That happened in his last year of studies, at the end of his third year of theology. The professors took turns, and each year one of them held the competition and challenged the students to submit anonymously a major study on one theme or another. The one who produced the best work not only received a modest sum of money, but more importantly his written work was accepted as a dissertation. As luck would have it, that year it was the turn of a professor whom my brother esteemed very highly and with whom he would gladly have worked on his dissertation anyway, namely, Doctor Gottlieb Söhngen (1892-1971). The professor himself encouraged him to take the opportunity that was presenting itself, and I too urged him. Therefore, during his alumnat, his last year of studies, he worked very hard and diligently on it, using every free minute to study Augustine’s works and to read the works of other theologians who dealt with the writings of that great Doctor of the Church. So he was able to complete that study in only nine months. It proved to be a real challenge, incidentally, since, in addition, we were supposed to be ordained to the subdiaconate and the diaconate at the end of October, which began our preparation for the priesthood. That, too, was connected with intensive preparations and spiritual exercises that required a lot of time. My sister and I, therefore, made an effort to spare Joseph as much work as possible. I took care of all the practical necessities, while Maria, who was employed as a secretary in a law office, typed a clean copy of his manuscript. In that way it was possible to submit it right before the deadline.
Of course, Joseph Ratzinger’s study won the competition. He thereby had not only handed in his dissertation but also convinced his doctoral advisor of his mettle. His former prefect Alfred Läpple, who had long since become one of his best friends, remembers that, after Ratzinger wrote the work about Augustine, “[Söhngen] said: ‘Now my student knows more than [I] who am teacher!’. . . He once said he felt like Albertus Magnus, when in the Middle Ages he declared that his student would make more noise than [he]. And the student was Thomas [Aquinas]!” (30 D).
Yet in spite of all his enthusiasm, there were doubts, also. Joseph Ratzinger was fascinated by academic theology, of that he was certain. But would he also be of any use as a priest? “Since I was rather diffident and downright unpractical, since I had no talent for sports or administration or organization, I had to ask myself whether I would be able to relate to people”, he admitted to the journalist Peter Seewald (SE 55). Would he be able as a chaplain to lead and inspire Catholic youth? Would he be capable of giving religious instruction to children? Would he be able to get along with the elderly and the sick? “I had to ask myself whether I would be ready to do that my whole life long and whether it was really my vocation” (SE 56). Celibacy, too, caused him some concern. In Fürstenried, not only did the students and the professors live in very close quarters, but also male and female students. The female sex had its attraction, even though Joseph would never have dared to begin a relationship. Yet at some time or other came the moment when the doubts abruptly fled. The future Pope Benedict XVI said: “I was convinced, I myself don’t know how, that God wanted something from me that could be attained only by my becoming a priest” (SE 53-54). With his diaconal ordination in the autumn of 1950, he then definitively said his Yes with conviction to God’s plan for him. In order to be introduced to the practical aspects of the priestly vocation as well, he went back to his brother at the major seminary in Freising. In their final year, the two candidates for the priesthood listened to lectures on pastoral theology given by the rector, Father Höck, on liturgical praxis by the vice-rector, Father Braun, on the administration of the sacraments by Alfred Läpple, and on homiletics by the Augustinian priest Father Gabriel Schlachter. Furthermore, the cathedral choirmaster, Max Eham, instructed them in Gregorian chant. That academic class produced three bishops: besides Joseph Ratzinger, also Franz Xaver Schwarzenböck (1923-2010) and Heinrich Graf Soden-Fraunhofen (1920-2000), both of whom were consecrated bishops in 1972 (five years before Ratzinger).
Of course, all of us had our doubts here and there, whether we would be up to the demands of a priestly vocation, whether we could really tackle the job. It is easier today, because now there is a pastoral year in which a candidate for the priesthood can already acquire some initial experience in a parish. That was not yet the case with us; we still had no practical experience whatsoever in pastoral care.
