The First Woman Cardinal of the Catholic Church IV The final chapter
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THE FIRST WOMAN CARDINAL OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH
Melissa Tawn
Mary-Anne Cardinal O'Connor walked slowly but purposefully towards the
room in which the hearing was to take place. She was not wearing the
ceremonial robes to which she was entitled, but rather a simply-cut
purple silk business suit, with hemline modestly below the knees. Her
shoes were comfortable, despite their stylish three-inch heel. Her
perfectly-done hairdo showed traces of white attesting to her 50 years,
and her makeup was so subtle as to be almost unnoticeable. She wore no
jewelry save for a large gold pectoral cross, a copy of an original
crafted by Cellini for Cardinal de Medici, later looted by Napoleon, and
now exhibited with honor in the Louvre. She carried no purse or
briefcase, only a breviary.
It was but one month after the sensational news conference at which it
was revealed that Mark Anthony O'Connor, cardinal of the Catholic church
and acclaimed as the most original and charismatic theological thinker
since Peter Abelard, had undergone sexual reassignment surgery and was
now, legally and officially, a woman. At that conference, Cardinal
O'Connor explained that she was now barred by canon law from celebrating
the mass and hearing confessions, and did not intend to do so. However,
there was no canonical reason why she should resign her membership in the
College of Cardinals and she had no intention of doing that either.
Cardinal O'Connor had been elevated to the purple by the late beloved
Pope J**, generally considered a sure candidate for beatification in the
near future. It was his brilliantly-written and meticulously-argued
position papers which led the Great Vatican Council to reform so many
aspects of the church, bringing it into tune with the twentieth century.
The elevation came shortly after the Council concluded, and was taken to
be a sign that future reforms were yet on the way. But then, within less
than a year, the Pope suddenly died of a heart attack. His successor, a
mild and gentle man, could not stand under the pressures of his great
office, and he too died within a few months of his selection. The next
man selected had been an outsider, of vigorous physical constitution, but
of different temper than J**. He had his own close advisors and Cardinal
O'Connor soon found that he had been shunted to head an important-
sounding but essentially meaningless and powerless commission, and edged
away from positions of real influence. After two years, asked - and all
to quickly received - permission to be relieved of his duties for a year
of prayer and meditation. He disappeared from view until the press
conference that shocked the Vatican and the Catholic world.
While Cardinal O'Connor believed that her position as a member of the
College of Cardinals was secure, the Holy Father clearly had other views
of the matter. Within a week, he announced the formation of a special
tribunal of inquiry into the matter, to be headed by the conservative and
crafty Vatican Secretary of State, Cardinal Leone. The tribunal had
already held one meeting, at which questions posed by the Holy Father
were read, and opinions against Cardinal O'Connor were presented. Today
was the second meeting, at which Cardinal O'Connor would get a chance to
rebut these.
As Mary-Anne entered the room, she could feel the tension in the air. The
members of the tribunal, her erstwhile colleagues, some of whom she had
considered close friends as well, looked at her as though she were a
freak in a circus. She did not cower, however. She looked at them with
dignity, sat in the place allotted to her, and began her response.
"Your eminences," she explained, "it is best to begin at the beginning
..."
"...I was, as you know, born of a poor but pious Irish family, the fifth
of seven children. From my youngest days, I had always felt that
'something was wrong' and that I should really have been a girl. Often,
when I had the chance, I would dress in my sisters' clothes and pretend
that I was a girl just like they were. I knew, however, that according to
the teachings of the church, these actions were considered a sin, and so
I was careful to do it only in secret, so that none could find out. As I
entered my teens, this conflict in me caused me to be a loner - shunning
the company of boys and girls alike - for fear that my secret would come
out. I spent hours reading religious books trying to understand what was
happening to me, but to no avail. As I grew, I became convinced that only
by thoroughly learning the ways of God, could I finally understand
myself. When I was 15, a chance opened up to go to Rome to study here in
a course which would lead to the priesthood. I applied for the position
and, since I was a good student, my application was accepted. [Cardinal
O'Connor is being modest here; at the time, he was already considered the
most gifted genius to have ever attended his school, in its 300 years of
existence, and perhaps ever to have attended any school in Ireland.]
I came to Rome, but the change of location did not quell my inner unrest.
