When Pope Benedict stood in the Blue Mosque beside its chief officer and prayed in the direction of Mecca, his action was a YES to Christian generosity toward the other religions, and when he baptized that Italian convert from Islam, his action said YES to Christian orthodoxy. His double yes gives him two sets of enemies and two sets of friends. All four sets will be chattering away during and after his visit to us Americans.

This combination of generous spirit and orthodox mind should not be misunderstood as double-mindedness, a duplicity the Bible severely condemns. Rather, it is an emergent from Rome’s internal struggle, during and after the Second Vatican Council (1962-65), between a Curia fearful of change and “fresh air” bishops and theologians (responsive to Pope John XXIII’s pre-Council call to “open the windows and let in some fresh air”).

On the fresh-air side was Augustin Bea, who came to be called “the cardinal of unity"—from 1960 to his death in 1968, the president of the Secretariat for Christian Unity. He was so close a friend of the great peasant pope, John XXIII, and so one in spirit, that one might speculate that at tea one day the two of them dreamed up the Second Vatican Council.

One story to add color. I worked with Bea on a project on which I had written a book. At the time, he was old and bent without having lost any of his gracious winsomeness and beautiful smile. One day, playfully, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Come, Dr. Elliott! I must show you what the rest of the Curia think of my new job!”

(A late paper of Vatican II was “Nostra aetate,” dealing with the church and the other religions. Bea’s “new job” was to add this to his ecumenical portfolio.)

When we arrived at his new office, he threw open the door and said to me “Enter!” The room was empty except for a single chair: his appointment was so recent that he hadn’t yet moved in.

Now, I wish I’d continued his little drama and said, “Please sit down so I can see all the important Curia seated in one chair.” But I, a Protestant-theologian guest, didn’t have the courage (if that’s the right word). I was awed as well as delighted in the presence of this truly great Christian—full of joy as well as knowledge, able to say an appreciative YES (as well as a critical NO) to today and tomorrow as well as to yesterday.

“Building bridges” is the metaphor in the current “On Faith” question. I can understand it in contrast, for example, to pulling up one’s drawbridge. But it feels arrogant, as though I were those bridges’ designer and building, the initiative being mine. Suppose those on the other side assume I want the bridges so they’ll come over to my side (and be baptized!). Or suppose they fear I’ll construct military bridges, for ease of attack. Or suppose they’d really like me to build bridges so they can have the fun of burning their end of them.

No, I prefer the internalization of the metaphor: How can I be, and help others be, a bridge of universal benevolence (even to “enemies,” Jesus says) while vigorously maintaining my own personal-and-church witness to the truth of the gospel, the “good news” that God has come to the world in and as Jesus, whose death and resurrection is the world’s best hope?

Whom can I point to as embodying this orthodox generosity (or generous orthodoxy)? First, Jesus. And if I were to ask Benedict whom he’d name next, it just might be Bea.

Like Bea, Benedict is a great German scholar of complex mind (and therefore easy to misunderstand). The year Bea died, Benedict (then Joseph Ratzinger) said, “Above...church authority...stands one’s own conscience, which has to be obeyed first of all, if need be against the demands of church authority.” That church is evolving slowly from the Roman “empire” to the Catholic “commonwealth.” Pray for this man, and speak of him more generously than critically.