Images of Hope

by Joseph Ratzinger

  When the apse mosaic of San Clemente was created, there was as yet no feast of Corpus Christi. The sense of that day is, however, wonderfully represented here. For it shows, indeed, how the Eucharist spans the world and transforms it. The Eucharist belongs not only in the Church and to a closed community. The world should become eucharistic, should live in the vine of God. But that is Corpus Christi: to celebrate the Eucharist cosmically; to carry it even to our streets and squares so that the world, from the fruit of the new vine, may receive healing and reconciliation through the tree of life of the Cross of Jesus Christ. We celebrate the feast in this sense. Its procession is like a loud call to the living God: Yes, fulfill your promises. Let your vine grow over the earth, and let it become the place of reconciled life for us all. Detoxify this world through the waters of life, through the wine of your love. Do not let your earth shatter from hate and from man’s presumption of omniscience. You, Lord, are yourself the new heaven, the heaven in which God is a man. Give us the new earth in which we men become branches of you, the tree of life, steeped in the waters of your love and taken up into the ascent to the Father, who alone is the true progress we all await.

  Portiuncula

  ______

  What Indulgence Means

  When you travel to Assisi from the south, you encounter first, in the plain that extends before the city, the majestic basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli, from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with a classicistic façade from the nineteenth century. To be perfectly frank, it leaves me cold. The simplicity and humility of Saint Francis can hardly be sensed in this edifice furnished with such grand gesture. We find what we are looking for, however, in the middle of the basilica: a medieval chapel in which old frescoes tell of salvation history and of the history of Saint Francis, which took place in part on this site. In this low and poorly illuminated space we find something of calmness and emotion before the faith of centuries that found asylum and direction here. At the time of Saint Francis the surrounding land was wooded; it was like a swamp and uninhabited. Francis in the third year of his conversion came upon this little church that had fallen into ruin. It belonged to the Benedictine Abbey of Subasio. Just as he had previously restored by the work of his hands the churches of San Damiano and San Pietro, so Francis also did now with the Portiuncula chapel, which was dedicated to the Mother of God of the angels, in which he honored the Mother of all goodness. The run-down state of these various little churches must have appeared to him as a sad symbol for the actual state of the Church. He still did not know that he was preparing himself with the restoration of these buildings for the renewal of the living Church. But here precisely in this chapel he now received the final call that gave form to his mission and resulted in the Order of Friars Minor, which was not even conceived of as an order but rather a movement for evangelization that should gather anew the people of God for the returning Lord.

  Something happened to Francis that was much like what had happened to Saint Anthony of Egypt in the third century: he heard in the liturgy the Gospel about the sending out of the Twelve by the Lord, who gave them the charge to proclaim the kingdom of God and to set out without possessions and worldly securities. Francis had not completely understood the text at first, so afterward he had the priest clarify it especially for him, and then it became clear to him: That is my mission. He took off his shoes, retained only a tunic, and readied himself to proclaim the kingdom of God and repentance. Now little by little others joined him who, again like the Twelve, went from place to place and proclaimed the gospel. It meant joy for them, as it did for Francis, joy of the new beginning, joy through conversion, through the courage to repent. Portiuncula became for Francis the place in which he finally comprehended the Gospel, because he no longer surrounded it with theories and clarifications but only wanted to live it literally, because he noticed that these were not words of the past but words that were quite personally said to him. For this reason it was in the Portiuncula that he gave the habit to Saint Clare and thereby founded the order of women who, by praying, bore from within the evangelizing mission of the men. For this reason, too, he had himself brought there to die.

  Portiuncula means little portion, the little piece of land. Francis did not want the Benedictines to give it to him; rather, he wanted them to lend it to him for his confreres and that thereby, precisely as that which is not his own, it should express what was characteristic and new in his movement. The passage of Psalm 16 should apply here, which in the Old Covenant expressed the special nature of the priestly tribe of Levi, which belonged to no land but whose land was God himself alone (“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup. . . . Yes, I have a goodly heritage” [16:5, 6]).

  Portiuncula is first of all a place, as we saw, but through Francis of Assisi it became a reality of spirit and of faith, a reality that is physically attached, so to speak, to the place and itself becomes a place that we can enter, but with which we enter at the same time the history of faith and its ever-effective power. That Portiuncula reminds us not only of a great past history of conversion, that it does not represent a mere idea, but rather always draws us into the living connection between repentance and grace, is quite essentially related to the so-called Portiuncula indulgence that is correctly called the forgiveness of Portiuncula. What should we understand by this? According to a tradition that admittedly first appeared at the end of the thirteenth century, Francis of Assisi visited the just elected Pope Honorius III in July 1216 in nearby Perugia and put to him an unusual request: that the Pope might grant all who visit the little church of Portiuncula the full remission of guilt and punishment for their life up until then, if they have confessed and repented of their sins.

