The Silly Season in Rome

Did you see that Cardinal Chomali of Santiago washed his own white shirt in order to “arrive at the conclave spotless!” There is even a picture of his hands washing the shirt! Yeah, amazing!

Did you hear that Cardinal Oscar Rodriquez Maradiaga left Rome in a huff, said to be bitter and disillusioned that “too many Cardinals appointed by Francis are betraying the late pontiff.” Yeah, amazing.

Did you hear that Cardinal Dolan was in the running?

Did you see that picture of Cardinal Tobin arriving at his Titular Church after taking the Subway?

Two more African Cardinals became voters at the conclave due to confusion over their age. Whatever that means, but it sure sounded important.

What about that lightning storm that lit up the sky above the Vatican?

At the 9th Novemdiales Mass no less, Cardinal Mamberti wore the exact same vestment Pope Francis wore after his election at the Sistine Chapel mass with Cardinals.

Speaking of Novembiales, did you see that within Novemdiales—Novemdiales no less!—somebody AI’d an image of Pope Donald I, and Pope Donald sent it out on his official X page, right in the middle of the Novemdiales.

This was the silly season in Rome, a time between the Pope’s passing and the College of Cardinals going behind closed doors to fill the Shoes of the Fisherman, and a time when Catholic pundits toss around terms like Novembiales.

It is a time when Rome may be at its worst, a time of whispers, goofy rumors, and even calumny. It is a time when no one knows anything, not good guys like Weigel, Flynn, Royal, and Arroyo, or bad guys like Winters and Ivereigh. Probably not even the Great Burke, Müller, or Zen know much of anything.

It is a little like what happens after a national event, like the wounding of the president, when no one knows anything but there is lots of airtime and lots of pixels hungry for endless talk and speculation.

And why does this matter? Quick, without looking, tell us the name of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Okay, I looked. Turns out there isn’t one. Sede vacante since January, when the last one—ever heard of Justin Welby?—stepped down, and who cares? Hardly anyone. Duties have been taken over by—ever heard of Stephen Cottrell?—with some responsibilities undertaken by a lady-bishop named Sarah Mullally, and yet another lady-bishop, this one named Rose Hudson-Wilkin. And hardly anyone cares, this after 105 of them.

But everyone cares about the next Pope. Even our Protestant brethren, even most of them who cannot name the Archbishop of Canterbury, care deeply about the next Pope. When Rome is solid, on firm orthodox ground, there is a sense of comfort in the religious world, which our secular friends must know is almost the entire world. The global conversation is primarily religious and not secular. When Rome grows wobbly, there is great concern, not just among our number, but all over the world.

It is because the Catholic Church matters. It has mattered since history was split in two and Our Lord founded His Church. As Lenny Bruce used to say, the Catholic Church is the only “the Church.” When anyone says, “the Church,” they are talking about us. Have you ever noticed how obsessed the world is with us? The world cannot get enough. And so, the visible head of the Church matters a great deal, certainly to faithful and unfaithful Catholics, and almost everyone.

And now we know his name, Robert Prevost, Pope Leo XIV and the silly season continues. His name signals something or other. The vestments he wore on the balcony. Tradition! Did you hear the says the Traditional Latin Mass privately? Did you hear that he voted in Republican primaries. Did you hear that he was the candidate of Fr. James Martin? So on and so forth.

What we do know is that the world was poised breathless, giddy, nervous in St. Peter’s Square or nearby on social media, waiting to see the white smoke, and to see who stepped out. And here we are. We have a Pope! Lord, let him be Holy.

This column first appeared at Crisis Magazine