A "Curia" Indifference

I have been fascinated by the pageantry of red-sashed cardinals swishing by media cameras this week on their way to elect a new pope. Not unlike the elaborate laying out of the good linens and china for Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee last year, there is a certain charm to  watching ancient rituals (and ancient people?) actualize their roles in thousand-year-old surroundings. Like a museum come to life but even better--with hourly footage and my favourite journalists as colour commentators.

It is as if 114 woolly mammoths suddenly emerged from the Siberian permafrost and were transported to the frescoed basilicas and heart of sublime dining. En route they have been given a haircut, new clothes and told to be on their best behaviour. Once in Rome they will be wined and dined and eventually elect one of their own to rule the Catholic world--in theory. And then they will return to a comfy cave in their neighbourhood.

The new pope will be an old man. Most likely a white European one. The few cardinals agreeing to be interviewed on the topic hope he will be a talented administrator with business acumen. When what is needed is more like a black gay married woman with children. Problem children who struggle with available street drugs and early sexual expectations and a future of limited employment opportunities and climate change.

The only way we (Iapsed Catholic that I am, I still lump myself in the fold) will ever get to such a progressive state is to immediately turn to the freshest, youngest (relatively speaking), most open-minded man in the conclave in the hope that he will open the doors to married priests--both men and women--and gays. He will have to recognize that abortion, birth control and divorce are here to stay and that the best way to guide his flock through a changing world is with compassion. A lot like Jesus did, come to think of it.

Once he gets the key to the papal office, he might want to look around at all the finery and gold and sell some off. (Vatican officials may want to pull out their Bibles and read up on the moneychangers in the temple.) There are an awful lot of people in Africa and India who could use a safe source of drinking water. And there are millions of little girls across the world who will never get the chance to learn to read and, maybe, be independent one day.

That is my hope for the future. If a dinosaur could make it happen the world would be perfect. In the meantime, I'll envy the journalists their plum assignment and enjoy the show for what it is. And I'll continue to worship in my own way on my own terms where no one is taking attendance.