Our Pop Culture Moment

On my coffee table, I have a book of classic rock
posters—from The Who, to Led Zeppelin, to Nirvana, Metallica, and the Grateful
Dead. The book was given to me by a
brother bishop who knows that, in my earlier years, I listened to many of those
bands.

I’m a Catholic bishop, entrusted with the responsibilities
of Christ’s apostles. I’ve had the
benefit of exposure to the richness of Western culture: to great literature,
and poetry, and sacred music. But I’m
not immune to the charms, and whimsy, and sometimes profound insight of
American popular culture.

I also know that pop culture matters. And that our country’s political and social
opinions come more often from the world of Lorne Michaels and Jon Stewart than
from the staid pages of even the New York Times or the Wall Street
Journal. When I talk to young people
about gay marriage, they’re more likely to cite Macklemore than Maureen
Dowd.

This is why Marc Binelli’s profile of Pope Francis, the
cover story of February’s Rolling Stone, is so troubling, and so important.

The profile is an exercise in standard revisionism, bent on
demonstrating Francis’ break from the supposedly conservative Church of
old. Light on facts, heavy on
implication, half-truths and hearsay, the piece remakes Pope Francis as the
quiet hero of the liberal left. It uses
the scandals of Vatican finance and sexual abuse, coupled with tired tropes
about Opus Dei and the Latin Mass, to craft Pope Benedict XVI as a miserly conservative
plotter. Pope Francis is the foil: the
reluctant, populist leader of a move to liberalize and desacralize the Catholic
Church.

It doesn’t matter how much or how little is true. Certainly, the profile contains a great deal
of untruth. Inconvenient facts, such as the affability of an Opus Dei source,
or the theological orthodoxy of the Holy Father, are dismissed. The piece is unbalanced in its sourcing, and
it draws unreasonable conclusions from carefully selected vignettes. Over the next few weeks, bright Catholics
will discredit the factual inaccuracies in the article. But what matters most
is that Rolling Stone and its
collaborators are working to hijack the papacy of a loyal, though often
unconventional, son of the Church.

The reason is simple.
Sexual and social libertines have little interest in discrediting
Christianity. They’re far more
interested in refashioning it—in claiming Christ, and his vicar, as their
supporters. The secularist social agenda is more palatable to impressionable
young people if it complements, rather than competes with, the residual Christianity
of their families. The enemy has no
interest in eradicating Christianity if he can sublimate it to his own
purposes.

The greatest trick of the devil isn’t convincing the world
he doesn’t exist—it’s convincing the world that Jesus Christ is the champion of
his causes.

Well-formed Catholics know that Pope Francis isn’t breaking
new theological ground. His work on
economics, for example, is in continuity with a point being made about justice
since at least Leo XIII. His call for
broader participation by laity, particularly women, was a point of great
importance to Benedict XVI. And his expressions
of charity and solidarity towards those afflicted with same-sex attraction is
rooted in the Church’s best tradition. But the media has driven a wedge between
Francis and his predecessors by focusing less on substance than method.

There’s much in Binelli’s essay to criticize. But the piece was effective. The profile, and many others like it, have
re-crafted Francis’ public image in the annals of popular culture. He has become a rock star. But if we
understand that, and are prepared for it, we have a good chance of using the
Church’s pop culture moment, instead of becoming its victim.

Among other things, the profile should spur committed
Christians to work in secular and social media, in radio, film, and
television. There was a time when
newspapers and magazines of a certain size had a knowledgeable religion
reporter—perhaps not personally religious, but informed enough to treat
religion on its own merits. For a variety of reasons, those days are mostly gone. And so if we want to prevent secular media
from hijacking religious realities, we need religious people at the helm—using
the ordinary avenues of media to present a compelling witness to truth.

Catholic media is important—I admire tremendously the
Catholics committed to it—but our willingness to work in and with secular media
will determine the extent to which we can control the telling of our story.

I’m sometimes asked whether Pope Francis knows that he’s
subject to media misinterpretation.
While I don’t know him personally, I would suspect he is keenly aware of
the choices he’s making, and the risks they pose. That’s why last week on the
Church’s World Day for Communications, Pope Francis remarked that “if a choice
has to be made between a bruised Church which goes out to the streets and a
Church suffering from self-absorption, I certainly prefer the first. Those
‘streets’ are the world where people live and where they can be reached, both
effectively and affectively.”

The preference of the Holy Father, like the preference of
Jesus Christ himself, is to engage the world, to run the risk that journalists
like Binelli will write unfounded, agenda-driven profiles.

Why?

Because, as Pope Benedict XVI said in 2013, by “patiently
and respectfully engaging their questions and their doubts as they advance in
their search for the truth and the meaning of human existence,” we can
introduce the world to Jesus Christ.

In short, we take risks because we trust in the eternal
victory of Jesus Christ.

Postmodern profiling by Rolling
Stone should be taken seriously. But
far more serious is our mandate to live charitably, joyfully, and boldly in
discipleship of Jesus Christ. And the
potential of living that mandate is limitless.

It is the simplicity of Pope Francis, and his charity, which
are misappropriated. His generosity and
humanity are remade as a shibboleth of heterodoxy. And as a foil, the humility
and academic brilliance of Pope Benedict are characterized, with a fair bit of
anti-Teutonic stereotyping, as Machiavellian scheming. But these images are laughably inaccurate,
and fleeting.

The promise of the Gospel is that authentic commitment to
the truth—and a refusal to separate a commitment to social justice from a
commitment to orthodoxy and piety—will lead to conversion. The path of Pope Francis might lead to “media
martyrdom.” But martyrdom sows the seeds
of conversion.

As Cardinal Ratzinger, Pope Benedict wrote that
“[St.] Paul was not of the opinion that the chief pastoral task was to
avoid controversy. Nor did he think that an apostle should have above all good
press. No, he wanted to arouse, to awaken consciences, even if it cost him his
life.” In different ways, rooted in
different personalities, Benedict and Francis have both demonstrated commitment
to that ideal. So should we.

Pop culture is important, and powerful. The sign value of Pope Francis’ pontificate
is immense. And liable to
misinterpretation. But our task is to
wed sign and substance. To use the new-found
fascination of the world for the Holy Father for the quiet, personal
conversations which lead to conversion.
To use piqued curiosity to speak, from the heart of a disciple, to
suffering souls.

If we live in fidelity to the Gospel, we’re vulnerable to far
more than pop-culture persecution. But
persecution is a part of the Christian mystery.
And, if we live authentically, openly, and faithfully, persecution will
lead to victory.

Most Reverend James D.
Conley, STL, is the Catholic bishop of Lincoln, Nebraska.

Become a fan of First Things on Facebook, subscribe to First Things via RSS, and follow First Things on Twitter.