As far as celibacy is concerned, that was part of our life decision from the beginning. In the minor seminary, it was already clear to us that we wanted to become priests, and they are unmarried. Of course we were aware of that from the start; we had maintained this point of view throughout our adult life, and so the obligation we assumed when we were ordained deacons was not especially difficult for us.
What was new, actually, was our obligation to pray the Breviary, which is very extensive and was even more extensive then than today. That meant a time-consuming prayer obligation that considerably transformed our life and our daily routine.
Then the great day drew near, the most important one in the lives of the Ratzinger brothers: on Friday, June 29, 1951, Joseph and Georg Ratzinger were ordained priests by Michael Cardinal von Faulhaber in the cathedral in Freising. It was a brilliant summer day when the forty-four candidates were to pronounce their “Adsum”—“Here I am!” Then when the aged Archbishop, who was already at the twilight of his life, imposed his hands on Joseph Ratzinger, a twittering lark flew from the high altar up into the cathedral cupola. For the young priest, it was a sign, an encouragement from on high, that he was on the right path. On one of the two prayer cards commemorating his First Mass, however, was printed the appropriate quotation from Saint Paul: “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to claim anything as coming from us; our sufficiency is from God” [2 Cor 3:5].
The priests ordained in 1951 in the Archdiocese of Munich and Freising. Fourth row from the top, fourth from the left: Joseph Ratzinger. First row, far right: Georg Ratzinger.
Naturally we were rather excited. We did not want to leave anything to chance. So already on the evening before, we shined our shoes and prepared our clothes. I do not recall how we spent the morning hours, but I still remember well how we vested and walked in solemn procession from the seminary to the cathedral. Of course, this took place in a very special emotional state, for it was a solemn feast day for us, actually the high point of our lives. The streets were decorated with banners, and the whole city seemed to be on foot, the event was so solemn.
As we entered the cathedral, the organ thundered and the men’s choir sang. Our liturgy provides us with such wonderful experiences! There was standing room only in the cathedral; the people literally thronged to participate in this special event, our ordination to the priesthood. Of course, our parents and our sister, Maria, had come to Freising for this important occasion, and many of our friends as well. The sound of the organ and the splendid colors of the flowers decorating the church did their part to intensify the already festive mood and to lend an additional, sensory dimension to it. Then the ordination rite was celebrated, in a form that was very moving to us at the time. The high point of it was the Litany of the Saints, during which we lay on the floor before the altar and in that posture prayed and sang along in complete abandonment to God. Everyone present, even our teachers and the assembled laity, joined in, so as to implore for us the help of all the saints in heaven in preparation for our ordination. Thus we became more profoundly certain that with the imposition of hands by the Archbishop, a new chapter of our life was beginning that would be pleasing to God and rich in blessings.
The brothers Joseph (left) and Georg (middle) Ratzinger with their friend Rupert Berger at the welcome ceremony in their home parish in Traunstein after their priestly ordination
My brother recounted later that at the imposition of hands, that is, at the actual moment of ordination, he saw a little bird that soared from the high altar into the cupola and warbled a song. I must admit I did not notice that, but I know he is more sensitive to su
ch occurrences in creation. Perhaps it really was a sign that God’s blessing was upon him.
At the end of the ordination rite, each of us carried forward a lighted candle that he gave to the Archbishop, while a special hymn was intoned by the choir. This ritual, which no longer exists today, moved us deeply at the time. The offering of the candle symbolized once again our own life, which we were giving away so that the light of the Gospel might burn and illuminate the world. It was the moving conclusion of a ceremony through which our whole life was renewed. For what can be more beautiful than to come before the living God and to serve him—and thereby to serve mankind as well? At that time, on the evening of ordination day, a solemn farewell reception was also held for the newly ordained priests in the minor seminary beside the cathedral, which today is the diocesan museum. But unfortunately we could not attend it. We had to travel home on the same day as our ordination, because two days later one of our closest friends (the future liturgist and pastoral theologian) Rupert Berger (b. 1926), the son of the mayor of Traunstein, was celebrating his First Mass, and we had promised him that we would serve as deacon and subdeacon at it.
