“Eli, Eli lama sabachthani?” When Benedict XVI announced, in a few simple words, that he was resigning from the papacy, it sent shockwaves through the world and deeply affected Catholics. The most outlandish rumors circulated, and everyone wondered about the reasons for this decision, which, even if not unique, caused astonishment. Personally, two feelings consumed me: abandonment and sadness, its driving force, not to say desolation. The abandonment was like an echo that kept repeating and growing louder, like a persistent lament.
Let's recap. On April 19, 2005, I experienced boundless joy, that "heart overflowing with joy" described by mystics, at the announcement of the new pope. I wept tears of joy in front of my television. Of course, for several days, since the Mass in honor of Don Giussani, and especially since the funeral Mass for John Paul II, Cardinal Ratzinger had become a clear and obvious choice. With his characteristic finesse and intelligence, he emerged as an papabile . Those who had kept him in a bubble, confined to a small box, were in for a surprise. Cardinal Ratzinger doesn't quite fit the labels he's given, like that of "tank cardinal." He's more than just a censor. A simple and profound kindness and faith emanate from him. I wept in front of my television whenever Ratzinger's name was mentioned. He who delighted in living in the shadow of the giant that was John Paul II is the perfect successor to that giant. The joy of April 19, 2005, has now been followed by the sorrow of February 11, 2013, which is equal to it, if not greater. Eight years have passed, and the same man had turned my life upside down. In shock on February 11, faced with abandonment, with absence, and echoing this resignation, I couldn't find a way to escape my angry feelings. Why abandon us? The storm is still at our door. Not to mention the loss of the sacredness of the office, the loss of meaning. But the loss of meaning is inherent in abandonment.
The essence of this decision became clear to me; it didn't calm the anger, but it lessened the disappointment. It was about separating the man from the function, but I still only saw it through a mirror. This separation resembled a military formula that advocates separating rank and function. This separation is not easily achieved. It means that a corporal's function is to guard the armory. If an officer wants to enter this armory, he cannot do so of his own volition. He can only do so with authorization. And if he doesn't have this authorization, the corporal can refuse him entry, even though his rank is lower. Rank is one thing, function another. So, is the Pope a rank or a function? Isn't being Pope a vocation? Being a priest is; would being Pope be more of a function? Because if it is a vocation, it is impossible to renounce it. Vocations are not changeable; we are. Thus, respect for Benedict XVI's decision should not be obligatory. In the days following the declaration, I saw and heard that this pope possessed great courage and humility (something I had never doubted, being, as I said, a long-time and convinced follower of Ratzinger) and that his decision should not be judged or debated. I immediately thought of reflecting on this decision without giving it carte blanche. Obedience, of course—after all, what could I change about this decision?—but also, and above all, reflection to understand. Even if understanding would not take away the sadness, it would help to lighten it. Placed in this space-time of abandonment, I didn't know what to think.
So, is the Pope a rank or a function? How, from the moment of his election, can we avoid confusing John Paul II with his status or his work, as one might prefer, as Pope? How can we avoid confusing Ratzinger with Benedict XVI? This Jekyll and Hyde game still appeared to me as if in a mirror. I didn't know Wojtyla before John Paul II, and from the moment of his election, they became one and the same; but I knew Ratzinger before Benedict XVI, and yet they too became one and the same. Benedict XVI created the event and separated the rank from the function; the Pope became a function—and a function to which one can resign oneself.
“We pay dearly, very dearly, for the superhuman dignity of our vocation. The ridiculous is always so close to the sublime! And the world, usually so indulgent of the ridiculous, hates ours, so distinct.” Isn’t the Pope’s only choice made when he receives the cassock and at the end of the conclave? What is this new freedom? On what are these new rules enacted by Benedict XVI based? Must obedience be lukewarm water drunk without thinking? Rank or function or both? Of course, we have been told repeatedly that canon law allows this, but this freedom, this cherished freedom, doesn’t seem to me to offer any guarantee of not making a mistake. Isn’t Benedict XVI opening a Pandora’s box by opening this new field of reflection? Isn’t he presuming, once again one might be tempted to say, the capacity to understand people: believers and non-believers alike? Isn’t he doing something too clever? Finally, doesn't this diminish "the superhuman dignity of vocation"? What are you doing, Benoît? Why are you abandoning me?
The wound remains open. I hear people around me talking about him, I think of Benedict XVI, I see his face, and I feel like crying. And little by little, I realize I'm missing something. Emotion is one thing, but it can mask the truth. It can make us lose sight of what's essential. I feel I'm missing the point. The methodology that the Pope Emeritus put in place, day after day, since February 11, 2013—excuse me, since April 19, 2005—has never been found wanting. Benedict XVI conceived of his life, and therefore his vocation, as an example, and a Christian should always think this way. There is only one way to be exemplary, and here again, in his immense magnanimity, Benedict XVI told us this again and again: it is to be an intimate friend of Christ. When Benedict XVI tells us that he felt the presence of Christ every day of his pontificate, it means one thing and one thing only: every day he nurtured the flame, that small flame stirred by the slightest breeze, of intimacy. Benedict XVI's life is founded on intimacy, and his intimacy is as radiant and refined as his entire being. As soon as the word "intimacy" is uttered, we hear gentleness, sweetness, discretion, intensity, joy, unctuousness, and truth. Benedict XVI is an example because of the intimacy he maintains with Christ. This attitude is a part of him; he asks us to adopt it. He doesn't tell us it's easy. He doesn't tell us it will be given to us. Some have shown how John Paul II and Benedict XVI formed an effective and harmonious partnership. The reason lies in the fact that both respected this incredible human truth, also known to the Greeks through intuition, that humanity finds fulfillment in itself and in the world through agony. Agony is the driving force of humanity in the world. To go even further, I would say that Benedict XVI's greatest legacy lies here: he never ceased to show us the agony of the intellect. While John Paul II showed us physical agony, more visible, more directly perceptible, more eloquent, and so deeply linked to the Christian condition since its origin, Benedict XVI, as an aristocrat of the intellect, and therefore of dialogue, showed us the agony of the intellect, and therefore of truth. And therefore of Christianity!
A month after Benedict XVI's wake-up call, I understand that there are many ways to die. Just as there are many charisms; charism influencing the dying process. "I am the way, the truth, and the life… if there could be some contradictions between truth and life, for truth can kill us and life can keep us alive." this intimacy, Benedict XVI made this audacious decision, or rather, more precisely, from this profound intimacy with Christ, Benedict XVI made this decision to leave his position as Pope. From his ongoing dialogue with Christ, Benedict XVI deduced that his role had to change, but not his way of doing things. He always guides us by example. It was by understanding this that the sorrow of his departure began to dissipate. To rediscover or deepen intimacy in a world of exhibitionism. Who better than Christianity can thus place intimacy at the heart of the world? Christian intimacy is madness for this world, because through the Cross, Jesus made us intimate with his agony. This is unbearable for modern sensibilities, which do not hesitate to commit holocausts on the altar of Progress and Consumerism, the offspring of Reason, but without intimacy, in a perpetual global broadcast. We know, thanks to Pascal, that Christ is in agony until the end of the world. Benedict XVI took advantage of Lent and the Year of Faith to place our hope, but also our doubts, our thoughts, our entire being, on the path of an intimate relationship with Christ. So let us begin by saying, like the priest at every Mass: “Quid retribuam Domino pro omnibus, quae retribuit mihi?” 3. Thus we will begin to understand, intimately, that there is no path to God but the one taught by Benedict XVI in his final, masterful catechesis, by surrendering ourselves to Christ.
Leave a comment