Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram aedificabo Ecclesiam meam, et portae inferi non praevalebunt adversus eam. Et tibi dabo claves Regni coelorum. (You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven.)
—Matthew 16:18-19
NICOLAS DIAT: In 1945 you came into the world during the pontificate of Pope Pius XII.
ROBERT CARDINAL SARAH: When I was a child, I knew that there was a pope at the head of the Church, because I used to hear his name at Mass. I was convinced that I would never see that unreachable summit. I imagined the successor of Peter as a man living in some sort of paradise, and all those who worked with him, too. I considered them saints and true models of Christian life. Far-off Rome appeared to be a bit of heaven. . . .
At the minor seminary in Bingerville, I began to understand better the significance of the papal office. That was where I learned about the death of the pope, on October 9, 1958, when we had just begun the school year. I was afraid because I understood that it was an important moment for the Church. Furthermore, Pius XII was very popular in Africa.
That pope was a very dignified man. The accusations concerning his role during the war seem to me to be a terrible injustice. Far from the ideological polemics, the historians have begun their work of research. Recently I appreciated very much the studies published by the Englishman Gordon Thomas and by the Frenchman Pierre Milza. The testimonies of thousands of Jews, who were protected in the monasteries of Rome at his personal orders, even in the papal apartments of the Vatican and in the summer residence at Castel Gandolfo, are extraordinary. Pius XII wanted to save people who were doomed to death. His diplomatic silence was motivated by the desire not to aggravate the awful tragedy that was playing out at that time. In dealing with mad and dangerous dictators, words can sometimes prove counterproductive.
In another setting, I myself was able to experience persecution in Guinea during the reign of Sékou Touré. I therefore know from experience that bloody, repressive regimes are complex problems and that it is not enough to speak out publicly in order to fight against a dictatorship.
Indeed, the pope feared that Hitler’s policy against the Jews might become even more barbaric and that the Polish and German Christians would suffer the consequences of that horrible violence.
Of course I am not an expert on this matter, nor do I claim to summarize such a difficult subject. The horror of the Holocaust is still a mystery of iniquity.
At the ecclesial level, as soon as he was elected, Pius XII decided to recall, through his first encyclical, Summi pontificatus, dated October 20, 1939, that his first duty was to bear witness to the truth: “The present age, Venerable Brethren, by adding new errors to the doctrinal aberrations of the past, has pushed these to extremes which lead inevitably to a drift towards chaos. Before all else, it is certain that the radical and ultimate cause of the evils which We deplore in modern society is the denial and rejection of a universal norm of morality as well for individual and social life as for international relations; We mean the disregard, so common nowadays, and the forgetfulness of the natural law itself, which has its foundation in God, Almighty Creator and Father of all, supreme and absolute Lawgiver, all-wise and just Judge of human actions. When God is hated, every basis of morality is undermined” (SP 28). Pius XII was already confronted with the beginnings of the problems with which we are familiar: the denial of God and moral relativism.
I can also say that Pius XII was more of an innovator than the superficial critics of his conservatism would have you believe. His encyclical Fidei donum, published in April 1957, on the renewal of the missions, inspired in part by the example of Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre, then archbishop of Dakar and apostolic delegate for French Africa, was very important for the development of evangelization. The Supreme Pontiff wished to reawaken the Bride of Christ by inviting the most ancient Church of the East to become involved in a missionary effort and by encouraging European priests to go and serve for a time in a mission diocese. The encyclical was written especially with a view to Africa. At that time, there was a dire lack of apostles and evangelizers on that continent. Thanks to Pius XII, priests were able to leave their dioceses of origin to help regions of the world that lacked clergy. In Guinea, after the foundational work of the Holy Ghost Fathers, the priests whom we have called since then fidei donum (the gift of faith) made possible a remarkable development of the Catholic faith.
For my continent, the figure of this pope remains even more historical because he was the first to consecrate African bishops, in particular, Bernardin Gantin. His interest in a native episcopal hierarchy was real.
In 1958, therefore, you were at the seminary when John XXIII was elected pope?
I was very young on the day when Angelo Roncalli ascended to the throne of Peter. Nevertheless, I noticed rather quickly the occasional difference between his style and that of his predecessor. I had loved the noble, thoughtful figure of Pius XII, and now I appreciated the almost naïve simplicity of John XXIII. Commentators everywhere said that he was kindly and close to the people, like the father of a family.
