Monday, 30 October 2017

Historian's Irony

Cardinal Newman said, ‘To be deep in history is to cease to be Protestant.’ That might be the case for systematic Protestantism along the lines of the Reformation, with a strict observance of the solas. It applies less obviously to a Protestantism that understands itself as a form of developing Christian faith that happens not to include a strong allegiance to the bishop of Rome.

Diarmaid MacCulloch is deep in history, and he has ceased to be anything in particular. Nonetheless he looks with understanding and sympathy on the spiritual and religious quests that have occurred in history and will no doubt continue to occur.

I am rereading MacCulloch’s book Reformation: Europe’s House Divided (1490-1700), which I first read 10 years ago while I was in the process of becoming Catholic, and which I am now reading in preparation for a historical trip to Germany in the footsteps of Martin Luther.

It is striking how religion and politics interplay, how allegiances and rivalries help to build consensus, and how people navigate a world with the consciousness of a last judgment, with a network of relations that has shifting perspectives on the wheat and the tares, and with the human needs that are basic to us all.

When King Henri IV of France (formerly King of Navarre) ultimately decided to convert to the Catholic Church, allegedly on the grounds that ‘Paris was worth a Mass’, this was the reaction of a prominent Reformer:

Theodore Beza, who all through his long years in Geneva had corresponded with Navarre, regularly received cash from him and was devoted to him as a new King David in Israel, was devastated at Henri’s betrayal of the godly cause. Beza nevertheless remained loyal, and sadly consoled himself with a different Old Testament image: God’s champion in Israel, Samson, sacrificed his life to slay his enemies, and now perhaps King Henri was making an even greater sacrifice of his soul in God’s cause. He also continued to regard himself as on King Henri’s payroll.

Monday, 9 October 2017

The Vineyard Song Remastered

Sometimes writing a homily is difficult. But at rare moments, hints are thrown at you from all sorts of different places and the homily basically writes itself.

This time it was the song of the vineyard in Isaiah 5, and the Gospel passage associated with it, of the wicked tenants who kill the vineyard owner’s son (Matthew 21). I thought to myself, didn’t Pope Benedict write something about this? He’s usually pretty good at contextualizing the parables and explaining how Jesus is inviting the Pharisees to let down their guard and join Him in his new creation.

Indeed the Pope wrote about this Gospel, and the Isaiah passage and even Psalm 80 in connection with it. Surprisingly, it can be found in the chapter on the principal images of the Gospel of John (Jesus of Nazareth I, ch. 8), under the heading ‘Vine and Wine’. Pope Benedict considers the Isaiah passage foundational for the vine motif, and writes:

The Prophet probably sang it in the context of the Feast of Tabernacles, in the context of the cheerful atmosphere characteristic of this eight-day feast (cf. Deut 16:14). […]
Everyone knew that “vineyard” was an image for a bride (cf. Song 2:15, 7:12f.), so they were expecting some entertainment suited to the festive atmosphere.

Many more interesting and edifying things were said about the passage, but this information made me see the whole passage in a different light. If it was a love song, then the translation on the USCCB website ‘Let me now sing of my friend, my friend’s song concerning his vineyard’ was misleading. So I decided to take out a Hebrew-English Old Testament and see if I could make some sense of it, despite the fact that my Hebrew knowledge is sorely limited.

The first thing that stood out was that the song starts out very sing-song-y, which is recognizable as soon as you can read the Hebrew alphabet:
’āshīrāh nā līdīdī
shīrat dōdī l’kharmō

Li-di-di, it is as airy and light-hearted as fa-la-la. It means ‘for my beloved’ and is related to dōdī (translated as ‘of my lover’).

The word is used twice, for the text continues:
kerem hāyāh līdīdī
b’qeren ben-shāmen
(‘My beloved had a vineyard’, or more literally ‘A vineyard was there for my beloved’: a possessive dative. And then, ‘On a very fertile hill’. ‘Vineyard’ and ‘hill’ are very similar words: kerem and qeren.)

