Pope John: Avatar for Holy Humour
I have been reading Between Heaven and Mirth: Why Joy, Humor and Laughter are at the Heart of the Spiritual Life by James Martin. A review will appear here on 20 October. Faith, the Jesuit Martin claims, leads to joy, and in calling his reader to reconsider the importance of humour and laughter in believing people, Martin offers countless examples of humour and levity in the lives of biblical characters, the saints, and spiritual masters.
Joy, Tielhard de Chardin is claimed to have said, is the most infallible sign of the presence of God, and in relaying some accounts of John XXIII perhaps you’ll get a sense of the joy he possessed.
In the 1940′s, when John was Papal Nuncio to Paris, while dining at an elegant meal he was seated across from a woman whose low-cut dress revealed substantial cleavage. Your excellency, what a scandal! someone is said to have said. The voice continues: Aren’t you embarrassed that everyone is looking at that woman? John (then known as Angelo Roncalli) responds: No. Everyone is looking at me to see if I’m looking at that woman.
On another occasion a journalist asks: Your Holiness, how many people work in the Vatican? A pause, some consideration, and then the response: About half of them.
Apparently having in mind the Italian habit of closing offices in the afternoon, Martin tells of a journalist observing: Your Holiness, we understand that the Vatican is closed in the afternoon, and people don’t work then. The response: Ah no. The offices are closed in the afternoon. People don’t work in the morning.
Maybe you’ve heard how the Pope could be seen walking the Italian streets even after being elected Pope, and how upon passing a woman John hears her say to her friend: My God, he’s so fat! Turning around the Pope responds: Madame, I trust you understand that the papal conclave is not a beauty contest.
One more.
At the Roman Hospital called the Hospital of the Holy Spirit, John is introduced to the religious sister in charge of the hospital. Holy Father, she says, I am the Superior of the Holy Spirit. John responds: Well I must say you are lucky. I am only the Vicar of Christ.
John’s humour, Martin notes, flowed naturally from his joy. John’s joy made him able to laugh at himself, poke fun at his office, and invite others into his outlook of the world. Martin asks: “Who couldn’t love a man who was so comfortable with himself that he made jokes about his height (which was short), his ears (which were big), and his weight (which was considerable).”
Martin observes something irresistible about a person who though in a position of authority nonetheless maintains a self-deprecatory sense of humour: “It instantly binds us to the person, perhaps because we see in him or her a reflection of what we could be, of what God wants us to be in the midst of our accomplishments: simple, humble, aware of our own limitations, and, of course, joyful.” When John died, a friend of Martin’s was in a cab driven by a Jewish man. “He was our Pope too,” the Jewish man said upon learning that his passenger was Catholic.
John Allen notes a treasured Italian memory of John XXIII. On an October evening in 1962, as the Second Vatican Council was nearing its opening, the Catholic Action movement organized a parade which finished in St. Peter’s Square. Not scheduled to address the crown, the Pope nonetheless wanted to speak: Tornando a casa, troverete i bambini. Date una carezza ai vostri bambini e dite: questa è la carezza del Papa (When you go home, you will find your children. Give them a kiss and tell them that this kiss come from the Pope). As John Allen notes, it “summed up the legendary love of the man.”
[Now, interestingly, when the seen-to-be-strict Joseph Ratzinger was elected, L'Unità, the paper of the old Communist Party in Italy, published a cartoon which had Pope Benedict in a similar scenario. Only his words were different: Tonight, when you go home, you will find your children. I want you to give each of them a spanking and tell them that this spanking comes from the Pope.]
There was a man sent from God whose name was John, he was fat and kind. We found that very intriguing, not so much the being fat but the being kind. (Denis Wiseman)I hope you have experienced something of this intriguing Pope, but more importantly, something of the presence of God.
K.
Kelly Wilson is a Seminarian for the Archdiocese of Winnipeg. Besides Vox Nova, he writes at his blog Musings.
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I really don’t know much about this Pope, but I’m compelled to seek out more about him. I do love a person who doesn’t take themselves seriously and has a self-deprecating sense of humour. Someone who doesn’t put themselves above others, but recognizes through humour that we’re all flawed people is somehow endearing and easy to trust. I believe there was even some research recently about the behaviour of people who we easily trust and John seems to fit the category pretty well.
“Joy, T[ei]lhard de Chardin is claimed to have said, is the most infallible sign of the presence of God,
So why is there such a cult around Mother Theresa in the recent Catholic world?? It seems to me to be entirely a lingering epiphenomenon of Counter-Reformation about Ignatian notions of “spiritual desolation”. The Teilhardian position is a lot more coherent.
I don’t know how to answer that, Peter. In my circles I haven’t really noticed a cult around Mother Teresa. Nonetheless, sometimes, I refrain from expressing my enthusiasm for Christopher Hitchens, given that someone in hearing range might be bothered by his biography of her.