On the other hand, I still lacked the maturity needed to understand the scope of the council desired by that pope. I knew, however, that Archbishop Tchidimbo represented my country and that he traveled regularly to Rome for discussions with the bishops from the other countries of the world. Although he did not really speak to us about the content of the debates, I must nevertheless relate an event that impressed the Catholic faithful of Conakry.
The cathedral in Conakry had an elegant, ornate choir, with a beautiful replica of the Bernini baldachin, surrounded by very beautiful angels. At the time of the first discussions about liturgical reform, Archbishop Tchidimbo returned to Conakry and ordered the destruction of the baldachin and the main altar. We were angry, incredulous at this hasty decision. Rather violently, we passed without any preparation from one liturgy to another. I can attest to the fact that the botched preparation for the liturgical reform had devastating effects on the Catholic population, particularly on the simpler people, who scarcely understood the swiftness of these changes or even the reason for them.
No doubt it is regrettable that some priests allowed themselves to be so carried away by personal ideologies. They claimed to be democratizing the liturgy, and the people were the first victims of their actions. The liturgy is not a political object that we can make more egalitarian according to social demands. How could such a strange movement produce in the life of the Church anything but great confusion among the people?
Nevertheless, the idea of John XXIII was extraordinary. Calling the Council truly responded to the new needs of an era. At the major seminary, as we studied the various constitutions, we were awestruck by the work of the Council Fathers. Our emotion was understandable, because many conciliar documents are particularly edifying. I am convinced that Pope John wished that the faithful of the Church could experience great intimacy with God. He wanted believers to enter into a deeper spirituality. Indeed, the spiritual vision of man is the source of his program for reform. His concern about adapting to modern times never caused him to forget the transcendental necessity of evangelization work.
And so his denunciation of the “prophets of doom” is correct. A certain pessimism could prevail in the Church in those days. The fight against Soviet Communism and its expansion throughout the world was so difficult that it gave rise to a form of defeatism. Some circles perhaps did not believe sufficiently in the power of Christ, who has never abandoned his disciples. John XXIII appealed for realism, and two decades later God sent John Paul II, who saw the fall of the Berlin Wall. . . .
The Council wanted to emphasize what was beautiful and dignified in this world. We should not regret this manner in which the Council Fathers worked. The recognition of great accomplishments, when they exist, has never implied the renunciation of the truth. How could the Church fail to praise the technological and scientific advances of that era? However, he also noted the Petrine duty to continue the Church’s magisterial teaching. John XXIII, and later Paul VI, remained faithful to both aspects. A positive view of the world did not prevent John XXIII from noting with uneasiness the signs of God’s eclipse.
So how do you understand the word aggiornamento used by the pope since the opening of the Council?
Aggiornamento is a tool for reflection used to situate the Church in a changing world, in which some economic, media, or political sectors were abandoning God by sinking into a dreamlike, liberal, relativistic materialism. How could the Church better bring the Gospel to countries that were showing signs of a crisis of faith? The insight of John XXIII was therefore prophetic. This pope never intended to abandon tradition; some fantasized about a revolution, and they sought, with the aid of the media, to popularize the image of a revolutionary pontiff. This was a political mistake that would not be without consequence.
Benedict XVI never stopped reminding us that the work of the Council Fathers may have been diminished by the media interpretations of Vatican II. Thus, the intention of John XXIII was not made known but instead was commented on and interpreted in an ideological way. Nevertheless, the documents of the Council Fathers are the faithful reflection of Pope John’s original insight. We possess a precious treasure that it is important to consult faithfully.
Do your memories become much more precise with Paul VI, who is ultimately the pope of your youth?
Yes, indeed, I arrived in Rome in September 1969. I was able to see Paul VI when he came to dedicate one of the buildings of the Collegio San Pietro, where I resided. For the first time, I had contact with a pope! The child of Guinea experienced a kind of miracle. . .
Paul VI had to cope with extraordinarily difficult upheavals. The world was changing very quickly, and the Council did not bring the much-awaited in-depth understanding. The progressive hermeneutic was even leading the faithful into dead ends. Many priests left the priesthood. Convents emptied out, and many nuns started to put aside their habits. Little by little, the spirit of the age caused the disappearance of the signs indicating that God’s hand had been placed on those who had devoted their lives to the Lord. There was a widespread impression that, even among consecrated persons, the presence of God was forbidden! For the pope, this meant terrible suffering.
His sorrow did not prevent him from standing firm. He knew better than anyone that the Council had been created by the Holy Spirit. In directing the work of the Council Fathers, Paul VI showed authority and theological reliability that were particularly well rooted in the faith. The pope intended to preserve the deposit of revelation from the reformist or revolutionary aberrations of the ideologues in attendance. He did all he could to fend off very violent attacks.
