It’s true: Sapieha was a fine role model for me, principally because he was a shepherd. Even before the Second World War broke out, he had told the Pope that he wanted to retire from the see of Kraków, but Pius XII did not agree to this. He said to him: “War is coming; you will be needed.” He died as the Cardinal of Kraków at the age of eighty-two.
During the funeral homily, the Primate of Poland, Cardinal Wyszyński, asked some very significant questions: “And so, dear brother priests of Kraków, as we, your guests and your friends, behold with what a rich wreath of emotions you surround this coffin that hides the mortal remains of that tiny figure that could overcome you neither by his height nor by his physical strength—I want to ask you for my own benefit, to increase that pastoral wisdom necessary for a bishop, what was it in him that you loved so much? What captured your hearts? What was it that you saw in him? Why did you surrender yourselves, like the whole of Poland, to this soul? Here, we can truly speak of the love of a diocesan presbyterate for its archbishop.”19
His funeral in July 1951 was an unprecedented event in the Stalinist era. A huge procession made its way from Franciszkańska Street to Wawel Cathedral— tightly packed rows of priests, sisters, and laity walked together. As they walked, the communist authorities did not dare disturb the procession. They felt helpless. That could have been the reason why, after instituting proceedings against the Kraków Curia, they did the same to Cardinal Sapieha once he was dead. The communists didn’t dare touch him while he was alive. The cardinal knew it was a possibility, especially after the arrest of Cardinal Mindszenty. But they didn’t have the courage.
I went to seminary as one of his students, receiving first the tonsure and then priestly ordination. I had great trust in him, and I can say that I loved him just as other priests loved him. It has often been said in books that Sapieha was in some way preparing me—maybe it’s true. This too is a bishop’s responsibility: to prepare possible successors.
Maybe the priests respected him because he was a prince, but they loved him first and foremost because he was a father who cared about people. This is what counts most of all: a bishop must be a father. True, no one can attain perfect fatherhood, because this is fully realized only in God the Father. But we can somehow participate in this fatherhood of God. I wrote about this truth in my meditation on the mystery of fatherhood, entitled Radiation of Fatherhood: “I will say more: I have decided to eliminate from my vocabulary the word ‘my.’ How can I use that word when I know that everything is Yours? Even if it isn’t You who give birth every time a human person is born, the one giving birth belongs to You. I myself am more ‘Yours’ than ‘mine.’ So I have learned that I may not say ‘mine’ of that which is Yours. I may not say, think or feel it. I must free myself, empty myself of this—I must possess nothing, I must not wish to possess anything (here ‘my’ means ‘my own’).”20
Fatherhood Modeled on the Example of Saint Joseph
There is no doubt that the episcopate is an office, but a bishop must resist with all his strength any tendency to become a mere official. He must never forget that he is a father. As I said earlier, Cardinal Sapieha was so greatly loved because he was a father to his priests. When I wonder who could serve as a help and a model for all those called to fatherhood—whether in the family or in the priesthood, or even more so in the episcopate—it is Saint Joseph who comes to mind.
For me, devotion to Saint Joseph is another thing I would associate with my life in Kraków. The Bernardine Sisters on Poselska Street, near the episcopal palace, have a church dedicated to Saint Joseph, where they have perpetual adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. In my free time, I would go there to pray, and often my eyes would be drawn toward a beautiful image of Our Lord’s foster father, an image greatly venerated in that church, where I once conducted a retreat for attorneys. I have always liked to think of Saint Joseph in the setting of the Holy Family: Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I used to pray to all three of them for help with various problems. I can well understand the unity and love that characterized the Holy Family: three hearts, one love. I entrusted the Family Apostolate to Saint Joseph’s particular care.
In Kraków, at Podgórze, there is another church dedicated to Saint Joseph. I often went there during pastoral visitations. The shrine of Saint Joseph in Kalisz is of exceptional importance. Priests who are former prisoners of Dachau make pilgrimages of gratitude there. A group of them, while prisoners in this Nazi concentration camp, entrusted themselves to the care of Saint Joseph and they were saved. On their return to Poland, they began making an annual pilgrimage of thanksgiving to the shrine at Kalisz, and they always invited me to join them. This group included Archbishop Kazimierz Majdański, Bishop Ignacy Jez
., and Cardinal
Adam Kozłowiecki, a missionary in Africa.
Divine providence prepared Saint Joseph to be the foster father of Jesus Christ. In the Apostolic Exhortation dedicated to him, Redemptoris Custos, I wrote: “As can be deduced from the gospel texts, Joseph’s marriage to Mary is the juridical basis of his fatherhood. It was to assure fatherly protection for Jesus that God chose Joseph to be Mary’s spouse. It follows that Joseph’s fatherhood—a relationship that places him as close as possible to Christ, to whom every election and predestination is ordered (cf. Rom. 8:28–29)—comes to pass through marriage to Mary” (n. 7). Joseph was called to be Mary’s most chaste spouse precisely in order to be a father to Jesus. The fatherhood of Saint Joseph, like the motherhood of the Blessed Virgin Mary, has a fundamentally Christological character. All Mary’s privileges flow from the fact that she is Christ’s mother. In like manner, all Saint Joseph’s privileges flow from the fact that he was chosen to act as father to Christ.