Next I wanted to know if there was a similar play in the lines ‘He hoped it would yield grapes. Instead, it yielded wild grapes.’ In this I was disappointed:
wayqaw la‘asōt ‘anāvīm
wayya‘as b’ushīm
Yes, it rhymes, but that is only because -īm is the regular masculine plural ending. Nothing surprising there.
But wait…what was it that the man of the winepress was looking for? Grapes? Then why did it sound like something else? The word ‘anāvīm looked strangely familiar, and would look familiar to any amateur theologian worth three miserable grains of salt. There are some words that are known even to your average American Catholic blogger (no offense), and one of them is anawim, the ‘poor’ for whom poverty is a spiritual attitude. ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’, the anawim. And indeed the word is almost identical in spelling to ‘anāvīm: ענבים and ענוים.
The almost-double meaning of ‘grapes’ is the first hint of the revelation in verse 7: ‘The vineyard of the LORD of Hosts is the House of Israel’.

Now I wanted to know if something similar applied to b’ushīm, the ‘wild grapes’. And while I could not find a similar word, I chanced upon the commentary in E.W. Bullinger’s Companion Bible, which told me two things:
(1) The word b’ushīm was derived from bashash [Strong suggests it’s actually ba’ash], meaning ‘to stink’ – which can easily shade into an aesthetic, ritual, or ethical judgment (in any language).
(2) Isaiah 5 is the only place in the Old Testament where qeren is translated ‘hillside’; all the other seventy-five times it means ‘horn’.

Wait, what? What did the text say again?

kerem hāyāh līdīdī
b’qeren ben-shāmen
‘My best friend had a “vineyard”
On a really fertile “horn” ’

They were expecting some entertainment suited to the festive atmosphere.

For more random wordplay, go and watch this clip.

Tuesday, 12 September 2017

Gas Stations

Since purchasing a car some three years ago, my life has been characterized by increasing mobility. My being on the road has led to a deeper appreciation of an ubiquitous feature of roads: gas stations.

They are much more than places to refuel your car. They are small dots on the map of hospitality and friendly interaction with passing strangers – who for a change do not pass at 100 or 130 km/h. They are cafés where you can get coffee and restaurants where you can purchase lunch, cold or hot. They are places of sanitary relief, of fresh air and stretched legs.

You can count on them being there, and on them being there for you even if you have never visited them before.

Even the layout has a comfortable familiarity everywhere. There is a place where you can get fuel, with lots of space around it to park your car for quick purchases. And there is also a parking space that can be used for a real driving break.

They can even function as inns, these gas stations. Last night before 11pm, when driving from Roelofarendsveen to Ridderkerk, I felt myself getting tired and stopped at a gas station between Delft and Rotterdam for a ten-minute nap. But when I opened my eyes again, it was after 1am.

Although I am very happy with my new home, now almost finished, I think I could get used to living in my car, as long as there would be gas stations along the road.

Saturday, 29 July 2017


It’s been a while, I know. Lent, Easter, and the Ordination all conspired to keep me from posting; or perhaps it is my fault. In any case I was very glad to see how many people sacrificed time to come to the Ordination. I was particularly touched by the presence of some American friends; Youth Choir Faith, which sang a few hymns at the Mass; and one or two special friends.

Since then I have been on holiday, another mountain-hiking holiday in Austria. We stayed for two nights at a convent of the Canons Regular of the Holy Cross (O.R.C.) and then continued to a small hotel, more of a guesthouse really, between Ochsengarten and Kühtai. The guesthouse had its own chapel. It was beautiful.

Last night I was procrastinating. (Are there job offers for procrastination? If it were my job I would probably delay procrastinating until the last possible moment, and before that moment I would get so much useful things done!) I opened a magazine that was lying on the table and found an article by Kees Waaijman, a well-known Dutch Scripture scholar of the Carmelite order, about schroom – a typically Dutch word connoting a kind of fear that is more like a reverent hesitation.

The article contained the following quotation from John Cassian (my translation):

Schroom is filled with attentive affection, not afraid of blows nor of reproaches, but only of the slightest injury to love, and it is haunted by a passionate tenderness that saturates all its acting and speaking, out of concern that the other’s burning love towards it might cool, however little.

