“Those who today always look for disciplinarian solutions, those who long for an exaggerated doctrinal ‘security’, those who stubbornly try to recover a past that no longer exists − they have a static and inward-directed view of things. In this way, faith becomes an ideology among other ideologies.” − Pope Francis
For all of Fr Joe Inguanez’s friends and admirers, the news of his sudden death on August 28 was crushing. One’s first response was deep sadness at the loss of this kind, companionable, wryly humorous, insightful and, sometimes, sharp-tongued man whom many considered the ‘conscience of Malta’. But those close to him could not help smiling as well when they learned that he had died swimming off Gozo. For if Joe could have chosen a form of exit from this mode of existence, this is exactly how he would have wanted to go: engaging in his favourite pastime in his favourite place.
Joe was a true Maltese − a Mediterranean person born to swim. As a young man, he swam the circumference of the island – an achievement he was still proud of as a senior citizen. When we learned of his death, my wife, Susan and I both recalled the first time he took us to bathe at Dwejra, some 25 years ago, when the Azure Window rock formation was still standing.
Joe had brought large towels for the three of us. He wrapped himself in one and changed from his usual priestly outfit into bathing trunks. We followed suit. Then we walked with him to the edge of the rocky coast, where he pulled a knife from the pocket of his trunks, clasped it between his teeth and dove into the sea.
Susan turned to me with a look of astonishment which I returned, nonplussed. We stared into the water waiting for Joe to reappear and, after what seemed a long time, he surfaced, waving the knife in one hand and several sea urchins in the other. Back on the rocks, he showed us how to cut the urchins from their shells and devour them. I congratulated him on his skill and was rewarded with a confession.
“Sometimes, I can’t help showing off a little for friends,” he said.
Joe and I had a joke of our own: I called him my priest and he called me his rabbi.
He knew I was a Jewish scholar interested in trying to analyse and resolve religious conflicts. I knew he was a Catholic intellectual who was not only a parish priest but a sociologist who directed DISCERN, the research arm of the Maltese Church.
In 1994, when I first came to Malta as a Fulbright visiting professor, Joe was chair of the University of Malta’s sociology department. He assigned me to teach two courses in conflict resolution and I greatly enjoyed lecturing to such students as Helena Dalli, who now serves in Brussels as the European commissioner for equality.
Officially, Joe was my boss. Semi-officially, he was my research adviser, helping me to explore the university library’s rich holdings on early Christian history and theology for a book on which I was writing later entitled When Jesus Became God. Unofficially, he was my family’s guide to Malta and Gozo, chauffeuring us from Marsaxlokk to Ramla Bay in his famously rickety auto.
Joe was a beloved “uncle” to my two daughters, a pipeline of connection to Maltese leaders like Fr Peter Serracino Inglott and ambassador Leslie Agius, and a fountain – no, a torrent – of information and opinion about Malta’s history, the Catholic Church, the bitter feud between Labourites and Nationalists, Malta’s special approach to tourism, the sins and virtues of Dom Mintoff, where to eat fresh lampuki and much, much more.
An enthusiastic supporter of Pope Francis, his sharp commentary did not spare his fellow clerics, whom he sometimes accused of caring more for their careers than their congregants
After spending six months in Malta with Joe and other friends, I simply had to return to the island and did so repeatedly for the next three decades. On one occasion, Joe invited me to spend a day under the auspices of DISCERN with members of the Maltese and Gozitan clergy discussing the potential role of the Church in resolving local conflicts. He facilitated the discussion and I remember one moment in which we talked about non-Western immigration as a challenge to Maltese national identity.
Joe loved it when I asked the clerics to consider the role of the Turkish invasion in their national mythology. I asked them: “Do you still define yourselves negatively, as totally unlike those dangerous, non-European aliens?” Joe laughed aloud and the discussion got interesting!
In 2010, with Joe’s help and that of provost Juanito Camilleri and ambassador Mark Miceli, among others, we established a new master’s degree programme in conflict resolution and Mediterranean security at the University of Malta. Jointly taught by my George Mason University colleagues and professors at the Mediterranean Academy of Diplomatic Studies, the programme is now administered by the university’s Centre for the Study and Practice of Conflict Resolution. Professors like Stephen Calleya and Omar Grech, who helped found the programme, still teach actively in it, as do I.
Virtually every time I taught a course in the master’s programme, Joe appeared as a visiting lecturer and students were introduced to his unique approach to religion and politics. A passionate advocate of the reforms and spirit of Vatican Council II, Joe never stopped being both a political progressive, with a particular dedication to the welfare of workers, young people and immigrants, and a faithful explicator of Catholic doctrine.
He thought that the worst mistake ever made by the Maltese Church was to oppose the rise of the Labour Party but he was an implacable critic of the immoral opportunism, fuelled by the scramble for “development” wealth, of both major parties.
Joe had always been a public intellectual but, in the later stages of his career, he became a radio and newspaper journalist with a voice that could be heard from one end of the island to the other. An enthusiastic supporter of Pope Francis, his sharp commentary did not spare his fellow clerics, whom he sometimes accused of caring more for their careers than their congregants.
Joe himself was a parish priest in Għaxaq and I went more than once to hear him say Mass at the church of Santa Marija. But his larger congregation was the people of Malta, whom he never ceased to serve as a moral leader as well as a priest. Or, perhaps, I should say a kappillan: a chaplain in a time of struggle.
In any case, he was my priest. Like you, dear Maltese colleagues and friends, I mourn him deeply. For Joe, let us pronounce the traditional phrase that Jews utter when a loved one dies: Zichrono l’vracha − may his memory be a blessing.
Richard E. Rubenstein is a university professor emeritus, Carter School for Peace and Conflict Resolution, George Mason University.