The most important moment in the life of the future pope: Cardinal Faulhaber imposes hands on him.
Our own First Mass took place one week later, on July 8, likewise in the parish church of Saint Oswald in Traunstein. Since there was no concelebration in those days, each of us had to celebrate his own First Mass, my brother in the early morning at 7:00, and I two hours later at 9:00. The early Mass was a Mass with congregational singing; the 9:00 Mass was a Solemn High Mass. My brother said that I should take that one, since I was well acquainted with the church choir, whereas he was willing to celebrate even the somewhat less solemn liturgy.
The evening before, the youth choir of the parish in Traunstein performed in Hufschlag especially for us; a friend of ours directed the group, which sang several songs. When they had finished, our pastor, Father Els, climbed up on a table and gave a fiery speech. His first name was Georg, and we always used to call him “Rocket-George”, and before that “Express-George” also, because he was incredibly fast in everything that he did, even in celebrating Mass: no sooner had he closed the tabernacle door than he was already giving the final blessing, often while still on the steps to the altar. “Out of hard stone,” he began, meaning Hufschlag, which did not have such a good reputation, “a spark has sprung after all”—for this insignificant suburb had just produced two priests! It was a wonderful evening, not hot, but nice and warm; there were wonderful fragrances in the air, and the June beetles flew around us.
“Rocket-George” preached at my brother’s First Mass, too. Actually our friend Alfred Läpple was supposed to have done it, but a few days before he had sent us a telegram saying that he could not speak because he had just had surgery to remove part of his jaw. Then our pastor, who was a magnificent preacher himself, said he would take over. As for the music, my brother asked him to select the simplest songs in the hymnal, for the people would at least know them. But Father Els did not agree with that at all; he wanted something more solemn and decided on the Mass of Christ the King by Josef Haas. Haas was president of the music college in Munich, a student of [the composer Max] Reger, and the teacher of my teacher, Holler; therefore I was, so to speak, his “grand-student”. He himself had once been a teacher and composed sacred music, including Masses to be sung by the people, such as the aforementioned Mass of Christ the King, which is actually a little too difficult for congregational singing. The pastor, however, decided that we would do it, since it is solemn and beautiful. Of course, the people were not able to sing it properly, and even the youth choir failed to learn this composition. Yet before starting his sermon, the pastor interjected an appeal for all the people to be so kind as to sing along: “A couple of sparrows from the church choir are twittering, but that is not singing!” The people did not hold it against him; that was simply his way; he was just a very forthright man, our Rocket-George.
Afterward, we first went back home, where a solemn First Mass procession soon met us and brought us again from our parents’ house in Hufschlag down to Traunstein. It was a large procession accompanied by altar servers, a brass band, and a big crowd. This was followed by my First Mass, with the Lord Nelson Mass by Haydn—and it was a very splendid ceremony. My former religion teacher, Doctor Hubert Pöhlein, preached. I had asked him ahead of time how long his sermon would last, and he said that, if he did not forget anything, it would be around thirty-five minutes. In fact, it took twenty-five minutes, and so he probably forgot something, without anyone noticing.
The Ratzinger brothers on their First Mass procession through Traunstein in 1951
We were quite amazed at how many people had come. Previously they had explained to us that a bicycle race would take place that same day in Traunstein and that therefore we should not be sad if our First Mass was not that well attended. But later we heard there were scarcely any spectators for the bicycle race because all the people had gone to our First Mass. Back then it was not yet like today.
After the First Mass, we had invited a hundred guests or more to a festive meal at the Sailer-Keller Inn, where they served roast veal. That afternoon, solemn prayers of thanksgiving were on the agenda. That was when we experienced a nasty surprise. Whereas in the morning we were blessed with plenty of summer sunshine, the first clouds gathered during the reception, and it began to thunder; then it rained and, finally, came down in torrents. Of course we were sorry for the guests, although the cooler air after the morning heat was also very pleasant.