That Ignatian notion of “desolation” is, is it not (?), usually coupled with the concept of consolation, and as far as I know the Ignatian “Examen” (I realize there are variants) has a person daily seeking out the graced moments of the past 24 hours. Teilhard was a Jesuit, was he not, and perhaps his spiritual heritage has some involvement, either positively or negatively, in the conclusions he came to.
Well, that is good news that there are parts of the Catholic world that do not take the old gal as spiritual lodestar. That is a good point about Teilhard being a Jesuit, I don’t know how I forgot that because I read a lot of his writings thirty years ago. With that in mind, I guess my point is that the Counter-Reformation spiritual melodrama, of which Ignatius was an epitome can be looked at two ways. If taken as the normal ups-and-downs of a life, then no problem. But if taken as a rationale of how a person should accept, and those around that person approve of, a life spent in spiritual emptiness and misery as Theresa of Calcutta’s “diary” shows to have been the case for her, then it is a destructive excuse. The lady was clearly mentally ill in some way.
That she is feted and held as an example is pretty terrible for young people who are told to follow her example. She kept going, and that is construed as her consolation. But those who took her for “exorcisms”, when she should have been taken to get help with her serotonin, are guilty of the most heartless fanaticism, and perhaps elder- abuse as a crime.
Anyways, here’s hoping Catholics get back to the beautiful Teilhardian view. If they had any sense they would canonize him!
Those are great stories of the Pope and I appreciate you posting them.
Personally, I think whether a person appears joyful has a lot to do with the temperament they are born with. Some people tend to be morose and others tend to be cheerful in the exact same circumstances. I suspect it has to do with brain chemistry or something.
Which is not to say that spiritual joy is always and only due to brain chemistry. I’m just talking about a person’s general, day-to-day disposition. In other words, it might be a mistake to assume that people who appear generally happy are that way because of “the presence of God”. Sometimes that’s just the way they are.
I agree, although I’m not sure brain chemistry is at the root of one’s temperament; I personally suspect it’s more like the other way around. But I definitely agree that temperament is not necessarily an indicator of the presence of God, which the melancholy are no less capable of receiving than the sanguine.
Thank you, Julia and Agellius. I think it’s all too easy in this culture to attribute all the best — even sainthood? — to the cheerful and all the worst to the sad. Many scientific studies have shown the latter to be more attuned to reality than the former, for whatever can be made of that.
Angellius, Julia & Anne, it seems to me that Benedict’s treatment of the theological virtues might have some relevance here. You understand that theology can understand, faith, hope and love in a particular way, but that such virtues might have experienced some secular mutation since the enlightenment.
Nobody is saying, Anne, that because John was cheery he should be seen as a saint. Martin is saying, quite simply, that one reason people might easily attach themselves to someone like John is because in him we see a reflection of what we could be, of what God wants us to be in the midst of our accomplishments: simple, humble, aware of our own limitations, and, of course, joyful.
Joy isn’t the person with the stupid grin. It is a grace. Even when possessed by people not as conscious of God in the way that the Christian person is, it still stems from the God.
I must disagree with both Julia and Agellius because the single most salient feature of all the great mystics, of whatever religious tradition, is, according to Huston Smith, the academic guru of comparative religious studies, a sense that one is safe, and, in some sense, at home in the universe–that all will be well, in the end. This sense creates, in almost all the great mystic saints–the Catholics, the Sufis, the Hindu avatars like Ramakrishna–a sense of ineffable joy that pervades their whole lives. The “dark night of the soul” is really CAUSED by the receding of that sensation, because it has been so great and intense that the saints have wished to live in it constantly. By this understanding, Mother Teresa is NOT a “saint,” but John XXIII was. Papa Ratzinger’s constant scolding of his contemporaries means that he isn’t, either.
I respectfully suggest some on this thread might benefit from a second look at Mother Teresa. If you’re getting your impression of Mother Teresa from Hitchens, then you’ve got the worse source possible as he completely misunderstands her.
In particular, if we want to talk about her “dark night of the soul” or “spiritual dryness” or whatever you want to call it, I think that has little to do with her temperament. It’s my understanding that despite her spiritual dryness, as a general rule, she displayed joy, happiness, and good humor to her sisters and the people she encountered in her ministry.
Thales, I like Hitchens in general. I have never read his book on Mother Teresa and have no interest in it. I like him, even if I do not appropriate that which I hear him speak…
I don’t think this conversation needs to spend too much time on Mother Teresa. If I had to take a side, however, I’d probably place her with those whom Martin sees as evidencing joy, humour and laughter, and how possession of such indicates a spiritual richness.
