Letter To The College Of
Cardinals
Vatican City – Rome – Italy
Dear senior and august leaders of the
Roman Catholic Church,
I regret to inform, as you begin your
conclave to select the next Holy Father, that if by some miracle of
God you decide to select me as the new Bishop of Rome then I will
have to respectfully decline this most elevated position and
responsibility.
It was whispered to me that I might be under your consideration because the confirmation name I chose
by divine coincidence happened to be Peter. Most are now all too familiar with
the prophecy of the Irish St. Malachy who correctly identified 111
popes that would come after him, the 111th being the now
Pope Emeritus Benedict and the 112th and last who would be
identified by the clue “Peter the Roman”. Since most of you
distinguished cardinals, even the ones from the backwaters of this
world, are acquainted with the art and statues depicting the ancient
Roman rulers you can by a glance look at my profile, the solid nose,
the prominent chin, the fading hairline, and see quite a resemblance
between me and those Roman rulers. Exalted ones, name and looks are
not everything!
By now you may have heard that I know a
smattering of Spanish and that admittedly has deep implications to
those that want to appeal to the largest population segment of the
Church. One of your own, a Brazilian, has been widely discussed as a
front runner in the press as well as in the secret meetings of the
Italian power brokers. Even though I could get by on a trip to South
America with my few words and exaggerated hand gestures you must see that a
native who also speaks Italian would be a much better fit.
Speculation also is that the new Pontiff might come from the fastest growing area of the Roman church, Africa. But we all know that there are patterns. After the Italians finally lost their stranglehold the papacy went north east to Poland and then west to Germany. Since the Netherlands and France would logically be next my Dutch and French heritage is impressive. Your luck with French popes hasn't been too good but imagine a Dutch pope. I could grow a big white beard, put on vestments, place a miter on my head, take hold of a staff and then grab my big sack of presents . . . oh wait, wrong image. Sinter Poppa.
As you all know so much better than I,
the requirements for the next Pope do not specify that the chosen man
be selected from your college of cardinals. It seems that even a
married man would qualify as long as his wife became a nun and was
put away in a convent. I mentioned this to Jackie and she asked;
“Could I take my elliptical?” and I answered; “Honey, I don't
think they even have electricity there.” Yes, I am a simple man .
. . but my wife has needs.
And then there is the matter of how I
would have to dress. Red slippers! Seriously! Maybe we could start
some new traditions. How about a papal brass belt buckle that says
“Rock On”. It could even be in Latin.
Speaking of Latin, I have a little
problem there. My mother made me take Latin when I was in 9th
grade at EE Fell Junior High because she thought it would provide a
good foundation for everything else in the English world. The first
semester I got a C- and the second came in at D-. The only phrase I
can remember is Vini, Vidi, Visa – I came, I saw, I charged it.
Sometime during the summer before my 10th grade year my
mother got a phone call from Mrs. Damson who had been my teacher.
She asked; “Is Robert planning on taking Latin this coming year?”
When my mom said no Mrs. Damson remarked; “Oh good!” and
promptly hung up.
How would my children and grandchildren address me? Dad? Poppa?
Grand Poppa? Your Holyness? Say, that might work. Your Most Holy Rolly Pollyness? Even better. I suppose some of
the Italian popes centuries ago had this figured out so we could go by
tradition here. I do worry about finding a seat at my young grandkid's very crowded programs at Zeeland Christian or Ada Vista. "Hey buddy, lose that miter. You make a better door than a window." Yea, it would be a problem.
I also worry about the financial future
of the Church. When my parents visited Rome years ago my mother,
seeing that now at age 24 years I had become in her mind newly
religious, brought me back a little black plastic rosary. Handing it
to me she only spoke this one phrase; “Here, the Pope blessed it.”
That was so sweet. However in my mind I saw the old guy riding a golf cart
through a large warehouse, waving his hand at rack after rack of holy
cards and other religious items. Oh well, I'd probably just upset the proverbial apple cart. My blessings would be
free. And so would a whole lot of other things.
Anyway, thank you for your consideration,
Yours in Christ Jesus,
Robert Thomas Peter LaBarge
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