News leaked out of the Vatican last week that Pope John Paul II plans to proclaim a patron saint for politicians at a special mass on Nov. 5.
That happens to be two days before the U.S. presidential election–coincidence, no doubt, but of the delicious sort that might give two God-fearing candidates a moment of pause. Perhaps it will give them something to think about when they draw the curtain in that most American of confessionals, the voting booth.
The pope has reportedly chosen St. Thomas More, the 16th Century lord chancellor of England, as the model and intercessor for modern-day pols.
At first blush, that choice might boost the morale of the American candidates. After all, the first few lines of More’s curriculum vitae are very 21st Century, almost Clintonesque: the saint-to-be went to Oxford and then studied law.
From there it was a quick climb for the charming young lawyer. He became a judge, was elected to Parliament and was twice appointed a special ambassador by King Henry VIII.
Shortly thereafter the king knighted More, then made him the Master of Requests and a member of the Privy Council, then Treasurer of the Exchequer, then speaker of Parliament. The king was so enchanted with More that he made his favorite politician come to dinner every night, simply for the pleasure of his company; More’s son-in-law later wrote that Sir Thomas had to tone down the charm until the king tired of him, just to get a few days at home with his own family.
And since the job of king was not available to politicians of that day, regardless of their favorable ratings or fundraising, More’s ascent to lord chancellor in 1529 made his political career about as glittering as a man’s could be. A good model for ambitious politicians indeed.
Still, by modern political standards some of More’s behavior was a little heretical. As speaker of Parliament, he once proclaimed that “painted, polished speeches” sometimes conveyed nothing but folly, while wisdom was sometimes found in blunter statements. He repeatedly turned down bribes and gifts.
History is not explicit about More’s personal sins, but whatever they were, he failed to hold a televised prayer breakfast with the correct array of clergy to pronounce his regret. Instead, he wore a hair shirt under his court finery, a little act of penitence known at the time only to his daughter.
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And when King Henry VIII decided to divorce his wife over the objections of the pope, and then make himself the head of the church of England, More said no. The king threw him into London Tower, but More refused to cut a deal. Other royal advisers pointed out that the polls, as measured by the number of people willing to declare spiritual fealty to the king, were overwhelmingly against More, but St. Thomas chose his integrity over his position, his wealth, his freedom and ultimately his life.
If that were not enough to make him a discouraging model for modern-day politicians, consider his last moments. At the request of one of the king’s aides, More agreed to keep his final words brief. He asked only that the crowd gathered for his execution be witness that he died for his faith.
But he did at the end retain that one political fundament common to all parties and all ages: concern for the working man. Before the ax fell, More reportedly turned to the executioner and said, “Pluck up thy spirits, man, and be not afraid to do thine office. My neck is short. Take heed therefore thou shoot not awry.”
Legions of believers around the nation have quietly hoped that Sen. Joseph Lieberman’s overt religious faith would simply reflect well on his character and then disappear from the debate. But serious politics and serious religion, in the hands of fallible humans, tend to be messy business, as the latest flap suggests.
The Democratic candidate for vice president was asked by a news service last week whether he would be willing to talk with Louis Farrakhan, leader of the controversial Nation of Islam. Lieberman answered that he would talk to him, and reportedly said that he had respect for him.
That prompted an organization called the Republican Jewish Coalition to run a full-page ad in The New York Times questioning Lieberman’s commitment to fight anti-Semitism.
That, in turn, prompted the Chicago Board of Rabbis to issue an unusual statement denouncing the ad.
“The ad has the unfortunate consequence of bringing Minister Louis Farrakhan into the campaign,” the board’s statement notes. “To our knowledge, Senator Lieberman has no plans to meet with Minister Farrakhan, and we urge the Senator not to hold such a meeting until such time as the Minister formally and unambiguously renounces his hateful rhetoric.”
The statement goes on to note that Lieberman’s visit to Chicago last month “attracted the largest gathering of African-American and Jewish leaders to assemble in this city since Civil Rights days,” and decries the ad as an attempt to drive a wedge into that coalition.
The ad is, no doubt, an attempt to use religious loyalties for political benefit, as was Lieberman’s carefully orchestrated campaign event in Chicago. The question for the next month will be whether those emotional tugs mean more to voters than the rational question of what makes a good administration.
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