Blog: Action Pope! Representations of John Paul II

A year ago today Pope John Paul II was beatified in a ceremony at Saint Peter’s Square, just six years after his death. Last month I visited both John Paul’s hometown of Wadowice and the Archdiocesan Museum of Cardinal Karol Wojtyła in Kraków during a trip to Poland. With a principal research interest in the representation of saints, and how they may be remoulded to specific uses by the Church hierarchy and the ordinary faithful alike, I was struck by the way that John Paul – a saint in waiting who is yet to undergo full canonisation – was represented across these two sites. The former Karol Wojtyła was presented in two distinctive and divergent ways, raising questions about the process by which saints’ dominant popular image comes to be fixed and how quickly this can happen after their deaths.

Wadowice has a small museum at the house where John Paul was born (the displays are currently located in temporary premises while major renovation takes place at the site), while the neighbouring church (Wadowice’s Bazylika Mniejska) boasts the font in which he was baptised. This otherwise ordinary town has made great capital out of its connection to John Paul – a figure so significant to Poland’s modern history. The importance of John Paul to Wadowice’s tourist economy is clearly seen in the town’s many religious souvenir shops, as well as the ubiquitous ‘papal cream cake’ (kremówka papieska). This is in fact a type of pastry you will find elsewhere in Poland, but it was given this special title in Wadowice after John Paul reminisced about eating it as a child when he visited in 1999 – now every bakery and café in the town sells it. Kraków has just as strong a connection to the late pope. Appointed Auxiliary Bishop of Kraków in 1958, he became the youngest bishop in Poland, and in 1964 he was promoted to Archbishop. Wojtyła retained that post until his election as pope in late 1978. Today the Archdiocesan Museum, housed in the former bishop’s palace where he lived for fourteen years, displays a collection of his personal effects, as well as a selection of gifts given to him by heads of state and pilgrims.

Two opposing representations emerged strongly at both these sites – one unsurprising, the other perhaps more unexpected. The first we might call ‘Action Pope’. This representation is best summed up by the image above – allegedly an image of John Paul on a clandestine skiing trip to the Italian Alps in 1984, one of many such trips that his personal secretary, Cardinal Stanisław Dziwisz, has claimed he made during his pontificate. The Archdiocesan Museum puts great emphasis on this characterisation of the Pope, displaying his twelve-foot kayak, full camping kit (everything from fold-away stools to mess tins), and skiing equipment. Wojtyła was of course well-known for his outdoorsy lifestyle and love of sport before becoming pope (it is interesting to note that the John Paul II Cup, an annual priests’ skiing competition, was instituted during his time as pope), and during his pontificate past photographs of him on camping trips, hiking or playing football gave him an image as an unusually down to earth and dynamic pontiff. The ‘Action Pope’ representation endures, and it isn’t hard to see why.

However, the other dominant representation of John Paul at these two sites seems less immediately expedient. We might call this representation the ‘Ailing Pope’ image – the older John Paul debilitated by Parkinson’s disease. While it is not at all surprising that the later sufferings of John Paul have been characterised as ‘Christ-like’ by the Church hierarchy (as early as 1998, when he was still Cardinal Ratzinger, Pope Benedict XVI  made the connection explicit, and he spoke of John Paul’s ‘witness in suffering’ in his beatification homily), the prevalence of the ‘Ailing Pope’ representation is intriguing. The fact that you could buy postcards with photographic images of a clearly gravely ill and suffering John Paul on them in the museum’s gift shop made this representation very much present here. Failing to appreciate the interest of these pieces of devotional material culture on the spot (probably the effects of too much kremówka papieska), I didn’t bring any of these postcards back with me, but this image, showing souvenir pictures on sale at another shop in Wadowice, is in a similar vein.  The strong emphasis on John Paul’s physical and mental devastation in his later years, and the fact that the ‘Ailing Pope’ image can apparently hold its own against the undeniably attractive ’Action Pope’ representation, might tell us something about the nature of Polish popular devotional culture (and perhaps popular Catholic devotion generally) and its interest in the theme of suffering.