  The Christian of today will ask himself what such a forgiveness might mean if sorrow and confession are presupposed. In order to understand that, we must first make clear that at this time, despite many changes, nevertheless essential elements of the ancient Church discipline of penance continued. Part of this was the conviction that forgiveness after baptism could not be attained simply in the act of absolution; rather, as before in the preparation for baptism, it demanded a real transformation of life, an inner turning away from evil. The sacramental act had to be joined to an act of existence with a real working off of guilt that one calls penance. Forgiveness does not mean that this existential process is superfluous, but rather that it receives a meaning, that it is accepted.

  At the time of Saint Francis the main form of penance given by the Church in connection with forgiveness was the undertaking of a great pilgrimage—to Santiago, to Rome, and especially to Jerusalem. The long, dangerous, and difficult way to Jerusalem could very well become an inner way for many. It also had, however, the wholly practical effect that the associated donations in the Holy Land became the most important source for the upkeep of the Church and of Christians. We should not turn up our noses too readily: penance had thereby acquired a concrete social component. If now Francis—as tradition ascribes to him—asks that all of this could be satisfied by a prayerful visit to the holy place of Portiuncula, then something really new was involved here: a substitution, an indulgence that had to change the entire nature of penance. One can easily understand that the cardinals were displeased about this concession by the Pope and were afraid for the maintenance of the Holy Land so that the forgiveness of Portiuncula was at first limited to one day in the year, the dedication day on August 2.

  But now there is the question: Could the Pope do that so simply? Can a pope dispense from an existential process as it, along with the great penance of the Church, was understood? Naturally not. That which is an inner requirement of human existence cannot be made superfluous by an act of law. But that was not at all the point. Francis, who had discovered the poor and poverty, was concerned with his request for those simple men laden with guilt who had neither the means nor the energy to make a pilgrimage into the Holy Land. These could give nothing but their faith, their prayer, their readiness to live their poverty from
the gospel. In this sense the Portiuncula indulgence is the penance of those laden with guilt whose life itself already imposes sufficient penance. No doubt an interiorization of the idea of penance was now generally involved, whereas the necessary perceptible expression was not of course simply missing, because the pilgrimage to the simple and humble place of Portiuncula still belonged to it, which should always be henceforth an encounter with the radicalism of the gospel, as Francis had learned it in this place. It is undeniable that the danger of abuses was associated with the form of indulgences that gradually developed here, as history teaches us drastically enough. But when, in the end, we dwell only on the abuses, then we have fallen prey to a loss of memory and a superficiality with which we above all harm ourselves. For as always the great and pure is more difficult to see than the coarse and lowly.

  Naturally I cannot now spread out the entire network of experiences and insights that has developed from the event in the Portiuncula. I only want to try to draw out the essential threads. After the granting of this special indulgence, a further step immediately took place. It was precisely the simple and humble man of faith who posed himself the question: Why only for me? Can I not pass on in the spiritual realm just as in the material realm what was given to me? The thought was directed above all to the poor souls, the people who are close to one, who have gone before into the other world and whose fate cannot remain a matter of indifference. One knew of the weaknesses and mistakes of those who were dear to one or from whom one perhaps had suffered. Why should one not worry about them? Why not try to do good to them beyond the grave, to hasten to come to their aid and assistance if possible on the dangerous journey of the soul.

  Here a primal feeling of mankind is in play that has been given varied expression throughout human history in cults of ancestors and the dead. Christian faith has not simply declared all this to be false, but rather it has purified it and allowed it to step forth in its pure meaning. “If we live, we live to the Lord, if we die, we die to the Lord” (Rom 14:8). That means that the actual limit is no longer death but rather belonging or not belonging to the Lord. If we belong to him, then we are together through him and in him. For this reason, which was the quite logical requirement, there is love beyond the limits of death. And so the question of whether something of the given power of forgiveness could be passed on even over there was answered with the formula: Yes, it could be, namely, per modum suffragii, by way of intercession. Thus a special intensity was given to the Church’s perennial practice of praying for the dead. And it was this consent that in fact allowed the indulgence to become a great invitation to prayer, despite all abuses and misunderstandings. Here I must add that the original indulgence connected to the Portiuncula location in the course of time was extended, first, to all Franciscans and, finally, to all parish churches for the second of August. From my youth I recall the Portiuncula day as a day of great interiority, as a day of the reception of the sacraments and as a day of prayer. In the square in front of our parish church a singular solemn stillness prevailed on this day. People went constantly in and out of the church. One sensed that Christianity is grace and that it is made available in prayer. Quite independent of all theories of indulgence, this was thus a worldwide day of faith and a day of quiet confidence, of a prayer that in a special way was sure to be heard, that above all applied even to the dead.