Thus, in June 1967, in his encyclical Sacerdotalis caelibatus on priestly celibacy, he rigorously confronted the arguments challenging the chastity expected of ministers of worship. He wrote: “Priestly celibacy has been guarded by the Church for centuries as a brilliant jewel and retains its value undiminished even in our time when the outlook of men and the state of the world have undergone such profound changes. Amid the modern stirrings of opinion, a tendency has also been manifested, and even a desire expressed, to ask the Church to re-examine this characteristic institution. It is said that in the world of our time the observance of celibacy has come to be difficult or even impossible. This state of affairs is troubling consciences, perplexing some priests and young aspirants to the priesthood; it is a cause for alarm in many of the faithful and constrains Us to fulfill the promise We made to the Council Fathers. We told them that it was Our intention to give new luster and strength to priestly celibacy in the world of today” (SC 1-2).
In fact, Paul VI issued a decree confirming the Council of Carthage in 390 as well as the ancient tradition of the Catholic Church with regard to consecrated celibacy. The law of celibacy promulgated by the assembly of African bishops has always remained in force, and it would be officially included in the major legislative anthology of the Church of Africa, the Codex Canonum Ecclesiae Africanae, which was compiled and promulgated in 401, during the time of Saint Augustine.
There are many who think that priestly celibacy is a merely disciplinary matter. What is your position?
Jesuit Father Christian Cochini, the author of a remarkable book, Apostolic Origins of Priestly Celibacy, correctly writes: “When, after hesitating for a long time, Pius IV finally decided to give his answer to the German princes asking Rome to authorize the marriage of priests, his first word on the matter would be a quotation from the decree of Carthage. Here then is the document that was to play such a part in the history of ecclesiastical celibacy. ‘Epigonius, Bishop of the Royal Region of Bulla, says: The rule of continence and chastity had been discussed in a previous council. Let it [now] be taught with more emphasis what are the three ranks that, by virtue of their consecration, are under the same obligation of chastity, i.e., the bishop, the priest, and the deacon, and let them be instructed to keep their purity. Bishop Genethlius says: As was previously said, it is fitting that the holy bishops and priests of God as well as the Levites, i.e., those who are in the service of the divine sacraments, observe perfect continence, so that they may obtain in all simplicity what they are asking from God, what the apostles taught and what antiquity itself observed, let us also endeavor to keep. The bishops declared unanimously: It pleases us all that bishop, priest, and deacon, guardians of purity, abstain from [conjugal intercourse] with their wives, so that those who serve at the altar may keep a perfect chastity.’ This text is interesting in many respects. Mention is made of the clerics’ wives, and particularly, the wives of the hierarchy’s high-ranking members: bishops, priests, and deacons. Most of those—or at least a large number—were thus bound by marriage. Such men are being asked by the African synod to give up no less than all conjugal intercourse and to observe perfect chastity. . . . Moreover, we are assured that such a discipline is not a new one: the Fathers of Carthage are only stressing the obligation of something that was ‘taught by the apostles and observed by antiquity itself.’ ”1 This law is unanimously accepted and confirmed by the whole Church, in fidelity to the teaching of Jesus, who rewards those who leave everything in order to serve him: “Truly, I say to you, there is no man who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not receive manifold more in this time, and in the age to come eternal life” (Lk 18:29-30). And John Paul II insists: “The Latin Church has wished, and continues to wish, referring to the example of Christ the Lord himself, to the apostolic teaching and to the whole Tradition that is proper to her, that all those who receive the sacrament of Orders should embrace this renunciation ‘for the sake of the kingdom of heaven’. This tradition, however, is linked with respect for different traditions of other Churches. In fact, this tradition constitutes a characteristic, a peculiarity, and a heritage of the Latin Catholic Church, a tradition to which she owes much and in which she is resolved to persevere, in spite of all the difficulties to which such fidelity could be exposed, and also in spite of the various symptoms of weakness and crisis in individual priests. We are all aware that ‘we have this treasure in earthen vessels’ (cf. 2 Cor 4:7); yet we know very well that it is precisely a treasure.”2
No, priestly celibacy is not responsible for the dearth of vocations in some countries of the world.
In this particular case, and in others, the ordination of married men would be a sad lure, an illusion, a confusing concession.
In addition, Paul VI had to deal with a subject that Pius XII had mentioned in a famous address to midwives. And that was Humanae vitae. . . .