We know that Jesus addressed God with the word “Abba”—a loving, familiar word that would have been used by children in first-century Palestine when speaking to their fathers. Most probably Jesus, like other children, used this same word when speaking to Saint Joseph. Can any more be said about the mystery of human fatherhood? Jesus Himself, as a man, experienced the fatherhood of God through that father–son relationship with Saint Joseph. This filial encounter with Joseph then fed into Our Lord’s revelation of the paternal name of God. What a profound mystery!
Christ in His divinity had His own experience of divine fatherhood and sonship within the Most Holy Trinity. In His humanity, He experienced sonship thanks to Saint Joseph. For his part, Saint Joseph offered the child growing up beside him the support of a healthy masculinity, a clear understanding of human problems, and courage. He fulfilled this role aided by the qualities of the best of fathers, drawing strength from that supreme source from which “every family in heaven and on earth is named” (Eph. 3:15). Humanly speaking, he taught the Son of God many things, and provided Him with an earthly home.
For Saint Joseph, life with Jesus was a continuous discovery of his own vocation as a father. He became a father in an extraordinary way, without begetting his son in the flesh. Isn’t this, perhaps, an example of the type of fatherhood that is proposed to us, priests and bishops, as a model? Everything I did in the course of my ministry I saw as an expression of this kind of fatherhood—baptizing, hearing confessions, celebrating the Eucharist, preaching, admonishing, encouraging. For me these things were always a way of living out that fatherhood.
We should think particularly of the home Saint Joseph built for the Son of God when we touch upon the subject of priestly and episcopal celibacy. Celibacy, in fact, provides the fullest opportunity to live out this type of fatherhood: chaste and totally dedicated to Christ and His Virgin Mother. Unconstrained by any personal solicitude for a family, a priest can dedicate himself with his whole heart to his pastoral responsibilities. One can therefore understand the tenacity with which the Latin Church has defended the tradition of celibacy for its priests, resisting the pressures that have arisen from time to time throughout history. This tradition is clearly demanding, but it has yielded particularly rich spiritual fruit. At the same t
ime, it is a source of joy to recognize the fine examples of pastoral zeal offered by the married priesthood of the Eastern Catholic Churches. In the struggle against communism, in particular, married Eastern-rite priests have proved just as heroic as their celibate counterparts. As Cardinal Josyf Slipyj once observed, both celibate and married clergy showed great courage when faced with the communists.
It is important to point out that there are profound theological reasons supporting the discipline of celibacy. The encyclical Sacerdotalis Caelibatus, published in 1967 by my venerable predecessor Pope Paul VI, synthesizes them as follows (cf. nn. 19–34).
• First and foremost there is a Christological motivation: as Mediator between the Father and the human race, Christ remained celibate so as to dedicate Himself totally to the service of God and men. Those whose fortune it is to share in the dignity and mission of Christ are called to share also in this total gift of self.
• Then there is an ecclesiological motivation: Christ loved the Church, offering Himself entirely for her sake, in order to make her a glorious, holy, and immaculate Spouse. By choosing celibacy, the sacred ministers themselves manifest the virginal love of Christ for the Church, drawing forth the supernatural vigor of spiritual fruitfulness.
• Finally there is an eschatological motivation: at the resurrection of the dead, Jesus said, “they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (Matt. 22:30). Priestly celibacy proclaims the arrival of a new dawn of salvation, and in a way it anticipates the fulfillment of the kingdom as it sets forth its supreme values that will one day shine forth in all the children of God.
Some, seeking to argue against the discipline of celibacy, draw attention to the loneliness of a priest or a bishop. On the basis of my own experience, I firmly reject this argument. Personally, I have never felt lonely. Aside from constant awareness that the Lord is close at hand, I have always been surrounded by people, and I have maintained cordial relations with priests—deans, pastors, assistant pastors—and with all kinds of lay people.
Being with One’s People
We should also think of the home Saint Joseph built for the Son of God when we speak of the bishop’s paternal duty to be with the people entrusted to his care. The bishop’s home is, in fact, his diocese. This is true not only because he lives and works there but also in a much deeper sense: The bishop’s home is the diocese because it is the place where he must daily manifest his fidelity to the Church—his Bride. When the Council of Trent, addressing long-standing abuses in this area, defined and underlined the bishop’s obligation to be resident in his diocese, it was also expressing a profound insight: the bishop must be with his Church at all important moments. He should never leave it for longer than a month, unless he has a serious reason. Like a good “paterfamilias,” he is constantly with his family, and if ever he has to be away from them, he misses them and wants to return to them as soon as possible.
In this connection, I would like to recall the faithful bishop of Tarnów, Bishop Jerzy Ablewicz. The priests of his diocese knew that he did not receive visitors on Fridays. On that day he would make the pilgrimage on foot to the Marian shrine at Tuchów. Along the way he would prayerfully prepare his Sunday homily. It was well known that he was loath to leave his diocese. He was always with his people, firstly in prayer and then in action. But prayer always came first. The mystery of our fatherhood begins with prayer and grows from prayer. As men of faith, we present ourselves in prayer before Mary and Joseph to ask for their assistance; in this way, together with them and with all those whom God entrusts to us, we can build a home for the Son of God—His Holy Church.
