Pray for Me: The Life and Spiritual Vision of Pope Francis, First Pope from the Americas

PREFACE

When Pope Francis stepped out on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica for the first time on the cool evening of March 13, 2013, the people in the square below and those watching around the world asked themselves: Who is this man? What does he believe? What will he do as the leader of the Church?

This book hopes to provide starting points to answer some of those questions.

Written in the two weeks after the papal election, Pray for Me is partly my eyewitness account of those early days. During that time I was present in Rome for his initial meeting with journalists, his first Angelus, his first Wednesday audience, the March 19 Mass inaugurating his pontificate, the Palm Sunday Mass on March 24, the Easter Vigil Mass on March 30, and the Easter Sunday Mass on March 31, 2013. The first part of this book is a collection of dispatches from the front, if you will. Here is a bit of history in the making, captured as it was happening, in order to root the story of Pope Francis in facts, rather than speculation about what he might do in the future.

This is followed by two other parts that introduce readers to the man, his life, and his spirit, based primarily on his own words and the words of those close to him. First, a brief biography provides a context for understanding this man’s origins: from his childhood in Buenos Aires to his assuming the Chair of Peter at the age of seventy-six. This section also includes a look at the spiritual influences behind the actions taken by this dedicated priest. The last part is a collection of his words on various subjects, offering a glimpse of Pope Francis’s thoughts on fundamental philosophical and theological issues. This is a window into his understanding of the ultimate questions of importance to the human soul: What is faith? What is hope? What is joy?

I approached this material as a journalist, but also as a believer. While I have tried to present a clear journalistic approach to the material, my main goal was to offer readers a tool that can be used in many ways as a devotional. Written in the spirit of lectio divina, or reading (in this instance, writing) in a prayerful manner, you will certainly find ample information on the whos, whats, and wheres of Pope Francis’s life. But Pray for Me is really geared for those who would like to accompany Pope Francis on his journey of faith in the months and years ahead. You may certainly read this book cover to cover, but I encourage you to use it as a tool for contemplation, one in which you can turn to any page and open a space for prayer and meditation on Pope Francis’s life—and yours as well.

And that is the central point of this book: It offers readers an opportunity to journey alongside this new pope, not only by walking with him in the first days of his papacy, but also by allowing readers to experience the soul of this man, his strength, passion, and tenderness.

Case in point: The morning of March 31, 2013, on Easter Sunday, Pope Francis—pope for just two and a half weeks—was riding through the vast crowd in St. Peter’s Square when he came upon a young boy suffering from cerebral palsy. I was standing just a few feet away and watched as Pope Francis reached out of his jeep, embraced the child, and kissed him on the cheek. There, in the midst of thousands, he held the boy, whose parents and friends had raised up with extended arms. This was not a photo opportunity but an act of love that left many who witnessed it in tears. The inner man performing an outer act of love was a prayer in the greatest sense of the word.

So this book is intended to help those who are responding to the first request made by this pope to all of us, a simple request, from his heart: Pray for me. Pope Francis is aware of his own frailty, his own imperfection, his own humanity. He knows that he needs the prayers of others, as we all do. He knows that the prayers of others can support him spiritually to be and to do, as a successor of Peter, what he must be and must do. In calling for prayers for himself, Pope Francis asks us as a community to care for the poor, for those treated unjustly, for the imprisoned and the suffering, for those who have lost hope, and also for him, that he may carry out his task with courage and humility.

If this book, Pray for Me, will help to create such a community, it will have served its purpose.

Rome, April 2, 2013

INTRODUCTION

The Spirit of Pope Francis

The world was astonished at the simplicity of the man. When he appeared on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome at 8:24 P.M. on the evening of March 13, immediately after his election as the new pope, he was dressed all in white, only white, without the traditional red mozzetta, the elbow-length red cape, often trimmed in ermine, worn by the Roman pontiff over his white cassock. (We later learned that his assistant, the papal master of ceremonies, Monsignor Guido Marini, had placed the red cape on the new pope’s shoulders, but that he had shaken his head and said, No.)

He stood silently for a while, gazing out over the crowd of some two hundred thousand. He did not speak.

It was this silence that struck all of us, because all of us understood that no words, whether few or many, could fully express all that might need to be said, all the feelings, all the hopes, all the concerns, of that man, at that moment. There was a modesty in his silence, and a wisdom; a modesty in recognizing that whatever words he chose might not measure up to the significance of this moment, a wisdom to know that simply standing there, all in white, was already an expression of who he was, and what he intended to do.

His silence was eloquent, and his smile told us that he was with us, waiting with us, standing with us. His silence spoke to us.