Yes, in 1968 the publication of the encyclical Humanae vitae caused a surge of bitter criticism against the teaching of Paul VI on marriage and the regulation of births. This pope, with great intelligence and perfect fidelity to Church teaching, intended above all to emphasize two inseparable aspects of the conjugal act, union and procreation. He wrote: “This particular doctrine, often expounded by the magisterium of the Church, is based on the inseparable connection, established by God, which man on his own initiative may not break, between the unitive significance and the procreative significance which are both inherent to the marriage act. The reason is that the fundamental nature of the marriage act, while uniting husband and wife in the closest intimacy, also renders them capable of generating new life—and this as a result of laws written into the actual nature of man and of woman. And if each of these essential qualities, the unitive and the procreative, is preserved, the use of marriage fully retains its sense of true mutual love and its ordination to the supreme responsibility of parenthood to which man is called. We believe that our contemporaries are particularly capable of seeing that this teaching is in harmony with human reason” (HV 12).
Despite the challenges, the pope never intended to get involved in a debate that was distorted by libertarian thinking. Paul VI published his document; then he remained silent, bearing with all the difficulties in prayer. Until his death, on August 6, 1978, he never wrote another encyclical.
The successor of Peter knew that he was faithful to the truth. I think that Giovanni Battista Montini had infinite confidence in the wisdom of Church teaching; as he saw it, despite the temporary sufferings, trends would pass. This pontiff’s battle was all the more meaningful in that he had great respect for freedom of conscience. In completing his document, he chose to address priests specifically by writing: “And now, beloved sons, you who are priests, you who in virtue of your sacred office act as counselors and spiritual leaders both of individual men and women and of families—We turn to you filled with great confidence. For it is your principal duty—We are speaking especially to you who teach moral theology—to spell out clearly and completely the Church’s teaching on marriage. In the performance of your ministry you must be the first to give an example of that sincere obedience, inward as well as outward, which is due to the magisterium of the Church. For, as you know, the pastors of the Church enjoy a special light of the Holy Spirit in teaching the truth. And this, rather than the arguments they put forward, is why you are bound to such obedience. Nor will it escape you that if men’s peace of soul and the unity of the Christian people are to be preserved, then it is of the utmost importance that in moral as well as in dogmatic theology all should obey the magisterium of the Church and should speak as with one voice. Therefore We make Our own the anxious words of the great Apostle Paul and with all Our heart We renew Our appeal to you: ‘I appeal to you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree and that there be no dissensions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment.’ Now it is an outstanding manifestation of charity toward souls to omit nothing from the saving doctrine of Christ; but this must always be joined with tolerance and charity, as Christ Himself showed in His conversations and dealings with men. For when He came, not to judge, but to save the world, was He not bitterly severe toward sin, but patient and abounding in mercy toward sinners? Husbands and wives, therefore, when deeply distressed by reason of the difficulties of their life, must find stamped in the heart and voice of their priest the likeness of the voice and the love of our Redeemer. So speak with full confidence, beloved sons, convinced that while the Holy Spirit of God is present to the magisterium proclaiming sound doctrine, He also illumines from within the hearts of the faithful and invites their assent. Teach married couples the necessary way of prayer and prepare them to approach more often with great faith the Sacraments of the Eucharist and of Penance. Let them never lose heart because of their weakness” (HV 28-29).
On April 18, 1978, a few months before his death, Paul VI made you the youngest bishop in the world. You were less than thirty-three years old. . . .
Yes, indeed, and John Paul II confirmed my appointment in August 1979. I felt a sorrowful joy, but I was at peace. Nevertheless, I did not forget Paul VI; indeed, I was a little sad that he was not able to see me become an archbishop.
When the government informed the Holy See that I was too young to hold an episcopal office, the Secretariat of State replied, essentially, to get around their argument: “Certainly, he is young, but he was formed by the revolution, and he will understand better the political directions of your government!”
As a priest in a parish, and then in charge of the seminary, I was almost unknown in the Archdiocese of Conakry. I made no noise, and I was not looking for anything in particular. For Sékou Touré, I was an enigma. . . .
In 1969, Paul VI was the first pope to take a major trip to Africa.
For us it was unforgettable. In Uganda, he made this defining statement: “The new homeland of Christ is Africa.” Then he added: “You Africans are now your own missionaries!”
Paul VI considered us now the ones primarily responsible for the evangelization of our continent, and he encouraged us to take bolder initiatives. I think that he consecrated our vocation. Certainly, Africa was evangelized late. But if we read carefully the documents on revelation, we observe that the continent was always associated with the salvation of the world. How can anyone forget that Africa welcomed and saved the Infant Jesus from the hands of Herod, who wanted to kill him? How can we forget that the man who helped Christ to carry his Cross to Golgotha was an African, Simon of Cyrene?
