Holy Smokes!

Well, first it appeared to be white smoke that turned out to be black, then it was black smoke that turned out to be whte. We were confused. CNN was confused. The world was confused, (Am I alone, Bush, in seeing something vaguely indecent in the sight of a puff of white stuff emerging from that stiff little chimney capped by its neat little helmet? A bit ethereal, of course, but that's appropriate, no?)

Anyway, the bells of St. Peter's rang out to confirm it: we have a new Pope. A new Papa. A new Daddy. A new pontiff--who is entitled, of course, to pontificate. Why else would he be pontiff? There is the slightest frisson, certainly, in having a Pope who was once, however reluctantly, a Hitler Youth. But then as we know, Bush, from the history of leadership in the past half-century or so, you can't expect perfection. And the former Joseph Ratzinger, now Benedict, is--I know this will please you--a hard-line conservative. He was in good part instrumental, as I understand it, in issuing that fatwa on your opponent in last year's election, John Kerry, banning him from receiving communion, because of his public-arena stand on the issues of contraception and abortion. That must have pleased you.

It's a male-dominated organ-ization, the Roman Catholic Church, that's one thing for sure. Though a spiritual one. Its earthly representatives--well, to be fair, just a few of them--are secret players of the organ, and not just the musical ones. Not even their own. Those angelic altar boys and choir boys have proven unfortunately irresistible to the weaker of those bretheren forbidden access to the more socially acceptable outlets for their natural urges. It's a case of nature versus dogma--a battle that nature, I fear, is always bound to win when push comes, as it were, to shove.

But if I twit the Catholic Church, it's only in good nature. I was myself a choir boy and an altar boy, with an angelic face and adorable little privates. Come to think of it, I could have been a Roman Catholic myself (though not with the same father!) had I arrived a few short centuries earlier on this planet, before the eighth in the line of Henry Tudors came along, with his insatiable appetite for wives and his desperate need to do the necessary kingly thing: to produce a male heir to the throne. Nothing wrong with the royal sperm, of course!

Ah, male succession! Male success! We are, of course, the physically stronger sex. And we do come equipped with that scepter of authority--like those that Michaelangelo had the, er... well, the balls to paint behind the altar on the Sistine Chapel wall, and which were cunningly concealed with added folds of drapery, at a later date, by order of the Council of Trent. Let's hold on to them, for God's sake, but only in the dark! Still, we have managed remarkably well thus far, Bush, have we not? At least in our Western civilization. We have held, as it were, the key. To the car. To the front door of our homes. To the Halls of Congress. To the White House. And, in some instances at least, to the female heart. Lucky us!

Even so, the threat looms large these days. The challenge to our natural (some might say, God-given) authority. It behooves us to be vigilant. So watch out, Bush. Keep an eye to the rear, where Hillary is waiting! There are women priests already in the Anglican Church--in some parts of it, anyway. So it won't be many centuries, perhaps, before the Roman Catholic Church admits them to the priesthood. And then, Bush, can a Pope Benedicta or a Pope Paula Jeanne be far behind?

Or will she be a Mama. Or a Mome?