Berkley Center

After three months living in Córdoba, Argentina’s second largest city, I would have thought that I would be able pin down Argentina’s religious landscape. If you had asked me in January, I would have told you that I would be writing about how it was most influenced by European Catholicism or by indigenous expression. I would report of how it had been galvanized by a homegrown pope or how Papa Francisco wasn’t actually getting people back into the pews. I thought I would have a perfect, clean thesis statement to send home, but Argentina evades all simple descriptions, as I was reminded poignantly reminded this Holy Week.

I spent Good Friday and Holy Saturday walking through Córdoba’s seemingly endless Baroque-style churches. Most of them date back to at least the eighteenth century and nearly all would have been cathedrals or basilicas in most cities. They may have been old, but they were not empty. People flowed in and out; some were tourists just snapping pictures, but many were there because of sincere devotion. Every Mass I attended was standing room only, and there were always long lines outside confessionals. The energy of the crowds flowing into ancient churches was so impressive, I think I should be forgiven for considering Argentina a uniformly Catholic country when I walked into Easter Vigil Mass at the cathedral.

But alas, Argentina was out to surprise me again. After readings from the Old Testament, the traditional beginning of the ceremony, the archbishop stood up and introduced the head rabbi of Córdoba, who wished to give us an Easter greeting. A young, spry man, he stood up at the lectern, expressed his joy at hearing the scriptures shared by our two religious traditions, and wished us a very blessed and happy Easter. He left the altar only after a hug from the archbishop.

This scene was remarkable for a number of reasons. Christians and Jews have much in common, but the belief that Jesus, the Messiah, rose from the dead to save humanity from their sins is not among them. It was a big gesture that a rabbi and his family were willing to sit through one of the longest Masses of the Catholic liturgical year that celebrated this, just to wish Catholics a happy Easter. From the perspective of Archbishop Ñáñez, as a leader in a country that is 90 percent Catholic, there is no obvious motivation to reach out to the Jewish people, who represent only 2 percent of Argentina’s population, except as a gesture of goodwill to a traditionally marginalized community. He allotted time to his Jewish brother even though the ceremony was otherwise characterized by economy of expression (only four out of the possible 10 readings were used). The move echoes the former archbishop of Buenos Aires, whom you may know as Pope Francis, who wrote a book called On Heaven and Earth with the head rabbi of Buenos Aires.

As a U.S. American that lives in the multi-religious, multi-ethnic city of Washington, D.C., I did not expect to learn anything about interfaith understanding from the relatively homogeneous Argentina. However, this experience taught me that interfaith understanding is not about agreeing; it’s about being willing to affirm others and wish them well despite differences. Argentine Catholicism is caught in the crosshairs of many divergent forces: dry tradition and an exciting new pope, indigenous folk religion and European culture, to name a few, but it is telling that its leaders were willing to reach outside their majority.