Even in Tübingen, Joseph Ratzinger never had trouble with his students; his lectures as always were crowded to overflowing. Yet when in theological circles some flyers began making the rounds that described the Cross as an “expression of a sado-masochistic glorification of pain” (SE 77) under the slogan, “Cursed be Jesus!”, he could no longer remain silent. It would have seemed to him a betrayal had he withdrawn into the peace and quiet of the lecture hall. During the Third Reich he had observed that political doctrines of self-redemption lead to ruin. While at first he still had some understanding “for the protest against a pragmatism born of material prosperity” (ST 62), this tolerance ended when violence and psychological terror began. Later he recalled: “In those years I learned when a discussion must stop because it is turning into a lie and when resistance is necessary in order to preserve freedom” (SE 76). Together with Evangelical Lutheran theologians, he founded an action league in order to prevent the faculty from being ruined by the Marxists.
Yet he had something to offer them as an alternative. In a series of lectures that later appeared as a book entitled Introduction to Christianity and became a bestseller in seventeen countries, he extolled the “beauty of the faith”. The singular clarity and stylistic elegance with which he did so soon earned him the reputation of being a “Mozart of theology”. Upon reading it, Karol Wojtyla, Archbishop of Krakow, believed he had found a spiritual brother. Paul VI, too, was enthusiastic when the Italian edition was published. At his personal request, Ratzinger was appointed to the International Theological Commission in 1969.
Tübingen was by no means a turning point in my brother’s thought but, rather, a time in which many things in his theological research were clarified and systematized. What he had done and taught before was completed here, so to speak.
What had changed radically, though, were the surroundings in which he worked. The year 1968 was like a bout of fever that raged over Germany and the world. This 1968 environment was politically determined and more influenced by political factors: it wanted to politicize everything, even theology. Oddly enough, many theologians caught the fever, the Lutherans much more than we Catholics. In doing so, they themselves often did not understand the wave in which they were caught up. They simply thought they had recognized something and did not realize they had become victims of a momentary confusion that then subsided again just as quickly. I noticed this even with the Domspatzen, among the men’s voices. The older ones had suddenly become more rebellious that year, whereas a year later they were again quite well behaved and much simpler. At that time a spiritual wave came over us that was really irrational.
My brother certainly suffered from it somewhat. At that time his book Introduction to Christianity was published, and he then gave it to his students to read. It put many of them back on the right track. When they read it correctly and really took it to heart, it freed them from their unrealistic reveries and brought them back to the reality and rightness of the faith.
Actually, though, he felt quite happy in Tübingen. He had a nice house there and an itinerant cat that always visited him. It belonged to a noblewoman from the neighborhood. When she was nearby, the cat always acted as if it did not recognize my brother at all. Yet it came to visit him every day and was fed by him. It even accompanied him to his lectures and to Mass. It was a black cat, a very intelligent pussycat. Once a man on the street spoke to him and asked him how he had managed it, how he had trained the cat so well that it walked beside him. The man said that he had a little cat, too, that was dear to him, but it never wanted to come along when he went somewhere.
Tübingen, then, most certainly had its nice features. But then as things worked out, Regensburg got a university of its own and Joseph was to return to Bavaria. At first he belonged to the committee for academic appointments, as they were hiring the faculty of theology. At that time, he recommended Professor Auer from Bonn for the chair of dogmatic theology. Only when they created a second professorship in dogmatics was he finally willing to consent and come to Regensburg himself. And I was happy that our family was together again!
Although, technically speaking, this was a step backward in his career—Tübingen had the most renowned chair of theology in the republic, while Regensburg was considered the most obscure province—and it elicited sardonic comments from his colleagues, that did not matter to Joseph. He wanted finally to pursue his theological research again in peace and could not bear the grueling conflicts with his “progressive” colleagues.
