Luis Miguel Rocha
Papl decree
Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam
An agreement was possible.
1
Instruct those you trust to reveal the secret on the first night of each election. The reading of it must be the first official act of every heir of Peter. It is vitally important that they acknowledge the secret. Let them guard it in a hidden place and permit no one else to read it. Any violation of this ritual could signify the end of our beloved and esteemed Church.
Vatican April 19, 2005
The canonical election of Cardinal Joseph Alois Ratzinger would be remembered, for as long as memory exists, on this day of April, ending the papal vacancy since the fifth of that same month.
As soon as Sodano, the vice deacon of the College of Cardinals, asked him to accept the position that God had selected, at the end of the fourth ballot, he did not hesitate to say ‘I accept.’ The five seconds he took to reply ‘Pope Benedict’ to the question ‘What name do you wish to be called?’ also indicated forethought. Don’t forget that Ratzinger was the deacon of the college — that is, had he not been the chosen one, he would have asked the same questions to the elected candidate. It’s a curious fact that 90 percent of his predecessors preferred a name different from the one their mothers gave them.
The faithful congregated in Saint Peter’s Square, hoping that the smoke would be white, not the dark, ashen color it was. Few of those present remembered the first and second conclaves of 1978, in which the same problem arose. Nine million euros to organize a conclave, and they always forgot to clean the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. So, after ten minutes of waiting, with many leaving the square, the bells of the basilica roared with frenzied alarm, spreading smiles instead of fear, through the whole plaza and surroundings.
We have a pope.
Inside the holy chapel the Gamarelli brothers fitted the papal vestments to the body of the new pontiff. There was no surprise this time. The expected candidate had won. It was always easier when the previous pope had expressed his will. John XXIII did so when on his deathbed he named Cardinal Giovanni Montini as his successor. In the case of the Polish Wojtyla, the decision had been made earlier. One should never disobey the last wishes of a dying man, especially someone so close to the Creator. Leaving the decision in the hands of the Holy Spirit subjected the church to surprises like those of Pope Luciani and of Wojtyla himself.
Sodano could not have been happier. His beloved church would remain secure. Ratzinger was a known man in a known place. No one would do a better job.
The Chilean Jorge Medina Estevez was the first to appear at the balcony before the jubilant crowd. A new savior was about to be announced to the city and a world enraptured with the news: the name, the man.
The sixteenth pope with the name Benedict was introduced to history. No one would ever be able to erase him from its pages, even if he reigned only one day.
Ratzinger gave himself totally to this new persona he had created and fulfilled the role with distinction. He was no longer the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, no longer a cardinal, but an institution with its own coat of arms and personal security. He made a short speech, composed that afternoon, in which he sensitively recalled the Polish pope, who had been so well loved. He blessed the city and the world — Catholic, naturally — and retired to take possession of all his properties.
From that hour he was responsible for an immeasurable, valuable empire. It would take months to learn of all its possessions, at least those they revealed to him. Of the rest… not even the Supreme Pontiff himself could know everything he owned, nor would that be advisable.
When night fell and the world rejoiced at the image of Benedict on the Maderno balcony of Saint Peter’s Basilica greeting the crowd, a large committee led by the Shepherd of Shepherds himself began another, more private ritual. The chamberlain Somalo broke the seals on the papal apartments in the apostolic apartments and opened the two massive doors before stepping back reverently to let the chosen of God enter. The chosen one had to enter his future living quarters before anyone else, taking possession of what was his. As soon as Ratzinger stepped inside what would be his final residence, he was followed by a crowd of assistants, religious and lay, who were privileged to serve the new owner.
After such a tiring day, it was late for dining. He answered some phone messages of congratulation from the more important chiefs of state, as diplomacy required, the ones that merited a personal thank-you. For the rest, a written message to the dignitaries of the embassies was enough. No one wanted to forget to congratulate the new pope, but, if by chance someone did, there would be a price to pay. Humility and turning the other cheek were left to the religious orders who practiced such benevolence, or to Christ. In politics there is no room for mercy.
He entered his office after a light supper. Grilled meat with green beans, shredded carrots, and a drizzle of Riserva d’Oro olive oil over everything. The last time he’d been there, he had been a mere cardinal, rather more like a prince, but now he was an emperor. Now he felt completely different. He passed his hand over the portentous desk. There he would sign the future decrees of his church. He wanted her to be magnificent, matching the vestments he wore, set on steady pillars, shielded in his strong, knowing hands. The reins were his.
He sat down and savored the moment. He remembered Wojtyla and the decades in which he had observed him sitting down heavily in the same chair and deciding the destiny of the church. Sitting there, it was impossible to forget that he was chosen for the office for life. Sodano and Somalo were watching him. A new pope was taking possession of the church.
At that moment another person, wearing a black cassock, entered and knelt with difficulty to greet Benedict with a kiss on the hand that still wore no ring. Many had already kissed his hand that day, but none so earnestly. The priest was old and breathed heavily
‘I don’t remember seeing you before,’ Ratzinger said, smiling. Nothing upset him today.
‘Pardon my interruption, Holy Father. My name is Ambrosiano. I was the confessor of our beloved Pope John Paul after the death of Father Michalski,’ he explained, panting. ‘The canon law requires that Your Holiness confess tonight to begin your pontificate free of sin.’ He apologized, ‘Not that you have any, Holiness, please don’t misunderstand me. Later you can choose your own confessor.’
‘The Society of Jesus has rigid rules. Didn’t Cardinal Dezza also confess Pope Wojtyla?’ Ratzinger asked.
‘Only in the first few years, Holy Father. But Dezza confessed Pope Montini through his entire pontificate and Pope Luciani. Afterward, Pope Wojtyla named Dezza as superior general of the society until the new election, if you recall.’
‘Of course, of course. A great servant of the church,’ he said, remembering the past. ‘And now Father Ambrosiano wants to confess me.’
‘It’s the canon law, Holy Father,’ the priest repeated.
‘And we must always respect the canons. I shall make sure of that,’ Ratzinger affirmed, brandishing his finger, as if about to deliver a speech.
The priest pulled out a chain he wore around his neck with a key he used to open one of the drawers of the
