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  “Ecce sacerdos magnus qui in diebus suis placuit Deo.... Ideo iureiurando fecit illum Dominus crescere in plebem suam” . . . thus we sing in the liturgy. This one high priest of the new and eternal covenant is Jesus Christ Himself. He consummated the sacrifice of His priesthood by dying on the cross, offering His life for His sheepfold—all of mankind. It was He who instituted the sacrament of priesthood during the Last Supper on the day before He shed His blood in the sacrifice offered on the Cross. It was He who took bread into His hands and said these words: “This is my body which will be given up for you.” It was He who later, taking into His hands the cup filled with wine, said these words: “This is my blood of the new and everlasting covenant which will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven.” And at the end He added: “Do this in memory of me.” He said this in the presence of the Apostles, in the presence of the Twelve, of whom Peter is the first. He said to them: “Do this in memory of me.” In this way He made them priests in His own likeness, the one high Priest of the New Covenant.

  As participants in the Last Supper, maybe the Apostles didn’t fully understand what these words meant— words that would be fulfilled the next day when the body of Christ was sentenced to be crucified, and his blood was shed on the Cross. Perhaps at the time they understood only that they were to reenact the rite of the Supper with bread and wine. The Acts of the Apostles recall that the first Christians, after these paschal events, devoted themselves “to the breaking of the bread and to prayer” (Acts 2:42). By then, the meaning of the rite was already clear to all.

  In the liturgy of the Church, Holy Thursday is the day we recall the Last Supper, the institution of the Eucharist. From the Upper Room in Jerusalem, the celebration of the Eucharist gradually spread to the whole known world. In the beginning, the Apostles presided at the Eucharist in Jerusalem. Later, as the Gospel spread, it was celebrated both by the Apostles and by those upon whom they had laid hands—in ever new places, beginning with Asia Minor. Finally, with Saint Peter and Saint Paul, the Eucharist reached Rome, the capital of the contemporary world. Centuries later it reached the Vistula River.

  I remember that during my retreat before my episcopal ordination I thanked God in a special way that the Gospel and the Eucharist had reached the Vistula River, and that they had also reached the abbey at Tyniec. This abbey, south of Kraków, whose beginnings date back to the eleventh century, was the proper place to prepare myself for my episcopal ordination in Wawel Cathedral. When I visited Kraków in 2002, before returning to Rome, I was able to visit Tyniec, even if only briefly. It was a special payment of a personal debt of gratitude. I owe so much to Tyniec. Perhaps not only I, but all of Poland.

  September 28, 1958, was slowly approaching. Before the ceremony, as a newly named bishop, I visited Lubaczów for the celebration of the silver jubilee of Archbishop Baziak’s episcopate. It was the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows, which in Lviv was celebrated on September twenty-second. I was there with two bishops from Przemyśl: Bishop Franciszek Barda and Bishop Wojciech Tomaka—both old men, and I, a youthful thirty-eight-year-old. I felt embarrassed. That is where I had my first “trial run” for the episcopate. A week later the consecration took place at Wawel Cathedral.

  Wawel

  From childhood I have had a very special bond with Wawel Cathedral. I don’t remember my first visit there, but from the time I began to visit the cathedral, I felt particularly spellbound and personally attached to it. In some way, Wawel encompasses the whole of Poland’s history. I lived through the tragic period when the Nazi governor Hans Frank took up quarters in Wawel Castle, and a flag with a swastika flew over it. For me this was a particularly painful experience. But there came a day when the flag with the swastika disappeared, and the Polish flag returned.

  The present cathedral dates back to the time of Casimir the Great. I remember and recall every corner of this shrine and all of its monuments. As you walk through the main nave and the side aisles, you see the sarcophagi of Polish kings. And when you descend to the crypt of the poets, you come upon the graves of Mickiewicz, Słowacki, and finally Norwid.

