Marian Musings, Part II

My previous post ended by quoting God's words to the serpent in Genesis 3:15 - "I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel" - and observing that although "there are many layers of interpretation that can be applied...it requires very adventurous reading to fail to perceive the figures of Jesus and Mary in this early antediluvian passage."

I'm not here to write a tome about all those layers, but I might as well pick up where I left off.

Genesis 3:15 doesn't attach the word "woman" to a specific name, but it doesn't need to. Though we modern Westerners tend to demand everything be spelled out with kindergarten clarity down to the most minute details, we are only a fraction of mankind - a tiny fraction of it throughout history - and we need to remember that Scripture is for all of humanity for all time. I don't think it's hyperbolic for me to say that a person who disagrees with that is probably not Christian.

Eve was originally not called Eve. When she is first introduced, Genesis 2:23 states "she shall be called Woman," and starting then and running through the fall, the text refers to her simply as "the woman." It does this even when God is the one speaking. The name Eve is not given to her until Genesis 3:20, after she (along with complicit Adam) caused the fall.

You might be asking, "What does that have to do with Mary?" Stick with me. I'll get there.

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Thousands of years after the fall which Eve, then called Woman, helped precipitate, the virginal conception of Jesus occurred. Shorty after that, pregnant Mary visited pregnant Elizabeth and Luke 1:42-43 tells us that Elizabeth, upon hearing Mary's greeting, "exclaimed with a loud cry, 'Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?'"

So Elizabeth knew the savior was the son, not the mother, and she knew the son was in her home, yet the wonder she expressed was over the fact his mother had come. This is just one of many examples of what my previous post described as Jesus and Mary being presented as a kind of package deal.

Mary then sings her Magnificat. Within this one song, three conservative scholars working independently of each other - David Lyle Jeffrey (Scottish Baptist), Scot McKnight (Anglican Church in North America), and Tim Perry (Evangelical) - identified allusions and references to twenty-nine Old Testament passages. Her ties run deep into the long pre-Christian past that preceded her.

When Mary and Joseph retrieve 12-year-old Jesus from the temple, Simeon prophesies in Luke 2:34 that "this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed"... then he immediately warns Mary that "a sword will pierce through your own soul also." Again we see some kind of package deal; there is more going on here than "just" motherhood.

Like John Henry Newman (1801-1890) wrote about the church fathers Irenaeus, Justin Martyr, and Tertullian - all of whom lived in the second century - "they do not speak of the Blessed Virgin merely as the physical instrument of our Lord's taking flesh, but as an intelligent, responsible cause of it; her faith and obedience being accessories to the Incarnation..."

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Somewhere around the age of 30, Jesus begins his public ministry because Mary prompts him to during the wedding feast of Cana. At that pivotal moment in history, when she beckons him into service by notifying him the wine has run out, he responds not by calling her mother or mom but by gravely referring to her as "Woman."

He then seems to plead for her to change her mind by adding "my hour has not yet come" (John 2:4), and her response to that is one of correction. Mary communicates to Jesus that his time has come by ignoring his protest and instead addressing the servants with the simple command to "do whatever he tells you." And Jesus, for lack of a better word, submits.

Four verses later water has been made into wine, signifying his first public miracle, and in that instant the Rubicon is crossed. There could be no turning back once the cat was out of the bag. Here we get a strong sense of what Eve's doings in Genesis have to do with Mary's in the New Testament: Eve was Woman, but lost that designation when she precipitated humanity's fall by succumbing to the serpent's prodding; Mary, on the other hand, receives the designation of Woman when she precipitates humanity's redemption by prodding Christ to go public.

Some three years later, as if to drive home the point of his mother's bestriding importance to all of mankind, Christ bookends his ministry by again referring to her as "Woman" from the cross. John 19 shows him addressing Mary this way to open his final spoken words to her before that moment when he "bowed his head and gave up his spirit."

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It is not some late-arriving novelty to ponder these things and see Mary as a human figure of supernatural importance. Irenaeus (125-202) wrote in Against Heresies III that "as by a virgin the human race had been bound to death, by a virgin it is saved, the balance being preserved, a virgin's disobedience by a virgin's obedience." Tertullian (155-225) commented in On the Flesh of Christ that "Eve had believed the serpent; Mary believed Gabriel; the fault which the one committed by believing, the other by believing has blotted out."