In November 1969, then, he moved. A moving van brought most of his things, while his assistant, who was originally from Bierbronnen in the Black Forest, drove him and our sister to Regensburg. Of course a few things were packed in the car, too. Now it was an ancient automobile and no longer capable at all of being loaded down so heavily. When the rattletrap finally reached Regensburg, it was stopped right at the city limits by a policeman. He of course demanded to see the driver’s license and the vehicle registration, but when he read where the car came from, he had to smirk. “You come from Bierbronnen; well, then just drive on”, was all he said. He found it tremendously impressive that someone came from a locality with the beautiful name Bierbronnen (Beer springs).
My brother felt at home in Regensburg from the very beginning. A rather familiar atmosphere prevailed among the faculty; he got along well with his colleagues right away. At first he lived in a rented apartment. But then one of the cathedral canons helped him find a property in Pentling, a town near the university campus where several professors already lived. There he intended to build a house that eventually was to become the new center of our family. He really was looking forward to it. Every morning when he went to the church to celebrate Mass, he had to go by that plot of land. On the way home, he always used to imagine that next winter on that spot would stand his nicely heated house, while at the time the ground was still covered with a deep layer of snow. And that is exactly what happened, too. He had a very good architect, Herr Hans Scheininger, who spent most of his time on building projects in Mallersdorf and gave us many good suggestions. So he himself did not have to worry much about it while his house was being built according to his taste and his needs. Yet even when the house was completed, my brother always came first to my place on Sundays to have a midday meal together at the refectory of the Domspatzen. Only then did I ride with him out to Pentling, where we drank coffee together with our sister and spent a pleasant evening. There we could converse and relax. Finally, when we parted later in the evening, we already looked forward to the next Sunday, when we would meet again. So the house was for me also a place of refuge, a place where I knew I was always welcome. Of course both of us had a very full week; I was busy with the boys’ choir, and he was often on lecture tours, while Maria kept the house, but he usually took weekends off for our family gathering.
He also made an effort to keep in close contact with the Domspatzen. On Christmas Eve, for instance, we had Vespers in the afternoon, followed by a nap for the youngsters, then the evening meal, and afterward the exchange of presents, and he always came to it. Before the dining hall, there was a small auditorium in which our Christmas celebration took place. First there was singing, then the Gospel was read aloud, I gave a little talk, and a few more Christmas carols were sung, and afterward the boys were allowed to go back into the dining room, where they received their presents. These were gifts that cost around twenty or thirty marks, and there was always a terrific din. As was formerly the custom in our family, punch was then served to the older boys. There was always a wonderful atmosphere before we went to the cathedral for midnight Mass.
When the sisters had to give up their kitchen duties, simply because there were too few of them, we hired a cook. He, however, did not know that the Domspatzen were only supposed to get a punch made with a few drops of alcohol and served instead quite an ordinary punch. Afterward, the younger boys were completely befuddled and no longer sang beautifully but just yelled. The next time, fortunately, the cook
knew better.
In those days, we really thought that Regensburg was the last stop on my brother’s itinerary. So we said to each other one day that our parents’ grave was so lonely in Traunstein: let’s bring it now to Regensburg! In 1974, we had the tombstone and their earthly remains transported and buried them in the cemetery in Ziegetsdorf. But then once again everything turned out quite differently.
VIII
Cardinal
(1977-2005)
In early 1977 this apparent security in the life of Professor Joseph Ratzinger ended again. One day when the papal nuncio Guido Del Mestri visited him on some pretense, he at first thought nothing of it. But after chatting about unimportant things, the Italian pulled a letter out of his cassock and handed it to Ratzinger with the request that he peruse it in peace and quiet. When he opened the letter, he was thunderstruck: it was his appointment as the new Archbishop of Munich and Freising. That did not suit him at all. He was up to his ears in work and, besides, did not feel equal to this challenge. Before he answered, he was allowed at least to consult a man whom he trusted, namely, Professor Johann Auer, who knew his colleague’s strengths and weaknesses and was a realist. Therefore his answer surprised Ratzinger all the more: “Joseph, you must accept” (M 152). After some hesitation and with a heavy heart, he then consented.
