How Should the New Pope Address the Faithful?
There are numerous reasons why no one should ask me for spiritual advice. But when it comes to what language to offer it in, the Catholic Church is in a tricky spot. There are about 7,000 living languages in the world, and as the faith of about one in six human beings, the church has a fair number of options.
After five centuries of exclusively electing Italians, the cardinals seem to be adjusting to a more global world. Polish-born John Paul II spoke a dozen languages, and his Bavarian successor Benedict XVI at least half that many. The late Papa Francisco had limited abilities outside Spanish and Italian, but being trilingual (including Latin) is nothing to sneeze at.
In theory, the universal language of the church is Latin, as it has been since St. Peter set up shop in Rome in the 1st Century. “Habemus papam!” is one of a few bits of the language still ossified in popular vocabulary. In Rome, it kicks off perhaps the only occasion in the world where people gather to cheer the result of an election without yet knowing who has won. But aside from the customary introduction, the language was absent from Leo XIV’s inaugural address to the faithful.
The majority of Leo’s address was in Italian, the Vatican’s traditional lingua franca. At one point, he switched to Spanish to address his flock back in Chiclayo, Peru, where he served as bishop for several years. Media outside the United States were eager to play up the idea that he is of the Americas, rather than just America, and he does speak Spanish fluently, albeit with a noticeable gringo accent. It was a nice touch, a meaningful nod to the region that is currently home to more Catholics than any other. But many viewers around the world must have wondered, did he have no special message for the faithful in his home town of Chicago?
Many commentators praised the new pope as an adept moderate, who could strike an effective middle path between acolytes of the late Francis and more conservative elements in the church. This idea holds true for regional identity, as well as theology.
Many churchmen, and the faithful generally, have long been uneasy at the idea of a holy father who hails from the world’s foremost superpower. On the other hand, it is hard to ignore a country that also ranks so highly in religiosity, and perhaps as importantly, rich parishioners. Leo will have choose his words, and his language, carefully. Latin retains much appeal, in terms of neutrality and tradition as well as a generally august vibe (even in the annoying Italian-accented register favoured by churchmen). But political and spiritual factors align to suggest that Leo should not be overly wary of his native tongue.
Rome did insist that the mass itself be celebrated only in Latin down to 1965, and centuries-old tales of burning men alive for translating the Bible continue to stain the church’s reputation, especially in the English-speaking world. However, over its long history, the general theme has been one of linguistic pragmatism. The traditional Latin version of the Bible, later blasted by Protestant reformers as arcane and snobbish, is called the Vulgate for a reason. At the time St. Jerome composed it, based on texts mainly in classical Greek, he did so not in the register of Cicero, but in the Vulgar Latin of the Roman masses.
Four centuries later, in 813, the Council of Tours authorised priests to preach their sermons in the common “rustic” Romance or Germanic languages of their flocks. Since then, most preaching, administration, and of course pastoral care has been done in the vernacular.
It seems paradoxical, then, that recent years have seen a resurgence of interest in Latin in some areas of Catholic life. But seizing on the familiar is not unusual in times of change. Italian cemented its administrative dominance in the 16th Century, as the church retrenched under onslaught of the Reformation. The latest Leo takes inspiration from Leo XIII, who reigned during the Industrial Revolution. He wrote more, in Latin, perhaps than any pope in history (with the help of his favourite tipple, wine laced with cocaine). His most famous bull, Rerum novarum (“Of New Things”) was influential in shaping Catholic attitudes toward the technological and social changes sweeping Europe at the time.
The late Benedict favoured Latin more than other recent popes, including when he announced his abdication in 2013. One Italian reporter got a scoop on the momentous news because she was the only one in the Vatican press pool who understood the Vatican’s official language. Francis felt differently, and was annoyed by the ongoing resurgence of the traditional Latin mass, even though it tends to draw younger and more consistent crowds than the modern Vatican II version.
It is not yet clear where Leo comes down on this issue. It is logical that, in a globalised world, a vastly international organisation should have a lingua franca. Italian is an arbitrary choice in an era of airplanes, wireless communication, and the fast erosion of local dominance in the Curia. Spanish and French are very important, but regional. Latin has a certain appeal. But is it realistic to restore to quotidian preeminence a language that even clerics had partially given up on by the 9th Century?
Of course, as they have for over a thousand years, churchmen on the ground around the world do now operate in whatever language helps them reach people. In light of this, it seems reasonable that their boss, the man whom tens of millions of people tuned in to hear last month, should address the faithful around the world in the language the most people understand.
For all of the coverage of Leo’s Latin American ties, many cardinals leaving the conclave quietly noted that his ability to speak crisp, clear English was a major asset in connecting with colleagues from around the world. Latin will always have a place, and Italian too, if only out of respect for the immediate neighbourhood and to avoid giving offence to Europeans.
Leo’s language skills are admirable, especially given (well-founded) prejudices toward his homeland. He should use them. But the organisation he leads is called Catholic, Greek for “universal,” for a reason. Most Catholics do not speak English as a mother tongue, but they are far likelier at least to understand it than any other one. In an age of so many rerum novarum, it helps to reach people where they’re at.
