John Paul Draws The Line

By Richard N. Ostling

The morning was balmy, a refreshing California contrast to the withering heat at earlier stops across the Sunbelt. Entering a modern, glass-walled dining hall in the San Fernando Mission complex in north Los Angeles, Pope John Paul II stopped frequently as he worked his way through a gathering of 320 American Roman Catholic bishops. It was an exceptionally cordial encounter, and the Pope lingered an unscheduled 45 minutes to continue the informal exchanges before a closed-door session began. Again, after the meeting, the atmosphere was relaxed and genial at an outdoor buffet lunch at small tables under white umbrellas. But in between, during the three-hour working session -- the central event of the Pope's ten-day U.S. visit -- the unfaltering fraternal harmony could not conceal an extraordinary, sharply drawn divergence.

Never before during his reign has John Paul heard a more candid, widely publicized presentation on church discord from a group of bishops. And never before had U.S. Catholics -- priests and laity alike -- been told so plainly by the Pontiff that they should not consider themselves good Catholics unless they accept all of the church's teachings. "Dissent from church doctrine remains what it is: dissent," he declared. "As such it may not be proposed or received on an equal footing with the church's authentic teaching."

As he left the U.S. last Saturday and flew back to Rome after a one-day visit to northern Canada, the Pope could count both achievements and disappointments. The crowds, as always, had been moved, almost visibly uplifted, by his appearances. Still, the numbers along his motorcade routes were often surprisingly small, thinned perhaps by fears of the crush and heavy security, or the it's-on-TV-anyway mentality; even on his visit to Detroit, only 30,000 turned out in the largely Polish community of Hamtramck. The Pontiff had made special contact for the first time with varied groups of U.S. Catholics -- Hispanics, American Indians, AIDS sufferers -- but his delivery was often wooden (English is not easy for him), and he was best on the few occasions when he could depart from ceremonial mechanics.

"In every city the Pope has hit a home run -- with the bases loaded," beamed Houston's Bishop Joseph Fiorenza. But that seemed a pardonable exaggeration. By no reckoning had John Paul taken America with the same wave of enthusiasm that his 1979 tour generated. Possibly, however, the relative calm of this visit suited John Paul, for nothing he did distracted from the strong message of papal authority he sought to deliver.

There were memorable moments, of course -- usually serious, often sentimental, occasionally silly. One of John Paul's most eloquent sermons was delivered to a glittering gathering of 1,500 executives and entertainers (Charlton Heston, Bob Hope, Loretta Young) in Los Angeles, summoning them to lift the moral tone of their media. "Seeking to satisfy the dreams of millions," he cautioned, "you can become lost in a world of fantasy." In downtown Detroit, he challenged an affluent nation: "You may choose to close in on yourselves, to enjoy the fruits of your own form of progress and to try to forget about the rest of the world. Or . . . you may choose to live up to the responsibilities that your own history and accomplishments place on your shoulders."

In heavily Hispanic San Antonio, the Pontiff praised the "great courage and generosity" of Catholics who aid refugees from Latin America. Press confusion about his meaning led to a spokesman's clarification: the Pope was not endorsing the arguably illegal "sanctuary" offered in some parishes to undocumented aliens. At an especially colorful rally in Phoenix with 10,000 Native Americans, the Pope was blessed with an eagle feather by a medicine man. And for a Mass in Phoenix, the Arizona State University stadium was redecorated, overfastidiously, to conceal images of the school mascot, the Sun Devil.

Protesters, even in San Francisco, were less numerous and raucous than planners had feared. In the tour's largest demonstration, at the city's Mission Dolores basilica, 2,000 angry homosexual and other activists chanted, "Go home, Pope!" Inside, John Paul offered words of consolation to those with AIDS. "God loves you all, without distinction, without limit," he stated. The Pope then moved through a congregation that included 62 AIDS patients, two of them priests. The Holy Father reached out to several sufferers, holding with special tenderness a 4-year-old boy who had received a contaminated blood transfusion. The Pope's feeling for the less fortunate also showed at a Los Angeles rally where John Paul was moved by Tony Melendez, a 25-year-old musician born without arms who played a twelve-string guitar with his toes. "Tony, Tony . . ." said the emotional Pontiff, who left his seat to hug the young man; tears sprang to almost every eye in the crowd. Children, as they frequently do, stirred John Paul's heart and self-deprecating humor. "I speak too much," he joshed after rambling on during a session with Los Angeles grade school students as Nancy Reagan sat by his side.

