Canon law diploma... now what?

As I posted on Twitter and Facebook a few days ago, I recently received word that the University of Strasbourg accepted the results of my final exams and awarded me a Licence in Canon Law. This is the civil version of the Licence -- the canonical version will require more work. Yes, yes, I know it is ironic that I've got a civil degree in canon law, but that's part of the unique features of studying an uber-Catholic subject at a state university in France that operates under a concordat negotiated at the time of Napoleon. Even if it isn't a final result, this diploma is a step in the right direction.

Except... now I need to decide if I continue or not. It is a lot of work, and work is not something I am short of at the moment.

I've discussed this with people whose advice I trust, and we've turned over the problem quite a bit, looking at all the angles. In the end, though, for me the question really comes down to this: "What does the Holy Spirit want?"

I've actually benefitted quite a bit from this canon law experience. I don't just mean the technical knowledge, although that is helpful. More important than that, however, is the fact that I feel I've grown in my ability to think with the mind of the Church (sentire cum ecclesia).

I've often met people who've thought that their specific discipline was the real core of the "mind of the Church" -- liturgists who think that it's liturgy (with the rest being secondary), social justice types who think that it is social thought (with the rest being secondary), ecclesiologists who think that it is ecclesiology (with the rest being secondary), and yes, canonists who think that canon law is the best expression of the "mind of the Church", with (you guessed it), the rest being secondary. Now I don't agree with any of these kinds of people, because I believe that to think with the mind of the Church means integrating the insights of all these disciplines (and more!). Still, I definitely see that canon law has its place, and now that my own understanding of it has grown I feel that my own ability to live that sentire cum ecclesia has grown as well.

I see canon law as a form of practical pastoral theology. It does not exhaust all forms of practical action that the Church undertakes, but it does permit a disciplined reflection on the question of justice within the Church, and thus make sure that practical action is coordinated for the sake of the common good. This is not negligible. It is far to easy to ignore the demands of justice when there is a pressing need of some sort. Of course, that turns into "doing evil for the sake of a good end", which is never acceptable, but gosh it can be so tempting when faced with a great need and a (seemingly) minor evil. For me, canon law is about asking ourselves the question, "what would the Church look like as a just society?" As someone now charged with helping to govern that Church, this question reaches to the core of my vocation.

So I am grateful for the studies I have been able to experience, and to my professors in Strasbourg who have guided those studies. I'm still not sure if I will continue, given the other demands on my time (some of the social challenges we are facing here in Quebec, for example, desperately need the light of the Gospel). But we will see. Please pray for me as I continue to discern.

Poverty and providence

I grew up in a typical middle-class family. While I weren't surrounded by luxury, I do not remember lacking anything. Of course, that didn't mean I always appreciated what I had. I suppose that is the negative side of being a child blessed with a general sense of material security — you risk taking things for granted, not out of ill-will, but simply out of inexperience.

Still, this did not meant that I didn't know poverty existed. I remember seeing images of extreme poverty on television — families experiencing famine in some distant country, for example, who were on display as part of some telethon to raise money for a charity. Of course, the producers of these telethons would put up the most pitiful scenes, such as of hungry mothers trying to tend to their malnourished children. I was very disturbed by such images, and I remember asking my father about them. My naive question was direct and to the point:

"Why do they have so many children if they can't feed them?" I asked. It seemed to me to be a basic element of parental responsibility.

"Well," my father replied, "they probably had those children at a time when there was enough food. It is only after that the problems began. But you know, Tom, there is enough food in the world to feed everyone. The problem isn't growing it. The problem is sharing it, and getting it to everyone."

My father's answer shed a completely new light on the situation. I suddenly realised that poverty was a deeply moral question, and that it wasn't just a moral question for those who were poor. Somehow, everyone was involved, whatever their wealth or poverty. It was a question of solidarity.