Indeed, I felt lonelier and more confused than before. Finally, one day,
I felt I could no longer take it and had to unburden myself in
confession, something which I had never done before. I poured out my
heart and my feelings in the confessional, and the priest who heard me
answered with understanding. He asked only that I look deep within
myself, to make sure that my feelings were true. He did not reprimand me,
as I had expected he would.
Later that day, I was called to the office of the principal of the
school. The Vatican official in charge of the education of future priests
had paid a surprise visit and he wanted to show off his prize pupil, me,
to the visitor. This visitor was, of course, a well-known man, about 20
years my senior, and generally considered by the gossip (to which all
schoolboys paid extreme attention) as an up-and-coming power in the
church. After a moment's conversation, I realized that the voice was that
of the priest to whom I had confessed earlier that day. He too apparently
figured that out too, for he suggested that, since it was a nice spring
day, we should continue our conversation while walking in the school's
garden. As we walked together, far from the earshot of others, talking
about school matters, he suddenly changed the subject and told me that,
yes, it was he who had heard my confession earlier. Fantasies, he said,
are not, in themselves, wrong. He too had a persistent fantasy - though a
very different one from mine. Having taken a vow of celibacy, he
fantasized what it would be like to live a "normal" life, with a wife a
children, whom he could love, educate, and care for. If I had a daughter,
he said, I would hope she would be just like you.
We talked some more, and, by whatever means, a symbiosis emerged, one
about which neither of us had dreamed, but which we obviously both wanted
and needed. The next time we met, it was not on the school grounds, but
in an out-of-the-way caf? in one of the suburbs of the city. He was
dressed this time not as a priest but in the slacks and turtleneck
sweater of a typical Italian middle-class businessman. I was dressed in a
semi-revealing top and skirt that were all the rage among Italian
teenagers of the day. For the rest of the afternoon, we were father and
daughter. He took me shopping, sightseeing, and dining. Two weeks later,
we met again, and then again. Soon, we had established a definite
pattern: once every two weeks we each escaped into our intermeshing
fantasy worlds - he as a man of the world and me as his daughter. Let me
emphasize, your eminences, that the relationship was totally chaste. The
most intimate thing we ever did was that he would give me a fatherly kiss
on the forehead when our meetings came to an end.
We toured museums and galleries, during the summer we went to the
seashore and the mountains. We talked of many things - of the history of
Rome, of its architecture and art, of its customs and traditions. We
talked of the world and where it was going. We also saw, and discussed,
how the church was becoming less and less relevant to the lives of the
ordinary citizens. We even stopped into churches and random and saw the
boredom and irrelevance of it all, from the point of view of the audience
sitting before an indifferent and self-absorbed priest.
And I was growing up. I finished my school days and started studying in a
seminary. My Father and Protector was advancing in the church hierarchy.
One day, he asked me what I saw my future to be. In my role as his
daughter, to which I had become so accustomed, I answered what was
truthfully in my mind: I want to become a nun, father, and work with the
poor.
At our next meeting, he was not alone, but rather with a woman his age.
Though she was not dressed in a habit, I quickly recognized her as Sister
Sophia, founder of the famous order of poor sisters known and praised in
the popular press as the "midnight angels of Rome" -- nuns who roam the
city streets late at night, locating and taking care of the poor, the
homeless, and the neglected. Sophia was a world-wise woman. She had been
a fashionable courtesan of considerable repute in her day who, suddenly,
left her profession at the height of her renown and joined the church.
She had met many "girls" like me, and was not in the least shocked by it.
After a long and probing talk, she accepted me into her order.
For the next twenty years, your eminences, I spent my nights as Sister
Mary-Anne, the midnight angel. Along with other sisters of the order, I
fed the hungry, found shelter for the homeless, clothed the naked, and
comforted the despondent. I held girls of 13 and 14 in my arms as they
tried to overcome the effects of excessive of alcohol or drugs, I
midwifed dozens of babies in dirty alleys or in the backrooms of
brothels, and made sure that mother and infant were sent to hospitals for
proper care. I saw, and experienced, aspects of this city which you never
see through the smoked glass windows of your limousines', nor can you
possibly imagine.