That Pope John Paul II’s popular image, at least at the sites of his pre-pontificate life, has become crystallised into at least these two distinctive representations in such a short time may be enlightening to those interested in how saints are represented and used. The fact that he had such a strong popular image in life no doubt partly accounts for the well-defined posthumous image we see here (it is certainly the case that the evolution of  a popular image for a pope-saint, famous and revered in his own lifetime, is very different from the same process in the case of a saint unknown in life and only gaining fame after their death), but it is noteworthy that his prominent roles as theologian, saint-maker and even international statesman who played a key role in the downfall of Communism seemed far less visible in both locations. While the official image of John Paul used at the beatification ceremony a year ago (and also appearing on prayer cards sold at the church in Wadowice) is more anodyne than either of the two representations discussed here, it is perhaps not the image that will come to dominate popular devotion to this future saint.

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Comment is Free: Community-run libraries are part of the degradation of the service

Volunteers can bring much to libraries, but the fact they are replacing paid staff shows how much de-skilling has taken place

Surrey Libraries Action Movement (Slam) is celebrating after the high court ruled that Surrey county council’s plan to replace trained librarians with a volunteer-only service in 10 of its libraries was unlawful. Following Slam’s legal challenge, Mr Justice Wilkie stated that the council had failed to assess the adverse impact of the decision on vulnerable groups, contravening the Equality Act 2010.

But the battle is not over yet. The council believes providing equality and diversity training for volunteers may see the plan go ahead, and across the country library services are in the crosshairs as councils face a 28% cut in central government funding over a four-year period. “Community partnership” models such as that proposed for Surrey are being widely considered and some libraries are already operating under this model…

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Blog: ‘Our Hobby is Depeche Mode’ – Deller, fandom and the south east Essex scene

Tomorrow the Jeremy Deller retrospective  ‘Joy in People’ opens at London’s Hayward Gallery. Part of the exhibition will engage with ‘Deller’s interest in the social character of pop music’ and ‘the enthusiasms, rituals and passionate loyalty of fans [which] have all provided the artist with inspiration.’ Included here will not only be ‘The Uses of Literacy’ (1997), a display of art and poetry by Manic Street Preachers fans, but also a re-edited version of  The Posters Came from the Walls, Deller and Nick Abrahams’ documentary about Depeche Mode fandom around the world. Re-named as Our Hobby is Depeche Mode, this is a film which engages with the role music can play in identity, and it provides an insight into a fan culture like no other. Catch it if you can.

Depeche Mode are of course known for their roots in Basildon, Essex, and attention has recently been turning to the music scenes of south east Essex’s past. Oil City Confidential , Julien Temple’s 2009 film about pub rock band par excellence, Dr. Feelgood,  fired up an interest in the music culture of this part of the world, and Deller’s retrospective coincides with a series of events on, and in, my own south east Essex.

In April Southend’s Focal Point Gallery will be showing ‘Thames Delta’ (a phrase inspired by Oil City Confidential), looking at the music that has emerged from Southend, Canvey Island and Basildon since the late 1940s. Meanwhile, ‘Listen to This’, a series of events  organised by arts organisation Metal Culture, and hosted by music journalist Daryl Easlea and academic Andrew Branch, will be ‘centred on the importance of popular music to the formation of people’s identities and sense of place’.  The first event, this Friday, looks at social space and Southend’s music scenes and will feature cultural historian Dr Andrew Calcutt (University of East London),  Ian Dury biographer Will Birch, and legendary Dr. Feelgood guitarist Wilko Johnson. On 20th April subcultures become the focus, with discussion of the ‘futurist’ scene at Crocs nightclub, Rayleigh (of which Depeche Mode were a key part in the early eighties), and Dean Chalkley, who currently has an exhibition of his  music photography at the White Wall Space Gallery, Leigh-on-Sea, will be the special guest. See the  website for other events in the ‘Listen to This’ series.