I had a chance to experience in a practical way through an activity organized at a local parish sometime later. It was called a "poor man's supper". I had been to such an event before. They were normally fundraising dinners, in which the participants paid for tickets as for a typical fundraising dinner, but for which the meal was very simple (usually not much more than soup). The goal was to be in solidarity with the poor, not only through the donation of money, but also in what we ate. In the case of this parish, however, there was an additional twist. Once we were seated, an explanation was given regarding what would happen next. Each participant would turn over their plate to see what kind of meal they would get. Most participants were going to get the usual simple meal, but two at each table were to be exceptions: one participant was to only receive water and a bit of bread, while the other would get a sumptuous feast. The goal was to sensitize us to the way food was actually distributed in the world — most got something, while some got almost nothing, and a few were able to eat like kings.

One thing was for sure: in my little kid brain (and little kids are always hungry), I really didn't want to get the non-meal. I remember being quite nervous about it, in fact. As it turned out, however, I ended up with the sumptuous feast! At first I ate with relish — after all, it wasn't as if it was my fault that I got lucky in my choice of seat. Still, as the meal progressed I couldn't help but think that something was wrong with this scenario.

I'd like to claim that I immediately started to share my meal with others, but to be honest I don't remember if I did or not. However, I do remember reflecting on the experience afterwards, putting it in a bigger context. "How is it," I wondered, "that I was born in Canada, in a place of plenty, when I could have just as easily been born someplace else, such as the place shown in the television program, where people lived in desperate poverty?"

In other words, was it just luck, like it had been with the plate?

Or was it a sign of God's providence?

And if it was providence, what responsibility did that mean for me to share what I had with others?

Heavy thoughts for a little kid, but looking back I know now that these were the first stirrings of a sense of social justice and solidarity within me.

The power of reconciliation

One of the "rites of passage" of a Catholic child is making his or her first confession. For those unfamiliar with confession in the Catholic tradition, the practice is that the penitent confesses his or her sins to a priest, who offers some counsel as well as a penance which the penitent must accomplish (usually a prayer or an act of devotion or charity of some kind). It is generally held that it is unlikely that a child has sufficient moral awareness before the age of 6 or 7 to commit a real sin (and even then, it is unlikely to be very grave). Still, we all know that kids have at least started, by that point, to have some sense of moral action, and so it is normal that young Catholics start to be educated about this sacrament of forgiveness of sins.

I remember when I was first being taught about sin and reconciliation. Like lots of kids, I wasn't too sure how to know when something was a sin and when it wasn't. My father gave me the following advice: "For something to be a sin, you have to know it is wrong, you have to have chosen to do it, and you have to have done it."

We then talked about those criteria. The following conversation isn't an actual verbatim account, but it generally summarizes the conversation we had that day.

"So if I didn't know it was wrong, and I did it, it isn't a sin?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "But that doesn't change the fact that it was wrong, and so probably hurt somebody. We have a responsibility to learn what is right and what is wrong, so as to be good people."

"And if I did it by accident, and not by choice, it isn't a sin?" I continued.

"Correct," to replied. "But that is only true for true accidents, and not something that happens because of negligence. Also, even if we do something bad by accident, we are responsible to help set things right."

"And what do you mean by 'You have to have done it'?" I asked further.

My father replied, "I mean that sometimes we feel a temptation to do sins, and we can feel bad that we have those temptations. Still, a temptation is not a sin. When you go to confession to the priest, you can talk about your temptations with him if you want, and maybe he can help you deal with them. But you should not feel guilty about them like you would for actual sins you've done."

With this information, I felt I was getting pretty ready for my first confession. I had been taught that God loved me and wanted for forgive me for any bad things I had done, and that now I had a much better sense of what "sin" actually was (and so I knew what things I was supposed to say). Still, I have to admit that I was a bit nervous. I trusted the priests I knew — they had always been very kind to me — but did I really need to tell them about my bad acts? Couldn't we just forget them, pretending like they had never happened?

As it turned out, something occurred during that time of preparation that changed my perspective on this sacrament forever.

At a certain point in that period of preparation — I don't remember exactly when — an adult I looked up to hurt my feelings. I don't remember what it was about, all I remember was the deep sadness I was feeling. Even worse than the hurt, mind you, was the alienation: when someone we look up to and love hurts us, it can make us feel terribly alone. That lonesomeness can even be worse than the original pain.

A few hours after the hurtful incident in question, the same adult came to see me. I had no idea what to expect. In gentle tones, he told me he had thought about the incident, and that he felt badly. He then came right out and apologized. He had done wrong, he admitted it, he promised not to do it again, and he wanted to make amends.