It reminded me of a favourite phrase of Pope Francis, la rivoluzione della tenerezza, the ‘revolution of tenderness’. Tenderness is a word that occurs multiple times in his inaugural homily; there it is associated with the attitude of St. Joseph. I sensed the revolution in this quote by the desert father.

I also sensed it in Austria – and here I was reminded of a quote from Charles Williams, somewhere in his mysterious Arthuriad cycle: a description of an island never set foot on, the land of the Trinity: ‘each in turn the Holder and the Held’.

This I remembered, and after a while it continues:

…in the land of the Trinity, the land of the perichoresis,
of separateness without separation, reality without rift,
where the Basis is in the Image, and the Image in the Gift…

I had to look for it, and lo and behold, it was from The Founding of the Company. On rereading I found that this poem is also the one that contains the exchange between the poet Taliessin and the court fool Dinadan. Dinadan calls Taliessin ‘lieutenant of God’s new grace’. Taliessin refuses a title that would make him master over others, but Dinadan lectures him:

                                          …any buyer of souls
is bought himself by his purchase; take the lieutenancy
for the sake of the shyness the excellent absurdity holds.

Shyness is perhaps not the worst translation of schroom.

The poem ends as follows:

The Company throve by love, by increase of peace,
by the shyness of saving and being saved in others –
the Christ-taunting and Christ-planting maxim
which throughout Logres the excellent absurdity held.

Monday, 23 January 2017

The Inauguration

I am happy to have lived in America. I am even happy that, so far, Chicago is the biggest American city I have visited, and the rest of my adventure was spent with good country people. Conservative, and with hearts of gold.

President Trump is confusing. Around him, the simplest facts get turned into bitter debates on social media – for instance, whether or not there were sizable empty spaces at his inauguration. Those who speak up in the President’s favour often come across as triumphalistic and shallow. But I also feel a twinge of unease at the bitterness of his American opponents, or the smugness of their European cousins. I have no understanding of the actual political issues, but I can observe how people react to the image of Trump.

Anyhow, I read his inauguration speech, and thought it was not too bad, as a speech. There were a few moments, however, when I raised my eyebrows (I don’t have sufficient muscular control for the lone-eyebrow raise) (and I’m not counting the time when he mentioned Nebraska, which was sweet of him):

You came by the tens of millions to become part of a historic movement the likes of which the world has never seen before. At the center of this movement is a crucial conviction: that a nation exists to serve its citizens.

Too bad the world has never seen the likes of this movement before. Jerobeam, Socrates, Louis IX, and Lincoln missed out on quite something! Then again, perhaps Trump was thinking of a more recent President who unsavourily declared, ‘Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.’ (Communism!)

We must protect our borders from the ravages of other countries making our products, stealing our companies, and destroying our jobs.

Making is ravaging! Products are plunder! Creation is destruction!

When you open your heart to patriotism, there is no room for prejudice.

…if there had been somebody there to shoot you every minute of your life.

We stand at the birth of a new millennium…

How long does a millennium take to be born? We’ve been living in it for over sixteen years!

Other than that, of course, I attempt to stand ready for the final Trump and the dawn of the Age of Aquarius.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

Friday, 30 December 2016

The Loved One

It is a strange coincidence that I read Evelyn Waugh’s The Loved One shortly after my first experience with leading funerals. The Loved One is a book about, well, funerals, or more precisely, the funeral industry. To an extent, it is a book about religion, or the lack thereof. It is a tragedy, which like all good tragedies looks like it’s going to end well, until the fateful moment of anagnōrisis when everything suddenly comes crashing down with calculated precision.

A friend of mine once said that Waugh was a misanthropist, and after reading The Loved One, I am inclined to agree. Not that he isn’t funny. His comments on the differences between Americans and Europeans are very flattering to Europeans. And his satirical approach to individualistic secular rituals is very gratifying to Catholics. So, as a European Catholic, I enjoyed the book immensely…until the end, which still makes me angry.

