- Sep 29, 2006
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http://www.politicsdaily.com/2009/0...r-to-pope-benedict-angling-for-an-amicus-bri/
Ted Kennedy must have known that even on the occasion of his death, vast armies of armchair St. Peters would carry on arguing that the gates of Heaven should be slammed shut on his fingers -- fearless as ever in their willingness to test whether Jesus really meant that "with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.''
Far more surprising, however, was the senator's evocative and extraordinary deathbed letter to Pope Benedict XVI, written earlier this summer and hand-delivered by President Obama last month. In it, Kennedy mounted his own soul's defense, pleading the case for his salvation directly to Peter's successor ? and unabashedly angling for an amicus brief.
The letter was a deep, and deeply conservative, old-school bow to church hierarchy from a Catholic who, as the cardinal who buried him suggested, often riled the Magisterium, principally over his support for abortion rights: "Sometimes,'' Cardinal Theodore McCarrick said at Kennedy's graveside, "we who were his friends and had affection for him would get mad at him when he roared at what we believed was the wrong side of an issue which was important to us, but we always were touched by his passion for the underdog, for the rights of working people, for better education and for adequate health care for every American.''
Though Kennedy certainly does not take back any of his many Senate votes in support of abortion rights, his letter to the pontiff does suggest that there is some truth to the clich? that Catholic politicians in this country generally start their careers as opponents, and quietly return to a pro-life position after their retirement from public life.
The first part of that equation certainly held true for Kennedy: In a letter to a constituent written in August of 1971, and quoted in John T. McGreevy's excellent "Catholicism and American Freedom: A History,'' Kennedy spoke of his "personal feeling that the legalization of abortion on demand is not in accordance with the value which our civilization places on human life.'' In the same letter, to a Mrs. Edward J. Barshak, Kennedy said he hoped his generation would be remembered as "one which cared about human beings enough to halt the practice of war, to provide a decent living for every family and to fulfill its responsibility to its children from the moment of conception.''
In 1973, the year Roe v. Wade was decided, "pro-choice activists could still term Senator Edward Kennedy's position on abortion 'thoroughly revolting,' '' McGreevy wrote. And even while leading the charge against legislation barring federal funding for abortions for women on Medicaid in 1975, Kennedy continued to think of and describe himself as pro-life: "Pressed in debate to state his own views on abortion,'' Theo Lippman Jr. wrote in his 1976 biography, "Senator Ted Kennedy," "he said that he was opposed to it.''
Kennedy does not revisit the issue in his letter to Benedict, or even mention the word "abortion.'' But he does insist that he never disagreed with church teaching in any important way ? "I have always tried to be a faithful Catholic, Your Holiness, and though I have fallen short through human failings, I have never failed to believe and respect the fundamental teachings'' ? teachings that regard the protection of life as a "foundational'' issue, a kind of theological trump card.
In Amy Sullivan's book "The Party Faithful: How and Why Democrats Are Closing the God Gap,'' she reported that the evangelical minister and writer Jim Wallis was beyond surprised to get a call from Ted Kennedy, whom he did not know, a week after John Kerry conceded the presidential election in 2004. "Vicki and I need you to come over to the house and talk,'' he told Wallis, upset that Kerry's fellow Catholics had favored George W. Bush, and that his party was increasingly viewed as dismissive of religious faith. "They're saying we're not religious,'' Kennedy told Wallis, according to Sullivan. "But we know that's not true.''
When Wallis and his wife, who is also a minister, later met with Kennedy and his wife, Sullivan wrote, "Wallis was particularly impressed with Victoria Kennedy, whom he describes as a 'serious Catholic.'...On that evening, seated around the dining room table, she and her husband held their own with the two ministers, quoting Scripture easily and accurately. "It was a serious conversation,'' Wallis recalled later. "We spent hours talking about how Catholic faith connects to poverty, foreign policy, other issues of the day.'' He noticed, though, that the discussion kept circling back to one topic. Kennedy 'was deeply conflicted on abortion,' said Wallis, 'feeling kind of trapped by the liberal side, frankly.' ''
Less obliquely, Kennedy's letter to Benedict was a thank-you note to the church he loved: "I have been blessed to be a part of a wonderful family, and both of my parents, particularly my mother, kept our Catholic faith at the center of our lives. That gift of faith has sustained, nurtured and provided solace to me in the darkest hours. I know that I have been an imperfect human being, but with the help of my faith, I have tried to right my path."
In the note, he unreservedly submits to the pope's spiritual authority, saying, "I pray that you have all of God's blessings as you lead our Church and inspire our world during these challenging times.''
And he views his mortality as only a believer would: "I am writing with deep humility to ask that you pray for me as my own health declines. I was diagnosed with brain cancer more than a year ago, and, although I continue treatment, the disease is taking its toll on me. I am 77 years old and preparing for the next passage of life.''
Which is not to say that there is no political purpose to the letter, which he must have known would be made public. Will Barack Obama make the "win one for the Gipper'' case that Republicans professing their love for Teddy could always honor his memory by passing health care reform? Maybe ? but in case he doesn't, Kennedy does so himself, pitching every last sentient Catholic on the necessity for such a bill:
"I want you to know, Your Holiness, that in my nearly 50 years of elective office, I have done my best to champion the rights of the poor and open doors of economic opportunity. I've worked to welcome the immigrant, fight discrimination and expand access to health care and education. . . . I also want you to know that even though I am ill, I am committed to do everything I can to achieve access to health care for everyone in my country. This has been the political cause of my life. I believe in a conscience protection for Catholics in the health care field and will continue to advocate for it as my colleagues in the Senate and I work to develop an overall national health policy that guarantees health care for everyone.''
