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Entries from December 2024

Traditions and Tourist Attractions

The December 8 reopening ceremonies of Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris following a whirlwind restoration in the wake of the 2019 fire that nearly felled the famed Gothic edifice drew worldwide attention. Along with St. Peter’s Basilica, it stands as one of the most recognized and revered church structures in the world, as evinced by the outpouring of memories on social media channels during the fire. The rededication also notably took place during the Advent season (more specifically on the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, a feast of Mary to whom the Cathedral is dedicated), when Catholics prepare to celebrate Christmas, the second most significant feast of the liturgical year and one celebrated lavishly both in churches and in households.

For many, Notre-Dame and Christmas both represent celebrations of traditions built up throughout the ages. Indeed, many may combine the two by giving or receiving the Notre-Dame LEGO set released earlier this year. Yet, in both cases, what appear to be perennial traditions represent a kind of pastiche reflecting centuries of accretions and deletions. Both have been in continuous, if uneven, development for centuries.

The restoration of Notre-Dame notably does not return it to its original medieval condition—if that could even be described or recovered with complete accuracy at this juncture—but rather to a 19th-century renovation (famous for the large spire that collapsed during the fire) carried out by Eugéne Viollet-Le-Duc in the wake of Victor Hugo’s celebrated novel Notre-Dame de Paris. Notre-Dame had famously experienced some tribulations in the previous centuries, including a stint as the Temple of Reason (and then the Supreme Being). Viollet-le-Duc’s Notre-Dame restoration was joined in monumental, tourist-attraction Paris by the street plan of Baron Haussmann, designed in part to eliminate spaces for the revolutionary demonstrations that had animated the city since 1789. Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre was built for similar political purposes. The new restoration raises Viollet-le-Duc’s renovation—enshrined by the rise of photography and tourism shortly after its completion—to a kind of canonical status. This was certainly the safest approach, and better than some possible alternatives, but raises questions about the vitality of Notre-Dame as the cathedral of a living, changing Catholic community.

Pope Francis notably declined the invitation to Notre-Dame’s restoration, choosing instead to take a trip to Corsica (a location with whose denizens the French have a fraught history) in part to emphasize the suffering of migrants who come ashore there in their crossing of the Mediterranean from North Africa. This approach does not reject the value of structures such as Notre-Dame but places them in the context of a faith whose core beliefs speak to the dignity of the human person and community.

Like Notre-Dame, our celebrations of Christmas have historical layers that sometimes go unnoticed. In the English-speaking world, Christmas celebrations famously went into abeyance for several hundred years following the Reformation; Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol and higher-church Anglican liturgical developments helped to revive the holiday. Seemingly perennial traditions such as the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at King’s College in Cambridge are just over a century old. Santa Claus, beloved giver of gifts to children, merges the real-life Saint Nicholas, Coca-Cola merchandising and various European traditions concerning gift-giving figures. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of this, but it is a helpful prophylactic to nostalgia to understand how our traditions are always in flux even as they might appear unchanging.

It is a common but facile argument to claim that because a tradition is constructed or a pastiche that this takes away from its meaning. We see this every Christmas when skeptics point out the relationship of its celebration to the Winter Solstice and the nature of Matthew and Luke’s infancy narratives as texts (and their deep inconsistencies with one another). Yet the true meaning of Christmas, to paraphrase many a TV special, stands or falls on the deeper reality the celebration signifies—the Incarnation of God as human in Jesus Christ—and on its connection to the Paschal Mystery (it is no coincidence that Christmas and Easter have historically had many overlapping musical and other motifs). Like any tenet of the faith, this is worth questioning and considering in its own right, but is stronger and more serious than mere “Christmas magic.”

Not far from its more famous namesake, on the outskirts of Paris sits the less famous church of Notre-Dame du Raincy. This church, built in 1922 as a monument to World War I, is built of concrete with large walls of glass. Its brightly lit interior evokes almost four decades in advance the “opening of the windows” that John XXIII hoped for from Vatican II. It anticipates buildings such as St. Joseph’s Cathedral in Hartford, which takes a similar approach in less “pure” form. Yet its stark interior might evoke fascist architecture for some, and its steeply raised altar reinforces clericalism in the liturgy. Even the best modern designs and updates to the tradition are still waystations on a pilgrimage.

Tradition, then, is not a tourist attraction meant to be packaged and admired, but an evolving reality respondent to the signs of the times and the needs of the community. We can celebrate its past glories while being clear-eyed about the need for reform and renewal. Pope Francis has attempted to do this by focusing the church on synodality, but his reforms—especially on crucial issues like women’s roles in the church—have stopped short of even some seemingly modest reforms such as a female diaconate. In the U.S., snazzily packaged (literally) versions of the tradition—up to and including the documents of Vatican II—by outfits such as Word on Fire have attempted something parallel to what I would argue the French government has achieved: a Catholicism safe to consume for contemporary Americans.

