First published in the United States of America in 2010 by Rizzoli International Publications, Inc.
300 Park Avenue South
New York, NY 10010
www.rizzoliusa.com
Originally published in Italian as Perché è Santo in 2010 by RCS Libri S.p.A.
© 2010 Saverio Gaeta and Sławomir Oder
This edition published by arrangement with Luigi Bernabò Associates s.r.l., Milan, Italy.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior consent of the publishers.
eISBN: 978-0-8478-3556-0
Library of Congress Number: 2010931722
v3.1
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Preface: THE UNKNOWN FACE OF JOHN PAUL II
Chapter One: THE MAN Faith in Flesh and Blood
“Uncle” Karol
The Priest Born from the Ashes of an Actor
Undercover in the Seminary
The Phantom of the Double Homicide
In the Service of God and of His People
With His Arms Extended in the Sign of the Cross
Totus Tuus
All in the Light of Faith
The Lessons of Vatican II
Reconciling Culture and Pastoral Duties
In the Chill of Nowa Huta
In the Sights of the Polish Intelligence Service
A Fiery Sermon
The Bells of Pope Paul VI
The Prophetic “Habemus Papam”
Chapter Two: THE POPE The Second Home of the Poles
A Pole on St. Peter’s Throne
Choosing His Colleagues
A Firmness Underpinned by Humility
“It Will Take Blood to Convert”
The “Open Letter” to Ali Ağca
“Open the Borders of the States”
The Collapse of Communism
The Heir to St. Paul
In the World’s “Hot Zones”
A Matchless Magisterium
In Dialogue with the Other Faiths
“There Is No Place in the Church for a Pope Emeritus”
The Father’s Return Home
Chapter Three: THE MYSTIC Traveling Up the River to Its Source
Blessed Are the Poor
The Essential as a Form of Liberty
A Creative and Poetic Body of Thought
Illuminating the Path with the Fire of Prayer
A Utility Closet as a Chapel
With a Heart Devoted to His Homeland
Taking Inspiration from the Saints for the Practice of Virtues
The Prediction of Padre Pio
In “Conversation” with the Virgin Mary
“If I Weren’t Pope, I Would Already Be in Medjugorje Confessing”
In the Sign of Suffering
The Stations of the Cross in the Hallway
Epilogue: A TRIBUTE TO THE TRUTH
CONCISE CHRONOLOGY OF THE LIFE OF KAROL WOJTYŁA—JOHN PAUL II
O Blessed Trinity, we thank you for
having graced the Church
with Pope John Paul II
and for allowing the tenderness of your fatherly care
the glory of the cross of Christ
and the splendor of the Holy Spirit
to shine through him.
Trusting fully
in your infinite mercy
and in the maternal intercession of Mary,
he has given us a living image
of Jesus the Good Shepherd
and has shown us that holiness
is the necessary measure
of ordinary Christian life
and is the way of achieving
eternal communion with you.
Grant us, by his intercession
and according to your will
the graces we implore,
hoping that he
will soon be numbered
among your saints. Amen.
Prayer for Graces Through the Intercession
of the Servant of God the Pope John Paul II
Preface
THE UNKNOWN FACE OF JOHN PAUL II
One day, a nun serving in the papal apartments noticed that John Paul II seemed unusually fatigued. She shared her concern with him, telling him that she was “worried about Your Holiness.” “Oh, I’m worried about my holiness, too,” was the pope’s cheerful and immediate response. Now that the cause for the beatification of Karol Wojtyła is progressing to its natural conclusion, that concern has proved to be unfounded. His virtues—faith, hope, and charity; but also prudence, justice, strength, and temperance; and, further, chastity, poverty, and obedience—have emerged in all their dazzling completeness thanks to the testimony of those who took part in the canonical process.
It is in fact not sufficient, by the standards of the Catholic Church, to establish the so-called fama sanctitatis (reputation for holiness), the widespread belief among the faithful that a candidate deserves canonization. That belief was, of course, unmistakably expressed in John Paul II’s case by the Santo subito! signs, calling for immediate sainthood, that proliferated in St. Peter’s Square on the very day of his funeral. Even the required miracle—a necessary condition, considered the “seal of God”—took second place, coming into consideration only once the verdicts of theologian-consultors, the consensus of cardinals and bishops, and the signature of the new pope had certified the possession of Christian virtues to a heroic degree.
That stage of the process is reached only after a meticulous investigation by the ecclesiastical tribunal, which refuses to settle for generic declarations of esteem and veneration, however prestigious and respected the witnesses in question may be. Instead, it conducts close and thorough questioning and demands concrete evidence, detailed descriptions of specific events, and documentary confirmation—all elements that provide incontrovertible proof of the credibility of the statements. In such a context, it becomes the responsibility of the postulator—a kind of “defense attorney” for the candidate for sainthood—to bring to light the episodes that most effectively serve to certify the authenticity of the events in question.