  As I mentioned in Gift and Mystery, I had wanted very much to offer my first Mass at Wawel, in the crypt of Saint Leonard underneath the cathedral. And so it was. No doubt this desire came from my deep love for everything redolent of the spirit of my homeland. This place in which every stone speaks of Poland, and of its greatness, is very dear to me. The whole of the Wawel complex is dear to me: the cathedral, the castle, and the courtyard. The last time I was in Kraków, I visited Wawel and prayed before the tomb of Saint Stanislaus. I could not omit a visit to the cathedral where I had spent twenty years.

  My favorite place in Wawel Cathedral is the crypt of Saint Leonard. It is part of the old cathedral, which goes back to the time of Boleslaus III, known as the Wrymouth. The crypt itself bears witness to an even earlier period. It dates from the time of the first bishops in the early eleventh century, when the Krakowian episcopal line began. These first bishops have mysterious names like Prokop and Prokulf, as if of Greek background. Gradually there appear new names, now more often of Slavic origin, like Stanislaus of Szczepanów, who became bishop of Kraków in 1072. In 1079 he was murdered by men dispatched by King Boleslaus II, the Bold. Later this king had to flee the country and supposedly lived out his life in penance in Osjak. When I became the metropolitan of Kraków, on my return from Rome, I offered Mass in Osjak. It was there that I drafted a poem about this event that took place so many centuries earlier, entitled “Stanislaus.”

  Saint Stanislaus, “Father of our homeland.” On the Sunday after May eighth, there is a great procession from Wawel to Skałka. All the way along, people sing hymns punctuated by the refrain: “Saint Stanislaus, our Patron, pray for us.” The procession descends from Wawel, goes along Stradom and Krakowska Streets to Skałka, where the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is celebrated, normally by a bishop invited for the occasion. After Mass the procession returns to the cathedral along the same route. The relics of the head of Saint Stanislaus, which were carried in a splendid reliquary during the procession, are placed on the altar. From the very beginning Poles were convinced of the saintliness of this bishop and made fervent efforts to have him canonized. The canonization took place at Assisi in the thirteenth century. Frescoes representing Saint Stanislaus have been preserved to this day in the Umbrian city.

  Next to the reliquary of Saint Stanislaus is one of the greatest treasures of Wawel Cathedral—the tomb of Queen Saint Hedwig. Her relics were placed under the famous Wawel Crucifix in 1987 on the occasion of my third pilgrimage to my homeland. It was at the feet of this Crucifix that the twelve-year-old Hedwig made the decision to marry the Lithuanian prince Władysław

  Jagiełło. This decision of 1386 brought Lithuania into the family of Christian nations.

  June 8, 1997, was a very emotional day for me. In the Błonia area of Kraków, during the canonization, I began my homily with the words: “You have waited a long time for this day, Hedwig—nearly six hundred years.” A great variety of circumstances were responsible for this long delay. It is difficult to speak of them now. I had long cherished the wish that the Lady of Wawel might one day glory in the title of saint in the canonical, official sense, and that day my wish was granted. I thanked God that after so many centuries it was my privilege to fulfill this aspiration, which beat in the hearts of so many generations of Poles.

  All these memories are somehow linked to the day of my consecration that, in a sense, was an historical event. The last episcopal ordination in Wawel Cathedral had taken place back in 1926. Then, Bishop Stanisław Rospond was consecrated. Now it was my turn.

  The Day of the Ordination: At the Heart of the Church

  September twenty-eighth came. It was the memorial of Saint Wenceslaus, the day designated for my episcopal ordination. I constantly think of that great ceremony (in those days the Liturgy was even richer than it is today) and I remember every single person who took part.

&
nbsp; There was a custom of offering symbolic gifts to the ordaining bishop, including a small barrel of wine and a loaf of bread. These were carried by my friends: Zbyszek Siłkowski, a schoolmate from high school, and Jurek Ciesielski, now Servant of God; next came Marian Wójtowicz and Zdzisław Heydel. Stanisław

  Rybicki was probably also there. The most active one was certainly Father Kazimierz Figlewicz. The day was cloudy, but later the sun came out. As if by some good omen—a ray of sunshine fell on the poor new bishop.