“Nova Patria Christi Africa. . . .” By this historic statement, Paul VI intended to indicate in a striking manner how inseparable Africa was from salvation history. Later on, in his 1995 post-synodal apostolic exhortation Ecclesia in Africa, John Paul II made a statement that commits us to remain crucified with Christ for the salvation of the world:“ ‘I have written your names on the palms of my hands’ (Is 49:16). Yes, on the palms of Christ, pierced by the nails of the Crucifixion. The names of each one of you [Africans] is written on those palms” (EA 143).
These two popes called Africa to be a contribution to the spiritual life of the whole world. God does not abandon Africans, just as he does not abandon mankind. I think that Africa can, in the time of crisis through which we are going, modestly offer the religious sense that dwells in it. Africa can remind the Church of what the Lord expects of us; God always counts on the poor to stand up to the powerful. The African people, who preserve their innocence, can help societies in crisis to be humbler, more reasonable, more respectful of human life and of the meaning of nature. For God wants us to rediscover wisdom and humility. Africa knows that God always forgives, man sometimes forgives, but nature never forgives.
For the former president of the Pontifical Council Cor unum, is Paul VI therefore the pope of the encyclical Populorum progressio?
Paul VI hoped that the world could become better. In that year, 1967, he wrote: “Some would regard these hopes as vain flights of fancy. It may be that these people are not realistic enough and that they have not noticed the world is moving rapidly in a certain direction. Men are growing more anxious to establish closer ties of brotherhood; despite their ignorance, their mistakes, their offenses, and even their lapses into barbarism and their wanderings from the path of salvation, they are slowly making their way to the Creator, even without adverting to it” (PP 79).
Pope Montini believed in the importance of the development of peoples in order for them to end their destitution.
In a rich country, this sort of reflection may seem superfluous. As an African, I can assure you that I see the problem quite differently. . . .
In the sorrow of Paul VI there was also great disappointment with the indifference of the Western countries. The beatification of this pope seems to me a resounding response to the suffering that he endured on this earth.
Paul VI was a prophet.
What precise memories do you have of John Paul I?
On the day of his death, I was sad and was unable to understand. Why had God chosen this man whom he then called to himself so swiftly? Indeed, I had the greatest difficulty in formulating any sort of answer to this question. But I allowed myself to be enveloped in the mysterious wisdom of the Eternal.
How can God make such a short Petrine ministry fruitful in the Church’s growth and influence? The true value of a life does not depend solely on its length. Similarly, a very short pontificate can be a defining moment in the life of the Church. God gave those few weeks in the summer of 1978 a marvelous brilliance because John Paul I had the smile, the simplicity, and the radiance of children. His gentleness was so profound that it became a dazzling purity. Given the impurity of some, even in the Church, I think that he did not die in vain.
How are we to understand the election of John Paul II?
This pope shows the glory of suffering. His pontificate was prodigious and at the same time crucified. John Paul II experienced great triumphs for the Church on the international, political, and media scene. On the pastoral level, his contribution was essential, particularly his dialogue with youth, whom he set back on the path of Jesus. And yet, he remained a pontiff closely associated with the Passion and suffering of Christ. For, in union with the Son of God, the successes always brought trials with them. This pope lived fully the glorious mystery of Christ, the mystery of the Cross, in which victory triumphs in suffering.
John Paul II combated the forces of evil with unequaled fervor. Since he defended human life, the hidden powers could only unleash torrents of hatred against him. The assassination attempt on May 13, 1981, so soon after his election, and the serious consequences of his injuries were the response of the forces of evil to the extraordinary election of that man.
But God had a plan that the enemies of the Church could not thwart. John Paul II thought that the Blessed Virgin had deflected the bullet that was supposed to kill him. With the rare strength that was characteristic of him, he was a warrior chosen by heaven to defend life, the dignity of every human person, and the family.
During an Angelus message on May 29, 1994, when John Paul II was very weak because of a troublesome hospitalization at the Gemelli Hospital, he said these extraordinary words: “Precisely because the family is threatened, because the family is attacked, the pope must suffer, so that all families and the whole world might see that there is a Gospel of suffering, through which we must prepare the future, the third millennium of families, of every family and of all families.”
John Paul II had an acute awareness of the ministry of Christ that he had to bear. God conformed this pope to the suffering of his Son. The lance that pierced Christ and the nails of his crucifixion went to the heart of John Paul II. The Polish pope showed that there is no pastoral success without sharing in Christ’s suffering.