In many cases, these are stories that have never before been told. The reason they emerge in the context of these hearings is that the witnesses—once the candidate for sainthood is dead—now feel free to recount occurrences and events that they had previously preferred to keep to themselves. The postulator is therefore entrusted with a series of reports, anecdotes, and fioretti (literally, “little flowers”) that, when duly assembled into a larger mosaic, create a new and unprecedented portrait of the candidate.
The privilege of the role of postulator in the cause for beatification of John Paul II has fallen to me. And this book is an attempt to recount, as far as I am able, the work I did during that process.
I was born in the same part of the world as Karol Wojtyła, in Chełmza in the province of Toruń. When he was elevated to the papal throne in October 1978, I had just completed my studies at the classical high school, the liceum, and I was about to enter the diocesan seminary in order to fulfill the vocation to the priesthood that had been developing in my heart for the past few years. Oddly enough, though, his election as pope resulted in a delay in my consecration to God.
This was a moment of great excitement for all the Catholics of my native Poland, and I chose not to run the risk of making a life-altering decision and undertaking a momentous commitment in the midst of that collective euphoria. I felt that most human of emotions, fear, and with the approval of my spiritual director, I en
rolled as a student in the Department of Business Studies at Danzig University. I lived in Danzig during the years when the Solidarity (Solidarność) movement was founded and grew, under the leadership of Lech Wałçsa. On December 10, 1981, I boarded a plane for Algiers to spend the Christmas holidays with my father, who was working there as an engineer. Three days later General Wojciech Jaruzelski declared martial law and closed the Polish borders, forcing me to remain in Algeria for the next six months.
It was a time of lengthy, intense spiritual exercises conducted in profound solitude. I returned to Poland in May 1982, and the following year I finally enrolled in the seminary, continuing my studies at the university on a parallel track. I well remember how exhausting those years were, juggling my studies and lessons and exams at both the Department of Business Studies and the Department of Theology. Then I was awarded a scholarship at the Pontifical Lateran University. I moved to Rome and began studying for my degree in canon law. My studies led to a position at the Vicariate, culminating in my present and very challenging position as judicial vicar of the court of appeal of the diocese of Rome.
The first time I met Wojtyła was on December 8, 1985, immediately after my arrival in Rome. The cerimoniere, or master of liturgical ceremonies, for the Holy Mass presided over by the pope in St. Peter’s had entrusted me with the task of carrying the microphone for the pope’s sermon. Of course, we had run through a rehearsal the day before the Mass, but I had not actually moved the microphone with its stand. When I finally found myself on the altar, uncertain whether I should move only the microphone or the entire stand, in my confusion I yanked the plug out of the jack. It wouldn’t have been a serious matter, except for the fact that we were in the middle of a live worldwide broadcast. The Holy Father was standing there waiting to speak, and this thought flashed through my mind: “This is my first meeting with the pope, and it’s almost certain to be my last!” Luckily, the cerimoniere stepped in and managed to set everything right within seconds.
A short while later, I was given another chance. The pontiff traditionally paid a visit to the seminary where I was studying for the priesthood on the occasion of the feast day of Our Lady of Confidence (Madonna della Fiducia). The rector of the seminary therefore assigned me to write and deliver a welcoming address. I spared no time and effort on that little speech, and I read it with joy, concluding with these words: “Noi abbiamo bisogno della tua fede, Santo Padre” (We need your faith, Holy Father). I turned to look at the rector, and I noted a flash of bafflement in his gaze. That’s when it dawned on me what I had done. I had composed my speech in Polish, a language in which there is no difference between the formal and the informal, and then I had translated it into Italian, a bit too literally. I had used “tua” to say “your,” the rough equivalent of addressing the pope on a first-name basis. For the rest of the meal, everyone made fun of me: “This is the second time that you’ve endangered your career: you used the informal to address John Paul II!”
I don’t know if it was because of that unfortunate misstep or simply because of his extraordinarily powerful memory, but Pope Wojtyła didn’t forget me. A few years later, my new bishop came to Rome for an ad limina visit, and he decided to take me with him for a private audience with the pope. The bishop introduced me with the fond nickname my friends used for me: “This is Father Sławek; he works at the Vicariate of Rome.” John Paul II looked me straight in the eye and replied, “But when you were at the Roman seminary you didn’t have a beard, did you?”
