Cardinal rules made
to be broken

But cardinal rules are made to be broken, especially when you intend to write about cardinals -- the Catholic dudes in the red beanies, not the brightly colored birds or the St. Louis baseball team.

The election of German Cardinal Ratzinger to pope caused me to reflect on a jumble of church-related matters, all bound to get me in trouble. First, let me disclose I am not a Catholic. I am a nominal Episcopalian, belonging to an order that believes, it seems, you can get closer to God through frequent potluck lunches.

Recent events in Rome reminded me of a trip I took to the Philippines about 25 years ago. On that trip I met Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos, who were still in power. But I also was to meet one of the men responsible for removing Marcos from power, Cardinal Jaime Sin. And I remember thinking that God must have a marvelous sense of humor to have a Cardinal Sin on his bench.

Cardinal Sin wielded the same or more power over the Filipino people than Marcos because the country's population is nearly all Catholic. But I missed my audience with Cardinal Sin because his offices were across town. I was accustomed to traveling everywhere in an official government motorcade with its jeep full of armed Presidential Constabulary officers at the head of the line clearing the way through Manila's impossible traffic. I didn't think I could get to Cardinal Sin on my own, so I missed the opportunity to meet one of the world's great and most ironically named religious leaders.

HE ISN'T THE ONLY cardinal with an alarming name. The conclave of cardinals reminded us of America's own Cardinal Law, the man who seemed to help pedophile priests skirt the law by assigning them to other dioceses when allegations of abuse turned up.

After a little research, I came across some other interestingly named Catholic elders: Cardinal Stickler (Austria), Cardinal Wetter (German), Cardinal Bravo (Nicaragua) and Cardinal Man (Vietnam). Clearly, some cardinals are more colorful than their red robes.

The other thing the conclave of cardinals reminded me of is how certain events suddenly inject obscure words into our vocabulary, like "conclave."

Conclave means a "secret meeting," but you rarely see it used anywhere but in connection with the election of a pope. I think the next time the City Council or a state legislative committee goes into secret session, we should call it a "political conclave" instead of the intentionally misleading "executive session."

Special events involve special vocabulary. We never use the word "furlong" until the Kentucky Derby comes around. A furlong is an obscure length of measurement (220 yards) that is curiously used only when a few horses are running about. You never see, for instance, "The Honolulu 190 Furlong Marathon."

At the Tour de France, we learned that bicyclists don't ride in groups, but "pletons." It is the only time the word "pleton" gets to jersey up and get into the game.

A gathering of cardinals inevitably involves the deliverance of "homilies" to the multitudes. Religious leaders give sermons all the time, but when high-level religious leaders get together to preachify (my word), the sermons suddenly become homilies. Homily implies a softer, more listener-friendly religious harangue.

I'd like to conclude with the first-ever columnist homily. It doesn't matter whether you wear a red robe, black turban, white skullcap, or if you find spiritual inspiration from frequent potluck lunches. We are a large pleton of people sharing one planet with many furlongs to go together. Let's go there in hominy, I mean, harmony.