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On the first anniversary of his pontificate, Pope Benedict XVI will no doubt be taking stock. Most observers would agree that this new pope has gotten off to a good start. He carries himself with a comfortable air of confidence and self-assurance, mixed with a gentleness that has won over some of his critics. But he is human, and if in the dark watches of the night he wonders how any papal incumbent can faithfully serve God with authority and humility in proper measure, it's a fair bet that a small volume by a long-dead Cistercian lies close to hand on his bedside table.
Benedict would not be the first pope to find understanding—comfort, guidance, admonition and instruction—in a text by the 12th-century contemplative St. Bernard of Clairvaux entitled Five Books on Consideration: Advice to a Pope. Coping with the demands of high office and the venality of courtiers is a timeless scourge. "Today," Bernard asks, "is it not rather ambition than devotion that wears down the doorsteps of the Apostles?" Is it much different now?
Every tested leader acquires painful knowledge of how difficult it is to manage time efficiently, to discern and establish proper priorities, decide wisely, delegate appropriately and implement sensible action with skill, fortitude and grace. And leaders of all sorts must inevitably deal with people—dolts, disciples, and usurpers whose interference or indifference can drive even the most serene to livid distraction. Temporal leadership becomes even more complex when the spiritual dimension is in play. All the allures of money and power are just as real, but the conscience is supposed to more refined, the common good a more prominent objective and the spiritual welfare of humanity a primary concern.
A striking feature of Pope John Paul II's long papacy was the man's remarkable ability to demonstrate spiritual leadership even as he wielded papal power. I found it strangely fitting that the weekend he died I happened to be praying at a retreat center run by Benedictine sisters. My host that weekend remembered the time she personally met the pope back in 1983, recounting as if it were yesterday the dogged diligence he displayed as he worked to be as available to as many in the large audience as was humanly possible. When he passed in front of her he looked directly in her face. Even then, in the early years of his papacy, she recalls, "he had the 'tiredest' eyes of any man I've ever seen."
History will long remember how John Paul II courageously carried the burdens of his office; the hunched, Parkinson's-ridden figure stepping bravely to yet another podium in yet another country—a feeble vessel sailing on obediently on the power of winds ineffable. "High position is not designed to flatter, for it involves greater responsibility," observes Bernard. Good leaders—especially religious leaders—are inevitably required to serve purposes extending above and beyond their personal interests.
The weekend we grieved the death of a highly renowned pope, Bernard's book was part of my kit. It had come to me by another curious chance. A few days after signing off on a personal development plan ambitiously titled "To contemplate and to act," I was listening half-heartedly to a Regent College lecture on Christian spirituality when the professor used a phrase that suddenly riveted my attention. He was talking about Bernard of Clairvaux, a long-dead abbot associated in my mind with the reflective lyrics of "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" and the author of 86 sermons on the Song of Songs. "We remember Bernard mostly for the depth of his spiritual writing," intoned the professor, "but he was also a man of immense action." To contemplate and to act: so it is possible, I mused, and listened more carefully.
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