And during the day, I continued my life first in the seminary and then,
after ordination, as theological scholar and, later, teacher. You are
all, I am sure, familiar with some of the many books and articles I wrote
during that period, though many of you do not agree with them. My
fantasy meetings with my Father and Protector stopped, as he was promoted
and transferred to a city in the north of Italy, but I was already
carving my own path upwards in the Vatican establishment. When J** was
selected as Holy Father, I for the first time found that I could really
influence the way the church was moving. This consumed all of my time and
attention, and my nighttime existence as Sister Mary-Anne came to an end.
Upon his tragic death, and as I lost the ability to help move events in
the direction I felt necessary, my attention returned to my own self and
I felt it was time to put my own soul in order. As you know, I applied
for, and was granted, a leave of absence in order to meditate and pray. I
chose a hermitage not far from Mount Tabor, the site of the Sermon on the
Mount. There, surrounded by pine trees, I was able, for the first time,
to carefully consider my own predicament.
In Verse 27 of Chapter 1 of Genesis, we read about the creation of man,
the following words, in the original Hebrew: "zachar unkevah barah otam",
which are generally translated as "male and female He created them". The
Hebrew conjunction "u" is generally interpreted as creating a dichotomy:
EITHER male OR female. However, that is probably not a correct reading.
It should more likely be considered as conjective: BOTH male AND female.
(I will not tire you with a detailed philological analysis, but I ended
up writing a long monograph on this with Prof. Evyatar Etsion of the
Department of Biblical Philology of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem,
which is now in press and which should be published shortly.) In other
words, the soul of every human being has both a male and female aspect.
One of these, as a rule, is more dominant than the other. However, both
must be there in some measure.
When the dominant aspect of this gender identity corresponds to the
physical characteristics of the body in which the soul sits, as is
usually the case, there is no problem. But what if that does not happen?
In the middle ages, a disfigured body was assumed to mirror a disfigured
soul, and the clubfooted and hare lipped were social outcasts. We, of
course, no longer believe that today. A club foot or a hare lip can be
remedied surgically, and none of you would say that that is interfering
with God's plan. Why is it not the same for the case of gender? If, in my
soul, the female aspect dominates, while my body is that of a male, is it
wrong for me to surgically alter my mundane body to fit my God-given
soul? Or must I torture my soul in order to make it fit my body?
On these questions, your eminences, I pondered for many months, before I
reached the conclusion I reached. I am now in the process of writing them
up in a formal, and rather lengthy, monograph, and I beg your indulgence
and pardon that it will not be ready for several more months.
Towards the end of my sabbatical, I saw my path clear. A quick trip to
Bangkok, and the hands of a very gifted and understanding surgeon, gave
me the harmony between body and soul which I have craved since childhood.
I am at peace."
With those words, Cardinal O'Connor ended her testimony, and asked if
there are any questions that need clarification. "Just one," replied
Cardinal Leone. "I would like to know the identity of the man you called
your Father and Protector, the man who started you on the most terrible
path that led to your present condition." "I cannot reveal it," replied
Mary-Anne. He is no longer in this world, and I do not want to harm his
blessed memory by having his name come out." "We order you to reveal his
name," replied Cardinal Leone. "Remember that this tribunal is closed,
and its protocols will not be made public." "I will reveal his name,"
replied Mary-Anne, "only if add to that protection the seal of the
confessional. If you all agree that this is as a confession, which must
never be revealed to anyone on pain of death." The cardinals in the room
nodded their assent, and all secretaries and assistants left the room.
"You all knew him," replied Mary-Anne, "under his apostolic name, Pope
J**". He was my Father and Protector. After he named me cardinal, he
joked with me in private that many popes in the past had been guilty of
nepotism for naming their sons as cardinals, but he would surely go down
as the first, to have named his daughter."
--
After Cardinal O'Connor left the room, the tribunal met to consider its
decision, which was announced the next day in a meeting open to the
public.
"The sole reason for removing a person from the College of Cardinals for
reason other than physical inability to perform his duties is if a sin
had been committed which led to that person's initial nomination or in
that person's actions after nomination." No evidence of such a sin has
been presented to the tribunal as yet. Moreover, interesting theological
questions have been raised, which require much further study and
consideration. Until the time such study is completed, or further
evidence is presented, this tribunal will be adjourned. During the period
of adjournment, Cardinal O'Connor will retain her position as a cardinal
of the church."
Mary-Anne, and everyone else in the room, including the representatives
of the press, immediately grasped the significance of the pronoun in the
last sentence. The tribunal would never be reconvened.
Alma
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