The “Me Too” Papacy (It’s not what you think)

By Fr. Jerry Pokorsky ( bio - articles - email ) | Oct 27, 2025

“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” (Lk. 18:14)

We sometimes imagine the Pharisees as priests—the “religious professionals” of their day. But in truth, they were laymen: men of influence, piety, and public standing. Jesus’ rebuke was a warning to all who are tempted to turn holiness into self-importance. And none of us—priest or layman—escapes that temptation for long.

Among the Apostles, ambition reared its head. James and John, the sons of Zebedee, boldly asked Jesus for the seats of honor in His glory. They wanted front-row thrones beside the Messiah. Jesus gently but firmly corrected them: “Whoever wishes to be great among you will be your servant… for the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.” (Mk 10:43–45) Even the original Gospel band of brothers tried to climb the ecclesiastical ladder.

Now, I’ll share a clerical secret. Me too. During the last conclave, I placed my hat into the ring for the papacy. I promised I’d be a laid-back Holy Father: sleep in, pray, celebrate Mass, sip cappuccino over St. Peter’s Square. I had precedent: Pope Leo XII, on the eve of the Protestant Rebellion, said, “God has given us the papacy. Let us enjoy it.” My plan, though, was to keep my head down, enjoy life, and mainly out of sight, hoping to prevent rebellion. For my papal name: Pope Edgar Allan Pokorsky.

I’d delegate, so I’d have time for afternoon naps. Consultants like Booze, Allan, and Hamilton would fix the Vatican Bank. Cardinal Burke would tackle the Curia, Cardinal Müller would oversee the doctrinally rambunctious German hierarchy, and AI would review church documents—AI likely abides by Sacred Tradition better than many prelates.

But I wouldn’t write too many new encyclicals. Instead, I’d reissue the great ones—Veritatis Splendor, Humanae Vitae, Familiaris Consortio—each with a simple papal addendum on the cover page: “Me Too.” My own encyclicals and apostolic exhortations would be the shortest in the history of the Church. My pontificate would be known as The “Me Too” Papacy: a papacy of solidarity with truth already spoken, holiness already lived, and saints already canonized.

Veritatis Splendor? Me too.

Humanae Vitae? Me too.

The humility of Jesus? Me too, Lord—except make me pope first. Of course, I wasn’t chosen—another man, a fine American Augustinian, was. My ambitions were rightly checked. Yet my dreams reveal how the urge for self-importance can easily seep in; clergy aren’t immune to wanting to be first.

A Lesson from History

There’s a story—too good not to be true—about the conclave of 1914. Cardinal Merry del Val, the powerful Secretary of State under Pope Pius X, had once advised against promoting Archbishop Giacomo della Chiesa. When Pius died, del Val was favored to succeed him. But instead, the cardinals elected Archbishop della Chiesa as Pope Benedict XV.

When the defeated del Val came forward to pay homage, the new pope quoted Psalm 118: “The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” Gracious in defeat, del Val replied: “By the Lord has this been done, and it is marvelous in our eyes.”

In the years that followed, del Val popularized the Litany of Humility—a prayer that asks for deliverance from the desire for esteem, praise, and preference, and from the fear of being despised or ridiculed. The prayer has us behold our deepest spiritual fears, like the Israelites in the desert gazing upon the serpent on the staff of Moses. It’s a dangerous prayer, because God answers it swiftly.

Interestingly, del Val didn’t actually write it. The Litany had been composed anonymously by another priest decades earlier—a hidden soul who sought no credit, and whose name history has lost. That anonymity was the prayer’s first answer.

“Please, God—Me Too.”

Holiness is rarely spectacular. Most saints never make the calendar; most humility is hidden in silence and service. But the Kingdom of Heaven is built on those quiet “me too’s”—souls who echo Mary’s fiat, who repeat Christ’s surrender in Gethsemane, who consent daily to be forgotten for love of God.

In a world obsessed with recognition, our call is not to be first, or famous, or followed—but to be faithful.

The Litany of Humility

O Jesus, meek and humble of heart,
Hear me.
From the desire of being esteemed,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being loved,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being extolled, etc.
From the desire of being honored,
From the desire of being praised,
From the desire of being preferred to others,
From the desire of being consulted,
From the desire of being approved,
From the fear of being humiliated,
From the fear of being despised,
From the fear of suffering rebukes,
From the fear of being calumniated,
From the fear of being forgotten,
From the fear of being ridiculed,
From the fear of being wronged,
From the fear of being suspected,
That others may be loved more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be esteemed more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That, in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease, etc.
That others may be chosen and I set aside,
That others may be praised and I go unnoticed,
That others may be preferred to me in everything,
That others may become holier than I,
provided that I may become as holy as I should.

To every hidden saint, every unknown servant, every quiet soul who humbly prays this litany—we say with gratitude, longing, and some trepidation: Please, God: Me too.