I wrote about The Posters Came from the Walls for The Quietus back in October, where I also talked about the ‘black swarm’ of Depeche Mode fans that descended on Basildon last summer for Bas I - a fan convention-meets-music festival organised by Deb Danahay, friend of the band and founder of the first Depeche fan club. Since then I’ve been doing some research into fan cultures and Basildon’s history in particular as a cradle of popular music, with its origins as a post-War New Town, its architectural innovations, its 1980s history as a barometer of general election results, and status as a symbol of regional identity forming a backdrop to this. Simon Spence’s recent book on the band, Just Can’t Get Enough: The Making of Depeche Mode, provides an excellent introduction to all this, and is highly recommended.

My own interest in fan cultures and music scenes, however, is informed by my research as a historian of popular religious culture. In the past I have studied modern Catholic cults, and the ways in which religious devotion has been played out in commercial spaces, and both represented and experienced through images.  This is the background I’m bringing to this project, and it raises some intriguing questions. Might Depeche Mode fans’ ‘devotion’ to the band (who have themselves used religious imagery and language extensively in their work) be seen as a kind of secular popular devotional cult, complete with ‘pilgrimages’ made to Basildon and rituals of  ‘worship’?  How can the methods applied to the study of religious devotional culture be applied to the study of musical fan cultures? We’ll have to see how things develop…

In the meantime the Depeche Mode fan cult can be seen in all its glory at  Bas II, to be held in May, building on the success of last year’s event (see the forthcoming Bas Productions website for more details). There’s plenty of material for those interested in fandom, local music scenes and the role of music in identity in the offing then, and more on these themes will appear here as insights are gained from these events and their contributors.

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Blog: ‘Voyage excentrique aux Cordillères des Andes’ – Céline Martin, Saint Thérèse of Lisieux and a remarkable photograph album

The archives du Carmel de Lisieux have recently launched a new website, putting materials relating to the life and posthumous fame of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux online for the first time.  The convent was the saint’s home during the last nine years of her life and its archives have been the guardians of her legacy ever since.

Yesterday the Carmel made available a remarkable album of photographs. Taken in summer 1894, they show Céline Martin (seen in the middle, above) – Saint Thérèse’s sister and the creator of an iconography for the fledgling saint in the years immediately after her death – along with her cousins Jeanne and Marie, Jeanne’s husband Francis, and their seminarian friend Abbé Joseph de Cornière, staging a series of  tableaux vivants. Taking as inspiration de Cornière’s recent trip to Chile, they tramped across the 40 hectare estate of Céline’s wealthy uncle, and Jeanne and Marie’s father, Isidore Guérin, on a pretend ‘expedition’ to the Andes, taking a series of photographs with Céline’s box camera. The results are beautiful, amusing and highly camp. See them here.

These wonderful photographs offer a privileged insight into the leisure culture of the late nineteenth-century French petite bourgeoisie, and particularly that of well-off middle class women of the time. Céline even wrote to Thérèse, already a nun at the Carmel, about this outing, saying ‘we are busy doing photography.  We dress up and are making a whole story of travellers in tableaux vivants; it will be very amusing’, before expressing a boredom with her current lifestyle. This jolly hockey-sticks fun is tempered by frustration and ennui then. As well as the value of these photos as a source for social history, they have an incredibly cinematic quality and perhaps suggest ‘the first faltering steps towards cinema’, as the archives du Carmel have themselves remarked. Interestingly, the Lumières recorded the first moving images the year after these photos were taken.

But as well as their wider historical value, these photographs also provide a glimpse into the pre-convent life of Céline, who would spend six decades in the Carmel de Lisieux, and dedicated her life to giving her sister a public image as a saint. Céline’s  work as an amateur artist and photographer, and lead role in building both a public face and commercial cult for Saint Thérèse – battling with senior men of the Church, suing counterfeiters, and befriending popes along the way – was the topic of my PhD thesis, but Céline’s early biography is no less fascinating than her later life.

