Thanks be to God that Pope Francis is dead

Not only is Christ arisen, but Francis too

Image: Pope Francis, who died on Sunday.¹

Twice this last weekend, prior to Sunday, that is, different people said to me, “There is no such thing as coincidence.” What struck me about both instances of this coincidental confirmation of a lack of coincidence is that both were emitted by friends who I know hold religion in the same vein as Henry Ford viewed history: bunk. This I find confusing. If there is no such thing as coincidence, then all things that happen happen by happenstance. For, the opposite of coincidence is where events occur in a planned, scheduled manner, or at least according to some automatic or systematic sequence. And, if such a sequence is not to be attributed to happenstance, or to meticulous preparation on the part of one or more parties, the supposition is that an unseen hand has procured their coterminosity.

Last Christmas is a hit record by the duo Wham!, comprising Andrew Ridgeley and George Michael. It was a Christmas number one tune in the UK, where the band originated, in January 2021, 36 years and more after it was recorded. In 1986, it attained only the number two position, being held off the top spot by George Michael, in a manner of speaking, and a coterie of other performers singing the number one song Do They Know It’s Christmas?

Michael himself never knew that the record he had sung in 1986 would eventually top the charts. He passed into eternity in 2016. What is strange about number one hits is the fact that the record which is at that position at Christmas is special. It, in a way, defines that season of Christmas. In the case of Last Christmas, it has pretty much defined every Christmas since 1986. But we never talk about the Easter number one. Perhaps because Easter, the very heart of what Christian belief is all about, has not yet been hijacked by commercial interests, and has retained some of the purity of its message to the world: resurrection.

This Easter, I extended my ecumenical experience by attending a mass at one of the Russian Orthodox churches that are dotted around Brussels. People who cannot dance feel abashed to give it a try on the dance floor. They feel they’ll be in the way, and trip people up. Tripping practised dancers up with one’s first steps is not the problem. The problem is the experienced dancers, if, perchance, they express their irritation. I don’t think I have ever experienced dancers’ irritation at an act of worship where I didn’t know what I should do. It’s forgive us our trespasses in its most basic practical application. An act of worship is a very special place in our human existence. Besides in your own bed, it is the one place on Earth where you will not be judged.

If you find that to be something odd to say this Easter Tuesday, then take a moment at junctures throughout the day to count the number of times that you exercise your judgment (i.e. is it right or wrong?), or that judgment is exercised over you, or others (or by your car or computer). Just walking down the street these days is to be judged, as your face is recognised and matched against the list of current public enemies. You yourself judge carefully as you insert your pencil into the sharpener in order to give it a point. We judge all the time, day in day out. And a church is a haven from judgment. God will never judge you, not in a church, not anywhere. It’s being in the church that is our own prompt to judge ourselves, and to recognise our errors and serve our penitence: by saying sorry.

The reason why I attended the Orthodox service was because I was staying with a friend who is a member of that congregation, and she nudged me along to help my understanding. The service was a special long one for Easter, three hours and more, covering the late evening of Saturday, until the strike of midnight and the coming of Easter Sunday. Upon entering at 9 pm, the room was in darkness. Only candles gave any light. The regular members sang chants (there is no speech in the Orthodox church: the priest and the congregation repeat and intone chants: Orthodoxy is all about singing. The congregational leader was directing the chants and turning the pages and tuning her fork non-stop for three hours, and was a perfect pitch singer. Truly beautiful. It gave a strong impression to me of being utterly perfect imperfection, a sense of direction in the midst of what the novice might see as confusion. Like a self-driving Tesla, with no physical mother board.

The chants were repeated, often, many times. People would wander in, as late-comers, or wander out, for a breath of fresh air. There was a naturalness to this circulation of folk. It did not detract, because, unlike in a Roman Catholic or Protestant church, there is no silence in Orthodoxy, no moment for personal reflection, for the purpose of the chanting is the same as the chant at a football stadium, or the hymns of the Church of England, or the two minutes during which we sing the national anthem: to induce a trance.

A trance is a very special state. It is far removed from indolence or catatonia. A trance is where one is mentally absorbed in the subject matter, to such a point that one can experience epiphany, sudden realisations, things that used to be concealed and are now exposed, such as you can hardly believe you never saw them before. In a trance, we exclude all extraneous influences, and concentrate for that moment on our purpose. And the purpose in the act of worship on Saturday was Sunday. Upon the midnight hour, the priest lit a candelabrum and processed through and among the congregation, calling out with unhindered joy and in a multitude of languages: Christ is risen. In that moment, the electric lights were switched on, and our three hours of darkness was over, we could see each other and welcome each other into our hearts. Theatres have long since understood the importance of lighting to the enjoyment of a play. They are clearly not alone.

