The Blessed Archbishop & the Venerable Pope

As the Church celebrates last month’s beatification of Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen (1895-1979), it is worth reviewing some of the insights he shared publicly. Many remember him as a vehement anti-communist. He warned against the destructive nature of that atheistic system and spoke of exposing its fallacies as part of his public mission. “Communism will set no rat trap to catch the rats in the barn,” he said, “but insists on the burning of the barn — that is, it remakes society by remaking man to the pattern of an economic animal.” His insights were not, however, limited to communism. The good archbishop was similarly appalled by Nazism and fascism.

Sheen wrote of the various ideologies to which man had surrendered his reason only to find that “the state has preempted it…so that now there is no reason but state reason which is fascism, or class reason which is communism as there once was race reason which was Nazism.” During the Second World War, he called Nazi paganism a menace to world Christianity and called for its destruction. He used Hitler as an example of what happens when ideology replaces God and moral truth. “Hitler had no need of God,” Sheen said. “In his own conceit, he was a god.” He mocked Hitler with his typical wit, saying he “proclaims the superiority of the German race over all the peoples of the earth with the possible exception of the Japanese, for Hitler has discovered that one of the Japanese sun-gods is a first cousin of the German god Wotan.”

Sheen saw the Catholic Church as the principal moral force standing firm against communist and Nazi totalitarianism during World War II. To him, this was not just a geopolitical struggle; it was a clash between Christianity and anti-Christian ideologies. Nazism and communism were related dangers, because both denied God and crushed human dignity. In broadcasts and writings, Sheen portrayed the Church as the guardian of truth and conscience. He saw her as a spiritually necessary counterweight to the godless regimes of the day.

Sheen admired Pope Pius XII’s leadership (r. 1939-1958), calling him a “dry martyr,” meaning he suffered for the Church in times of persecution without shedding his own blood. Pius had witnessed terrible suffering but, despite his best efforts, was unable to stop it. Sheen wrote:

Perhaps no Pope in history has seen so many martyred for their faith as has Pius XII. The first 32 Popes, including St. Peter, were martyrs for the faith. They were the wet martyrs. The present Holy Father has seen millions tortured, persecuted, exiled, and martyred under the beatings of the hammer and sickle of communism; he has agonized under the double cross of Nazism and borne in his body the marks of the sticks of fascism…. All this and other sorrows, he felt as his own.

As Sheen said, “To the world, it may seem an honor to be a Pope; but to be a Pope, in these times, is to bear a cross.”

On his radio and television shows, Sheen presented Pius XII as a wise, holy, and courageous leader who understood the threats Nazism and communism posed and represented Catholic resistance to those forces. Clearly, the Pontiff influenced Sheen and shaped his messages. In his autobiography, Treasure in Clay (1982), Sheen wrote, “Each year I would discuss with Pope Pius XII the subjects that I would talk about on radio for the coming year.” For his part, Pius XII called Sheen a “prophet of the times,” saying he would “have a high place in heaven.”

Papal support for the archbishop’s shows contrasts sharply with the treatment a contemporary radio priest received. In 1936, before his elevation to the papacy, then-papal secretary of state Eugenio Pacelli made an “unprecedented” visit to U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt. He explained the Vatican’s position as it dissociated from the views of Fr. Charles Coughlin, who in his broadcasts insulted the president, calling him a “betrayer and a liar,” referring to him as a “scab,” and saying he was “communistic” and “anti-God.” Fr. Coughlin was drawing support from fascists, anti-Semites, and Nazi sympathizers. After Pacelli became pope, Coughlin was given the choice of ceasing his broadcasts or facing suspension from the priesthood. He went off the air.