I was just as surprised by the news. I happened to be on tour and only learned about it all by telephone. The only thing I remember is how his appointment as Archbishop of Munich and Freising was announced. It was on March 25, 1977, on the feast of the Annunciation, and we were having a concert in Munich, in the church of Saint Anthony. At twelve o’clock noon, the bells throughout the city tolled. It was very moving, I must say.
Before he went to Munich, he celebrated his farewell Mass in Regensburg, in the parish church in Ziegetsdorf. A junior choir of the Regensburg Domspatzen sang at it. It was a moving farewell. But at least this time he was not all that far away. Only a good hour-and-a-half drive separate Regensburg and Munich from each other.
The new Archbishop of Munich, Joseph Ratzinger, receives the document certifying his appointment
On the eve of Pentecost, May 28, 1977, in the Liebfrauendom, the Cathedral of Our Lady in Munich, Joseph Ratzinger was consecrated Archbishop of Munich and Freising. Just as he said later as pope, he thought then, too, that the jubilation with which he was greeted had nothing to do with him personally: “I was being greeted as bishop, as bearer of the Mystery of Christ, even if the majority were not explicitly conscious of this. The joy of the day was something really different from approval of a particular person, whose qualifications still had to be demonstrated. It was joy over the fact that this office, this service, was again present in a person who does not act and live for himself but for Him and therefore for all” (M 153).
And then he said something that by all means could be cited three decades later as the program for his pontificate as well: “The bishop does not act in his own name but, rather, is the trustee of someone else, of Jesus Christ and his Church. He is not a manager, a boss in his own right, but rather the delegate of someone else, whose place he takes. Hence he cannot arbitrarily change his opinion and advocate one thing today and something else tomorrow, depending on how promising it seems. He is not there to spread his own private ideas but, rather, is an envoy who has to deliver a message that is greater than he. He is measured by this fidelity; that is his task” (H 208).
He inscribed “Co-workers of the Truth” on his coat of arms as his episcopal motto. The truth was what he had sought throughout his life and had finally found in Christ. The coat of arms itself was made up of three fields. The first shows the Moor of Freising, the ancient symbol of the cathedral city, for him “a sign of the universality of the Church” (M 154). The second field shows a shell, the sign of man’s pilgrimage, but also connected with a story that is told about Saint Augustine. Once, while Augustine was pondering the mystery of the Trinity, he saw a child on the seashore playing with a shell, with which he was trying to scoop up the water of the sea and pour it into a little hole. Then he realized: your intellect can no more comprehend the mystery of God than that hole can contain the water of the sea. Thus the shell became for him a symbol of the greatness of the mystery that extends farther than all human knowledge. In the third field, he placed the bear of Saint Corbinian, which appeared on the coat of arms of the founding bishop of Freising. On a journey to Rome, so the legend goes, a bear mauled the saint’s horse. Then Corbinian reprimanded it sternly and as a punishment strapped his pack onto its back, which the bear now had to carry to Rome.
Joseph Ratzinger was not a complacent bishop. He knew that Augustine despised shepherds who “are like mute dogs; in order to avoid conflicts, they let the poison spread” (SE 82). Peace is not the first duty of a bishop. The Church, he believed, cannot ally herself with the spirit of the age. So he castigated the “pollution of the intellectual environment” in our time, the “fatty degeneration of the heart thanks to wealth and hedonism” and the “capitalistic lust for profit”, but also the “unleashing of violence, the reduction of human beings to the state of barbarians” (ST 68-69). Although conservative politicians bristled, he called for Bavaria to take in Vietnamese refugees; not to do so would be “a terrible shame” for a rich country. The most urgent task of Christians, he preached, was “to recover the ability to be non-conformist, that is, the ability to oppose a whole number of developments in our contemporary culture” (ST 69). A Christian cannot be someone who adapts to everything, a moral coward. He must be courageous and inconvenient and willing to bother people once in a while when necessary. The future Benedict XVI never stood for a Catholicism that lets its little flag flutter in the wind of the zeitgeist; he stands for values.