In St. Peter’s Square, onlookers had been gathering for an hour, as the news that white smoke had spilled out of the chimney of the Sistine Chapel at 7:06 P.M. had spread through the city.

Many had not expected the election to come so soon. There had been black smoke the previous day, the first day of the conclave, at 7:42 P.M., signaling an initial failed vote. And in the morning, at 11:40, the second fumata nera (black smoke) arrived, signaling two more inconclusive votes. When no smoke had come by 6:00 P.M., we understood that there had been a fourth failed vote, and many felt that there would be black smoke again, and no pope until the next day, or the next.

So when the white smoke billowed out, there was much surprise. The conclave had ended rather quickly. The cardinals had decided. Had they elected Angelo Scola of Milan, another Italian after two foreign popes? Odilo Scherer of São Paulo, Brazil? Marc Ouellet of Canada? Gianfranco Ravasi, the biblical scholar who had been the head of the famous Ambrosian Library in Milan? Had they made a radical departure from tradition and chosen a man from the Far East, like Luis Tagle of Manila or Malcolm Ranjith of Colombo? Had they perhaps even taken the revolutionary step of choosing an American, and if so, who was it? The jovial, bighearted Cardinal Timothy Dolan of New York? The more reserved Capuchin friar from Boston, Sean O’Malley, who had won the hearts of the Italian people in previous days with his Franciscan simplicity, and who was known as a Latino because of his knowledge of Spanish and his work with Latin American immigrants to the United States?

Restaurants emptied, and the people of Rome hurried to the square to see who the new pope was.

It was dark now, and cool, and there was a slight drizzle. Many had umbrellas. Some stood silent, some chatted, some prayed. And around the world, people came to their television sets or to their computer screens to watch for the first glimpse of the man who would follow Pope Benedict XVI in the shoes of the fisherman—as the successor of St. Peter.

Then, shadows appeared behind the curtains. The curtains parted, and Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauran, a Frenchman who is the proto-deacon of the College of Cardinals, the first of the order of deacons among the cardinals (there are three orders of cardinals—deacons, priests, and bishops), stepped out on the balcony. It was Tauran’s task to announce the name of the new pope. Another priest stood next to him, holding a microphone that was linked to the large video screens set up around the square, so that all would be able to hear his words.

Tauran, a brilliant scholar as a young man, has had health problems in recent years, at times affecting his ability to speak clearly. But on this occasion, he summoned all his strength, and he spoke the following words, loud and clear:

Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum, he began. (I announce to you a great joy—these words echo those of the angels to the shepherds in Bethlehem at the birth of Jesus, given in the Gospel of Luke, 2:10: Behold, I announce to you tidings of great joy.)

Habemus Papam! (We have a pope!) The crowd cheered. And then Tauran gave the new pope’s name: "Eminentissimum ac reverendissimum dominum, dominum Giorgium Marium, Sanctæ Romanæ Ecclesiæ Cardinalem Bergoglio …" (The most eminent and most reverend lord, Lord Jorge Mario, of Holy Roman Church Cardinal Bergoglio).

Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio!

A Latin American pope! A pope from the New World, the first in history. And a Jesuit, the first Jesuit pope.

The Church had a Spanish-speaking pope, a pope who had become known for riding the bus rather than taking a chauffeured car. A pope of the people.

And then Tauran gave us the name Bergoglio had chosen to be called:

Qui sibi nomen imposuit … (Who upon himself has imposed the name …)

Franciscum.

Francis.

Francis? There had never before been a pope called Francis. Immediately, it seemed that he had been thinking of St. Francis of Assisi, the greatest of all the Western saints, the poverello (the little poor man) who had married Lady Poverty.

Pope Francis. Pope of the poor, of the little people, of the simple people. Of all of us. Several minutes later, Francis came out onto the balcony, dressed all in white, and stood silently.

PART ONE

A New Pope’s

First Days

CHAPTER 1

The Head and the Heart

Pray for me.

—Pope Francis, March 13, 2013, from the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica immediately after his election

The initial silence of the new pope struck all who saw him. And during those moments, as Pope Francis stood there smiling, seeming almost awkward, the world formed its first, and inevitably lasting, impression of the new bishop of Rome. It was a good impression. In his silence, Francis seemed to express a modesty, a humility, that the crowd below appreciated. Still, they desired to know him better, to understand who he was and what he intended to do.

But, for a moment, that desire was frustrated by the new pope’s evident desire to remain hidden for just a little while longer, though the cameras of the world were trained upon him. And in that tension between words and silence, between a desire to know and a wish to remain hidden, a bond was formed between Francis and the people of St. Peter’s Square.