We see this kind of theology early - comparing Mary and Eve as mothers to all, while contrasting them because only Mary points to redemption - which is why Catholics often refer to Mary as "the New Eve."

What we don't see early - in fact, don't see for the first 80 or so percent of Christian history, not until after the Reformation's battle lines had already been drawn - is opposition to this kind of theology. That is what prompted Father John Waiss, a priest and member of the Prelature of Opus Dei, to write in 2023 that "identifying Mary as the New Eve came as naturally to early Christians as it did to call Christ the New Adam."

Personally, I find it strange that I've heard some fellow Protestants decline to call Mary the New Eve despite not hesitating at all to call Christ the New Adam. And with that observation, I'm going to call it a day even though I'm tempted to go on. Until next time, take care.

Note: The photo at the beginning of this post was taken at Saint Timothy Catholic Church in Lutz, Florida.

Marian Musings, Part I

Mary, mother of Jesus, is a name that cannot be spoken without eliciting a response inside the person who hears it. When I consider how important a figure she is in Christianity - and how her goodness is beyond doubt even among non-Christians - I find it strange that some Christians react to her name in ways that are, shall we say, less than enthusiastic.

Like most Gen X Americans, especially those of us who grew up in the southeastern United States, most of my religious rearing took place in what you would call Protestant settings. As the grandson of a Baptist preacher who lived until I was 37, I was no stranger to church talk and biblical interpretation growing up, however anti-Catholicism was not part of the cultural river in which my canoe was rowed. Sure, I heard there were folks out there somewhere who thought Catholics practiced idolatry and relegated Jesus to Mary, but I never encountered them so I assumed they must be a tiny fringe.

Although the very young me didn't know anyone who asked Mary for intercession, the very young me also didn't know anyone who considered it sacrilege for others to do so. I didn't hear songs being sung about her, but I also didn't hear anything less than positive being said about her.

When I got older and finally (is that the right word?) witnessed cat fights between Protestants and Catholics over the subject of Mary, the spectacle struck me as discordant with everything I knew to be true about Christ and his mother... and as someone who is for all intents and purposes a Protestant, at least in the way that term is currently used, I cringed over the fact that these cat fights always seemed to get started by boorish Protestants behaving insufferably.

What brings me to my keyboard now is, in general, a desire to look at Mary without looking through partisan filters... and in particular, a sense of obligation to consider Catholic teachings about her without presupposing they are wrong. This will obviously take more than one post, so for today I'll go with the basics.

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It should go without saying that Mary plays a unique and divinely ordained role in history that warrants heightened regard from us.

Out of all the women he would ever create, God chose her to bear his incarnate self and care for him when he was dependent. Let's not forget that Jesus was mortal when he was on Earth (he did die, after all) and needed food, rest, shelter, etc. just like the rest of us. That Mary was given the role of incubating, nursing, and raising him speaks volumes.

The Bible itself says "all generations will call (Mary) blessed" (Luke 1:48) and depicts that as a good thing, so you can't blame Catholics for feeling put off when Protestants accuse them of downgrading God by honoring her.

Flip backwards and you will see that verse 41 says "when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb," after which verse 44 records Elizabeth telling Mary "when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy."

My bank account would be significantly fatter if I had a dollar for every time I've heard someone claim John the Baptist leaped inside Elizabeth's womb because he felt the presence of Jesus enter the house. That is certainly a reasonable inference to make, however it is not what the text says: Luke is abundantly clear that Mary's voice is what precipitated the rejoicing of pregnant Elizabeth and in utero John.

The Gospel of Matthew informs us that when Jesus was a toddler, his family fled to Egypt to escape the death squads Herod sent to kill "all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or younger." Note that what it actually says is "an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, 'Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt...And he rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed to Egypt" (2:13-14).

Glance forward several verses and you read that "when Herod died, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt, saying, 'Rise, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who sought the child's life are dead.' And he rose and took the child and his mother and went to the land of Israel" (2:19-21).

The instructions from Heaven are explicitly about Jesus and Mary. The angel does not charge Joseph and Mary with transporting and protecting Jesus, but rather charges Joseph with transporting and protecting Jesus and Mary. The child is the savior, not the mother, yet they are presented as a kind of package deal. We shouldn't just shrug this off. After all, the biblical authors came from a culture different than ours and neither they nor their audience were familiar with our proclivity for throwaway words.