I was in awe.

I was partly in awe of this adult, who was making this offer to a little kid. As a child I had often felt others' love and care, but this was the first time I had ever felt so respected.

But I was also in awe of the moment itself. I knew something extraordinarily special was happening. I remember thinking to myself, "God must be like this somehow."

And so, we were reconciled. Truly reconciled. Again, I don't even remember what the actual hurtful incident was, but I do remember the sadness and pain of alienation being replaced by the joy of genuine reconciliation.

I should add that I was now completely sold on the actual sacrament of reconciliation itself. That adult had examined his conscience, seen he had done wrong, admitted it to another, promised not to repeat it, and offered to make amends. I figured that if an adult had been willing to respect a little kid enough to ask for forgiveness, I as a little kid should be willing to do the same with God. If confession was the means — and the steps the adult had lived sounded a lot like what I had been taught about going to confession — then so be it.

It went beyond this, though. It wasn't just that I was now comfortable with another element of my Catholic duty. No, I wanted to go to confession. We had heard the story of the Prodigal Son as part of our preparation for this sacrament during our catechism classes. I remember being struck by the joy of the father when his errant son came home. I had no trouble believing that part of the story at all. I could imagine the pain of separation each one must have felt when the son left, but I could also understand very well the joy of their reconciliation.

That's what confession was about, I reasoned. It wasn't about rehashing our sins, it was about bringing joy to God and letting him bring an end to our own spiritual isolation.

I don't remember who the priest was for my first experience of the sacrament. I have no idea what I said in my first confession, and given I was only a kid I doubt it was anything all that terrible. But I do remember knowing how holy a moment it was that I was living.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that this sacrament can be called by different names, but my favourite title, even to this day, is the "sacrament of reconciliation".

My earliest understanding of God

I grew up in a practicing Catholic family. I was baptised as an infant, learned my prayers at an early age, and was brought to mass by my parents. While I don't ever recall it being at all overbearing, I also can't recall a time when religion wasn't part of our family experience. Simply put, God, prayer and Church were just there, as part of our lives. It felt very natural.

Still, I do recall when I put forward what may have been my first real question about God. I know I was at most five years old. We were sitting at the supper table, and out of the blue I asked, "Where is God?"

My father replied, very simply, "God is everywhere."

I pressed on a bit. "Really? Is God here in this room with us right now?"

"Yes, he is," my father said.

I remember holding up some solid physical object, and asking, "Is he in this?"

"Yes," he repeated, and with a bit of a smile as I seem to recall. But he didn't stop there, adding, "But more important than that, he wants to live inside of you. He wants to live inside all of us."

For a young child, that last statement was big news. I remember that my questions in that conversation stopped at that point, not because I understood, but because I needed to think about what I'd just been told.

The question, in my little kid brain, was simple: how could God be everywhere, and yet at the same time be inside of us in a special way?

I don't quite recall how long it took, but a few days later I came up with an answer. Simply put, I thought about air. Air is all around us. Since it is invisible, most of the time we don't notice it unless it is acting upon us (as with a breeze, or the wind), but that didn't make it any less real. Finally, the most important air was the air we breathe in — the air inside us that gives us life.

Again, in my little kid brain, my question now had an answer: God was like air. I knew he wasn't actually the air, but that he was like air: invisible, all around us, but able to be inside us in a special way, especially to give us life.

Now it may sound funny, but this insight actually had an effect on my early prayer life. Up until then, prayers were things I said. After this, though, I started to sometimes do a kind of childlike praying where I would think about my breathing as I was doing it, and pretending that I was feeling God being around me and inside me. I won't pretend that I was particularly disciplined in this form of prayer, and I don't claim that "intentional breathing" is necessarily spiritual, but I do know that this practice was important for me. God was around me, God was inside me, and imagining God as I breathed helped me be aware of the presence of God.

Visiting Trevi nel Lazio (part 2)

In my previous post, I described the first day of the two-day trip Father Stephen Otvos and I made to Trevi nel Lazio, the site of my titular diocese. The adventure continued the next day, albeit not in Trevi but in the surrounding region.