How such things happen is not easy to explain. But before he said anything at all, the people had already begun to understand him, and to appreciate him. In his silence, in his modesty, in what appeared to be even a certain clumsiness, he was revealing, it seemed, his humanity, his sensitivity, and so spontaneous cries sprang up: Viva il Papa! Long live the pope!

A connection was formed. A type of communion. And we sensed that hidden from our sight were great depths of emotion, and great depths of thought, which were the source of a simplicity that drew us already into a relationship with him. Francis was not polished. He was not rehearsed. He was simply himself. A man dressed in white, standing in silence.

He had emerged as the leader of the Catholic Church at a very delicate moment. The previous pope, Benedict XVI, had stepped down from his post just two weeks before, flying in a helicopter from the Vatican to Castel Gandolfo, fifteen miles outside of Rome, in an unprecedented decision that had left many in the Church confused and uncertain.

One could not look at Francis standing there, smiling, seemingly at peace, without thinking: There is something in him, deep down, which motivates him, which energizes him, which informs his life. But we could not know at that moment what that something was. We were only to discover it slowly during the days that followed.

And so those first days of the new pope became in some ways like a detective story, where each action, each word of Francis, gave us a clue to who he is, and why. The mystery was: What is the source of this man’s humility and strength? And the answer was: his faith.

We would discover later that he was drawing not upon the advice of clerical advisers, or media spinmeisters, but upon deep wells of personal faith, wells whose sources were in the faith of his grandparents and parents and brothers and sisters, and his parish priest when he was a child, in the Marian piety of his youth, and in the books he had read, in the teachings of St. Augustine, St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Ignatius of Loyola, in the whole, rich culture of Argentine Catholicism in the 1930s and 1940s, leading to an unforgettable experience in 1953 of what he described as God’s mercy toward him. It was then that he decided to commit his life to the cause of God in this fallen world.

In a talk on the Virgin Mary given on December 8, 2012, Pope Emeritus Benedict wrote something about Mary that seemed to describe also this initial moment of the new pope’s silence: I consider it important to focus on the final sentence of Luke’s Annunciation narrative. ‘And the angel departed from her.’ The great hour of Mary’s encounter with God’s messenger—in which her whole life is changed—comes to an end, and she remains there alone, with a task that truly surpasses all human capacity. Benedict added: May Mary Immaculate teach us to listen in silence to the voice of God, and receive his Grace which frees from sin and every selfishness so that we can taste true joy.

These words could serve as a preface to those first moments of encounter with the new pope. Here we were, rather unknowingly beginning a journey of exploration into the heart, mind, and soul of the man who had just taken that unusual papal name Francis.

DURING THE hour before the new pope appeared before the world and the citizens of Rome, he made a telephone call to Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, to tell him he would visit him soon. Then, when all was ready, the cardinal proto-deacon Jean-Louis Tauran came to the balcony and at 8:12 P.M., one hour and six minutes after the white smoke, announced the name of the new pope.

The College of Cardinals had chosen Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, S.J., age seventy-six, archbishop of Buenos Aires, Argentina, to become the 266th pope of the Roman Catholic Church. Francis was only two years younger than Benedict XVI had been when he was elected, in 2005, but he was eighteen years older than Pope John Paul II, the predecessor of Benedict, who was fifty-eight when he was elected, in 1978.

The new pope’s choice of a name was the first clue we had to his character, even before the new pontiff spoke a word. By choosing Francis instead of other possible names (Pius XIII, John XXIV, Paul VII, John Paul III, Benedict XVII, or even Leo XIV), the new pope was signaling that he would chart his own course, break new ground—and that he would do so in great simplicity, and out of deep love for the poor of this world.

AT 8:22 P.M.—ten minutes after the announcement by Cardinal Tauran—Pope Francis, preceded by the cross, appeared on the loggia of the basilica, to greet the people and to impart his first apostolic blessing, Urbi et Orbi (to the city of Rome and to the world). Beside him on the balcony stood Cardinal Cláudio Hummes, O.F.M., of Brazil. This was unusual, against normal protocol. Normally only the pope’s vicar for Rome (Cardinal Vallini), and the Vatican secretary of state (Cardinal Bertone), along with the papal master of ceremonies (Monsignor Marini), would be expected to stand with the new pope on the balcony. Later we would learn that Pope Francis had insisted that Hummes stand with him at that moment. This, too, seemed a clue to the man and his program, for Hummes has criticized the spread of global capitalism, claiming it has contributed to misery and poverty affecting millions around the world. And Pope Francis would later reveal that he had been inspired to take his name from St. Francis of Assisi by Hummes, his good friend, who had whispered to him after his