This Christmas, as we reflect on our traditions and indeed celebrate Notre-Dame’s survival and restoration, we might well attend to the words of the prophet Malachi that make up my favorite aria in another Christmas tradition (though its totality is arguably more appropriate for Eastertide), Handel’s Messiah: “But who may abide the day of His coming, and who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner’s fire.”


Daniel A. Rober is a systematic theologian and Catholic studies professor at Sacred Heart University.


From the Other Side of the Border

The Feast of the Nativity, we know, is a story beginning with a journey: the beleaguered family searching fruitlessly for safety and shelter. It includes a questionable border crossing: was the Holy Family free to enter Egypt? Every Christmas cycle calls us, as Christians, to search for ourselves in that journey of Divine Incarnation, where we see humanity in its essence—in short, humanity in need—embodied in the Christ child. For people of faith, Christmas isn’t meant to be marking a historical event, but it is the journey of discovering God with us, in us and for us. Yet our place in the journey of the Holy Family this year, in North America, seems neglected (or perhaps distorted).

The U.S. enters this Christmas having chosen—with the support of a majority of Catholics—a political path that promises drastic reduction of immigration and deportation of millions already in the country. The targeting of “the other,” “the foreigner” is sadly a perennial human vice. Canada has caught this anti-immigrant trend as well. On both sides of the border, arguments create a scapegoat for our social ills: inflation, job/housing shortages, homelessness, the list goes on. We say immigrants are “sneaking in illegally” and destroying the lifestyle we believe is our (God-given) right. Few seem willing to critique our institutions and economic priorities in order to recognize and address social inequalities that exist regardless of immigration. It is easier to blame the newcomer, the refugee, for our current problems.

When we, as Catholics, jump on the anti-immigration bandwagon, we are abandoning the Christmas journey, choosing the comfort of the inn that turned away the poor couple, exhausted, homeless, about to give birth to their first child. Once we are ensconced in the “inside” with others guarding their privilege and security, we conveniently forget that overwhelmingly in the U.S. and Canada, Catholics are an immigrant people. Historically, except for our Canadian provinces of Québec and New Brunswick, Catholics have lived as a minority within the various jurisdictions—wanderers seeking shelter, wanting to belong.

How disappointing it is when “wanting to belong” results in forgetting how we came here (who we subjugated), who we are following and who we could be. The recent election reinforces the extent to which Catholics in Canada and the U.S. have become “just like everyone.” Forgetting where we came from—an immigrant people, searching for a better life—we close our hearts to the cry of the world’s poor and the laments of those whom we displaced. Regardless of which side of the border we call home, we accept as “reasonable” the anti-immigration rhetoric that immigration (legal or not) threatens our “scarce” resources in economically challenging times (although we live in two of the wealthiest countries in the world). We prioritize our fear over our compassion. We, who are called to be in the world but not of it, set aside our prophetic call in favor of standing in unison with the men of this world.

Thankfully, Church leaders have spoken out. In response to the election of Donald Trump, the president of the U.S. bishops’ conference, Archbishop Broglio, reminded us that the United States must show concern for “those outside our borders and [be] eager to offer assistance to all.” Echoing this sentiment, Cardinal Cupich said, “We must never tire of living our tradition of service to the needy, of welcoming the stranger, of respecting the dignity of human life, care of the planet and outreach to all those living at society’s margins.” Catholic bishops have spoken out against the dehumanization of immigrants and advocated for the need to strengthen our Catholic commitment to the Church’s social teachings. But their words are not enough: you and I must stop our acquiescence to the anti-immigrant, anti-refugee blame game!

As Christians, we cannot give up our vocation of witnessing the Gospel in exchange for stability, comfort and acceptance by the mainstream. Rather, we must remember that at the core, our faith is the faith of a wandering people who journeyed through the desert, lost, but with hope of a future home. We want to find true comfort and solace in following Christ, our Lord, born homeless, whose parents then had to flee with him to a foreign land. Our faith compels us to be a people of welcome and compassion. Borders are not the answer to that critical question: “And who is my neighbor?”  In Luke (10:37), even the lawyer recognized that “neighbor” was not defined by law, but by mercy.

Merry Christmas! Christ is Born!


Myroslaw Tataryn is professor emeritus at St. Jerome’s University, Canada, and a Ukrainian Greco-Catholic priest.


New Cardinals, an Aging Pope and the Upcoming Conclave

Pope Francis turns 88 on December 17th. Depending on how one keeps score, that will make him something like the fifth or sixth oldest man ever to occupy the Chair of Peter. According to legend, Pope Saint Agatho holds the all-time record. A Benedictine hermit from Sicily, he was supposedly 104 years old (some say perhaps even 107) when he died in the late 7th century as Bishop of Rome. Nonetheless, Agatho, who was called the Wonderworker, had a short reign. He did not even become a cardinal until he was 99 years old. And he was already 101 when elected pope.