One important task for German Catholics in those days was reconciliation with Poland. Eventually there were reciprocal visits of the German and Polish bishops, during which Karol Wojtyla, who had meanwhile been appointed a cardinal, met Ratzinger as a brother bishop. The “uncomplicated human directness and openness and . . . the warmth” of the man from Krakow impressed the German. “One sensed that this is a man of God” (ST 72).
Only three months after his installation as a bishop, Pope Paul VI appointed Archbishop Ratzinger, who had just turned fifty, a cardinal. In that capacity, he helped elect the successor of Peter two times in 1978, only a few weeks apart—first, John Paul I and, then, after his sudden heart attack and death after exactly thirty-three days, John Paul II. Only two years after his election as the 264th successor of Peter, the Pope from Poland decided to visit Germany. One of his destinations was Munich, and his host there was Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger.
At that time I met for the first time the great Pole about whom my brother had told me so much—and I was profoundly impressed. He radiated so much: on the one hand, an impressive dignity, but not like Cardinal Faulhaber, who always seemed somehow distant. With John Paul II, it was a dignity that at the same time demanded closeness and was marked by kindness and friendliness. That resulted in a wonderful mixture that made him a sympathetic figure from the start.
During that papal visit in Munich, we also had the privilege of singing: a meeting between the Pope and artists took place, at which the Bavarian Radio Choir also sang and, of course, the Regensburg Domspatzen. That was a great experience for the boys. Today I still have a whole series of photos of it. This first visit of a pope to Germany in hundreds of years was for us and for everybody concerned about the Church a brand-new situation. Previously the pope was an institution that seemed far, far away, up high, miles removed from our daily routine. Then suddenly to have him in our midst, to meet him in our everyday world, our homeland, was an extraordinary experience: suddenly in Munich we were face to face with the pope!
Evidently Pope Wojtyla got along so well with his host in Munich that he summoned him one year later to Rome. He was to become the new Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the same Vatican dicastery that his critic
ism at the Second Vatican Council had so decisively helped to reform. Again Ratzinger hesitated, looking for all sorts of excuses. First he said that he could not simply leave his diocese in the lurch. Then he considered it unwise that he, a theologian of all people, should judge the works of other theologians—he could quickly be accused of partisanship. How could this official, high-ranking position alongside the pope be combined with his work as a writer? How would it look if he now headed the very same Vatican office that had just forbidden his ex-colleague Hans Küng to teach as a Catholic theologian? And as a Bavarian with close ties to his homeland, would he be able to manage in Rome at all? John Paul II would not let loose. And finally, when the Pope had just survived the attempt on his life, Cardinal Ratzinger gave in. Together with his sister, Maria, who now as before kept house for him, he moved in 1982 to the Tiber, while Georg Ratzinger remained in Regensburg.
Well, I knew that my advice in this case did not matter. I regretted it very much, I must honestly say, that my brother now had to move far away again. At the time, I even asked Cardinal Höffner whether he might not be able to apply the brakes. But he only admired him because he was going to Rome now. For me that was something negative at first. I was just sad, because the great closeness that had existed previously between us was no longer possible now. Of course, as always we spent our vacation together. On All Saints’ Day, at first he merely sent our sister to visit our parents’ grave. Only after she died (1991) did he come again himself. At Christmas, or more precisely after the holidays, he always spent a few days in Regensburg, then again around the Ascension, and finally during the summer. I in turn spent my vacation as often as possible with him in Rome. Our closeness as siblings therefore was not suspended; opportunities always arose to spend time together. So then I gradually became accustomed to the new situation and in some areas even found positive elements in it.
My Brother, the Pope Page 18