  But in the course of time yet a further thought has arisen that, while it may seem very strange to us today, contains an important truth. The more the indulgence was understood as advocacy for others, the more another thought came to the fore that justified the new form theologically and at the same time developed it further. Praying for those who have gone before us drew our thinking to the communion of saints and the spiritual exchange of gifts. Then you will ask: What will this mean, then? Is that not a nonsensical religious commercialism? The question became sharper, as I remember, because one spoke in fact of the treasury of the Church, which consisted of the good deeds of the saints. What is that supposed to mean? Must not every man be responsible for himself? What use should the possible good works of another be for me? So we ask because we still live in the narrow individualism of modern times, despite all socialist ideas. In fact, however, no man is closed in on himself. We all live interde-pendently, not only materially, but also spiritually and morally. First let us make that clear negatively. There are men who not only destroy themselves but also corrupt others with them and leave behind powers of destruction that drive whole generations into nihilism. If we think of the great seducers of our century, we know how real this is. The negation of the one becomes a contagious disease that carries others away. But, God be praised, this is not only true in the negative. There are people who leave behind, so to speak, a surplus of love, of perseverance in suffering, of honor and truth that captures others and sustains them. In the innermost recesses of existence, there really is such a thing as taking another’s place. The entire mystery of Christ rests on this.

  Now one can say: Good, there is such a thing. But the surplus of Christ’s love is sufficient; it does not need anything added to it. It alone redeems, and everything else would be arrogance, as if we would have to add something from our finite love to his infinite love. That is correct, but still not completely correct. For it belongs to the greatness of Christ’s love that he does not leave us in the state of being a passive receiver but involves us in his work and suffering. The famous text in the Letter to the Colossians says this: “In my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body” (Col 1:24). I would like, however, also to refer to another New Testament text where it seems to me this is wonderfully expressed. The Revelation of John speaks of the bride, of the Church, in whom saved mankind is represented par excellence. While the whore Babylon appears dressed with ostentatious jewelry and with everything that is expensive and lavish, the bride wears only a simple garment of white linen, admittedly of the especially pure, shining Byssus linen, which is of great value. The text says: “The fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints” (19:8). In the lives of the saints is woven the gleaming white Byssus that is the robe of eternity.

  Let us speak without imagery. In the spiritual realm everything belongs to everyone. There is no private property. The good of another becomes mine, and mine becomes his. Everything comes from Christ, but because we belong to him, what is ours becomes his and attains healing power. That is what is meant by talk of the treasury of the Church, the good deeds of the saints. To pray for an indulgence means to enter into this spiritual communion of gifts and to put oneself at its disposal. The turn in the concept of penance that began in Portiuncula has logically led to this point. Even spiritually no one lives for himself. And concern about the salvation of one’s soul is freed from fear and egotism only when it becomes concern about the salvation of others. Therefore, Portiuncula, and the indulgence that originated there, is a charge to place the salvation of the other above my own and thereby to find myself. A charge to ask, no longer: Will I be saved, but rather: What does God want from me so that others are saved? Indulgence points to the communion of saints, to the mystery of substitution, to prayer as the way to become one with Christ and his mind. He invites us to weave with him the white garment of the new humanity that in its simplicity is true beauty.

  Finally, the indulgence is a lot like the church of Portiuncula. Just as we have to go through the somewhat alienating coldness of the great edifice in order to find in the center the humble little church that touches our heart, so we must go through the turns of history and of theological ideas to that which is quite simple, to prayer by which we let ourselves fall into the communion of saints in order to work with them for the surplus of good vis-à-vis the apparent omnipotence of evil, knowing that, finally, all is grace.

  Wolfgang of Regensburg

  ______

  A European Saint

  Today, sanctity is not a theme that seems especially attractive or important to people. What we seek toda
y sounds much more sober, much more modest: credibility. Our century has seen, time and again, the fall of the powerful, who formerly seemed to stand in unassailable heights and now suddenly, robbed of their glamour, sit in the defendant’s dock of history. Trust is destroyed time and again, and so the courage to trust gradually threatens to vanish. The slanderers of men and the slanderers of God, the Creator, find ample opportunity: One need only peel back the beautiful veneer, they say, then behind all morality and dignity the same baseness surfaces. Authority becomes gradually impossible, and at first that seems to be a victory for freedom. But in reality the world becomes only darker and poorer when trust can no longer be proffered. For this reason we will always be on the lookout for credible persons who are inside what they project outside. Only when we find them can political moroseness and ecclesial fatigue be overcome.