By Archbishop Mark Coleridge
THE two popes canonised last weekend were men of very different background, personality and style; and there’s been much comment about the decision of Pope Francis to canonise both men on the same day.
Many saw it as an attempt to bridge the ideological divide in the Church, which made the decision largely political. But it was also a theological decision.
The Pope wanted to say that, beyond their differences of background, personality and style, John XXIII and John Paul II converged at a deeper level: they both exercised the Petrine ministry.
They weren’t just Angelo and Karol, John and John Paul: they were Peter, exercising the ministry entrusted by Jesus to Peter in the mysterious exchange at Caesarea Philippi (Matthew 16:13-19).
That’s what makes the papacy the mysterious and powerful thing it is in the Church and in the world.
Background doesn’t tell you everything about a person, but it tells you a lot.
The Italian Pope John XXIII was the son of a Catholic culture, but for much of his adult life he lived in situations – Bulgaria, Greece and Turkey – where Catholics were a tiny minority with little or no power or influence.
Like it or not, he was in a position where dialogue wasn’t just preferable but essential. It was the only way to survive.
That’s one of the reasons why he became a man – and eventually a pope – of dialogue.
The Polish Pope John Paul II was also the son of a Catholic culture, though of a different kind.
In the Poland he knew, Catholics were not a minority but an overwhelming majority whose most basic rights were denied by totalitarian regimes.
He knew that the Catholic Church had a power that no totalitarian regime could resist over time, and he was determined to use that power in defence of human dignity and the rights that flow from that dignity.
He stood up to totalitarianism, and it fell.
That’s one of the reasons why he became a man – and eventually a pope – of confrontation.
Dialogue and confrontation are two sides of the same coin.
Rightly understood, they are both part of the Christian life. Indeed, they demand one another.
Dialogue without confrontation can become collusion; confrontation without dialogue can become violence.
The right kind of dialogue with the right kind of confrontation become what Pope Paul VI called, in Latin, the “colloquium salutis” – the dialogue of salvation.
In John XXIII, the focus was on the “colloquium”, the dialogue; in John Paul II, the focus was on the “salutis”, the salvation. But you need both.
The same could be said of love and truth: they must go together.
That’s another thing we see in the single canonisation of the two popes.
It’s been said that the Second Vatican Council would never have started without John XXIII nor ever finished without Paul VI. The claim could be extended.
The Second Vatican Council could not have happened without Pius XII who with his various reforms prepared the way.
The Council would never have been consolidated without John Paul II and Benedict XVI; and that consolidation is bearing fruit in the ministry of Pope Francis, whose coming to the papacy was made possible by Pope Benedict’s resignation.
That resignation de-mystified the papacy in a way that makes many of Francis’ words, gestures and decisions possible.
Therefore, we can trace a large papal arc from Pope Pius XII through each of his successors to Pope Francis.
It’s within that wider arc that you can better understand John XXIII and John Paul II and why Pope Francis decided to canonise them together.