Sheen, in an introduction to Crown of Glory: The Life of Pope Pius XII (1957), a favorable biography, provided insight into a historically important moment in the future pope’s life. In 1919 Pacelli was in Munich as a papal nuncio, and Germany’s postwar government was facing serious trouble. With six major political parties and several minor ones, it was difficult to form effective coalitions. Many Germans felt that this government had been forced upon them, and the restrictions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles were highly unpopular, especially the requirement to pay reparations to the Allies. All this contributed to German resentment, and Hitler was not the only would-be dictator trying to take advantage of the situation. Communists, monarchists, and nationalists each occasionally resorted to violence in their efforts to overturn the government. The possibility of a communist Germany was a significant concern for the Holy See, and Pacelli mounted the pulpit of the Munich cathedral to speak out against the dangers of postwar Bolshevism. He soon became a target of communist hostility and was threatened with physical violence. The risk became serious in April 1919 when communists took over the Bavarian government and declared it a communist state.

In response, almost all the diplomats in Munich packed their bags and fled to Berlin. Only Pacelli remained at his post. He regularly lodged protests against communist hostility, pointing out that as a representative of a foreign nation his possessions were inviolable under international law. Eventually, the rogue leadership decided to assassinate the problematic Catholic leader. One time, in gangland fashion, a car sped past the nuncio’s house, spraying it with machine-gun fire. Fortunately, Pacelli was not home. Then, as Sheen reported:

On April 29 at 3 P.M., Commander Seiler of the Red Army of the South and his aide-de-camp Brongratz…appeared at the door of the archbishop’s house in company with a group of Red sailors. The thugs, gaining entrance to the house by threatening the servant with hand grenades, made their way to the library and awaited the appearance of their prey. Seiler took up his appearance closest to the door with a pistol drawn; the gunmen stood around him in a semicircle, some with drawn guns, some with hand grenades. Suddenly the wanted man appeared.

With a blasphemy, Seiler threw out his pistol hand; it hit the pectoral cross on the man’s breast. This tall, lean figure, grasping the pectoral cross and facing the raised guns, said in soft, low tones, “I am not afraid; I am in God’s hands. But you gain nothing! I am interested only in saving my people.”

Under the gaze of those spiritual eyes, no one dared pull a trigger. Neither Seiler nor Brongratz nor the others knew why they did not shoot; when they got back to headquarters, they were unable to explain…why they did not kill that man. They were never able to explain why a pair of eyes, a lean figure holding a cross, and a soft voice should be more powerful than their guns and their grenades. There was only one thing that was certain. From that day on, that man would be afraid of absolutely nothing in the world.

A few days later, many of the intruders returned, unarmed, to apologize, ask forgiveness, and return a stolen automobile. (Preposterously, John Cornwell, in his 1999 book Hitler’s Pope: The Secret History of Pius XII, would argue that Pacelli’s letter to Rome detailing this matter revealed his anti-Semitism.)

Despite the very real threat posed by the communists, Pacelli never lost focus on other threats, especially that posed by the Nazis. According to Sheen, “During the summer months following that incident, I went to Rome, and one evening had dinner with Cardinal Pacelli, the future Pope Pius XII, who was then the Secretary of State. The next morning I visited him in his office.” After a brief exchange, Pacelli “pulled out a number of German newspapers from a file and began reading and translating them. For over an hour he spoke with considerable vehemence against Hitler and Nazism.”

Pacelli later gave Joseph Cardinal Spellman, archbishop of New York, the pectoral cross he had worn during the 1919 assault. Spellman, in turn, let Sheen wear it on an episode of his television show, Life Is Worth Living. Like Pius, Sheen had a deep devotion to Our Lady of Fatima, which was the focus of that episode. Sheen used it to illustrate how Pacelli became (and Pius XII remained) a foe of the communism of which Our Lady warned at Fatima. He was the same man now as he was then, standing firm in his support of the Church against threats like communism, fascism, and Nazism.

The 20th century brought two of the world’s most evil doctrines to heights of power they had never previously ascended. Fortunately, the entity standing in their way of achieving total world dominance, the Catholic Church, had outstanding leaders in Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen and Pope Pius XII. Those two men shared the vision, strength, and conviction to stand for truth in the face of threats. As we exult in the archbishop’s beatification, we wait in prayerful hope for similar recognition of the Pope.

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