  After the reading of the Gospel the choir sang: “Veni Creator Spiritus, mentes tuorum visita: imple superna gratia, quae tu creasti pectora. . . .” I listened intently to the singing of this hymn and once again, as during my priestly ordination, and maybe with even greater clarity, I became conscious that it was the Holy Spirit who effected this consecration. This was a source of comfort and consolation in the face of all the human fears associated with this great new responsibility. The thought filled my soul with deep trust: the Holy Spirit will enlighten me, strengthen me, comfort me, and teach me. . . . Did not Jesus make this promise to His Apostles?

  In the Liturgy there follows a series of symbolic actions each with its own meaning. The ordaining bishop asks certain questions relating to faith and life. The last question is as follows: “Are you resolved to pray for the people of God without ceasing, and to carry out the duties of one who has the fullness of the priesthood so as to afford no grounds for reproach?” The candidate responds: “I am, with the help of God.” Then the ordaining bishop adds: “May God who has begun the good work in you bring it to fulfillment.” That thought of trust and peace returned: the Lord is beginning His work in you, fear not. Entrust your life to Him; He will act and fulfill His work (Ps. 37; 36:5).

  At every ordination (whether of a deacon, priest, or bishop) the candidate prostrates himself. This is a sign of his total surrender to Christ, to the one who, in order to fulfill His priestly mission, “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave . . . and being found in human form, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross” (Phil. 2:7–8). A similar action occurs every Good Friday when the main celebrant of the Liturgy prostrates himself in silence. The Mass is not celebrated on that day of the Sacred Triduum. The Church gathers to meditate upon the Passion of Christ, beginning with His agony in the Garden, where He too prostrated Himself in prayer. The celebrant is forcibly reminded of Christ’s words: “Remain here and keep watch with me” (Matt. 26:38).

  I remember that moment when I was lying prostrate, and the assembled congregation was singing the Litany of the Saints. The ordaining bishop urged the congregation: “My dear people, let us pray that Almighty God in his goodness will pour out the riches of his grace upon this servant of his, for the good of the Church.” Then began the singing of the litany:

  Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy . . .

  Holy Mary, Mother of God,

  Saint Michael

  Holy Angels of God . . . pray for us

  I have a special devotion to my Guardian Angel. Probably like all children, during my childhood I would often pray: “Angel of God, my guardian, be always with me . . . always stand ready to help me, guard my soul and my body. . . .” My Guardian Angel knows what I am doing. My faith in him, in his protective presence, continues to grow deeper and deeper. Saint Michael, Saint Gabriel, Saint Raphael—these are the archangels I frequently invoke during prayer. I also recall that most beautiful treatise of Saint Thomas about angels—pure spirits.

  Saint John the Baptist,

  Saint Joseph,

  Saints Peter and Paul,

  Saint Andrew,

  Saint Charles . . . pray for us!

  My ordination to the priesthood took place on the Feast of All Saints, which had always been an important feast for me. The goodness of God has allowed me to celebrate the anniversary of my priestly ordination on the day when the Church remembers all the saints in heaven. From on high they intercede for the Church that she may grow in communion through the action of the Holy Spirit, who inspires the practice of fraternal charity: “Exactly as Christian communion between men on their earthly pilgrimage brings us closer to Christ, so our community with the saints joins us to Christ, from whom as from its fountain and head issues all grace and the life of the People of God itself ” (Lumen Gentium, 50).

  After the litany the candidate rises and approaches the celebrant, who lays his hands on him. This gesture, according to a tradition that reaches back to the Apostles, signifies the handing on of the Holy Spirit. Then both co-consecrators also lay their hands on the head of the candidate. Next, the celebrant and the co-consecrators say the prayer of consecration. In this way the central moment of the rite of episcopal ordination is brought to completion. Here we should recall the words of the Dogmatic Constitution Lumen Gentium: “In order to fulfill such exalted functions, the apostles were endowed by Christ with a special outpouring of the Holy Spirit coming upon them (cf. Acts 1:8; 2:4; John 20:22–23), and, by the imposition of hands (cf. 1 Tim. 4:14; 2 Tim. 1:6–7), they passed on to their auxiliaries the gift of the Spirit, which is transmitted down to our day through episcopal consecration. . . . In fact, from tradition, which is expressed especially in the liturgical rites and in the customs of both the Eastern and Western Church, it is abundantly clear that by the imposition of hands and through the words of the consecration, the grace of the Holy Spirit is given, and a sacred character is impressed, in such wise that bishops, in a resplendent and visible manner, take the place of Christ himself, teacher, shepherd and priest, and act as his representatives” (n. 21).

