A Summit for Peace in Assisi

By Richard N. Ostling

A mark of Pope John Paul II's charismatic style is his ability to illuminate human aspirations with a telling phrase or a symbolic gesture. For several hours last week, an unprecedented event put together under his auspices dramatized one of the greatest of all aspirations. At his invitation, leaders from the religions of the earth gathered under glowering skies in the tranquil medieval Italian town of Assisi and, with quiet dignity, uttered prayers for world peace.

The throng included rabbis wearing yarmulkes and Sikhs in turbans, Muslims praying on thick carpets and a Zoroastrian kindling a fire. In all, the 160 religious representatives came from a dozen faiths throughout the world. The scene was extraordinary in its visual diversity, the purple robe of Robert Runcie, the Archbishop of Canterbury, contrasting with the black of Greek Orthodox Archbishop Methodios. Buddhism's Dalai Lama, traditionally regarded as a living deity, was in attendance, swathed in purple and yellow. Also there were Uruguayan Methodist Emilio Castro, chief executive of the World Council of Churches, and South Africa's antiapartheid activist Allan Boesak, president of the World Alliance of Reformed Churches. Metropolitan Filaret traveled from the U.S.S.R. It was the "most beautiful gift to God," observed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, the diminutive Nobel Peace Prize recipient.

The broad assemblage was set in Assisi in honor of St. Francis, the simple Umbrian friar whose life exemplifies humanity's quest for peace. "If the world is going to continue, and men and women are to survive in it," John Paul declared in English, "it cannot do without prayer. This is the permanent lesson of Assisi. It is the lesson of St. Francis, who embodied an attractive ideal for us."

Despite that ideal, the Pope's audience was aware that Assisi symbolically went well beyond the ceremonial friendship accorded other faiths by any previous Pontiff. The assemblage included not only monotheists but believers in creeds once labeled "heathen" and "pagan" by a church that for centuries had preached unambiguously that there was no salvation outside its walls. The astonishing variety of the invited group also raised suspicions among some Christians that Assisi represented a heretical step toward syncretism, the amalgamation of various conflicting religions. For this reason, U.S. Fundamentalist Gadfly Carl McIntire branded the meeting the "greatest single abomination in church history," and Catholic extremists in France passed out leaflets consigning John Paul to hell.

The Pope was well aware of such concerns. "Certainly we cannot pray together, namely, to make a common prayer," he explained, "but we can be present while others pray." That, in fact, is what occurred. During the morning, each faith met for separate devotions in and around Assisi, and when all groups later gathered in the piazza, no interreligious rite was used; individual delegates gave their own invocations.

Planning for the event had raised delicate problems for Vatican aides, who were caught by surprise last January when John Paul announced his Assisi meeting. There were lengthy consultations to find apt spokesmen for the various faiths. "We wanted religious leaders, not politicians," said Francis Cardinal Arinze, who heads the Vatican's Secretariat for Non-Christians. The purpose was "to pray and fast, not issue manifestoes." As it turned out, said Bishop Emile Eid of Lebanon's war-racked Maronites, the gathering was entirely a "spiritual summit, as contrasted with political summits." Difficulties that might have arisen did not materialize. Hindus and Sikhs were assigned to the same church to offer their prayers, but did so with no friction. At another church, two Buddhists chanted and rhythmically beat thin drums. Outside on the grass, Shintoists played lovely, organ-like chords on bamboo reed instruments. The result was more a spiritual harmony than clashing dissonance.

To avoid seeming like the "president of presidents," as one aide put it, the Pontiff caught a bus with 30 other Christian representatives and quietly took his place at the rear of a procession through the town's cobblestone streets. Neither was there an excess of ceremonial opulence. Crowds were surprisingly small, largely because of the heavy security. A small flock of doves made a straggly sight when released.

But the words, the prayers, that flew up throughout the day from Assisi were moving and often memorable. Speaking for Jainism, a strictly pacifist faith of India, Holy Man Subuh Karan Dasani said in an eloquent, croaking voice, "Whom thou intendest to kill is, in truth, none other than thyself . . . Violence, in fact, is the knot of bondage. It, in fact, is delusion. It, in fact, is death. It, in fact, is hell."

Two tribal animists from Africa intoned, "Almighty God, the Great Thumb we cannot evade in tying any knot, the Roaring Thunder that splits mighty trees, the All-Seeing Lord up on high who sees even the footprints of an antelope on a rock mass here on earth . . . you are the cornerstone of peace." Smoking a ceremonial peace pipe, John Pretty-on-Top, a Crow Indian medicine man from Montana in full-feathered headdress, recited, "O Great Spirit, I raise my pipe to you, to your messengers the four winds, and to mother earth, who provides for your children . . . I pray that you bring peace to all my brothers and sisters of this world."

Seeking deeds that would fulfill the pacific words, John Paul had asked all warring factions around the globe to observe a cease-fire throughout the meeting. Fighting stopped in the Philippines, Angola, the Sudan and many other war zones. But violence persisted elsewhere, in the Middle East, in Nicaragua and in Northern Ireland. At the close of the ceremonies, John Paul acknowledged that fellow Catholics "have not always been peacemakers" and expressed his hope that Assisi would be an act of penance for these sins.

As the day concluded, and as those who had observed the cease-fire returned to making war, it was the simplicity of the meeting's vision, not its grandeur, that seemed to endure. The leaders gathered in the dining room of a Franciscan monastery to break their fast with a meal of bread, pizza, vegetables, Coke and water (no wine). Little had been said about specific actions or compromises that might bring peace. But in the many tongues from the many creeds had come a reaffirmation of the belief that religion, with its appeal to the heart, is necessary for peace.

"The fact that we have come here does not imply any intention of seeking a religious consensus among ourselves or of negotiating our faith convictions," the Pope had said. "Our meeting attests only -- and this is its real significance for the people of our time -- that in the great battle for peace, humanity, in its very diversity, must draw from its deepest and most vivifying sources, where its conscience is formed and upon which is founded the moral action of all people." "Perhaps we can't have peace without God's will," offered Syed Khalilullah, a Muslim delegate from Bangladesh who is also an expert on the effects of radiation. "I know better than most people how important peace is, and how bad nuclear war can be. This is a good beginning, isn't it?"

With reporting by Sam Allis/Assisi