More than fourteen centuries later, another 99-year-old will finally become a cardinal of the Holy Roman Church. He’s Archbishop Angelo Acerbi, a retired papal nuncio who is among 21 men who will receive the red hat from Francis during a December 7th consistory in St. Peter's Basilica. No one seriously expects that the same fate awaits Acerbi as that of the ancient St. Agatho, though stranger things have happened—some would say even in this current pontificate! But more than doing strange things, Francis has deliberately been disruptive, putting forth new challenges and instituting reforms of various magnitudes at many different levels throughout the Church. He's done this to rouse a tired institution that is helplessly watching its center of gravity dramatically shift away from Europe towards Africa and Asia. He's done this to shake the Church from its complacency and self-preservation, its tendency to wallow in self-absorption.

This year's Advent consistory, the tenth of the Francis pontificate, is the Jesuit pope's latest "shock to the system." Among the 20 new cardinals who are under the age of 80, and thus still able to participate in a conclave, are men with a wide variety of talents and experience. Seventeen are still under the age of 70, thirteen of them are 65 or younger, and seven have not yet reached their 60th birthday. These younger members—like Frank Leo, 53, the archbishop of Toronto; Baldassare Reina, 54, vicar of Rome; and Roberto Repole, 57, archbishop of Turin—will likely become increasingly influential in the Church's life over the coming decades. The pope certainly expects them to be major actors in ensuring that his ambitious project of synodality takes root throughout the Church. Francis has also chosen impressive, more senior men to be members of the College of Cardinals. Keep an eye, especially, on two Divine Word Missionaries. The first is Tarcisio Kikuchi, 66, who is archbishop of Tokyo and president of Caritas Internationalis. The second is Ladislav (László) Német, 68, a polyglot Hungarian who is archbishop of Belgrade (Serbia). But perhaps the most interesting in this otherwise “younger” group is 79-year-old Timothy Radcliffe, the English Dominican and former head of the worldwide Order of Preachers. A scripture scholar and popular author and speaker, he was the chief spiritual director and preacher at the past two Synod assemblies. Those gatherings focused on ways to make synodality an essential component of the Church’s life, witness and decision-making. By making Radcliffe a cardinal, the Jesuit pope has ensured that the Dominican theologian’s voice will be heard during (or at least in the closed-door meeting before) the next conclave to elect his successor as Bishop of Rome.

And when might that happen? No one—except, perhaps, Francis himself—can say for sure. The first-ever pope to come from the Society of Jesus and the New World is still extremely busy. But it cannot be denied that he is increasingly showing signs of slowing down. He has good days and, more and more, days that are not so good. He is sometimes short of breath and his voice is audibly weaker, which is only normal. Still, he is determined to soldier on, some say stubbornly so. Before he marks his 88th birthday, he will not only have held the cardinal-making consistory, but he will also make a day trip to the neighboring French island of Corsica (roughly a one-hour flight from Rome). The fact that he’s decided to go there instead of to Paris for the inauguration of the newly restored Notre Dame Cathedral has angered many in France and dismayed some more classical-minded Catholics from around the world. Their discontent over the “papal snub,” as many have called it, demonstrates that they still have failed to understand what Francis holds as top priority—people (especially those on the existential and spiritual margins), rather than church buildings and artifacts (especially those ornate ones bankrolled for cultural or political reasons).

After blowing out the 88 candles on his birthday cake, the Argentine pope will officially open the Church’s latest Holy Year on Christmas Eve at the Vatican. A few months later—on March 13, specifically—he will mark the 12th anniversary of his election as Bishop of Rome. That number is especially significant for the Jesuits, whose superiors (with the exception of the Father General in Rome) usually serve terms of six years. Thus, it will be the equivalent of two such terms for Francis, who, in this span of time, has never returned to his “former diocese” (as he likes to call it) in Buenos Aires or to his native Argentina. For the last several years, he’s occasionally mentioned that he’d like to visit his South American homeland again, “maybe next year.” But “next year” has never come. Perhaps, in the coming months? There has been no serious talk of such a visit, but the pope of surprises could easily decide to make one at the drop of a hat. One trip abroad seems all but certain—a visit to Turkey to celebrate with the ecumenical patriarch of Constantinople the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea. Patriarch Bartholomew has said that is likely to take place in May. And then after that?

Again, the question arises: could Francis retire? If he were to do so, it would make papal resignations normal, rather than something that occurs once every six or eight centuries. It would also further demythologize the Roman papacy and give the cardinals greater confidence to choose a younger man for pope with the understanding that he would not cling to office until death. But if Francis dies before relinquishing the papacy, Benedict XVI’s resignation in 2013 will remain an exception rather than the “institution” that Francis himself has said it should be seen as. It's interesting to note that the last Roman Pontiff to resign voluntarily was not Celestine V in 1294, but Gregory XII in 1415. During a time of rival popes, he stepped down in order to end the Western Schism. Next July 4th marks the 610th anniversary of Gregory's resignation. Incidentally, he was 88 years old.


Robert Mickens has been a “Roman observer” of the papacy, Vatican and the Catholic Church since moving to Italy in 1986. He is currently on sabbatical.