These photos were taken at a very difficult time for Céline, when she was nursing her father who had been chronically ill with dementia for five years. He died just two weeks after these photographs were taken, and Céline entered the Carmel de Lisieux just six weeks later, joining her three sisters who were already living there. In these photographs we have an insight into the early life of a remarkable woman who ended up rejecting the world of leisure and luxury that these photographs evoke for something very different, and who went on to play a key role in ‘creating’ perhaps the most popular saint of the modern Catholic Church. Her story is yet to be fully told, but a flavour of it is given in the extract below.

Céline had witnessed the entry of two of her sisters to the Carmel of Lisieux and one to the Poor Clares by the time she was seventeen. When Thérèse also entered the Carmel in April 1888, aged just fifteen, Céline was left bereft without the sibling to whom she was closest, in age, temperament and emotional bond. Left with her emotionally troubled sister Léonie (who had failed at the religious life twice by this point) and an ailing father (Louis Martin had suffered a mild stroke the previous year and, at sixty-four, was showing alarming signs of declining mental alertness), to follow her sisters into the cloister after her father’s clearly imminent death would have seemed the obvious path for Céline.

However, Céline had real alternatives to the Carmel made available to her, and over just a few weeks in the spring of 1888 she faced a number of decisions about her life’s path. First, she received a marriage proposal. She later wrote ‘just in case, I responded that I was not willing, that I wanted to be left in peace for the time being, and that no one should wait for me.’ Her cautious rejection was perhaps borne of the fact that until the age of twenty she was ‘perfectly ignorant of the things of nature. The Lord had thrown a veil over them that I did not seek to pull aside.’ Indeed, her attitude towards sex seems to have shaped her reaction when, in June 1888 Louis offered his daughter, seen as the artist of the family, the opportunity to go to Paris to pursue an artistic career. Céline later wrote that: ‘Without taking time to think about it… I confided to him that I wanted to be a nun, I did not seek the glory of the world, and that if God needed my works later on, he could very well make up for my ignorance. I added that I preferred my innocence to all other advantages and that I did not want to risk it in artists’ studios.’ With Céline not willing to ‘risk’ her chastity in what she saw as the bohemian and godless haunts of the Parisian art world, the Carmel was beckoning. However, she was not to enter for a further six years, as events overtook her again.

In early 1889, Louis Martin became a serious cause for concern. In a distressed and paranoid state, he brandished a revolver in front of his two daughters and had to be disarmed by his brother-in-law, Isidore Guérin, who made immediate arrangements for him to be placed in an asylum in Caen. Céline and Léonie moved in with their uncle, aunt (after whom Céline was named) and two cousins, Jeanne and Marie, in June 1889 and this period saw Céline forced to participate in the active social life of her wealthy relatives, becoming the focus of the unwelcome attentions of various admirers. She took private vow of chastity in December 1889, and this was an attitude well-supported by Thérèse who, on hearing that Céline was attending a wedding ball, tearfully entreated her not to ‘imitate the folly of the times and worship the idol by giving yourself over to dangerous pleasures’. When Céline was swept onto the dance floor by a young man, both found themselves completely unable to dance, and Thérèse saw this as a result of her fervent prayers to that effect. For nearly three years Céline filled her time with painting, reading, letter writing and enforced socialising.

However, this was punctuated by the appearance of one final alternative route in her life’s path. Père Pichon, a Norman Jesuit who had acted as Céline’s spiritual advisor since late 1887, wrote to her in June 1891 from his missionary post in Canada, making the suggestion that she come and join him working in a new foundation to prepare ‘morally neglected’ children for their first communion. A new option, a life as a missionary, was added to that of nun and was considered right up until her final decision to enter Carmel was made.