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It's unclear whether Augustine really said "the New Testament is concealed in the Old, and the Old is revealed in the New," but serious Christians all agree with that concept: It's how we link the Old and New Testaments together as Scripture, how we see Old Testament foreshadowings of Christ, and, let's be honest, it's a foundation stone upon which Christianity itself depends.

With that in mind, consider some of the earliest words in the Bible, spoken by God to the serpent after the latter deceived Adam and Eve into falling: "I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel" (Genesis 3:15).

Here we see the package deal again. Actually not again, but for the first time and practically right out of the gate. There are many layers of interpretation that can be applied to Genesis 3:15 and it would take ages to go through them all, so I won't tackle it right now, but I will say this: It requires very adventurous reading to fail to perceive the figures of Jesus and Mary in this early antediluvian passage.

Note: The photo at the beginning of this post was taken in front of St. Mary Catholic Church in Tampa, Florida.

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day - a day set aside not so we can grill burgers and toss back beers while the kids swim in the pool, but for the solemn purpose of honoring our servicemen who died while defending America's citizens from enemies who have sought to drive freedom from our shores.

From the first person who perished on Lexington’s village green in 1775, up to the most recent fatality in the Middle East, the list of the fallen is long. Each person on that list made a sacrifice that was ultimate in its earthly finality. We should resolve to do everything in our power to defend America's founding principles against all foes - domestic in addition to foreign, orators in addition to terrorists - to ensure that those people did not die in vain.

To observe past Memorial Days, I have published a couple letters that were written by soldiers during wartime. Here they are again.

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This first one was from Sullivan Ballou, a major in the U.S. Army during the Civil War, to his wife. He was killed in the Battle of First Bull Run one week after writing it:

July 14, 1861

Camp Clark, Washington

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days - perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing - perfectly willing - to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this government, and to pay that debt.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield. The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And it is hard for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us.

I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me – perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly I would wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness.

But, O Sarah, if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they love, I shall always be near you, in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights…always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

Sullivan Ballou

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This next letter was written by Arnold Rahe, a sergeant in the U.S. Army Air Corps during World War II, with instructions that it be delivered to his parents if he did not survive. He was killed in action shortly thereafter:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Strange thing about this letter; if I am alive a month from now you will not receive it, for its coming to you will mean that after my twenty-sixth birthday God has decided I’ve been on earth long enough and He wants me to come up and take the examination for permanent service with Him. It’s hard to write a letter like this; there are a million and one things I want to say; there are so many I ought to say if this is the last letter I ever write to you. I’m telling you that I love you two so very much; not one better than the other but absolutely equally. Some things a man can never thank his parents enough for; they come to be taken for granted through the years; care when you are a child, and countless favors as he grows up. I am recalling now all your prayers, your watchfulness -- all the sacrifices that were made for me when sacrifice was a real thing and not just a word to be used in speeches.

For any and all grief I caused you in this 26 years, I’m most heartily sorry. I know that I can never make up for those little hurts and real wounds, but maybe if God permits me to be with Him above, I can help out there. It’s a funny thing about this mission, but I don’t think I’ll come back alive. Call it an Irishman’s hunch or a pre-sentiment or whatever you will. I believe it is Our Lord and His Blessed Mother giving me a tip to be prepared. In the event that I am killed you can have the consolation of knowing that it was in the “line of duty” to my country. I am saddened because I shall not be with you in your life’s later years, but until we meet I want you to know that I die as I tried to live, the way you taught me. Life has turned out different from the way we planned it, and at 26 I die with many things to live for, but the loss of the few remaining years unlived together is as nothing compared to the eternity to which we go.

As I prepare for this last mission, I am a bit homesick. I have been at other times when I thought of you, when I lost a friend, when I wondered when and how this war would end. But, the whole world is homesick! I have never written like this before, even though I have been through the “valley of the shadows” many times, but this night, Mother and Dad, you are so very close to me and I long so to talk to you. I think of you and of home. America has asked much of our generation, but I am glad to give her all I have because she has given me so much.

Goodnight, dear Mother and Dad. God love you.