Father Stephen and I had a quick breakfast in the morning and then headed out around 10am. Our destination was the Shrine of the Holy Trinity in Vallepietra. This is quite an amazing little shrine, founded well over 1000 years ago as a monastery of Byzantine monks who were probably refugees from some persecution in the Eastern Roman Empire (some say as much as 1500 years ago). They basically set themselves up in a cave high up on the cliffs. One of the remaining frescos from the era of these monks is this one of the Holy Trinity:

Western depictions of the Trinity from this era usually represented the Father as an older man, and the Son as a younger man (the Holy Spirit was usually another image, like a dove). Easterners, on the other hand, tended to depict the Trinity as 3 similar beings, which is one reason why it is believed this is a Byzantine-inspired icon.

Now when I say those monks set themselves up in the cliffs, I wasn’t kidding. Here is the cliff, with a view of the valley below:

We were supposed to meet Father Alberto (the parish priest of Trevi and rector of this shrine) but we underestimated the time it would take to get there. End result: instead of celebrating mass with him at 11am, I got the job for the noon mass! Here is the altar where it took place:

All these photos don’t really do the site justice, mind you, so here is a small video I did to put it all in perspective:

After a delicious lunch with the priests ministering at the shrine, we headed on our way. Next stop: Subiaco, resting place of Saint Benedict, founder of one of the most important monastic traditions and arguably one of the key figures of Western civilization.

The is the monastery built over the grotto where Saint Benedict lived for a time:

This is the grotto itself:

After visiting the first monastery, we headed down to the monastery of Saint Scholastica (named after Saint Benedict’s sister), which is actually the older of the two.

We took a guided tour of the monastery, although it was interrupted when the Abbot showed up. He had heard there was a visiting bishop, so he took some time to visit with us.

And that was it! We were all pretty beat by that point, so the car ride home was fairly quiet. Still, there was one surprise left for us. When we got back to Rome, Father Stephen and I wanted to offer Marco some money for the gas and accommodation expenses that would have been incurred (and gas, I might add, is pretty expensive in Italy). But he refused, explaining that a collection had actually up among some of the townsfolk of Trevi, to split the costs between them. We were their guests, all the way.

As Marco drove off, Father Stephen and I were left exhausted but awestruck. What an incredible weekend, marked first and foremost by a sense of hospitality that people rarely if ever get a chance to experience. There was no doubt about it — we had been blessed, pure and simple.

Visiting Trevi nel Lazio (part 1)

Last year, as I was preparing for my ordination to the episcopate, I wrote a blog post entitled Introducing my diocese. In that post I explained what it means for an auxiliary bishop to have a titular diocese, and how lucky I was to have one with some people still in it! I mentioned that I hoped to visit the place the next time I was in Italy.

Well, I’m in Italy now, on my last full day before I return to Canada. And yes, during this time I had a chance to visit Trevi… and what a trip it was!

The story begins when I was contacted in April 5, 2012, by Marco Iacobucci, a young photographer living in Rome who grew up in Trevi nel Lazio. He had recently started a blog for his home town, and had gone on the Internet to try and find articles he could link to. Imagine his surprise to discover that there was now a bishop with Trevi as the titular see! So he wrote to me, wanting to interview me for the blog. I responded that I would be in Italy in the month of July, so instead of an email interview why not meet in person? This set the wheels in motion.

I got to Italy on June 26, but was initially occupied with the events surrounding the pallium ceremony for Archbishop Christian Lépine. Still, Marco and I did arrange for a meeting in Rome the next week for lunch. As it turns out, he didn’t come alone!

From left to right: Francesco, myself, Marco, and Daniele.

This small delegation, to my surprise, brought presents from Trevi: some books on the town, and some agricultural products (wine, olives, honey… that sort of thing). I was very touched. Over lunch we made plans for me to visit Trevi over a weekend, settling on July 14-15 as the dates, as my good friend Father Stephen Otvos would also be present and I hoped to share this kind of unique experience with someone else as well.