What do you find most touching about this pope?
I admire his extreme courage in facing all the storms he weathered throughout his life. His last struggle with the illness that was consuming him was heroic. In refusing to hide himself or to deny the progressive destruction of his body, John Paul II intended to help all sick people, who could look to him as an example. For the pope, people who suffer are worthy of being honored.
I think that his last moments on earth were a sort of unwritten encyclical. The pope was carrying the Gospel in his broken body, which was more luminous than ever. While his sickness was leading him to the gates of eternity, he had to make his last Way of the Cross, on that Good Friday in 2005, in his private chapel. We could see him only from the back. Deprived of all physical strength, he was literally fastened to the Cross, as though to invite us to focus, no longer on him, but on the “sign” that reveals God and his love. That Good Friday summed up the whole life of John Paul II, who wanted to be totally configured to Christ and to live in profound communion with his sufferings, to be conformed to him in his death, so as to arrive one day, if possible, at the resurrection from the dead with him. He actualized what Saint Paul wrote to the Corinthians: “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit” (2 Cor 3:18). On Sunday, March 27, 2005, he had already entered into the silence of the “passage” that prepares for the rising of new life. That day he wanted to speak a few final words to us from his window, but not a word came out of his mouth. He had entered into the silence of God. At that painful moment, we got the impression that we could hear John Paul II murmuring: “I am happy to be nailed to the Cross with Christ, my side against his side, my hands against his hands, my feet against his feet, the same nails pass through him and through me, our blood mixed into one blood.” And despite so many sufferings, a long and painful agony, the mystery of the apostolic tenacity of John Paul II and of his serene death reminds us of this remark by Saint Bernard: “The faithful soldier does not feel his wounds when he lovingly contemplates the wounds of his King.”
The words that he could no longer manage to express during those final hours of his life, at the time of the Angelus on Easter Sunday, should not sadden us. God willed that his own Word should now be read in the tormented body of the pope.
Sometimes we are such a bookish, academic Church that it is not easy for us to understand the truth of this testimony of bodily suffering. The Cross of Christ is not a theory but a dreadful ordeal and a sign of love. The message is given not only thanks to the Word of God, but also through the Incarnation. The body of John Paul II bore Christ’s message for mankind.
The pope who had written so much about the human body was now fastened to the tormented body of Christ.
What do you remember about your first audience with John Paul II?
My appointment took place in August 1979. In the following weeks, I came to Rome to greet John Paul II and to express to him my gratitude for his confidence. Together with the bishop of the third diocese of Guinea, I asked for an audience. Inasmuch as Sékou Touré did not look favorably on my appointment, this meeting with the pope was very important. Upon our arrival at the Vatican, in September 1979, the officials at the Secretariat of State told us that the pope could not receive us in a private audience because of an overcrowded agenda. . . . For us, considering the Guinean government, that was unthinkable. We absolutely had to return to Guinea with a photo of our conversation with the pontiff! Without a meeting with John Paul II, Sékou Touré would have scorned our episcopal authority since the pope himself did not take the trouble to meet with us. . . . I begged the pope’s staff, but there seemed to be no possibility. By chance, the nuncio stationed in Dakar, Bishop Giovanni Mariani, was in Rome. I was able to talk with him to explain my problem. As someone well acquainted with the authoritarian regime of Sékou Touré, he quickly understood the full extent of the misunderstanding. The situation was serious because Sékou Touré was perfectly capable of throwing us into prison if the pope did not give us some recognition.
The nuncio then advised me to write immediately to the pope, explaining to him the details of my dangerous situation. He personally guaranteed that my letter would be delivered into the hands of the Holy Father. One day later, when I was with the Marianist Sisters in Monteverde Nuovo, the pope’s secretary telephoned me to inform me that John Paul II expected us, Bishop Philippe Kourouma and myself, to celebrate Mass with him the following day. You can imagine my astonishment and my excitement. . . . At seven o’clock in the morning, we found him in his private chapel. I was seized with unimaginable emotion. I prayed a great deal for the men and women who had made me the Christian, the priest, and the bishop who found himself, contrary to all expectations, in the pope’s chapel, in particular for my family in Ourous, the Holy Ghost Fathers, and Archbishop Tchidimbo, who had been ruined by nine years in prison.
Then, after the service, the pope asked us to have breakfast with him. As we were about to leave, he decided that we could take all the necessary photos. On that September morning I spent more than an hour with John Paul II. During the meal he asked me my age. I told him that I was thirty-four years old. He then let out a great burst of laughter and exclaimed: “But then you are a baby bishop! Un vescovo Bambino!” There was no arguing with that; I was at that time the youngest bishop in the world. . . .
