The instructions in the letter Oscar Lipscomb received that day in 1980 were clear. To accept his new assignment, Lipscomb was to send his superiors in Washington a telegram with this coded message: “Diocesan report on its way.”
Lipscomb prayed for 30 minutes, and then he sent the response. And, with those words, he agreed to become the first archbishop of Mobile, Ala.
No one would find out the news until the official announcement came from the pope.
In the Catholic Church, only the storied secrecy surrounding the pope’s own election exceeds that involved in the selection of an archbishop. And so it is that, although the interlude following the death on Nov. 14 of Cardinal Joseph Bernardin may seem uneventful, it conceals the bustle of discreet activity attendant to naming his successor.
Publicly, the subject of Chicago’s new archbishop–who may already have been picked– has sparked its share of speculation in the Catholic and secular press, with church-watchers and even gossip columnists trading prelates’ names like they were so many Hollywood hopefuls. But all the talk likely has little connection to what’s happening behind the scenes.
Even as the church hierarchy in Rome pores over dossiers on candidates that can reach a foot thick, lay people and religious groups from all points on the theological spectrum are lobbying for and against candidates.
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Chicago Catholic Women, for example, is urging the pope to pick a woman–undaunted that, even though the pope can effectively name anyone he wants, the Catholic Church has yet to allow women to become priests, let alone archbishops.
It all amounts to trying to penetrate a process that has proved impenetrable. Some say, in fact, that the name of Chicago’s new archbishop will be a surprise, not one that’s been public fodder.
As for the potential candidates, they profess no interest in a position that is widely viewed as one of the most influential in the church.
The most casual mention of someone as a possible successor to Bernardin is likely to provoke from him an unsolicited avowal of contentment along the lines of this statement issued by Michael J. Sheehan, archbishop of Santa Fe:
“I don’t want to be anyplace but here,” reads Sheehan’s press release. “. . . I’ve unpacked all my bags, and besides all of that, the Archdiocese of Santa Fe can’t afford another installation for a new archbishop!”
True or not, this statement, echoed by a handful of other prominent bishops and archbishops in recent months, is a standard gesture in the anti-politics of the Catholic Church.
Not only is it considered unseemly for bishops to display ambition, it verges on heresy. If the pope makes a decision through divine inspiration, who is a bishop to campaign against God’s candidate?
Leaks, trial balloons, spin–all the paraphernalia that Americans expect from contemporary politics–won’t visibly surround the selection of Chicago’s archbishop. Not that journalists, pundits and other observers won’t try.
Only this much can be reliably predicted about the pope’s decision: When Bernardin’s successor is chosen, Pope John Paul II is likely to announce his name from the Vatican at noon on a Tuesday.
At least, that’s the tradition.
Precedent is the best clue to what’s happening inside the church. Typically, the pro-nuncio, the Vatican’s representative to the church in the United States, submits a list of three names and lots of background material to the Congregation for Bishops in Rome. The congregation votes, and its leader presents the choice to the pope during a regular Saturday meeting. The pope usually makes his decision on the spot, confirming the choice or picking someone else.
He can suggest additional candidates for review or ask officials for more information. The three Americans in the congregation will likely wield some influence, too, especially New York Cardinal John O’Connor, who has been labeled a “kingmaker.”
O’Connor, who was sometimes critical of Bernardin, will want someone more conservative, experts say.
“Certainly Cardinal O’Connor is someone who Pope John Paul II relies on in the United States,” said Marco Politi, a longtime Vatican correspondent and co-author of a recent biography of the pope.
In the absence of real information on how the Vatican thinks, theories flourish. The most prevalent and reasonable of these posits that the pope will select a conservative to replace the moderate Bernardin and send a message to Chicago progressives.
That is what happened in San Francisco in 1995, when Archbishop John R. Quinn retired and was succeeded by William J. Levada, who had worked for the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the Vatican congress leading the pope’s theological crackdown.
Similarly, the appointment of Justin F. Rigali as archbishop of St. Louis was seen as part of the pope’s practice of promoting his loyalists. Before his transfer, Rigali, a leading candidate for Chicago, spent 30 years in the Vatican bureaucracy and worked for a time as the pope’s translator.
Labels, however, can be misleading. Virtually all ranking churchmen are faithful to Vatican doctrine. No leading bishop, no matter how liberal, supports abortion or is particularly vocal about ordaining women.