  The Ordaining Bishops

  I must now speak of the principal celebrant—Archbishop Eugeniusz Baziak. I have already mentioned the complicated story of his life and episcopal ministry. His episcopal lineage is very important to me as it is through him that I am joined to the apostolic succession myself. He had been consecrated by Archbishop Bolesław Twardowski, who in turn was consecrated by Bishop Józef Bilczewski, whom I recently beatified in Lviv, in the Ukraine. Bilczewski was consecrated by Cardinal Jan Puzyna, archbishop of Kraków. Co-consecrators were Saint Józef Sebastian Pelczar, bishop of Przemyśl, and the Servant of God Andrzej Szeptycki, a Greek-Catholic archbishop. Does not all this impose some type of obligation? How could I not be mindful of this tradition of sanctity of these great pastors of the Church?

  My co-consecrators were Bishop Franciszek Jop of Opole and Bishop Bolesław Kominek of Wrocław. I remember them with great respect and gratitude. Bishop Jop was a providential figure in Kraków during the Stalinist times. Archbishop Baziak was cut off from the diocese at that time, and Bishop Jop was designated the vicar capitular in Kraków. Thanks to him the Church in that city survived this period of trial without any great harm. Bishop Bolesław Kominek was also associated with Kraków. During the Stalinist period, when he was already bishop of Wrocław, the communist authorities forbade him to enter his diocese. He took up residence in Kraków as a mitred prelate. Only later was it possible for him to take canonical possession of his diocese, and in 1973 he was named a cardinal. These were both great churchmen who, in difficult times, gave an example of personal greatness and bore faithful witness to Christ and to the Gospel. How could I fail to be moved by this heroic spiritual heritage?

  Gestures of the Ordination Liturgy

  I recall other important liturgical gestures from my episcopal ordination, including the placing of the Book of the Gospels on the shoulders of the candidate while a special consecration prayer is sung. This union of sign and word is particularly eloquent. The initial impression directs the candidate’s thought to the burden of a bishop’s responsibility for the Gospel, the weight of Christ’s invitation to carry it and proclaim it to the ends of the earth, and to bear witness to it through his own life. Looking more deeply into this eloquent sign, one realizes the truth that what is being accomplished is derived from the Gospel and is rooted there. The candidate who is being ordained can therefore draw strength and ins
piration from this knowledge. It is in the light of the Good News about the Resurrection of Christ that the words of this prayer become intelligible and effective: “Effunde super hunc Electum eam virtutem, quae a te est, Spiritum principalem, quem dedisti dilecto Filio tuo Iesu Christo, quem ipse donavit sanctis Apostolis. . . . So now pour out upon this chosen one that power which is from you, the governing Spirit whom you gave to your beloved Son, Jesus Christ, the Spirit given by him to the holy apostles. . . . ”3

  There now follows the anointing with sacred Chrism. This gesture is deeply rooted in sacraments already received, beginning with Baptism and Confirmation. At a priestly ordination, the hands are anointed;at an episcopal ordination the head is anointed. This is another gesture that speaks of the imparting of the Holy Spirit, who enters within, takes possession of the candidate, and makes him His instrument. This anointing of the head signifies the call to new responsibilities: the bishop will have the task of guiding the Church, which will place great demands on him. This anointing by the Holy Spirit has the same source as the others: Jesus Christ—the Messiah.

  The name Christ is a Greek translation of the Hebrew term “mašiah”—(messiah), which means “the anointed one.” In Israel those who were chosen by Him to fulfill a particular mission were anointed in the name of God. This could be a prophetic, priestly, or kingly mission. The term “messiah,” however, was applied above all to the one who would finally come to establish the Kingdom of God, in whom the promises of salvation were to be fulfilled. It was precisely he who was to be “anointed” with the Holy Spirit as prophet, priest, and king.