‘I don’t take myself all that seriously’
Milo Andreas Wagner meets the American South's first cardinal, who, despite being tipped as a future pope, has retained his modest, down-to-earth persona
4 April 2008

Cardinal Daniel DiNardo celebrates Mass at the Basilica of St Mary Major in Rome

There's something special about Cardinal Daniel DiNardo. His rapid rise to the rank of cardinal, and the adulation he receives from his flock, are indicative of his extraordinary personal qualities. He typifies the welcoming spirit I've experienced here in Houston, Texas, though he's a Pittsburgher by birth. But as I sit opposite the lean and intense clergyman, it's difficult to pin down exactly what's so magnetically appealing about him.

In his first interview with a British publication since being made cardinal last November DiNardo is startlingly modest about the attention he's receiving, in particular the flattery lavished on him by Rocco Palmo's blog Whispers in the Loggia. People say extravagant things about DiNardo: he has been hailed "the Reluctant Prince" and is known in Catholic circles across the globe for presiding over an extraordinary renaissance in the Texas Catholic community. It is little wonder, then, that he was Palmo's "Clergyman of the Year" - nor that he is tipped by some as a possible future pope.

In 1984 DiNardo was given a day to decide whether to take a cosy job as an official at the Vatican Congregation for Bishops in Rome. He said "yes", and enjoyed the time he spent at the Vatican enormously, but has never looked back since returning to America. "I always liked being a pastor," explains DiNardo, when I ask him why he left. "After nearly seven years, I just wanted to return home."

Despite being one of the most important American Catholic leaders today DiNardo is familiar with the challenges of everyday Church life. In 1994 the Bishop of Pittsburgh charged him with founding an entirely new parish, Ss John and Paul. This was a tremendous challenge, with people coming from five different parishes - some of them not entirely willingly. "But," says DiNardo, "one thing you never hear in these situations is people saying: 'We've always done it that way.' " The bishop's confidence was evidently well-placed: DiNardo still receives appreciative letters from friends back in Pennsylvania.

Building a parish from scratch taught DiNardo a number of valuable lessons. "It was there I first noticed the unifying force of a common Catholic faith," he says, "something that has served me well later, as Bishop of Sioux City, Iowa, and now in Texas. One faith, good celebration of the sacraments and a devotional life are the best way to address tough issues together." This is clearly a man as comfortable serving the local parish as attending high-level meetings in Rome.

DiNardo had never set foot in Houston before he was appointed as the city's archbishop. The Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston was quite a change from Sioux City: the ever-growing multiplicity of ethnic groups being the most obvious characteristic of his new stomping ground. Texas has the second-largest Hispanic population in the US, a historically prominent African-American contingent, vibrant Vietnamese and Filipino communities and the world's largest concentration of Nigerians outside their home country.

In Houston alone Mass is celebrated in 18 languages every week, including Korean, Mandarin and Cantonese. A recent influx of Catholics from East Timor has required services in their native tongue. "I don't know the numbers exactly, but I believe we have around 32,000 Vietnamese Catholics in four parishes, and an estimated 35,000 practising Nigerians," he says.

This extraordinary diversity hasn't led to the kind of tensions one would expect, nor is the Church here divided into the "Right" and the "Left" as in heavily politicised cities like New York and London. "El Salvadorians and Guatemalans don't always get on with Mexicans, but overall I see the differences as constructive, not destructive," he reflects. "Ideological divides do exist here, but they're nothing like as pungent. Coming together in unity of faith is of paramount importance to the whole community.

"And the Church itself is extraordinarily dynamic: I'm not closing any place! We have the reverse problem to many Catholic communities. There's certainly no need for consolidation of congregations."
In fact, a new co-cathedral is about to be opened next to the chancery in Houston. It's an exciting time to be a Catholic in Texas. "The Holy See has recognised that the southern states are a burgeoning Catholic presence and that's a good thing."

About 15 years ago the Catholic population of Houston was about 15 per cent. Now it's 23 per cent - a massive increase. And although the Baptist presence in Houston has always been intense, it's the Catholic community that is highest on the radar, partly thanks to DiNardo's elevation to the Sacred College last year.

"I was genuinely surprised to be named: I take my work very seriously, but I don't take myself all that seriously," he says. DiNardo's modesty is in contrast to the overwhelmingly positive reaction from all sides to his being made cardinal. One rabbi wrote to him saying: "I don't know what it all means, but it really sounds good."



As our conversation turns to the upcoming presidential election, the judicious leadership for which DiNardo has been praised becomes ever clearer.

"A decision in conscience is not the same thing as 'who I want to vote for'," he explains. "We've tried to give people guidance, but we tend to caricature. Even our bishops' positions are often caricatured. Also, we do have politicians attempting to use religion as a backdrop, but then, religion has always been misused in that way."

Does he favour any particular candidate? "Our position is that we do not make comments on individual politicians; we make comments on moral issues. That's not always easy."

DiNardo's answer demonstrates a preoccupation with more profound concerns than politics. The atmosphere in Galveston-Houston is even anti-political: no one here saw the Motu Proprio liberating the traditional Mass, for example, as divisive. A handful of priests have begun midweek Masses, and once a week the extraordinary form is celebrated downtown, as has been the case for years. "But that isn't necessarily the case in the rest of the US," DiNardo is quick to point out. "It's rather a characteristic of the faith uniting widely disparate communities here in Texas."

DiNardo has modest but serious expectations of Pope Benedict XVI's visit to America later this month. "I would like to see the Holy Father bring with him the message of hope," he says, referring to the Pope's recent encyclical Spe Salvi.

"The Holy Father has himself said that he distinguishes the Church in Europe from that in the United States. The Catholic Church has always been a bit of a mixed bag, what with the multiplicity of cultures and the constant influx of new ethnic groups. So it'll be interesting to see how that affects what he has to say. I expect he'll also try to effect a mild shift in orientation here in America."

"Oh?" I say.

"Well‚ we can be a little materialistic," he replies, with comic understatement. I recount to him my childhood priest's favourite quotation: "Be careful, lest the things you own end up owning you."
"That's exactly it," says DiNardo. "You know, in Latin, the word for 'baggage' is impedimenta. Americans delight in carrying baggage with them, but these things‚ they're just impediments."

Cardinal DiNardo pauses after this remark, and I look around the rather grand meeting room and realise that he is addressing his warning as much to himself in his elevated new position as to his fellow Americans.