“You have different men with different temperaments and different ways of going about things,” said Joseph Zwilling, O’Connor’s spokesman. “But all of them agree on the basics.”
Distinctions arise from more subtle issues, like a bishop’s willingness to meet with groups that advocate unorthodox views or how aggressively he enforces church policies.
Few are considered as unyielding as Bishop Fabian Bruskewitz of Nebraska, who has threatened to excommunicate Catholics who belong to organizations whose goals conflict with traditional church teachings.
Bishop Anthony Pilla of Cleveland could be viewed as more liberal because he has met with groups like Future Church, which supports ordination of women and married men.
“He’s not a my-way-or-hit-the-highway kind of bishop, like a lot of them are,” said Sister Christine Schenk, a Future Church founder. “That’s important.”
Others looking for clues to Bernardin’s successor search for significance in apparent trends.
The last four Chicago archbishops, for instance, were already archbishops before they came here. The thinking has been that the job needs a man experienced in dealing with a large, diverse flock.
Some observers have noticed another pattern emerging in cities around the country: placing archbishops in their hometowns.
Cardinal Roger Mahony of Los Angeles, Archbishop Daniel M. Buechlein of Indianapolis, Archbishop Daniel Pilarczyk of Cincinnati and Lipscomb of Mobile all are native sons.
The two bishops most often mentioned in the rumor mill, Cleveland’s Pilla and Bishop Donald Wuerl of Pittsburgh, also serve where they grew up.
“If a homeboy is appointed, the advantage is that he knows the diocese very well,” said Rev. Thomas Reese, senior fellow at the Woodstock Theological Center at Georgetown University. “The disadvantage is that the diocese knows him very well and may feel that he has his prejudices, his cronies, that he’s already made up his mind.”
The hometown theory would work in the favor of two Chicagoans: Archbishop James Keleher, of Kansas City, and Bishop Edward M. Egan, of Bridgeport, Conn., both of whom served substantial stints of their careers here.
Another former Chicagoan, Archbishop Thomas J. Murphy of Seattle, onetime rector of the University of St. Mary of the Lake-Mundelein Seminary, was considered a candidate until he recently fell ill with leukemia.
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Then again, Chicago has never had a hometown archbishop.
It’s doubtful the pope or anyone else with significant influence pays attention to these theories, and they certainly don’t share their thoughts with outsiders. What they’re looking for, church-watchers often say, is Jesus with an MBA.
In early December, the Chicago priest-novelist-sociologist Rev. Andrew Greeley wrote in his syndicated column that he had heard O’Connor was “pushing strongly” for his candidate, Buechlein.
Greeley didn’t cite his sources, and O’Connor’s people say the claim is “without foundation” but, if nothing else, the column illustrates the self-perpetuating nature of the guessing game.
Greeley’s column prompted a front-page story in the Indianapolis Star, saying there was growing speculation that Buechlein would replace Bernardin. Among the supporting evidence was the fact that the baiduhai had included Buechlein in a list of a dozen possible candidates for the job.
Despite the widespread speculation, many observers think the name of Bernardin’s successor is just as likely to come as a surprise. One aide to a U.S. bishop even offered to bet against anybody’s best guess, so certain was he that no one can outthink the pope.
The most-often cited example of an unexpected pick is O’Connor, who became New York’s archbishop in 1984 after toiling for less than a year as bishop in the obscurity of Scranton, Pa.
Even if the successor is someone whose name has been batted about frequently, no real confirmation of his identity is likely to come before the official announcement.
He may know a week or so in advance, but is sworn to secrecy.
Usually, notification comes through a phone call from the pro-nuncio. If the pro-nuncio doesn’t know the candidate well enough to recognize his voice, he will ask him questions, like his mother’s maiden name, to confirm his identity.
Though candidates rarely decline a post, they can say no. In his book “Archbishop,” Reese writes that there is even a standard phrase of refusal: “After having consulted with my spiritual father, I respectfully decline.”
But the pressure to accept is strong. In Lipscomb’s case, for example, the letter did not include a coded message to turn down the Mobile archdiocese.
Lipscomb said he gave his parents and sister just a few minutes’ notice before the official announcement came early in the morning.
They gathered in his mother’s hospital room, and he told his family the news. There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then, his mother said, “Well, God help us all.”