At the beginning of the book we meet Francis and his nephew Dennis. Dennis, a poet out of work, has just accepted a new job. Although his new line of work raises some eyebrows among his fellow British residents in California, he seems qualified enough. As he says, ‘The man they had before caused offence by his gusto. They find me reverent. It is my combination of melancholy with the English accent.

As it turns out, his employer is the Happier Hunting Ground, a company that arranges funerals for pets. Somewhat like this:

‘I have a brochure here setting out our service. Were you thinking of interment or incineration?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Buried or burned?’
‘Burned, I guess.’
‘And the religious rites? We have a pastor who is always pleased to assist.’
‘Mr Barlow, we’re neither of us what you might call very church-going people, but I think on an occasion like this Mrs Heinkel would want all the comfort you can offer.’
‘Our Grade A service includes several unique features. At the moment of committal, a white dove, symbolizing the deceased’s soul, is liberated over the crematorium.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Heinkel, ‘I reckon Mrs Heinkel would appreciate the dove.’
‘And every anniversary a card of remembrance is mailed without further charge. It reads: “Your little Arthur is thinking of you in heaven today and wagging his tail.”’

His uncle Francis, however, is not doing so well. Chief script-writer in Megalopolitan Pictures (hē polis hē megalē, ‘the great city’, is a name used multiple times in the Apocalypse that rarely bodes well), at one time he goes to his office and finds it occupied. Apparently he has been fired, and, driven by despair, he commits suicide.

That is the set-up that brings Dennis to the awe-inspiring burial grounds of Whispering Glades, of which his own Happier Hunting Ground is only an imitation (or, as the stern people at Whispering Glades would say, a parody).

Whispering Glades has been conceived by an artist known as the Dreamer. A huge marble inscription at the entrance indicates that its purpose is to bring maximum happiness to the Waiting Ones and to provide a happy resting place for the Loved Ones, a euphemism for those who have passed away. Next to the marble block is a wooden signboard with the text, ‘Prices on inquiry at Administrative Building.

As Dennis enters through a florist’s shop, he hears a woman saying on the telephone, ‘I’m really sorry but it’s just one of the things that Whispering Glades does not do. The Dreamer does not approve of wreaths or crosses. We just arrange the flowers in their own natural beauty.

It is clear that Whispering Glades offers all the comforts of religion but experiences sharp discomfort with the idea of revelation.

It is at Whispering Glades that Dennis meets Aimée Thanatogenos (‘Loved One Born to Death’, of course). She is one of the cosmeticians whose job it is to make the dead look presentable. The author says some rude things about American women in general before describing Aimée as above average, indeed ‘decadent’:

Her hair was dark and straight, her brows wide, her skin transparent and untarnished by sun. Her lips were artificially tinctured, no doubt, but not coated like her sisters’ and clogged in all their delicate pores with crimson grease; they seemed to promise instead an unmeasured range of sensual converse. Her full face was oval, her profile pure and classical and light. Her eyes greenish and remote, with a rich glint of lunacy.

As the book progresses, an absurd but endearing love triangle unfolds between
1) Dennis, the cynical European imitator of beautiful things;
2) Aimée, the idealistic young woman, who writes frequent letters to the local newspaper’s Guru Brahmin at this critical time of her life; and
3) her great hero and example, true artist cosmetician of Whispering Glades, beautifier of the dead, austere and serene: Mr Joyboy.

The third party has not been mentioned yet, but he definitely has an eye on Aimée, and the feeling is mutual:

‘When I am working for you there’s something inside me says “He’s on his way to Miss Thanatogenos” and my fingers just seem to take control. Haven’t you noticed it?’
‘Well, Mr Joyboy, I did remark it only last week. “All the Loved Ones that come from Mr Joyboy lately,” I said, “have the most beautiful smiles.”’
‘All for you, Miss Thanatogenos.’

In one sense, that makes Aimée very lucky, as Mr Joyboy is a legend among the cosmetic staff:

As he passed among them, like an art-master among his students, with a word of correction here or commendation there, sometimes laying his gentle hand on a living shoulder or a dead haunch, he was a figure of romance, a cult shared by all in common, not a prize to be appropriated by any one of them.