On July 14, Marco came to pick Father Stephen and I up in the morning. There was very little traffic heading out of Rome (the advantage of an early Saturday morning, I suppose), so we made it to the Simbruini mountains in good time. It felt like a summer drive through the Laurentians, and it turns out that Pope John Paul II spend some vacation time here at one point, climbing the mountain peaks in his younger days. The town itself was very picturesque:

After dropping our bags off at the B&B where we would be staying, we headed on to the town proper. Like a lot of old European towns, Trevi was build with a castle at the top of a hill, and was surrounded by a town wall. Over time the town outgrew the limits of the walls, meaning that the “town gates” are actually within the town itself, separating the medieval central portion from the later portion. Our first stop was to these gates. However, as we got closer Marco hinted that a surprise would be waiting for us:

Yes, my friends, they were ringing the town bells for us. We were met at the gates by the mayor, as well as some other representatives of the town, and into the medieval portion. A small crowd was gathered there as well, as it had been announced in the local newspaper that we’d be coming:

The parish church, as it turned out, was not far from the gates, so we headed there first. Once again, there was some fanfare as we arrived:

Father Stephen and I were then given a tour of the interior, and had a chance to head up to the organ loft as well.

The organ itself is a magnificent instrument, having been recently restored. It is now used for concerts, as part of the promotion of the cultural life of the region.

Now while the parish is dedicated to the Assumption of Mary, the patron saint of Trevi is actually Saint Peter the Hermit, a holy preacher who died around 1050 A.D. at the age of 25. The basement of the church is a shrine dedicated to him, and contains his relics. The first photo is of an altar reliquary containing his bones, the second photo is of a portable reliquary containing his vestments, and the third photo is a reliquary bust containing his skull, which is carried in procession on his feast day (August 30).

It turns out that Saint Peter is also buried in Trevi, so after visiting the parish church, we headed to his shrine. Father Stephen and I went downstairs to pray at the place where he died:

There is very little about Saint Peter on the Internet, as far as I can tell (hmmm… I think a Wikipedia article will someday be in order). Still, despite the fact that he lived almost 1000 years ago, the people here are clearly very proud of “their” saint. One person explained it to me this way: “Saint Peter preached and did a lot of miracles. He died very young, but the people were convinced of his holiness, so the town canonized him and started to celebrate his feast. Eventually the Pope recognized he was a saint.” Not quite the way we do things today, but what a great description!

After all this visiting it was time for lunch. We headed over to a small restaurant that serves local cuisine, and tried a bit of everything.

As it turned out, we were going to need our strength, because the next stop (after a walk though the medieval section) was the castle at the centre of town.

We were given a guided tour of the interior of the castle, which includes an exhibit dedicated to the archeology of the area. The earliest records we have of Trevi are from the Roman era, as the Romans had an aqueduct that started in Trevi and flowed all the way to Rome. However, excavations in nearby caves have shown that human have lived in the Trevi region all that way to the early iron age, at least.

The conclusion of our tour was, of course, a trip to the top of the tower, to take in the view.

The valley as it heads up into the mountains:

The valley as it heads down to the plains and the coast:

By this point the afternoon was wearing on, so we headed to one more site before the parish mass that evening. A common practice in former days was to establish roadside shrines so that travellers would have a place to stop and rest. We visited one such shrine, and took in the frescos decorating it:

As much as I liked this visit, I must admit I was anxious to get back to the parish church for mass. I wish I could say it was because I’m particularly pious, but in all honesty it was because I was particularly nervous. You see, I was to be the presider. And yes, the mass was to be in Italian — a first for me! So we got to the sacristy early, giving me a chance to go over the mass texts so as to get the pronunciation right:

The pastor, which is also rector of a major shrine nearby (and vicar general of the diocese to boot!) showed up shortly before the mass was to start, and we had a chance to exchange a few words:

And then, it was mass!

It turns out our coming for the liturgy had also been announced in town bulletins, so the parish was quite full that evening:

While we headed to the sacristy afterwards, as is the local custom, many people came in to greet us. We had to change quickly, mind you, because we had also been invited to visit with the local confraternity (a kind of local charity often found in parishes throughout Italy).

The confraternity members described their work and gave us some of their literature. It was a real treat to visit with them.

