I've been listening to Lillian Cunningham's "Presidential"
podcast, trying to glean insights into our nation's earliest
leaders. In a month that is sure to contain fireworks - from
the 4th of July to the Republican and Democratic conventions
- it feels quieting and introspective to cast my mind back to
our first presidents.
In her podcast on George Washington, Cunningham interviewed
Julie Miller, a Library of Congress historian. She emphasized
Washington's misgivings about his ability to govern the young
republic. "I think he felt that when he expressed his
self-doubt that people would not see that as weakness but
that they would see it as a strength," Miller said. "Modesty
was something people really valued."
Miller drew a sharp contrast to the current presidential
campaign, marked by bragging and bravado. "I don't think any
of the candidates, for example, would say, 'I am not
qualified to do this job.' Washington said that publicly over
and over."
And yet, Americans felt otherwise. They saw in the
57-year-old Army commander a leader who was clear-eyed about
his strengths and shortcomings, sure to assemble a team of
smart people. So Washington set off from Mount Vernon,
leaving a private life of "domestic felicity," as he put it,
for New York. "My movements to the chair of government," he
wrote, "will be accompanied with feelings not unlike those of
a culprit who is going to the place of his execution - so
unwilling am I
to quit a peaceful abode for an ocean
of difficulties without that competency of political skill,
abilities and inclination which is necessary to manage the
helm."
When I heard this, I immediately thought of another leader
who expressed a remarkably similar sentiment upon his
election. In April 2005, the day after his installation Mass,
Pope Benedict XVI opened up about the recent papal conclave.
"As the trend in the ballots slowly made me realize that, in
a matter of speaking, the guillotine would fall on me, I
started to feel quite dizzy," said the new pontiff, then 78.
"I thought that I had done my life's work and could now hope
to live out my days in peace. I told the Lord with deep
conviction, 'Don't do this to me. You have younger and better
[candidates] who could take up this great task with a totally
different energy and with different strength."
Both men felt truly unworthy of their respective appointments
but moved forward, trying to accept the trust their peers had
placed in them as they leaned on their faith in God. Another
striking similarity: both men could have remained in their
positions of power until death but made the bold choice to
step down. They reached their decisions after discerning
their own diminishing capacities as well as the shifting
needs of the climates in which they served.
In an era when the temptation of fame and followers has never
been greater, the humility of Washington and Benedict gives
me pause. Here we are, grasping for status and whatever
strange 21st-century sponsorships and shortcuts it may
confer. And there they are, sure of who they are and who they
are not, stepping aside gracefully to let someone else do
something else.
Benedict's someone else, Francis, recently reflected on the
virtue that gave way to his papacy, speaking about the Sermon
on the Mount and citing "Blessed are the meek" as one of the
most important beatitudes.
"Meekness is a way of being that draws us very close to
Jesus," Pope Francis said. "At its depths, it is
understanding the greatness of God."
That understanding brings such freedom. Nothing to prove or
earn or defend. "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is
made perfect in weakness."
Capecchi is a freelance writer from Inver Grove Heights,
Minn., and the editor of SisterStory.org.