Your loving son,

(Bud) Arnold Rahe

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God bless them all, and may they never be forgotten.

Caribou in the Caribbean

"It would be cool to have an American pope, but I think the odds of that are only slightly higher than the odds of Norwegian reindeer migrating to the Bahamas." (Me, 4 days ago)

"Howdy folks. I just thought I'd share with you a few thoughts about the newly elected pope. As I'm sure you've heard, the American cardinal Robert Prevost was elected and has chosen the name Leo XIV for his pontificate." (Jimmy Akin, 4 hours ago)

I guess that goes to show you should never take betting advice from me.

And yes, I'm aware caribou aren't actually reindeer and the Bahamas aren't actually in the Caribbean, but I always aim for alliteration when it comes to headlines, so there you go. Don't judge!

Over the past several hours, countless podcasters, talking heads, and other so-called "influencers" have suddenly become experts on this man they knew only a little about before today. I decline to join the orgy of overwrought self-importance in which their egos are indulging.

Pope Leo XIV has been in office for less than half a day as I type these words, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the right thing for all of us to do is form our opinions about his papacy based on things he does as pope. Meaning, you know, on things he does going forward - rather than on things we've heard he thinks or doesn't think, or on things we've heard he did or didn't do in the past.

He: is an American, born in Chicago in 1955... got his bachelor's degree at Villanova and later earned a doctorate in canon law from the Pontifical University of Saint Thomas Aquinas, whose alumni include Fulton Sheen (1924) and Pope John Paul II (1948)... joined the Order of Saint Augustine in 1977 and was ordained in 1982... spent (by my count) at least 22 years living in Peru, where he served as as a diocesan chancellor, canon law professor, and eventually Bishop of Chiclayo... became a cardinal and the prefect of the Roman Curia's Dicastery of Bishops two years ago, residing in Rome ever since... and became pope today.

With his main strengths being that of an organizer and process guy, rather than a philosopher like Pope John Paul II or theologian like Pope Benedict XVI, nobody really knows whether Leo XIV's theology lands on the orthodox or heterodox side of the spectrum, or somewhere in between. He has had little to say, publicly at least, regarding the hot button cultural and political issues that rile up so many of us in the West, so I encourage you to take everything with a heap of salt when people start claiming to know he's progressive on this or conservative on that. They think they know, but they don't. That's what his upcoming, actual papacy is for.

What we do know is that Leo XIV emerged on the balcony for his first papal appearance wearing the traditional red mozetta, which his predecessor Pope Francis notably spurned in his first appearance... the Augustinian order to which he belongs is well-regarded by traditionalists... his episcopal motto is In Illo uno unum, which translates to "In the One, we are one"... he spoke three different languages from the balcony, which was a historical first... and used Spanish when speaking about/to the Peruvian diocese he previously headed.

Most importantly, however, Leo XIV appeared contemplative and humbled by the moment when looking out at the crowd. He looked like a man who realizes how much weight is on his shoulders and knows he must pursue God's goals, not his own. And that is the kind of man the world needs. I pray for him.

Note: The photo at the beginning of this post is a screenshot I took while watching EWTN.

Conclave

In my previous post one week ago, I remarked: "As a non-Catholic, it might seem strange for me to weigh in on the pros and cons of Francis' legacy and the qualities I hope his successor will possess." Yet here I am today, to kinda do exactly that.

Here in the USA, an obsession with politics has long poisoned the cultural well from which we drink, and that poison made it hard for the average person to get an accurate read on the Francis papacy as it unfolded. It also makes it hard for the average person to get an accurate read on what is transpiring during the current interregnum because: 1] the mainstream media filters everything through its exclusively political lens, while being helplessly ignorant that any other lens exists; and 2] the Christian media (both Catholic and non-Catholic) applies the politically loaded terms "liberal" and "conservative" to theological matters without distinguishing what those words mean theologically from what they mean politically. This leads many to import secular political presumptions into their thinking about a topic that is neither secular nor political.

We are all caught up in this knot to one degree or another, and there is no way to untie it in a blog post. Nevertheless, I will try to write this without getting snagged.

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A lot of proverbial ink has been spent praising Francis for his sense of mercy, affection for the poor, sympathy for "outsiders," and concern for those who have not been taught "the gospel." I use quotation marks for "outsiders" and "the gospel" not because those terms are suspect, but because they are inherently broad and can be used differently by different people.