Can you believe this was all in just one day? And yes, we were beat by the end of it. This fatigue wasn’t just physical, but mental, as no one we met from the town (apart from Marco himself) spoke any English. It was a great chance for me to practice, but by the end of the day my brain couldn’t process it anymore! Marco very graciously drove us back to the B&B where we were staying, and after a final meeting with a parishioner and a couple of sisters Father Stephen and I started to share on the amazing experience we had just lived. We hit the hay early, because this was just day 1 of our two-day adventure…

The pallium trip, summarized

It has been a while since I wrote a true blog post. Blame it on confirmation season: I was busy enough with my usual work, and when the post-Easter schedule of confirmation celebrations took off, that was it (although Twitter and Facebook updates did continue). Please don’t misunderstand, I absolutely loved doing confirmations, but it did eat into the personal time required for this sort of writing.

In order to get back into the swing of things, I thought I might write a summary of the visit of the College of Consultors to Rome for the pallium ceremony on June 29. Of course, you may be wonder what the heck a pallium might be. This Wikipedia article does a pretty good job of covering the subject. In short, it is a special badge of office for a newly-appointed metropolitan archbishop, who goes to Rome to receive it during the mass of Saints Peter and Paul (June 29). Quebec had three bishops receiving the pallium this year, including my own archbishop, Christian Lépine. Each diocese used the occasion to invite others to come as part of a delegation, and I was part of the Montreal delegation.

We left on June 25 in the evening. As I have been doing a lot of travelling lately I went ahead and got a new credit card that gives access to certain travel benefits, such as priority check-in and free access to the airport lounge. They might not sound like much, but they do take some of the blah out of travelling. In particular, I managed to get a lot of work-related reading done in the lounge prior to boarding the plane, meaning I had less to do once I got the eternal city. Yes, I said work-related reading: this wasn’t yet vacation!

We got to Rome early on the 26th, and grabbed a cab to the Domus Carmelitana, the pilgrim residence where some members of the delegation (including those from the College of Consultors) were staying. The Domus is very comfortable, with a lovely terrassee, a decent breakfast, and (very important) air conditioning! The best part, though, was the service: both friendly and competent, an excellent combination. However, there were a few downsides: no lunch, no supper, and no chapel! We therefore set up a time for us to celebrate mass at the nearby Canadian College, and scoped out a few places for meals. In the end we wound up eating in the Borgo Pio almost every night, followed by a tasty gelato…

June 27 was a day of exploration, the calm before the storm you might say. As it turns out another member of our delegation was going in roughly the same direction as I was, so we turned it into a several-hour exploration of the old quarter of Rome. He had studied in Rome many years ago, so while he was acting as my tour guide it was also a bit of a trip down memory lane as well (we even visited the very same classroom he once studied in at the Gregorian University). On the way back we passed by the Trevi fountain, which I wanted to see in particular because my titular diocese is Trevi nel Lazio, i.e. it shares the same name.

June 28 was the day I completed my set of purple episcopal garb. Yes, my friends, I got a biretta. Pricey little things, they are, and a bit of a pain to fold up once they have been opened… That evening there was a special reception put on by the Délégation du Québec in honour of the three archbishops. It was very nice, and I had a chance to run into some Canadians living in Rome whom I had not seen in a long time.

June 29 was the big day, of course. I had to be at Saint Peter’s by 8:30 am, which means I left the Domus around 8, fully dressed in purple cassock, rochet, mozetta, and skullcap. Oh, and the biretta was also along for the ride. Did I mention that it was EXTREMELY hot in Rome that day? Even at 8 in the morning I was roasting. It didn’t help that I had absolutely NO CLUE where I was going. Yes, I knew where Saint Peter’s was (kinda hard to miss in Rome) but it is a big complex. Happily, I spotted two young priests in cassock and surplice walking with purpose of the right direction, so I figured I’d just follow them. When we got to the piazza in front of the basilica I asked them if they could point me to the door I was supposed to use (different groups of people were using different entrances), and thanks to them I was able to march past a few saluting Swiss Guards to find my way about three or four rows from the front. I wound up sitting next to (and having a great chat with) Bishop Peter Elliot of Australia, who literally wrote the book on being a master of ceremonies for the modern roman rite. He had his biretta too, and clearly wasn’t afraid to use it :-) I kept my eyes on him to know when I was supposed to put it on, and when to take it off…

As for the mass itself, the best word to describe it is “majestic”. The Pope seemed in good form, albeit a bit tired (this ceremony comes at the end of the pastoral year in Rome, so that makes sense). The homily was in Italian, but a translation in English can be found on the Vatican web site.
After the ceremony I changed into my black-and-red cassock for an official reception hosted by the Canadian College, which was thoroughly enjoyable. The evening was another official reception, this time at the residence of the Canadian Ambassador to the Holy See. At both events I had a chance to connect with Canadians living and working in Rome, all of whom have been unfailingly welcoming and gracious to our little band of pilgrims.