The return of Louis Martin from the Bon Sauveur asylum in May 1892 saw the beginning of a new period in Céline’s life. With the help of her uncle, she re-established the Martin household in a house backing on to the Guérin’s property. In June 1893, Léonie left for another try at the religious life, leaving Céline alone. After a further year as the head of her own household, Louis died, with Céline at his side. The ordeal of her father’s illness had been traumatic for Céline, and she devoted pages and pages to its twists and turns when she wrote her memoirs fifteen years later. Six weeks after his death, she entered the Carmel of Lisieux, and later she would see herself as having had a lucky escape from a sinful life, wanting to call her unpublished memoir Histoire d’un tison arraché du feu (‘Story of a brand snatched from the fire’). Just four years after her entry, Thérèse was dead and Céline was completing her first portrait of her – her life’s work had begun.

Sophia L. Deboick, ‘Image, Authenticity and the Cult of
Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, 1897-1959′,  unpublished PhD thesis, University of Liverpool, 2011.

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Cif Belief: The Vatican’s problem with fathers who are fathers

Gabino Zavala is far from being the first priest with children – the Catholic church has struggled with celibacy for centuries

Last week it emerged that Gabino Zavala, the auxiliary bishop of the Catholic archdiocese of Los Angeles for nearly 18 years, has a secret family. The existence of his two teenage children has been deemed a sufficiently “grave cause”, as defined by Canon 401 of the code of canon law, that he has been obliged to resign. Memories of other notable cases resurface: the Eamon Casey scandal of the early 90s, when revelations that he fathered a child two years before his episcopal appointment led to his resignation as Bishop of Galway; the more recent case of the founder of the Legionaries of Christ, Father Marcial Maciel, who had as many as six children (although accusations of paedophilia and incest make this alleged offence pale into insignificance). Zavala is hardly the first priest to break his vow of celibacy in such spectacular fashion, and in fact the church has struggled with the problem of “Fathers who are fathers” for centuries…

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The Guardian, Face to Faith: The church, Occupy LSX and Solidarnosc

Religion still has a major part to play in popular protest, as it did in Poland 30 years ago

Thirty years ago this week Poland woke up to find tanks in the streets, phone lines cut, and roads blockaded. On the morning of 13 December 1981 General Jaruzelski declared war on his own people, imposing martial law in an attempt to shut down Solidarnosc – the trade union which had become a freedom movement. In the years that followed, one institution would sustain the dream of a new Poland more than any other, shaping the movement’s language and providing its leaders – the Catholic church. With the archbishop of Canterbury suggesting last week that Jesus would have been an Occupy LSX protester, this anniversary is a reminder of the role religion can play in popular protest…

The Guardian, 17 December 2011, p. 49.

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The Quietus: Basildon Bond – Depeche Mode & The Essex New Town

Three decades on from the release of their debut album, Sophia Deboick argues that it’s time that Depeche Mode’s home town of Basildon honoured its most famous sons.

In the years since the release of their debut album, released 30 years ago next month, Depeche Mode’s roots in the Essex New Town of Basildon – a part of England that nobody talks about and which lacks the cachet of Joy Division’s Manchester, The Human League’s Sheffield, or OMD’s Liverpool – has been a persistent focus of derision. With Basildon principally known for gloomy urban blight and the beer boy / Essex girl stereotype, the band have found that even those sections of the music press that have not been openly hostile to them over the last three decades have still regularly referred to them as ‘four Walters from Basildon’, representative of the ‘cult of the diamond geezer’. But with an impressive new book by ex-NME journalist Simon Spence (Just Can’t Get Enough: The Making of Depeche Mode, Jawbone Press) shedding new light on the part that their hometown played in moulding a band that would go on to sell over 100 million albums, and with a recent themed weekend in the town showing that ‘Bas’ is still the epicentre of the international cult that surrounds Depeche Mode, the place of Basildon in the band’s folklore ought to be reassessed…

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