However, against her own will, Aimée falls in love with Dennis, who says all sorts of irreverent things that scandalize and infuriate her, even as they secretly attract her. And he also pretends to write poems for her – poems which he steals from famous historical European poets, with varying degrees of success. But his ploys are insufficient. So when he meets the non-sectarian pastor at the Happier Hunting Ground, he asks him about the prerequisites for becoming a non-sectarian pastor. It turns out there are only three: the Call, money, and an audience.

Will Dennis succeed? Read the book and find out!

As the year approaches its end, I will finish this blogpost with a properly meditative quote from the non-sectarian pastor of the Happier Hunting Ground.

Dog that is born of bitch hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay…

Thursday, 10 November 2016

Hic Sunt Leones

Today is the memorial of St. Leo the Great. I have long defended that it’s time for a new Pope to adopt the name Leo again. There’s not been seen a Leo in these parts for over a hundred years, and some Popes with the name have done great things. Of course, there was also an infamous Leo who is chiefly known for his inadequate response to a Augustinian priest somewhere in the Electorate of Saxony.

Out of curiosity, I have looked more closely into the thirteen Popes who adopted the name Leo, with an overview of their role in history. It is an interesting journey through time.

Leo I (440-461): called ‘the Great’, this Pope was both a theologian and a protector of civilization. He wrote the Tomus Leonis (‘Tome of Leo’), a book which explained the relationship between the divine and human natures of Jesus Christ. This was sent to the Council of Chalcedon (451), where the assembly of bishops greeted it with the chorus, ‘Peter has spoken through Leo!’
As patriarch of the West, he insisted on his own authority over the churches of Gaul, bringing about greater unity with Rome. He also made it clear that the Pope had been entrusted with the care for all churches in the world, writing to an Eastern bishop, ‘The care of the universal Church should converge towards Peter's one seat, and nothing anywhere should be separated from its Head.’
Leo also increased political unity in Gaul by mediating a dispute between the two highest officials in Gaul. One of those officials was Aëtius, first the friend and later the rival of Attila the Hun, who lived in Rome as a young man. It was that time.
In 452, Attila headed towards Rome, burning cities along the way. Leo rode out to northern Italy to talk to him at Lake Garda, as a consequence of which Attila halted his march and went elsewhere. Or so the story has always gone; Raphael even made a painting about it. It was a bit of a disappointment to read that Leo was only one of three imperial envoys.
For the literature lovers among us: Leo had a good ear for the sound of words, and his prose style (the cursus leonicus) had a long-lasting influence on ecclesiastical Latin.

Leo II (682-683): in his time, the Eastern Roman Empire had a lot of influence in papal elections. He was from Sicily, which was Byzantine territory. There were many Sicilian refugees in Rome, because the island suffered attacks from the Islamic Caliphate.
During his brief reign, he gave official approval to a Church council (Constantinople III).
In light of Leo I’s battle for papal authority, it is ironic that a quote from Leo II has provided an argument against papal infallibility. Leo II condemned Pope Honorius, who reigned half a century earlier, for being lax in the fight against heresy; in doing so, he described Honorius as ‘one who by unholy betrayal has tried to overthrow the unspoiled faith’.

Leo III (795-816): the Pope who on Christmas Day in the year 800 crowned Charlemagne, the first Emperor in the West after the downfall of the Empire three hundred years earlier. (Raphael painted the scene.) Charlemagne was convinced that it was his own duty to defend the Church, and that the Pope should pray for the safety and victory of the Empire.
As Leo I was active in Gaul, Leo III interfered in England – among other things, the home of the scholar Alcuin, whose intelligence and knowledge were invaluable to the school that Charlemagne started at his court. This school created a cultural unity in Europe that endured long after the Carolingian emperors dwindled.
As far as I am concerned, Leo III could be made a patron of ecumenical dialogue. When Charlemagne insisted that he should add the Filioque to the Nicene Creed, Leo refused; not because he disagreed, but because he was unwilling to change the profession of faith that Christians of the East and the West prayed in the liturgy. Not only did he refuse, but he gave the order to write the unchanged Creed on tablets of silver and display them outside St. Peter’s Basilica – a clear ‘in-your-face’ to his friend the Emperor.