I met the Holy Father years later, in a context that appears infused with a truly remarkable significance, given subsequent events. One day, Father Stanisław, His Holiness’s personal secretary, phoned to tell me that he needed to talk to me that evening. I went to the Apostolic Palace at the appointed time and, as we rode upstairs together in the elevator, he told me that I would be staying for dinner. I was speechless for a moment; I had assumed that the reason I had been summoned was simply to assign me a task of some sort. Instead, Father Stanisław accompanied me into the papal apartments where I sat waiting in the anteroom, my back to the door, when suddenly there he was, Wojtyła, greeting me and inviting me to dine with him. I was the only guest that evening.
I was seated directly across from John Paul II, with his two secretaries on either side of the table. I couldn’t eat a thing, focused as I was on listening to every word of the Holy Father’s conversation. He spoke with great simplicity, and exercised his unquestioned capacity to speak from the heart, one man to another. He knew that I had attended the seminary of Pelpin, and so he began to name the professors and the titles of the books they had written. Then he began to talk about his ties to the city of my youth, Toruń, where he went occasionally to pay a visit to distant relatives while he was still a cardinal. It was a wonderful encounter, but still I had no idea why he had invited me. Certainly it wasn’t just a Polish get-together, of the kind that he liked to organize toward Christmas, considering that I was the only guest.
I’ve thought about it since then, and I now have the feeling that what led John Paul II to ask to meet me was a sort of foreknowledge, a presentiment. Perhaps he wanted to get to know a little better the man who would one day be his “representative” before the Congregation for the Causes of Saints.
On May 13, 2005, while we were waiting for the new pope, Benedict XVI, to arrive at the cathedral of St. John Lateran to address the priests of the diocese of Rome, I was asked by Cardinal Camillo Ruini, then vicar general of the diocese of Rome, to stay behind after the assembly was over. I had an airplane ticket for Poland in my pocket; I was scheduled to preside at my nephew’s first Communion, and I was beginning to worry I might reach the airport too late. When I heard Pope Benedict announce that he intended to dispense with the regulation five-year waiting period for the inauguration of the cause of beatification and canonization of John Paul II, I started to suspect something was afoot.
Cardinal Ruini came directly to the point: “Did you hear what the Holy Father just said? I am very happy that you will be acting as postulator and I want to thank you for taking on the job!” I objected, pointing out that this was a position far above my abilities. Though it was true that in the late 1990s I had worked on the case of Father Stefan Frelichowski, a Polish martyr murdered at Dachau by the Nazis and beatified on June 7, 1999, I was certainly not a professional postulator. Any show of reluctance on my part was swept aside, though. After listening to my protests, Ruini replied with determination, “Thanks, and best of luck on your work.” I just managed to catch my plane.
A few months later, the bishops of Poland made an ad limina visit to Pope Benedict XVI. My diocesan bishop asked me to accompany him, and once we were in the presence of His Holiness, he introduced me, mentioning my role as procurator. The pope congratulated me, and then added, “Work quickly, but well, in an irreproachable manner!” His recommendation has been the watchword governing my work throughout this process.
SŁAWOMIR ODER
Chapter One
THE MAN
FAITH IN FLESH AND BLOOD
During the funeral of Pope John Paul II on that sun-drenched Friday the eighth of April 2005, as the pope’s former university classmate (and later cardinal) Andrzej Maria Deskur stood looking out over the sea of fluttering white banners calling for immediate sainthood—Santo subito!—he had a sudden flashback. In his mind’s eye, he looked back sixty years to another sunny spring day, when his friend was simply known as Karol Wojtyła. It was only a few weeks since Cracow’s liberation on January 18, 1945, from Nazi occupation.
With the reopening of Cracow’s Jagiellonian University, one of the first signs of the return of liberty, its students had returned in great numbers to the colleges they had had to leave some years before. At the time, Wojtyła was the vice president of Bratnia Pomoc (Fraternal Help), the association of Catholic university students, which ran an extensive network of student housing. One day, Deskur, then secretary of the association, went upstairs to visit his friend. He
saw that, on the door of the room where Wojtyła was studying, his friends had posted a handwritten sign: FUTURE SAINT.
Karol Wojtyła’s entire life story can be told in the light of this farsighted inscription. What emerges unmistakably from the proceedings of the beatification trial is the purity and transparency of his every act, as a man and as a priest. The opinion that the world formed of him, as it got to know him better during the more than twenty-six years of his papacy, proved to be well founded. His empathy, the fervor of his prayers, his spontaneous way of talking about himself, and his ability to establish human relationships were more than mere attributes of a constructed media image. They were authentic personality traits.
We often think of Christianity as something separate from the faithful themselves, as if a life of faith were something ethereal and personal. To Karol Wojtyła, Christianity was a concrete experience, a thing of flesh and blood: the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, who became a man in order to experience the joys and suffering of humanity. This is why Karol Wojtyła’s religious testimony proved to be so remarkably fecund and influential, as documented by the numerous letters sent to the Postulatio after his death by people whom he had inspired to understand their true calling.
Why He Is a Saint Page 1