In your opinion, what would be the best way of summarizing the long pontificate of John Paul II?
All those very productive years can be traced back to the three pillars of his interior life, which were the Cross, the Eucharist, and the Blessed Virgin, Crux, Hostia, et Virgo. His extraordinary faith sought the foundations for its strength only in the most ordinary tools of the Christian life.
Before he was elected pope, whenever he came to Rome, Karol Wojtyła used to stay with his great friend Cardinal Deskur. At night, the latter often found his friend lying on the cold marble floor of his private chapel. He remained in adoration until dawn, without sleeping. Worried about his friend, Andrzej Deskur had the marble removed so as to install a wooden floor that would be less uncomfortable. . . .
In his everyday routine, the simplicity of this pope was disarming. Let us not suppose that the virtues of godly men are unattainable. John Paul II lived in intimacy with God without leaving the men with whom he dealt. The relation of trust that he had with Cardinal Ratzinger was immense, while at the same time these two giants remained disarmingly humble.
Without really being aware of it, we walked with a saint who is now a protector of the Church in heaven.
How would you describe the relationship between John Paul II and Joseph Ratzinger, his prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith?
I think that there was such harmony between the two men that it had become impossible for them to be separated from each other.
John Paul II was always amazed by the intellectual depth and obvious theological genius of Joseph Ratzinger. For his part, the cardinal was fascinated by John Paul’s immersion in God.
These two successors of Peter had the same vision of the challenges facing the Church: the need for a new evangelization, the dialogue between faith and reason, the battle against the “culture of death”, to use the expression of John Paul II, and resistance against various forms of ideological oppression, from Communism to liberal relativism. Above all, they wanted to lead each of us to develop a true interior life.
The cultures of the Polish philosopher and the German theologian, the athletic ascetic and the “Benedictine” professor, were different. Yet the popes met in the depths of their spiritualities. Indeed, they had one and the same mystique: God himself no doubt wanted his two sons to be similar.
The great bond uniting Paul VI, John Paul I, John Paul II, and Benedict XVI is still suffering. John XXIII also suffered a great deal. He used to say, with arms outstretched, “I suffer painfully, but with love.” When his friends questioned him, at the time of the opening of the Council, he replied, “My portion will be suffering.”
There is no Petrine ministry without a share in the Cross of Christ.
How do you interpret all the difficulties that Benedict XVI had to face?
During the long years when he remained at the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Joseph Ratzinger always intended to defend the truth revealed by God, as it was preserved and transmitted by tradition and the Magisterium. Hence, some in the media sought relentlessly to categorize him as an inflexible, old-fashioned, intolerant conservative.
I remember that on the very day of his election, some voices spoke up expressing their disapproval of the election of Cardinal Ratzinger. They forgot how swiftly the college of cardinal electors had lined up in support of John Paul II’s right-hand man. . . The election of a pope is always an act of faith.
Often, in thinking about Benedict XVI, I hear these words from Saint Paul to Timothy: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim 4:7). I think that this successor of Peter had reached the end of many battles, of all that he could give to the Church and to the faithful in the spiritual, human, theological, or intellectual order. Basically, this pontificate was like a magnificent book open toward heaven, a marvelous intellect turned toward God alone. Joseph Ratzinger has always had the humility of the sons of Saint Benedict, which is summed up in their motto, Ora et labora. Quarere deum, to search for God, is the true synthesis of the pontificate of Benedict XVI.
Maybe some people—inside and outside the Church—never accepted the fundamental insights of Benedict XVI, the battle against the spirit of relativism, the denunciation of the possible dictatorial currents of secularism, the fight against anthropological reversals, a deeper appreciation of the liturgy. Benedict XVI suffered when the wolves were unleashed, in Regensburg, during the Williamson affair, all through the so-called “Vatileaks” crisis. Nevertheless, as early as 2005, he was lucidly aware of the situation. During the Mass of his inauguration, did he not ask: “Pray for me, that I may not flee for fear of the wolves”? In particular, he was wounded when his thought was twisted and distorted by the newspapers, to the point where it became the exact opposite of his own argument. Maybe that gentle, humble man never wanted to defend himself. But did Christ defend himself even once against his detractors and against the wolves that surrounded him in the Garden of Olives?
How could anyone imagine that the text that he read aloud during the Way of the Cross in the Coliseum, in March 2005, would leave people indifferent? Benedict XVI never feared the truth. And in return, there was no end to the violence of the worldly attacks.
