Brother Nathan Cochran is a monk on a mission, a Benedictine from Latrobe who's now at the Vatican, swept up in the excitement of seeing a personal hero made over into a Catholic saint.

		Rebekah Scott is a Post-Gazette staff writer covering Westmoreland County (rscott@post-gazette.com).

On Oct. 3 he'll take part in a three-day liturgical party to mark the beatification -- the first official step toward sainthood -- of Kaiser Karl von Habsburg of Austria-Hungary. Like a hardworking diehard delegate to a political party convention, Brother Nathan, an art history professor at St. Vincent College, can't wait to see his beloved candidate installed.

The kaiser takes the title "Blessed" just in time for the U.S. presidential election. He may just be the Vatican's ideal third candidate, a paragon, example and warning wrapped up into one timely character. Kaiser Karl, an obscure and reluctant Austrian monarch, died in exile in 1922, soon after World War I crumbled his empire into various ethnic republics. His short rule ended the 650-year-old Habsburg empire. But Karl, even 84 years dead, is still useful.

Following centuries of political tradition, the Vatican is dusting off his story and beatifying him, a man it believes has much to say to modern leaders. Karl was never supposed to rule, but assassinations and protocol thrust him onto the throne of Austria-Hungary in 1916, deep into the bloodbath called the First World War. Karl's uncle, in essence, started the whole thing. He probably didn't intend to drag an entire continent into it, but powerful corporate and national interests found the killing served their purposes. They weren't about to end the war until dozens of old scores were settled and new fortunes were made.

Modern parallels aren't difficult to draw.

Karl was a family man, a committed Catholic peacenik determined to end the fighting, feed the poor and involve his national government in social justice, job creation and peace.

But things didn't work out well. Allies proved false, and cynical politicians twisted his peace overtures into proofs of weakness or disloyalty. World War I ground on for another two years. When the Austrian monarchy fell, Karl, his wife and eight children were exiled, penniless, to a Portuguese island. Karl died of pneumonia in 1922. He was 34 years old.

Kaiser Karl is not the first blue-blood to be canonized. The list of sainted kings and queens is a long one, with stars like St. Louis of France, Saints Elizabeth of Hungary and Portugal, St. Helena of Constantinople and Edward the Confessor on top of the list.

After they died, faithful rulers often became cut-out characters for use by churchmen. When strange political winds began blowing, pulpiteers held up these paragons of good government before the believers, so all could see what church-approved leadership looks like -- and how godly women, peasants, soldiers and other underlings should behave.

Examples abound.

Queen Margaret of Scotland brought Roman ways of worship to her "backward" land, at a cost to unique Celtic Christianity. Ladislas of Hungary fostered Christianity in his kingdom and became a national military hero. St. Louis of France was every inch a medieval king: he led a crusade against Muslims, made generous treaties with his enemies and did not tolerate foul language.

The Renaissance and Protestant Reformation brought a spate of new (and mostly well-born) saints, faithful to the pope and dedicated to spreading Catholicism through the new world, even at the cost of their lives: manly men like Ignatius Loyola, Francis Xavier, Peter Canisius and Thomas More.

In our time Pope John Paul II has created more new saints than any other pontiff, with representative divines from every race and continent. Their lives address a multitude of issues: urban poverty, birth control, Third World peace and justice, and conversion from other faiths.

John Paul II doesn't limit his political commentary to subtle saintly examples. He declared the United States' invasion of Iraq "an immoral act," and leaned on European powers to turn down President Bush's appeal for allies.

The time is right for Kaiser Karl, whose leadership example could sway some important Catholic votes.

"[Democratic presidential nominee] John Kerry is a Roman Catholic, but he's promised that won't have an effect on his decision-making," Brother Nathan pointed out. "That's exactly backward from what the church teaches, and how Karl ruled. His Catholicism colored all his decisions. He wasn't ashamed of that."

If Kaiser Karl was ruling today, he'd be branded a bleeding-heart liberal, and maybe a religious nut. He pioneered government-sponsored social services. During the war he banned aerial bombing and chemical warfare, and funded programs aiding soldiers' widows and orphans. He openly expressed his devotion to his wife, children and church, and didn't mind if fellow power-brokers saw the rosary poking from his pocket. He was proof that European emperors pray, too -- an example to Western Europe, where each village has its landmark church, but less than 9 percent of the population attends church regularly.

"[The pope] is very concerned that the new European Union constitution does not credit the influence of Christianity in the formation of Europe," Brother Nathan said. "And here is Karl, a European leader with a very Christian outlook."

Meantime, on both sides of the Atlantic, the campaigns and conventions roll on.

Brother Nathan has lived in a in a succession of monasteries near his Vatican office since June. He's scurrying these days, distributing literature and Web links in 11 languages, seeing 10,000 commemorative medals struck, and planning the details of the upcoming three-day beatification festival.

His celebration will have an air of finality no American election can match. After Nov. 2, Kerry or Bush will get four years of presidency. But Kaiser Karl, even after his usefulness expires, gets to be a saint forever.