Leo IV (847-855): a man whose reign was defined by the fight with the Arabs. These were not distant threats: a year before Leo’s ascension to the papal throne, Saracens invaded Rome and damaged the churches of St. Peter and St. Paul. Leo took the repairs in hand.
He also organized a naval league of ships from Naples, Gaeta and Amalfi, who defeated the Muslim pirates at the Battle of Ostia in 849. (Raphael painted this, too.) Just as a reminder: Ostia is the harbour where Augustine and Monica talked half a millennium earlier, in preparation for a voyage back to their home in North Africa.
The captives from the Battle of Ostia helped to build the protective Leonine Wall around Vatican Hill, of which a part still stands today.

Leo V (903): he became Pope a year after the completion of the Muslim conquest of Sicily. But he had enemies closer to home. He reigned for two months, and his chief feat is a tax exemption for the canons of Bologna.
After that, a cardinal named Christopher proclaimed himself Pope and threw Leo into prison. It is likely that both were killed in 904 by the next Pope, Sergius III. Thus began the saeculum obscurum, also known as the ‘Rule of the Harlots’: a period in which the papacy was regarded as a source of income and military strength, over which Italian aristocratic families were fighting like dogs over a bone.

Leo VI (928): a Pope who was chosen by the senatrix Marozia, formerly the mistress of Sergius III. Leo’s immediate predecessor had been imprisoned and killed by Marozia.
He does not seem to have been a very bad Pope, mostly concerning himself with the ecclesiastical situation in Dalmatia (in the modern-day Balkan). He also forbade castrates from marrying and sent out a plea for help against Arab raiders. It looks like he died a natural death.

Leo VII (936-939): also chosen by the temporal ruler of Rome. He was possibly a Benedictine and gave many privileges to monasteries, especially Cluny. He also asked them to mediate in disputes.

Leo VIII (964-965): was an antipope before he legitimately became Pope. He was an important official at the court of Pope John XII and served as an ambassador to Emperor Otto I. The two were engaged in a struggle about the Papal States. Ironically, when Leo was sent on his mission to Otto, the Emperor was just besieging the Italian king in his Castle of St. Leo.
Otto marched on Rome; John fled; Otto appointed Leo to the papacy.
Otto left; the Romans rebelled; Leo fled to Otto; another Pope (Benedict) was elected.
Otto came back; Pope Benedict’s staff was broken; Leo was installed again. He spent his papacy conferring favours on the Emperor. This was the end of the saeculum obscurum.

Leo IX (1049-1054): a German Pope, and a saint. He promoted the order of Cluny. After being elected Pope by the Emperor and Roman delegates, he insisted on being officially elected by the clergy and people of Rome.
He reinforced the practice of celibacy and fought against simony (the sale of important positions in the Church). He was also involved in a dispute about Eucharistic theology. It’s good to see the Popes returning to their original calling.
At the time the Byzantines held southern Italy, but they were under attack from the Normans. They asked the Pope for military intervention, thinking that the Normans would be reluctant to fight the Pope. So they were, but they still soundly thrashed the papal forces at the Battle of Civitate (no, Raphael didn’t paint this). After his defeat, Leo went out to the Normans and was received with reverence, even though he was also taken as a captive.
Unfortunately, Leo IX helped set in motion the events that would lead to the great schism of East and West. He quoted (in good faith) a forged letter, supposed to be from Constantine, who had purportedly given authority over the Western Roman Empire to the Pope. This was not accepted in the East, and the impatience of Leo’s legate led to the mutual excommunications of 1054. Leo himself had died shortly before.