The morning of June 30 the various pallium delegations had a private audience with Pope Benedict. Don’t be fooled by the word “private”, mind you — there were several hundred people in the Paul VI hall. Placed (relatively) up front, I had a chance to chat with many brother bishops from around the world: Lagos, Davao, Brisbane, Philadelphia, Denver, and so on. I did not get a chance to meet the Pope personally, but that should come in September when I return for the course for recently ordained bishops.

And then, suddenly, it was July! Sunday mass was celebrated at Trinita dei Monti, the French church run by the Fraternité monastique de Jérusalem (who also have a house in Montreal). We had a tour first, and it is quite an amazing place — it was a major centre of scientific discovery in its day, demonstrating that faith and science really can go together, especially in the Catholic tradition. The rest of the day we spend walking around (I had a chance to visit the Pantheon, as well as pray before the tombs of Saint Catherine of Siena and Blessed Fra’ Angelico). After catching up with a friend now living in Rome, the rest of the evening was quiet, as the nation mourned its terrible loss to Spain.

July 2 was the last event for the Montreal delegation. We got up early and set our for Saint Peter’s, where Archbishop Lépine presided mass at the tomb of Saint Peter himself. It was very moving to know the faith we were celebrating together was in perfect continuity with the faith for which Peter, the Rock, was martyred.

Part of the Montreal delegation began to leave in the days that followed. Those who remained each set their own pace. As for me, July 2 was also the day I started Italian lessons at the Leonardo Da Vinci school. Now people sometimes wonder why I would enroll in classes when I am supposed to be on vacation, but I have often done that. I find that there is no better way to immerse oneself in an environment than to learn the language. With the other students you also get the chance to discover people from all over, and we slowly form a community together. The staff of the school often also offer all kinds of mundane assistance, which helps make the experience (and culture shock) that much easier.

I used part of my time in Rome during this week to get to know some of the various curial offices. In particular, I had a meeting with Cardinal Marc Ouellet, the Prefect of the Congregation for Bishops. He was once my professor, and given his new role (as well as my own) I wanted to see what advice he might have for me. I appreciated his warm welcome, and the sharing of his perspective on the role of the bishop in our post-modern world. I also had a very nice meeting with Cardinal Koch of the Pontifical Council for the Promotion of Christian Unity, as well as members of his staff. I had visited this Council back when I was Chairman of the Canadian Centre for Ecumenism, so I was glad to be back and to visit a friend I made back then who still works at the Council.

July 5 was a very special day for me, because I met up with a small delegation from my titular see, Trevi nel Lazio. There is a fellow named Marco who lives in Rome but who is originally from Trevi, who had contacted me some weeks back to interview me for the town website. When I mentioned I was coming to Rome we made sure to set a date for lunch, and he showed up with two others in tow! It turns out that, while the diocese of Treba (the original name) was suppressed back in the 11th century, the people of the village never forgot that they had once had their own bishop. After Vatican II they petitioned to have it restored as a titular see, and there have been 3 bishops since then (yours truly included). My immediate predecessor was a Polish bishop, and the town had contacted him as well and established an exchange with his diocese in Poland (people visiting him there, Poles coming to visit Trevi). This little delegation expressed great pride in their history, and invited me to come and visit for a weekend. So, I’m going! We have it set up for July 13-15.

July 6 was the day when the rest of the diocesan delegation left for Canada. We ate breakfast together and said our goodbyes, and then they jumped in a cab for the airport. As for me, I packed my bags and walked over to the Casa Paulo VI on Via della Scrofa, between the Pantheon and the Piazza Navona, which is where I am staying for the rest of my stay in Rome. I already have some new adventures planned, and will be joined soon by a brother priest for a couple of weeks of vacation. Language classes will continue as well, and I’m looking forward to getting to know the people who live at the Casa. Stay tuned for more!

