible in the face of Sizewell C’s invading construction army invincible so long as the money doesn’t run out. New housing, mostly beyond the means of local people, growing numbers of workers, new roads, vast car parks and outsized trucks with police escorts, are the first wave. But John Major’s ‘dog lovers’ have multiplied, their dogs shouted at and happily ignoring them; some with up to three animals in tow. And do people even know what might his ‘pools fillers’ be? Football pools - on-line today? The beauty of Suffolk’s coast hasn’t aged. South of Dunwich, the great spread of wetlands with swaying reedbeds in the National Nature Reserve with their promise of bitterns and otters, the heathland yellow with gorse, skylarks trilling you away from their nests, woods with deer and misshapen muntjacs at dawn and dusk. Terra divina with memories of war. The pillboxes and the anti-tank traps, the forbidding forts, once ready for Napoleon, now just grim. So is Orford Ness with its nearby World War II radar stations, its atomic bomb and museum, testing site for the strength of the weapon’s outer casing. For anyone who has lived in Africa near the equator, where the sun is switched off at 6pm and you can watch a vulture in the garden at Christmas, the seasons in Suffolk are a joy. From January, a floral sequence keeps pace with the months: snowdrops, then daffodils, and bluebells, and daisies, bursting buds on the trees, grey goes to green, and cherry blossom. You can pretend the resident robin is joyfully greeting you on arriving home (and ignore it is telling you to get off its territory). And the rabbits begin re-appearing plus – locally bred - pheasants. No gentle tinkling of cowbells in Suffolk, just gunshots, a one-hour fusillade from the gun club on some Sundays rivalling the church bells. And pig noises and pheasants’ flapping as they take off on suicidally-straight trajectories, very different IQs but a shared limited life expectancy. Next, by way of other local treats, is the long anticipated food sequence: asparagus followed by strawberries and raspberries. At Aldeburgh – expensive – fish straight off the boats is available , and cheaper kippers from a beach-side shack that smokes anything that moves in the sea. The fish and chips is good too but, eaten on the promenade in the open air, likely to be shared with aggressive seagulls. As Spring turns to Summer, the near-deserted winter streets and the empty holiday homes will have filled up. Time for London journalists short of a story, and canny visitors from Hackney, to find their way to the beautiful stretch of Covehithe with its terns, curlews and sand martins, well cared for by bird lovers. You can also attend the August Fete in affluent Walberswick, holiday home for TV and movie celebrities, actors and directors. The fun isn’t so much the fete but watching the celebs pretend, with the best will in the world, that they are ‘ordinary villagers’ having a nice time. The celebs’ glitter is welcome unlike in the Walberswick of 1915 when the resident, but unrecognized celebrity, the Scottish architect, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, was put under house-arrest, suspected because of his accent and odd dress of being a German spy. Those were the days when the village had up to 300 boats and watchful working women, leery of strange newcomers, processed prodigious herring catches. You can cross from Walberswick to Southwold in the Summer by a little ferry. The tide is ferocious as if someone has taken the plug out of a full bath. Or you can walk west over a narrow bridge and back along the Southwold side of the harbour crammed with yachts and boats at anchor. No-one ever seems to take them out, status symbols pleasant on the eye. Walberswick sits on the Blythe estuary, an expanse of river which meanders past Blythborough’s 12th century – priory - church. Courtesy of Augustinian monks and the mediaeval wool trade, the church is the size of a small cathedral. In the roof above its high aisle is a line of angels with perfect carved swans’ wings. Too high for the Puritan Taliban to tear down. A few miles away upriver at Wenhaston a mediaeval ‘doom’ painting also survived on eleven planks of wood once topping the church’s rood screen. ( Under Henry VIII’s son, Edward VI, all church paintings were ordered to be white-washed). The Wenhaston ‘doom’ was thrown out but discovered in the late 19th century after rain washed away the whitewash exposing the picture of the Last Judgement. Some of the detail is delightful. The Archangel Michael stands between Heaven on the left, Hell on the right, holding the scales of justice, its two pans weighing salvation. On one, a single pure soul outweighing two devilish-looking souls sitting on the other. To the left are a king, queen, bishop and, perhaps, scholar each equally naked approaching St. Peter who holds the key to Heaven. A message of equality and mercy to a largely illiterate congregation. Perhaps this is mere nostalgia but you sense that, along this most easterly bump in England’s coast, something of John Major’s ‘unamendable’ Britain of bygone years survives. It’s a Britain that badly needs amending today. See TheArticle 18/04/2025 |
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