That moment came only hours after John Paul's meeting with the bishops at the lovely San Fernando Mission, built in 1797. No longer a regular parish, it is used for special occasions and is known as a "chapel of ease." The name was not exactly an apt one for the setting of the Pope's climactic encounter. John Paul sat at an antique writing desk, listening to four archbishops who spoke on behalf of their fellow prelates. He responded to each speaker in what was largely a carefully orchestrated event.

The opening address was given by Chicago's Joseph Cardinal Bernardin, leader of a majority in the national bishops' conference that favors allowing some leeway for Catholics who disagree with official policies. Bernardin emphasized the need to "constantly reaffirm" the centrality of the papacy, but also tried to explain the free-spirited ways of Americans. They "want to know the reasons why certain decisions are made, and they feel free to criticize if they do not agree or are not satisfied with the explanations," said the Cardinal. Many Americans "almost instinctively react negatively when they are told that they must do something."

John Paul, who had received advance texts from the four archbishops last summer, responded to Bernardin merely with a reaffirmation of the church's traditional hierarchical structure. But his words took on an electric intensity when he answered San Francisco Archbishop John Quinn's general observations about troublesome moral issues, notably birth control, homosexuality and abortion. The Pope unleashed a vigorous defense of the Magisterium (the church's teaching authority), firmly rejecting the pick-and- choose approach toward church doctrine among many lay U.S. Catholics. "It is sometimes claimed," intoned the Holy Father, "that dissent from the Magisterium is totally compatible with being a 'good Catholic' and poses no obstacle to the reception of the sacraments. This is a grave error that challenges the teaching office of the bishops of the United States and elsewhere."

The Pope directed the U.S. hierarchy to "address this situation courageously." He seemed to indicate that bishops and priests should re- emphasize that Catholics should not receive Communion if they do not obey the church's moral demands. (In a speech two days later, John Paul specifically applied this requirement to parishioners who remarry after divorce.)

Without mentioning names, John Paul continued his tough tone by taking direct aim at liberal moral theologians like Father Charles Curran, who is fighting his ouster from the Catholic University of America. Theologians, the - Pontiff said, must be subject to church authority, and bishops should make clear that "dissent and confrontation" are not acceptable from church scholars. John Paul also urged the prelates to step up efforts to "safeguard and promote" doctrinal orthodoxy at church-affiliated colleges.

Archbishop Rembert Weakland of Milwaukee, after boldly describing the counterproductive dangers of an "authoritarian style," made a forthright appeal for women to become "equal partners" within the church. "There are no words to explain so much pain on the part of so many competent women today who feel they are second-class citizens in a church they love. That pain turns easily to anger," he warned, as many come to resent "male superiority and dominance."

The Pope offered no substantive response on women, only endorsing their "equal human dignity." Turning to a topic Weakland had not even mentioned, John Paul urged the bishops to oppose artificial birth control more actively and promote natural methods approved by the church. After the final speaker, Cincinnati's Archbishop Daniel Pilarczyk, discussed the growing shortage of priests and nuns, the Pope stressed that seminarians must be grounded in traditional teaching.

At a subsequent press conference, Pilarczyk remarked that the Pope's words did not mean the bishops are "supposed to go home and raise general Cain." Rather, in his view, John Paul was simply telling them, "You guys have a tough job. Please hang in there." Most other bishops emphasized the friendly, nonconfrontational atmosphere at the San Fernando meeting. But in their comments they pointedly left for another day how they would apply the Pope's stern admonitions. As he completed his second tour of the U.S., there was speculation that John Paul, now 67, would never again attempt so strenuous and grand a crosscontinental visit of the U.S.

In many ways he may have no need to. From his perspective, it is now for Americans to move closer to Rome. The papal pilgrimage did not bring reconciliation, and none could have been expected. But if it was to be judged as a clarification of the differences across the Atlantic, it achieved its goal. Lay Americans as well as bishops spoke eloquently to John Paul. "Your Holiness," implored Catholic Social Work Administrator Donna Hanson of Spokane, "I do not always feel that I am heard. In my cultural experience, questioning is generally not rebellion nor dissent." Such give-and-take is important to both sides.

Certainly the Pope has lost little of his personal impact. "People seem touched, enriched in some intangible way by the Pope's presence," observed Bishop James Malone of Youngstown, Ohio. One of the AIDS patients in the San Francisco congregation, Earl McLeod, thought that the gay demonstrators outside would have felt differently had they seen John Paul close up. "If they had heard what I heard," he said, "they would not be protesting."

But the Pope cannot hope to win Americans to his side one by one in person. It is the strength of his moral vision, clear cut and demanding, that he leaves for American Catholics to weigh. In their own consciences, in their own hearts and prayers, John Paul's success will have to be measured.

With reporting by Sam Allis with the Pope, and James Willwerth/Los Angeles