If we are seeking the truth, Benedict XVI is an exceptional guide. If we prefer lies, silence, and omissions, Benedict XVI becomes an unacceptable problem. . . .
In your opinion, who is Benedict XVI the man?
Joseph Ratzinger did not change after his election. He remained a very sensitive, modest, and reserved man. If he got the impression that he had offended his interlocutor, Benedict XVI always sought to explain to him the reasons for his position. This pope was incapable of an authoritarian or peremptory act. He was the embodiment of gentleness, meekness, humility, and God-fearing kindness.
The authority of a pope is spiritual, theological, pastoral, but also political. The Vatican is a State, which maintains diplomatic relations with many countries throughout the world, and the pope must necessarily show great administrative rigor and true firmness in managing personnel.
Nevertheless, I do not think that his respect for others and his spiritual wealth prevented this pope from living up to the political demands of his office.
Indeed, his vision of God and man is so profound that I am certain—and I hope—that one day, by the grace of God, he will be canonized, venerated as a great saint, and proclaimed a Doctor of the Church.
Was Benedict XVI right to resign from the See of Peter?
When I heard about the decision of Benedict XVI, I was in Congo-Kinshasa, where I was preaching a retreat for bishops. For me, the pope’s decision was very distressing, a terrible earthquake. I cannot hide the extent of the disappointment that I felt. After a few days, I accepted his resignation with confidence and serenity, because I knew, in the light of faith, that the pope had reached that decision on his knees before the Cross. Benedict XVI resigned from his office with the conviction that this was in keeping with God’s will. All his life he had sought God; once again God showed him the way.
The Pope Emeritus took up residence in a house that John Paul II had allotted to contemplative nuns who prayed for the Holy Father. Today Benedict XVI is the one praying for the Church.
Do you think that there is a big difference between Benedict XVI and Francis?
Proud intellectuals are fond of rewriting the 2005 conclave, depicting Cardinal Bergoglio as the challenger of Joseph Ratzinger. Certainly, some cardinals had had high hopes of seeing the archbishop of Buenos Aires succeed the Polish pope. But Cardinal Bergoglio absolutely did not want to get into a confrontation with the former right-hand man of John Paul II. He had genuine admiration for Ratzinger’s intellect and honesty. No doubt there are major stylistic differences between these two men: on the one hand, a reserved man with the sensibility of a Benedictine monk and, on the other, a seasoned pastor, a Jesuit, but it is possible for their fundamental visions of the Church to converge.
Today Pope Francis is aware of the complexity of his task and unceasingly begs for our prayers.
What do you think about the name Francis that he took as pope?
Pope Francis thinks that the founder of the Franciscans can help us to begin a profound reform of our spiritual life. Saint Francis loved Jesus so much that he had the privilege of being absolutely identified with him, to the point of bearing the stigmata of his Passion. In drawing our attention to Saint Francis, the pope invites us to imitate the Poverello of Assisi so that we, too, might bear, always and everywhere, the sufferings of Jesus’ death (2 Cor 4:10; Gal 6:17). So it is that Saint Paul, seeking to be identified with Christ, could say: “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the Church” (Col 1:24). For the Holy Father, Christians can never hope for anything but the demanding, arid way of Jesus, which is lined with pitfalls.
Saint Francis, too, experienced an era of moral, spiritual, and political crisis. The Church seemed to be crumbling. Jesus asked Francis to repair his Church; this was not about the little church in San Damiano, but about the whole Church of Christ, which was in ruins, symbolized and represented by the Basilica of Saint John Lateran, which Pope Innocent III saw in a dream, ready to collapse, while a little monk supported it with his shoulders to prevent it from falling.
Today how can anyone deny the fact that some men of the Church are in a state of moral ruin? The careerism and the temptation to worldliness that the successor of which Peter speaks so often are very real evils. Some people imagine they are products of the pope’s imagination. Alas, clerical narcissism is not just a literary theme. The sickness can be deep-seated.
In order to turn the tide, we must first reform our interior life. The Church depends on the purity of our souls.
Finally, Saint Francis was a great evangelizer. He went as far as Morocco and Egypt to try to convert the Muslims. Missionary work was written in golden letters in the depth of his memory. He wanted the Gospel to be his only light. The Word of God is at the heart of his Rule.
Francis follows in the footsteps of that great pioneer. I find again in him the true missionary impulse of Saint Ignatius of Loyola. The founder of the Society of Jesus never balked at discerning between good and evil, nor does Pope Francis hesitate to do so.