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Wanted: Pious People

When the German Pope Returns Home, He'll Find an Unchristian Land

By Mario Kaiser, Ansbert Kneip and Alexander Smoltczyk

When Pope Benedict XVI lands in Cologne for World Youth Day, he will be arriving in a country that has become foreign to him. The churches are empty, the politicians are non-believers and the people in the east are complete strangers to God. And now organizers of the biggest religious festival of the post-war era plan to turn it into a launching pad for a new religious awareness.

The Crested Salamander, the Great Yellow Bumblebee and the Natterjack Toad are also some of God's creations. And because these protected species are so fond of mating at the "Missionarsgrube" (Missionaries' Hollow) biotope on a meadow near Cologne, the Holy Father found himself forced to change his plans.

The closing mass of the Catholic World Youth Day was supposed to be held here at Missionarsgrube, but Germany's Society for the Protection the Environment filed a lawsuit on behalf of the salamanders, forcing the event's organizers to choose a new site for the holy mass -- a sealed-off old brown coal mine nearby.

God's smaller creatures count for more in Germany than the wishes of the Pope.

At least 800,000 young believers from all continents will converge on this former brown coal mine to celebrate World Youth Day (WYD) under the motto "We have come to worship Him." The organizers are under a great deal of pressure to pull off a successful event and prove to the pope, as well as themselves, that Germany is still capable of believing. They need images like those that were broadcast to the world in April, when the planet's young people gathered in and around St. Peter's Square in Rome when Pope John Paul II died. Cologne, they hope, will become a new Rome.

WYD's offices are located in Cologne's banking district, sandwiched between investment companies and the offices of financial advisors. Manfred Kollig, a member of the Catholic order Arsheimer Brothers, is the organization's "Division Manager for Liturgy." His job is to provide a framework for faith.

The complete schedule for World Youth Day 2005 -- a square meter-sized mosaic of small boxes, columns and tables -- hangs next to Father Manfred's desk. The minute-by-minute choreography of faith includes stage directions like "the Holy Father kneels" (on August 21), "the Holy Father sprinkles the bell with holy water" and "the congregation sings Laudate omnes gentes." At the WJD office, Father Manfred's schedule is simply referred to as "the script."

What's being staged near Cologne is no less than an historic encounter: the new pope meets the world's youth, or at least those young people who believe in God and the pope. The crowd that will converge on the site for six days -- sweating, singing, with knapsacks on their backs and trousers cut a tad too low -- will be the equivalent of a major city on a pilgrimage.

What should Cologne expect from the pope?

The man they'll be facing is the pope, a 78-year-old professor of dogma and fundamental theology, one who has spent the last 23 years in quiet conversation with centuries-old dogma, encyclicals and epistles.

When the pope was still a cardinal, he was deeply suspicious of this type of flag-waving mass gatherings, accusing German religious groups of trying too hard to make their Catholic festivals conform to the Zeitgeist. Trying to appeal to the world's youth was his predecessor's idea, not his. But the new pope will be coming to Cologne as a representative of the old pope, and the young faithful will enthusiastically greet his arrival. The Catholic laity has mobilized in recent months, unnoticed by the German population at large. They want to put on a show for the pope and the pilgrims that faith, while not exactly blossoming, does exist in Germany. Clubs and associations long believed extinct in a society obsessed with fun and fitness -- organizations with proud names like the St. George Pathfinders, Workers' Youth, Rural Youth Movement -- seem to be rising from the dead. For the last month, a 3.8-meter (about 12 feet) "World Youth Day Cross" has been carried through the country from Dresden. Everything has been prepared. Pilgrims will pay an entrance fee scaled to reflect their means, which includes health insurance, liability, full room and board and transportation.

There are 500,000 pilgrim backpacks prepared, each containing a rain cape, a water bottle, sun block, a public transportation pass, a map of the city and a book of hymns. They also contain a small, sealed bag containing a rosary, which actually looks like something else. A telephone hotline manned by multilingual pastors has been set up to deal with "religious psychoses and suicide attempts."

"Of course, we could have used modern technology to build a cathedral of light," says Father Manfred. "But we opted for candles instead. We wanted to reduce things to their essence -- Picasso, or late Matisse, not the fullness of Baroque."

German Catholicism is doing its utmost to demonstrate perfect organization -- as if there were some sort of relationship between logistics and piety. Or perhaps it's fear that is dictating this gargantuan effort, fear of what could happen when Benedict XVI lands at Cologne Airport around noontime on Thursday and sets foot in a country that has become foreign to him.

The German pope's first trip abroad is essentially a homecoming to a strange land, a country in which more people enter training programs to become orthopaedic shoemakers and equestrian managers than to join the Catholic clergy; a country in which just eight percent of the population in a city like Magdeburg, in the former East Germany, has been baptized.

Cheering crowds will greet the pope in Cologne, but this won't quite translate into a mad stampede into Germany's churches this fall. Two-thirds of all Germans believe in a higher being, but less than half say that faith is truly an important part of their lives.

Most Germans have developed their own private concept of faith. For them, the Big Bang has replaced the myth of creation, while catastrophic climate change is their new apocalypse. And depending on where they are in life, they enjoy small servings of ecstasy in the form of sex & drugs & rock 'n' roll or a concert subscription for two. At best, they pray on Wednesdays and Sundays, when the lottery numbers are announced. Internet chat forums are the new confessional, and everyone has his own homemade answer to the question of spirituality: a little Jesus, a big dose of career and, when in doubt, a deep gaze into their children's eyes. Indeed, many Germans are likely to view the World Youth Day with the indiffernce reserved for a congregation of Jehovah's Witnesses.