In my opinion, Francis really did possess the above traits for which he was praised. But there's always a flip side, and for him it was a maddening tendency to be vague for no apparent reason, combined with an even more maddening tendency to be selectively partisan when his authoritarian impulses reared up.

Make no mistake: There is zero doubt Francis had such impulses and bedeviled people with them. In this interview, when reflecting on his tenure as leader of the Jesuits in Argentina, he said of himself that "my authoritarian and quick manner of making decisions led me to have serious problems...it was my authoritarian way of making decisions that created problems."

With a backdrop like that, we can't dismiss the many grumbles that percolated during Francis'  papacy about him issuing swift and puzzling edicts without bothering to offer a coherent explanation. When he threw his weight around, he was quick to throw it at loyal, traditional Catholics and unwilling to throw it at self-indulgent "cafeteria Catholics" quicker to throw it at traditional Catholics than he was at "cafeteria Catholics." But as we shall see, that wasn't the whole story.

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America's mainstream media longed for the Argentine pope to behave like a garden variety, left-wing, Democrat politician. As a result, it took every opportunity, no matter how ill-fitting, to liken him to one.

America's right-wing punditry embarrassed itself by granting too much credence to the mainstream media narrative, and therefore feared Francis might be like a garden variety, left-wing, Democrat politician. As a result, America's right-wing punditry took every every opportunity, no more how ill-fitting, to portray him as a Commie wolf in sheep's vestments.

Many salivated for him to get wobbly and permissive about abortion. In reality, he called Belgium's law permitting first-trimester abortions "homicidal," and added: "Doctors who do this are - allow me the word - hitmen. They are hitmen. And on this you cannot argue."

Many salivated for him to grant, and many claimed he did grant, some seal of approval for sexual relationships between same-sex couples. In reality, what he did with his much ballyhooed Fiducia supplicans was assert that individuals in such relationships may be blessed as individuals but their relationships may not - in other words, he confirmed that the church's position remains exactly what it has always been.

Many salivated for Francis to drop the hammer on what I will broadly, and politely, refer to as sexual impropriety by clergy. In reality, he relaxed the banishment his predecessor had imposed on Theodore McCarrick.

I could go on for hours, but it would serve no purpose. Like all human beings, Pope Francis was a mixed bag whose actions bore some good fruit and some bad. The main thing to realize is that he never issued an ex cathedra statement - which, in plain Protestant English, means he never uttered a single word the Catholic Church would consider beyond reproach. Everything Francis did is undoable, and everything he didn't do is of course doable.

Contrary to what most Protestants think, popes are not considered infallible. Only their ex cathedra statements are. The last time any pope issued such a statement was 75 years ago, and the last time before that was 171 years ago. The enormously consequential (and controversial) Second Vatican Council, aka Vatican II, generated no ex cathedra statements, and neither did the First Vatican Council which pre-dated it by almost a century.

In light of such facts, I think Catholics are right to say we Protestants doth protest too much about the doctrine of papal infallibility. It simply is not what so many of us have cracked it up to be.

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So, why all the hullabaloo about who serves as pope, what thoughts are in his head, and what he says when speaking off the cuff?

Simple. Christianity is the world's largest religion; the Catholic Church is by far Christianity's largest, widest-reaching, and most stable organization; Christianity's  enemies (who are legion) are tireless in their determination to topple the faith; and those enemies sense - correctly, I believe - that getting a kindred spirit of theirs in the papacy is their only chance to succeed.

Many of us Protestants don't want to admit it, but, five centuries downstream from the Reformation, Protestantism has become Christianity's Achilles heel. By and large our denominations are engaged in a continuous downward spiral of doctrinal compromise that has inevitably led to confused parishioners and fractured churches. When you look at how malleable the foundations on which we've built our institutions have proven to be, there's scant reason to think this downward spiral can be reversed other than in limited pockets.

Doctrinally speaking, the Catholic Church has remained consistent through the centuries despite its shortcomings and abuses, whereas one Protestant church after another has gone weak-kneed and crumbled.

It is Catholicism, not Protestantism, that has remained steadfast in its support of human life and sexual ethics, and it is Catholicism that's growing globally while most Protestant denominations are shrinking or stuck in the doldrums.