How my appointment as bishop came about

Many people have been asking about my new appointment, wanting to know how long I have known, what my reaction was, etc. I’ll start with that story.

It began last Monday (the 4th of July) when I received a very special phone call. I had celebrated a funeral that morning and was just back from the cemetery, so I was relaxing a bit. The call display showed an Ottawa number, but not one that I recognized. As it happened it was Archbishop Archbishop Pedro López Quintana, the Apostolic Nuncio to Canada. He said he needed to see me urgently, so I told him I would be in Ottawa the next day in the morning.

As I hung up the phone, my heart started to race. I had heard about these sorts of calls, and what they usually meant. Could this really be happening? Was I about to be invited to become a successor to the apostles?

I had a wonderful grace that evening. I was lying in bed, having trouble falling asleep, thinking of what could very well happen the next day. I keep a rosary hanging on one of my bed posts, so I picked it up and started to pray. I felt this wonderful maternal presence with me, as if the Virgin Mary herself was taking care of one of her little ones. I slept like a baby, and woke up quite refreshed.

I drove to Ottawa early Tuesday (July 5) in the morning, making it to the Nunciature a little before 10am. The Nuncio received me quite warmly, and got to the point pretty quickly. “After much consultation, the Pope is calling you to become auxiliary bishop of Montreal. Do you accept?”

It was at this point that the Nuncio showed he’s also a man with a sense of humour: before I had a chance to respond with even a question, he added, “Of course, you are quite young, but this is a defect that time will take care of on its own.” We had a good laugh at that!

The Nuncio also challenged me to give an answer that sprung from my conscience, as (as he put it) “There are some transgressions people have a harder time forgiving.” “Well, your Grace,” I replied, “I have nothing in my priesthood that I am ashamed of, although please don’t misunderstand me, I know I’m still a sinner.” He smiled and said, “This is not a beatification. We know no one is perfect; it was simply felt that you can do this task.”

So I accepted.

In terms of the date for the announcement, the Nuncio then proposed that it be July 11, the feast of Saint Benedict (i.e. today). He offered to put it off until later if I wanted, but I knew I’d already be busting trying to keep this in — I’m good at keeping secrets for others, but not so good when it comes to myself, so the 11th it was.

Finally, the Nuncio mentioned that I had to write a letter to the Pope formally accepting my election was bishop. Knowing that letters requesting ordination are normally done by hand I offered to write it on the spot — frankly, I figured it would probably be better for me to be able to return to Montreal with as few details on my mind as possible. He found me some paper, and I took care of it right there and then.

The business of our meeting now done, we chatted a bit about the situation of the diocese of Montreal, as well as regarding the challenges facing the bishops of Canada today. We also chatted about (of all things) my blog. The Nuncio knew about it, and encouraged me to use my expertise with new media to reach out to people and try and build community. This, to be honest, is a big part of why I have started a major overhaul of my website — it was something I had been thinking of doing for a while, but it seems that now is the time!

I was already heading out by 11am, and made it back to Montreal by the early afternoon, as (after all) I still had my regular ministry to take care of! As for the rest of my week, I found myself slowly getting used to the idea of becoming a bishop — the new opportunities and challenges I would face, and perhaps some things I would need to let go. I am still getting used to it all, of course, so please pray for me!

And now for something completely different

I have some big news…

I am being named auxiliary bishop of Montreal. I will be ordained a bishop within the next three months.

I can hardly believe it myself!

At present I am in Ottawa, as my family lives here and I wanted them to hear it from me first. I told my siblings to come over to my parents’ house for 7am, and after they arrived I woke up my mom and dad. Once everyone was seated in the living room, I broke the news. Cheers and hugs were the result!

News sure gets around fast. Within a few minutes I already got a first congratulatory note on Facebook, so I changed my status ASAP. Responses are flowing in.

I will be hitting to road shortly to get back to Montreal for whatever it is that comes next. Stay tuned, I will be posting more of the story as time permits.