What is it like to be a prince of the Church? The Chicago Tribune has taken the time to answer that question with a rich, in-depth look at a day in the life of Cardinal Francis George:
The cardinal archbishop of Chicago is confused. The subject is jelly.
Francis George, the spiritual leader of 2.3 million Chicago-area Catholics, is sitting at the dining room table of the elegant 123-year-old residence in the Gold Coast neighborhood. He is midway through a spare but tasty Friday lunch of crab cakes, shrimp and fish sticks, served on fine china.
This is the last sit-down meal he will have for the day because, over the next 10 hours, he has appointments near Michigan Avenue, in west suburban Oak Park and on the Far North Side. So, to tide him over, the three Polish nuns who take care of the residence and cook are preparing a paper-bag dinner with an apple, a bottle of water and a sandwich of peanut butter with no jelly.
Just as he likes it, one of the sisters tells him.
“But I like jelly,” the 71-year-old cardinal says, mystified and mildly amused.
This is the sort of thing that happens to chief executives. The cardinal once made an offhand comment about jelly being messy in a sandwich. It got turned into a fiat.
For this day, though, George good-naturedly assures the nuns that a jelly-less sandwich will be just fine. And he smiles.
Spend a day with Cardinal George and you’ll see him smile a lot. That’s not the cardinal the wider public generally sees. At news conferences, George has a no-nonsense, professorial demeanor. Perhaps that’s why, after more than a decade of watching him, Chicagoans still don’t know the prelate well.
As the head of the local Catholic Church, George plays a major role in the life of Chicago and the suburbs of Cook and Lake Counties. His decisions on the opening and closing of schools and churches shape neighborhoods. The Catholic institutions he oversees — ranging from universities to Catholic Charities to cemeteries — serve millions of believers and non-believers alike.
As the Chicago region’s most visible ecclesiastical figure, he’s important in setting its moral agenda, commenting on issues of social justice and public policy.
Now, just three months after being elected president of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, the cardinal is about to move into an international spotlight. Next month when Pope Benedict XVI visits New York and Washington for five days, George, as the conference president, will serve as his guide and escort.
In agreeing to let the Tribune follow him through a day, George provided an unprecedented look inside his life. Also, it was the first time since 1979, when Pope John Paul II stayed in the home, that journalists were given extended access to the interior of the stately residence, which many call a mansion.
During a preparatory meeting, the cardinal described his day as “a constructed life.” The needs of his ecclesiastical position determine how he spends his time. “It never ends,” his communications director Colleen Dolan said later. “He is seldom tired, and always in good humor. I get tired just keeping track of him.”
Tagging along with the cardinal for a day, even a day that stretched for more than 15 hours, doesn’t furnish insights into the depths of his soul. But it does provide a glimpse of the man behind the title.
One thing is clear: Cardinal George is a CEO who likes his job — and who isn’t afraid to express a blithe spirit.
As a scholar with doctorates in theology and philosophy, he might be expected to bridle at the administrative chores of a Prince of the Church. Yet, on this day, he handles such mundane tasks as signing letters and reading reports with good humor. His mood might have been less sunny if he’d had to face some piece of bad news, such as a new twist in the long-running clergy abuse scandal.
George lives in a world of faith, surrounded by people who share that faith. His office isn’t just a room with a desk. It’s also the sanctuary of a church.
You just have to read the rest, and enjoy the wonderful pictures by photographer Antonio Perez. Good stuff. Really.