The Chapel at 3 Franciszkańska Street
The chapel in the episcopal residence in Kraków has a very particular significance for me: it is the place where I was ordained a priest by Cardinal Sapieha on November 1, 1946, even though ordinations usually took place in the cathedral. The place and the date of my priestly ordination were influenced by my Ordinary’s decision to send me to Rome to study.
Toward the end of his life, Saint Paul, by now an experienced Apostle, wrote to Timothy: “Train yourself in devotion, for, while physical training is of limited value, devotion is valuable in every respect, since it holds a promise of life both for the present and for the future” (1 Tim. 4: 7–8). Every bishop enjoys the privilege of maintaining a chapel in his own home, so close that he can reach out and touch it, but this privilege also brings with it great responsibility. The reason for having a chapel so close is so that everything in the bishop’s life—his teaching, his decisions, his pastoral care—might begin from the feet of Christ, concealed in the Blessed Sacrament. I witnessed firsthand the habitual practice of Cardinal Adam Sapieha in this regard. In his homily at Cardinal Sapieha’s funeral, Cardinal Wyszyński said: “One aspect of this man’s life, one among many others, has caused me to reflect. At the end of a long and exhausting working day during the meetings of the Episcopal Conference, the rest of us were all tired and would hurry back home. He, however, seemingly indefatigable, would go to his cold chapel and stay there in the presence of God until late at night. For how long? I don’t know. I never heard the footsteps of the Cardinal coming back from the chapel, while I was working late nights at the archbishop’s residence. One thing I do know: at his advanced age he was entitled to some rest. I think the Cardinal needed to conclude his daily labors with the golden lock of sleep and instead he closed them with the diamond of prayer. This was truly a man of prayer!”21
I tried to imitate his unparalleled example by not only praying in the house chapel but also sitting, writing my books there. That’s where I wrote Person and Action, among others. I have always been convinced that the chapel is a place of special inspiration. What a great privilege to be able to live and work in the shadow of His Presence, such a powerfully magnetic Presence! My dear deceased friend, André Frossard, captured something of the power and the beauty of this Presence in his book God Exists: I’ve Met Him. It is not always necessary to enter physically into the chapel in order to enter spiritually into the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. I have always sensed that Christ was the real owner of my episcopal residence, and that we bishops are just short-term tenants. That’s how it was in Franciszkańska Street for almost twenty years, and that’s how it is here in the Vatican.
EPISCOPAL COLLEGIALITY
“He appointed twelve, to be with him and to be sent out to preach” (Mark 3:14)
The Bishop in His Diocese
The Second Vatican Council provided me with a strong impulse to intensify pastoral activity. This, of course, is where everything should begin. On June 3, 1963, Pope John XXIII died. It was he who had summoned the Council, which opened on October 11, 1962. I was privileged to have taken part in it from the very beginning. The first session opened during October and ended on December eighth. I was present at the sessions with the council fathers as vicar capitular of the archdiocese of Kraków.
After the death of John XXIII, the Conclave elected as Pope the archbishop of Milan, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Montini, on June 21, 1963. He took the name of Paul VI. In the fall of that same year, the Council entered its second session, during which I was again present in the same capacity. On January 13, 1964, I was named metropolitan archbishop of Kraków. The nomination was published shortly thereafter, and on March eighth, Laetare Sunday, I solemnly took possession of the see in Wawel Cathedral.
On the threshold I was welcomed by Professor Franciszek Bielak and Monsignor Bohdan Niemczewski, the mitred provost of the chapter. Then I entered the cathedral, where I was to occupy the episcopal throne left vacant after the deaths of Cardinal Sapieha and Archbishop Baziak. I do not remember the details of the address I delivered on that occasion, but I do remember that my thoughts were filled with the emotion I felt for Wawel Cathedral and its cultural heritage, to which I have forever felt bound, as I have stressed earlier.
The Pallium
I also remember the profound and touching sign o
f the pallium, which I received in that same year, 1964. Throughout the world, metropolitans, as a symbol of their union with Christ the Good Shepherd and with His vicar the Successor of Peter, wear around their necks this sign made from the wool of sheep blessed on the feast of Saint Agnes. On so many occasions during my pontificate, on the feast of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, I have been able to confer it upon new metropolitans. What wonderful symbolism! We can recognize in this simple sign the image of a sheep that the Good Shepherd places on his shoulders and carries with him, to save it and to feed it. It is a symbol that makes visible something that unites all bishops: our solicitude and responsibility for the flock entrusted to us. It is precisely because of this solicitude and responsibility that we are given the task of cultivating and safeguarding unity.
After March 8, 1964, the day of my installation, I took part in the Council as a metropolitan archbishop until its conclusion on December 8, 1965. The experience of the Council, those faith-filled encounters with the bishops of the universal Church and, at the same time, the new responsibility entrusted to me in relation to the archdiocese of Kraków, all helped me to understand more profoundly the place of a bishop within the Church.
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