Priest Christophe D’Aloisio, who led the congregation’s worship on the Saturday night, was also at the morning service I attended elsewhere in the city on Sunday. It was a joint celebration by all Christian churches this Easter, for a quirk of the moon has procured that the normal split of Easter date between Orthodoxy and the rest of Christendom was absent. It was a coincidence. Not procured by God—at least, I don’t think so—but procured by the traditions of mankind. It is man’s traditions that also procured that the Jewish Passover should also have happened coterminously with Easter. And it is man’s traditions that procure when Ramadan falls for the Muslims of our world, and it has only recently ended. I find it as it should be, that the start of Ramadan is always declared afterwards. It commences with the precise prescribed phase of the moon as observed by an officer of the Muslim faith from a rooftop in Mecca. With all our modern technology, the wise Muslims of Arabia place ultimate faith in what they can actually see. For there is enough else that we cannot.

I was in a torn mood to hear later on Sunday of the demise of His Holiness Pope Francis. My faith has been a simpler journey for me than Francis’s was for him, because as a church leader he not only had to find his own way, but he had to light the way for millions of others, and parry the attacks of those who questioned his and his church’s motives, and who castigate those of its members who have erred: we are to believe that church officers abuse their position for personal gain and gratification, and it cannot be denied. They do. Sometimes in fulfilment of their tasks, and occasionally in dereliction of their duties. Were they only corporate, instead of clerical, leaders. Then, the taints of one executive officer could not possibly besmirch the reputation of another. But the brush that tars members of the clergy who sin tars indelibly and unforgivingly and with gay abandon. One might almost say with judgment but without discretion. Certainly for some, with schadefreude.

It is sad that Francis is gone from us: the Pope is dead, long live the Pope. And it is not sad. It is a cause for rejoicing. Death is the end of life for us on Earth, and the start of new life in the centuries and centuries that are yet to come, in eternity. Francis had to go from us at some point. With the world in a state of turmoil, in which we are surrounded by death and wanton destruction, unhappiness and summary judgment, I don’t think Francis could have passed at a more appropriate time. Not only is he the living proof of Christ’s resurrection but, far more than that, his passing gives us cause to reflect on what the church, all churches, can do for ordinary people, whether or not they believe in God. Oh, this is no soap advert, padded with promises for a whiter wash, so let me be plain: the church is a source of benefit, also to members of society who do not believe in God. The substantive benefit comes in the form of that trance on Saturday. Pausing for reflection, excluding externalities, and experiencing the burst of light, venturing into the midst of strangers and being greeted by them without prejudice or association. I warrant: church and your bed are the only places you will not be judged.

The ambivalence felt by some towards churches is understandable, or it is if we can understand irrational bias. Put it this way: we know what corporations do, what their purpose is, how they lay waste to the countryside in their pursuit of that purpose, how they do nothing that they are not forced by writ of law to do, and abstain from what is prohibited only in the face of a supreme court’s order. And yet we happily play the stock market and work at sleek offices that are the shop front of these companies, and utter not one word of criticism. Because we understand them: they seek profit every bit as much as we do, hence the mutual comprehension.

But many who do not believe in God dismiss Him. Much more than they might dismiss a company that markets a product they do not need. And this is because they do not understand God, or the church that worships Him, because there is no profit in religion, only benefit. It comes not from an exploitation of mineral resources, cornered, monopolised or stolen by armed corporates, repackaged and flogged to the plebs at exorbitant prices justified only by the avarice of those who charge them. God’s resource is free of charge. It costs nothing to mine, and is available in abundance to all who would desire it. But it sounds trite, and therefore gets dismissed. It has numerous names: love, mercy, grace. But, it’s precisely because it cannot be packaged and sold on TV that it is dismissed as an irrelevance: something that bears no relation to, and has no bearing on, our life on Earth. Free, gratis: how can that be real? How can it be real if we do not have to determine the price, the quotation on the market, for love? In dollars, if you don’t mind.

Those who cannot find any tangible reason to believe in something that is outside their tangible existence defines their reality in terms of limited imagination. That is surprising, because it is precisely the ability to conceive of ideas and concepts beyond the mundane nature of today’s reality that in fact give the spur for the commercial instruments known as patents, innovation and technology. If we could not conceive of something that is not visible right in front us, we would not have invented the wheel. Maybe more people would believe if we patented God’s love, the way we patent ice cream. Because, ultimately, they are similar, God’s love and ice cream, with one slight difference.

I cannot eat ice cream for you, I’m not that partial to it for myself. But only you can taste the raspberry ripple or feel the crunch of the wafer, or go into delight over the crispy chocolate covering. Go ahead, enjoy it, you’ve worked for it, you’ve earned it. Everyone deserves an ice cream now and again. But your consumption of ice cream will not affect mine. And that’s where ice cream differs from God’s love, because wherever you are and you feel God’s love, I will feel it too. Not much, but slightly. There is a chill in the air at the present time, and that is due to a lack of love. Too much CO2, and not enough love. And, if you can feel love’s lack, you can feel its expression.

Even water is not so freely and abundantly available to us at no cost. Yet the very source of life itself cannot compare to love in terms of its power as a resource for mankind.

And, if you really don’t believe in anything that you haven’t paid through the nose for, then, please, accept my gift to you of God’s love, and take out a paid subscription: that way, you’ll know it’s for real.

1. By Korea.net / Korean Culture and Information Service (Photographer name), CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34828249.