Leo X (1513-1521): this one also lived at a time of great schism. This time it was the Reformation, which broke out in 1517. The Ecumenical Council held under Leo’s watch (Lateran V) encouraged reform of the Church, but was not well implemented.
Leo was cheerful, with a pleasant voice and an intellectual sense of humour. He was a patron of the arts (and a big spender), and commissioned Raphael to paint the Vatican stanze. He was involved with the university, with literature, music and antiquities.
He was also the last Pope who was not a priest at the time of his election to the papacy.
Because he wanted to increase his nephew’s political prestige, he joined Spain and England in a war with France. This was disastrous for the papal treasury and soured the relationship between the Pope and the College of Cardinals, which tried to poison Leo. He used the situation to his advantage by executing one Cardinal and nominating thirty-one of his own.
Feeling threatened by the Ottoman sultan, Selim I, Leo tried to organize a truce throughout Western Christianity for the sake of a crusade. This was in 1517. It was a valiant attempt, but it failed, and the religious turmoil that would soon break out made such a peace impossible forever.
In the movie Luther he is depicted as strict and cruel, but the picture I get is that he would be a great conversation partner for dinner (as long as you wouldn’t try to poison him).

Leo XI (1605): nephew of Leo X, from the Medici family. He reigned less than a month. He felt an early vocation to the priesthood, but his mother would hear nothing of it. He became a courtier, was knighted and struck up a friendship with a man twenty years his senior: Philip Neri (later canonized).
After his mother’s death he became a priest, then bishop and cardinal. He fulfilled a diplomatic position in France. Because he was popular with the French cardinals, he was elected Pope rather than Robert Bellarmine (also later canonized). But he was already 70, and the inaugural ceremony wearied him so much that he died within a month. That’s why they called him Papa Lampo, ‘Lightning Pope’.

Leo XII (1823-1829): as an indication of how much times can change, this Leo was the only Pope in his century with a Cardinal for a nephew. Like Leo XI, Leo XII also had experience in a diplomatic position, namely in Switzerland. During his lifetime, Napoleon abolished the Papal States, at which the future Leo secluded himself in an abbey for a few years.
He was conservative in his outlook and did not want to make any compromises with the new revolutionary order. Against French opposition, he was elected Pope, having served the preceding Pope as vicar-general. Because he was physically unhealthy, he had argued against his own election, but to no avail.
He lived frugally and tried to soften the financial strain on the inhabitants of the Papal States (reestablished in 1814) by reducing taxes and other measures. It did little good for the internal economy.
Leo’s conservatism fueled his attempts to get everything in the Papal States under direct Church control, such as schools (where he made Latin the obligatory language) and charitable institutions. Jews were not allowed to own property under his watch, and all residents of Rome were required to listen to expositions on the catechism, whether they were Catholic or not.

Leo XIII (1878-1903): the oldest Pope (died at 93) with the third longest pontificate. The first Pope who ascended the Holy See after the Papal States had been definitively abolished by Victor Emmanuel II. It took a while before the Popes could accept this, and so Leo lived in the uneasy time when the Pope considered himself to be ‘prisoner of the Vatican’.
He made great contributions in the realm of theology. With his encyclical Aeterni Patris, he gave a new impulse to the study of St. Thomas Aquinas, making it normative for seminaries as well as Catholic universities. The importance of Scripture for theology, too, was underscored in Providentissimus Deus. Leo was open to Eastern Christians and wanted to protect their rites, preventing the ‘latinization’ of Eastern Catholics. He also had a strong devotion to the Virgin Mary and was known as the ‘Rosary Pope’.
Of course, he is also (in a sense) the founder of Catholic social teaching, the first Pope to devote an encyclical to social inequality: Rerum novarum. This tried to sketch a middle road between capitalism and communism. Later Popes wrote new and ‘updated’ social encyclicals on various anniversaries of Rerum novarum.
He was the Pope with whom St. Therese of Lisieux had a brief audience.
Leo XIII rests in the Basilica of St. John in Lateran, whose dedication we celebrated yesterday.

To conclude, it is said in an Eastern kontakion to St. Leo the Great:

Seated upon the throne of the priesthood, glorious Leo,
you shut the mouths of the spiritual lions.