The brothers Georg and Joseph Ratzinger confer their first blessing
In those days, it was the custom with First Masses for people who wanted to receive the new priest’s blessing to sign up at the rectory office. Therefore, each of us received a list of all the places we were to visit, and so we spent the next few days calling on all these members of the parish and blessing them.
The blessing of a newly ordained priest is considered something very special. People used to say in Bavaria, “For a blessing after a First Mass, it is worth even wearing out the soles of your shoes.”
We were on the move all day, from early morning till late in the evening, and we were cordially welcomed everywhere. In every house, we received a snack and a little money as a gift, but above all it made us happy to see what a grace it was to receive holy orders and to have the privilege of handing this blessing on to the people. Again and again, we experienced how ardently the people waited for the priest, a man who was called by God to serve them.
For the first time, Joseph Ratzinger experienced how fervently people awaited his blessing and what power comes from the sacrament of holy orders. As a young man, what could he have given to those people? Now that he was acting on behalf of Christ, though, it was more than they could comprehend.
It was now evident how true the remark of Saint Paul was, which he wrote on the second prayer card commemorating his First Mass: “Not that we lord it over your faith; [rather] we work with you for your joy” (2 Cor 1:24).
VII
Professor
(1951-1977)
After our ordination to the priesthood and the weeks after our First Mass, our ways parted once again, for we had to begin our first assignments as young assistant pastors. At first I went for a month to Grainau (near Garmisch-Partenkirchen), whereas my brother went to Bogenhausen, a district in Munich. Soon after that, I was called to be an instructor for two months at the Archdiocesan Minor Seminary in Freising, where I had the privilege of working closely with cathedral choirmaster Eham, whom I highly respected. But apparently they had greater plans for me. So they made it possible for me to study church music at the Musikhochschule München [Munich Music College], while serving as musician and assistant pastor, at first in Saint Ludwig parish. Naturally, we brothers visited each other often, whenever one of us happened to be free. And even when our meetings became less and less frequent, they were all the more cordial then. Above a
ll, however, we spent our vacations together; no one could take that away from us.
On August 1, 1951, Joseph Ratzinger started his first pastoral ministry as assistant pastor in the Precious Blood parish in Munich. It was located in the district of Bogenhausen, one of the “best neighborhoods” in that city with a million inhabitants, which also included a residential district where intellectuals, artists, and high-ranking officials lived, but also their household help and maids. Other streets lined with apartment houses were home to small businessmen and their employees. The rectory had been built by a famous architect and radiated a certain comfort, even though it was often as busy as a beehive. The heart of the parish, the pastor Max Blumschein, became Ratzinger’s model. He taught him that a priest must “glow” interiorly and set an example of what that means. His kindness and inner passion were manifested in a constant willingness to serve. He was always there for the people who needed him, literally until his final breath. He died while bringing the sacraments to a dying person (see M 100).
Joseph Ratzinger needed such an example in order to be able to cope at all with the mountain of new tasks that now presented themselves to him. Since the pastor did not spare himself, the twenty-five-year-old assistant did not want to fall behind him in any way, and so he devoted himself zealously to his duties, which he soon began to enjoy—especially dealing with young people. It did him good, he said, “to step outside the intellectual sphere for a change and to learn to talk with children” (SE 64). The young Ratzinger also had to realize that after the reeducation under Hitler, religion played hardly any role anymore in the lives and thinking of many families. He later wrote up his experiences in an essay entitled “The New Pagans and the Church”. Later he recalled, “Soon the work with the children in the school, and the resulting association with their parents, became a great joy to me, and the encounter with different groups of Catholic youth also quickly generated a good feeling of community. To be sure, it also became evident how far removed the world of the life and thinking of many children was from the realities of faith and how little our religious instruction coincided with the actual lives and thinking of our families. Nor could I overlook the fact that the form of youth work, which was simply a continuation of methods developed between the two World Wars, would not be able to deal with the changing circumstances of the world we now lived in: we simply had to look for new forms” (M 101).
My Brother, the Pope Page 14