A Friar Becomes the Pope

Congratulations to Pope Leo XIV; may he be guided to wisdom in his new role. I know nothing about the man at all, having never heard of him until yesterday. I asked Dad29's opinion, which was mixed, although he did say that the Pope is reputed to say the Old Rite Mass, which is encouraging. D29 also noted a good article that the new Pope's X account had 're-tweeted,' but who knows if a Cardinal runs his own social media account? I wouldn't, if I could task that to some younger aide. 

What I do know is that the Augustinian Order he comes from is a mendicant order. Its members are friars, a recent innovation of Catholicism's dating only to the late Middle Ages. The Order is not subject to the bishops, one of whom this particular friar eventually became. 

To celebrate the occasion, I will reprint Sir Walter Scott's poem "The Barefooted Friar," from his excellent novel Ivanhoe.

1.

I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;

But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire,

So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.

2.

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,

And is brought home at even-song prick’d through with a spear;

I confess him in haste—for his lady desires

No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s.

3.

Your monarch?—Pshaw! many a prince has been known

To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire

To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!

4.

The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone,

The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own;

He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,

For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s.

5.

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes

May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums

For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.

6.

He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot,

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot,

And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,

Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.

7.

Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope;

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar,

Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.