If Kelly will allow one more comment on the lady from Calcutta, because the discussion seems to have become more particular, referencing Hindu mystics, et al. I am so glad that digby and Thales have mentioned what they did because it only makes Mother Theresa apotheosis in the Roman Church lately seem more odd. Let me start this by saying that I DON”T like Christopher Hitches ouevre much at all. I found him fun to watch on TV at times, but his support of the Iraq war confirmed to me what I always thought, that he was pretty superficial and polemical from bottom to top. Further, his notions of how the phenomenon of atheism relates to theism were always utterly fatuous and ill informed. (But a big talent in saucy invective for sure) Also none of my ideas on Mother Theresa come from his book on her, which I have never read; but I have heard him on TV talking about it. Whatever one thinks of the point about money-raising apparently in that book, clearly it misses the more salient point of her life. She raised the poor in minds above untouchable status. Well, that part is surely GOOD thing, no matter what you feel about the rest.
It is highly appropriate that this discussion flowered in a post about John XXIII, because he was the Pope that brought in a sense of hope and joy into the Catholic Church. The Mother Theresa sense was brought in by the great thespian who didn’t like himself very much, and took his name. It is no surprise that the figure of Mother theresa was elevated in his reign. My observations are based on her book and some interviews I have seen on TV with those who knew her. To call what she went through just “dryness” or a “dark night of the soul” is to create a sense of elasticity that is utterly imprecise in religious hermeneutics. Her beliefs made her miserable, plain and simple. It did not work for her emotionally and spiritually for years and years, and yet she kept to it. This is the sort of life the Catholic Church wants to teach to impressionable children?? I have no problem accepting that the Catholic Church can provide an ambit of joy for some. I have met some myself. They were inspirational. But I met many more of the opposite type. What they all have in common is the ability to pretend and act and put on a good face for years and years. I ask any person of goodwill: Is that decent religion?? My answer is NO!
Is this an argument against the merits of the Catholic faith?
Thales,
Good question. I have been waiting for someone to ask it so simply. In a strict sense the only fair answer would have to be: yes. But don’t call in Savanarola just yet. There is a part of Catholic theology which I am willing to bet almost no one in the media actually gets, and probably a lot of Catholics are unfamiliar with. To save time here let’s just call it the ex opere operato attitude, or belief. I am sure you know what I am talking about, as well as others here, but let me just summarize. It is the notion, developed during some of the worst periods of corruption in the church, that the actual moral or psychological state of the minister has no bearing on the validity of the holy things being performed. Now I contend that this matter, which is mostly usually involved with the licit/valid question of the Catholic Eucharist, has come to have much wider implications, quite outside its original bailiwick. Historically, I believe it was developed in its full expression in the 14th Century, and by the way, based utterly on Nominalist philosophical assumptions (side question: it seems that though this notion had its genesis in Nominalist “metaphysics”, when those views fell out of favor, or more precisely, explicit use, they never got around to explaining how the notion stayed workable). I contend that as the centuries have rolled on this ex opere operato notion has morphed into something much larger. Namely, the widespread acceptance amongst many Catholics that belief can be utterly disengaged from reality. Ironically, this tendency is actually a notion that comes from the Enlightenment, and some would argue the dark side thereof. Serious scholarship on the medieval era, outside specifically Catholic apologetics, shows that this expanded modern sense did not exist in the late medieval or renaissance era. It has allowed a very lamentable tendency in governance to occur in this ancient institution. That is, to privilege the maintaining of its belief structure over ANY sort of intellectual, societal or moral stricture, even the most obvious. And I think there is absolutely no other way to read, as a telling example, the moving of known predator-priests from parish to parish. My point is that the press has been likely to portray this as a simple matter of an ecclesial version of Tamany Hall. And the Church has, I think rightly, said that is unfair. I would have to agree. Even with the corruption I experienced in the Church, I would have concur that it is simply not accurate portray the Church’s “problem” as a base matter of a “spoils” system. Rather, it is really a case of blowzy over-application of an attitude, that in its strict form for Eucharistic theology, is ultimately harmless. The connection with the Mother Theresa issue should be obvious at this point. Only if you have such a faulty attitude in mind in a degenerate form can you accept and even praise the great misery this woman’s private life amounted to, as an exemplar for the faithful and especially the young, who should be protected from harmful matters. The mind boggles at that one,
It should be underscored that self-deprecating humor is joyful when it comes from an authentic embrace of one’s own limitations as a person, who is not loved by God (to the point of death and beyond) in spite of them but including them. Self-deprecating humor that comes more from a place of nobless oblige doesn’t cut it (but it is more common in people with power).
Self-deprecating humour that comes from a sense of noblesse-oblige is readily identifiable because it isn’t consistent. John XXIII’s self-deprecating humour never lapsed. On the other hand, noblesse oblige is only bad spiritually for those who exemplify it: for those who are on the receiving end, it can do a great deal of good, and so should be inculcated in the minds and hearts of the privileged, until such time as they can better respect the folks they’re benefiting.
I don’t disagree at all with that addendum.