On his way out the door, he's telling Catholics not to worry that conscience clause protections will be eroded -- and leveraging his own death in what really was the cause of his life.
Ted Kennedy must have known that even on the occasion of his death, vast armies of armchair St. Peters would carry on arguing that the gates of Heaven should be slammed shut on his fingers -- fearless as ever in their willingness to test whether Jesus really meant that "with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.''
Far more surprising, however, was the senator's evocative and extraordinary deathbed letter to Pope Benedict XVI, written earlier this summer and hand-delivered by President Obama last month. In it, Kennedy mounted his own soul's defense, pleading the case for his salvation directly to Peter's successor ? and unabashedly angling for an amicus brief.
The letter was a deep, and deeply conservative, old-school bow to church hierarchy from a Catholic who, as the cardinal who buried him suggested, often riled the Magisterium, principally over his support for abortion rights: "Sometimes,'' Cardinal Theodore McCarrick said at Kennedy's graveside, "we who were his friends and had affection for him would get mad at him when he roared at what we believed was the wrong side of an issue which was important to us, but we always were touched by his passion for the underdog, for the rights of working people, for better education and for adequate health care for every American.''
Though Kennedy certainly does not take back any of his many Senate votes in support of abortion rights, his letter to the pontiff does suggest that there is some truth to the clich? that Catholic politicians in this country generally start their careers as opponents, and quietly return to a pro-life position after their retirement from public life.
The first part of that equation certainly held true for Kennedy: In a letter to a constituent written in August of 1971, and quoted in John T. McGreevy's excellent "Catholicism and American Freedom: A History,'' Kennedy spoke of his "personal feeling that the legalization of abortion on demand is not in accordance with the value which our civilization places on human life.'' In the same letter, to a Mrs. Edward J. Barshak, Kennedy said he hoped his generation would be remembered as "one which cared about human beings enough to halt the practice of war, to provide a decent living for every family and to fulfill its responsibility to its children from the moment of conception.''
In 1973, the year Roe v. Wade was decided, "pro-choice activists could still term Senator Edward Kennedy's position on abortion 'thoroughly revolting,' '' McGreevy wrote. And even while leading the charge against legislation barring federal funding for abortions for women on Medicaid in 1975, Kennedy continued to think of and describe himself as pro-life: "Pressed in debate to state his own views on abortion,'' Theo Lippman Jr. wrote in his 1976 biography, "Senator Ted Kennedy," "he said that he was opposed to it.''
Kennedy does not revisit the issue in his letter to Benedict, or even mention the word "abortion.'' But he does insist that he never disagreed with church teaching in any important way ? "I have always tried to be a faithful Catholic, Your Holiness, and though I have fallen short through human failings, I have never failed to believe and respect the fundamental teachings'' ? teachings that regard the protection of life as a "foundational'' issue, a kind of theological trump card.
In Amy Sullivan's book "The Party Faithful: How and Why Democrats Are Closing the God Gap,'' she reported that the evangelical minister and writer Jim Wallis was beyond surprised to get a call from Ted Kennedy, whom he did not know, a week after John Kerry conceded the presidential election in 2004. "Vicki and I need you to come over to the house and talk,'' he told Wallis, upset that Kerry's fellow Catholics had favored George W. Bush, and that his party was increasingly viewed as dismissive of religious faith. "They're saying we're not religious,'' Kennedy told Wallis, according to Sullivan. "But we know that's not true.''
When Wallis and his wife, who is also a minister, later met with Kennedy and his wife, Sullivan wrote, "Wallis was particularly impressed with Victoria Kennedy, whom he describes as a 'serious Catholic.'...On that evening, seated around the dining room table, she and her husband held their own with the two ministers, quoting Scripture easily and accurately. "It was a serious conversation,'' Wallis recalled later. "We spent hours talking about how Catholic faith connects to poverty, foreign policy, other issues of the day.'' He noticed, though, that the discussion kept circling back to one topic. Kennedy 'was deeply conflicted on abortion,' said Wallis, 'feeling kind of trapped by the liberal side, frankly.' ''
Less obliquely, Kennedy's letter to Benedict was a thank-you note to the church he loved: "I have been blessed to be a part of a wonderful family, and both of my parents, particularly my mother, kept our Catholic faith at the center of our lives. That gift of faith has sustained, nurtured and provided solace to me in the darkest hours. I know that I have been an imperfect human being, but with the help of my faith, I have tried to right my path."
In the note, he unreservedly submits to the pope's spiritual authority, saying, "I pray that you have all of God's blessings as you lead our Church and inspire our world during these challenging times.''
And he views his mortality as only a believer would: "I am writing with deep humility to ask that you pray for me as my own health declines. I was diagnosed with brain cancer more than a year ago, and, although I continue treatment, the disease is taking its toll on me. I am 77 years old and preparing for the next passage of life.''
Which is not to say that there is no political purpose to the letter, which he must have known would be made public. Will Barack Obama make the "win one for the Gipper'' case that Republicans professing their love for Teddy could always honor his memory by passing health care reform? Maybe ? but in case he doesn't, Kennedy does so himself, pitching every last sentient Catholic on the necessity for such a bill:
"I want you to know, Your Holiness, that in my nearly 50 years of elective office, I have done my best to champion the rights of the poor and open doors of economic opportunity. I've worked to welcome the immigrant, fight discrimination and expand access to health care and education. . . . I also want you to know that even though I am ill, I am committed to do everything I can to achieve access to health care for everyone in my country. This has been the political cause of my life. I believe in a conscience protection for Catholics in the health care field and will continue to advocate for it as my colleagues in the Senate and I work to develop an overall national health policy that guarantees health care for everyone.''
On his way out the door, he's telling Catholics not to worry that conscience clause protections will be eroded -- and leveraging his own death in what really was the cause of his life.