Catholicism has structures and procedures designed to root out false teachings, whereas Protestantism does not; and thus it's the latter which has become a prolific breeding ground for teachings that are often diluted and sometimes heretical.

We are supposed to be Christians first, not Protestants first. And if we're being honest with ourselves, we must admit what I've said before, that the state of the Christian faith on Earth is inseparable from the state of the Catholic Church on Earth. For this reason, we must all take an interest in what transpires during the papal conclave that is set to start on Wednesday.

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What is a conclave? In short, it's the process by which a new pope is selected.

How does it work? In short, everybody eligible to vote (cardinals who were under the age of 80 when Francis died) gathers in the Sistine Chapel, is forbidden from communicating with anyone outside, and casts votes in a series of elections that continue until somebody wins one with a two-thirds majority.

After each election, its result gets relayed to the world by setting the ballots on fire in a stove whose chimney releases smoke above the chapel roof. The ballots are chemically treated to generate a specific color of smoke. When spectators see black rising from the chimney, they know an election has ended without a winner; when they see white, they know a pope has been chosen. 

Shortly thereafter, a designated official (usually the protodeacon of the College of Cardinals) steps onto the central balcony of St. Peter's Basilica and speaks the words "Habemus Papam," then the new pope steps onto the balcony and is introduced to the crowd.

This is not like a presidential or parliamentary election where we know who the candidates are. Technically, there aren't any candidates when the conclave begins because nobody announces he's running and nobody campaigns for the job. The names of possible candidates, or papabili, are determined organically through the deliberations of the cardinals, and a man who does not even want the job might find himself receiving votes simply because people think he's the best choice. (In case you're wondering, yes, a man who gets elected pope is free to decline on the spot.)

Any male Catholic is eligible. Therefore, in theory, the cardinals could make Mark Whalberg the next pontiff. In reality, however, they are almost certain to choose one of their own: The last time a non-cardinal "won" was 1378, when Archbishop Bartolomeo Prognano was elected and became Pope Urban VI.

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There is no sound way to speculate about who will emerge as pope from this week's conclave. Especially when the person speculating is an American Protestant who's lived most of his 54 years in the Sunshine State of Florida and did his college matriculating in the Yellowhammer State of Alabama (Auburn University, c/o December '92, War Eagle fearless and true!). But I can share some thoughts, can't I?

Trying to read the tea leaves of the conclave bears an unnerving similarity to trying to read the tea leaves of the US Supreme Court. We know there will be 133 cardinals voting, with more than 100 of them having been appointed to their posts by Francis, and 89 votes are needed to "win." That might cause your gut to feel they will choose a pope similar to Francis - until you think about the fact that far more cardinals than ever before hail from the so-called global south, i.e. from places other than Europe and North America.

With cardinals coming to Rome from far-flung corners of the globe, gone are the days when they all knew each other and were aware of their tendencies. Back when most of them lived in Europe and a disproportionate number resided right there in Italy, familiarity ruled the day; but with unfamiliarity now in full swing, an unprecedented wild card has been introduced to an event that already has a history of being upended by wild cards.

People from the global south tend to be more on the orthodox side of the theological spectrum than Francis, and more tradition-minded as well. Combine this with the fact that the Church has been growing by leaps and bounds in the global south while generally waning in the heterodox West... and with the fact that, despite the general Western waning, this past year has seen a spike in conversions in the UK and US, driven specifically by people being drawn to Catholicism's hard adherence to time-honored virtues, in contrast to Protestantism's soft slinking away from those virtues... and one is tempted to figure that the Church will choose the robust path over the suicidal one.

But then again, who knows?

It would be cool to have an American pope, but I think the odds of that are only slightly higher than the odds of Norwegian reindeer migrating to the Bahamas. My dream candidates are African prelates Robert Sarah and Fridolin Ambongo Besungu, both of whom are deeply respected; but Sarah turns 80 next month so he's probably too old to step into the role.

Then I remind myself I'm Protestant, and therefore maybe I don't have a vested interest in this and shouldn't be paying close attention to it.

But then I remember I'm Christian, which means I do have a vested interest and should be paying close attention.

Every Christian, in fact every human being, will eventually be affected in one way or another by what the cardinals decide in Vatican City this week. So let us all hope and pray they act wisely.