July 20, 1979
Page 19891
PILGRIMAGE TO POLAND
Mr. MUSKIE. Mr. President, John Cardinal Krol, Archbishop of Philadelphia, visited Poland during the historic homecoming of Pope John Paul II last June. Cardinal Krol had been asked last year by John Paul, the Karol Cardinal Wojtyla, Archbishop of Cracow, to celebrate a mass marking the 900th anniversary of the martyrdom of St. Stanislaus. Cardinal Wojtyla's subsequent election as Pope transformed the occasion into the joyous pilgrimage by John Paul to his native land.
Cardinal Krol set down his impressions of the visit in an insightful and thoughtful article which I would like to share with my colleagues.
Much has been said and written about the enormous political significance of the pilgrimage. Cardinal Krol examines the visit from a religious perspective. And he offers some warm and engaging insights into the personality and character of that most unusual man who has been chosen to occupy the throne of St. Peter.
Cardinal Krol's vivid descriptions of the palpable sense of unity between the Pope and the Polish people I found particularly moving and particularly effective as measures of the greatness of Pope John Paul.
To share the article with my colleagues, I request that it be printed in the RECORD.
The experiences of Cardinal Krol follow :
PILGRIMAGE TO POLAND
(By John Cardinal Krol)
CRACOW, POLAND.— Poland became the pulpit for a moving message to the world.
In the midst of the most impressive manifestation of faith and devotion I have ever seen or hope to see, Pope John Paul II issued a call to the people of the world to recognize their dignity and their destiny as children of God and as heirs of heaven.
Before more than one million persons at Oswiecim, better known from its German name as the site of the infamous Nazi death camp at Auschwitz, the Holy Father offered a ringing restatement of the right to life: the right to human life and the right to national life. He called Auschwitz an example of "how far hatred can go, how far man's destruction of man can go, how far cruelty can go." He also said: "Never can one nation enrich itself at the expense of another, at the cost of the enslavement of another, at the cost of conquest, outrage, exploitation and death."
Before more than one and a half million persons gathered on a gently rolling green field outside Nowy Targ, the gateway to the Tatra Mountains, the Holy Father emphasized the right to land. Although many today may leave agricultural work, the Pope said, "still the right to the land does not cease to form the foundation of a sound economy and social order."
Before more than two and a half million persons assembled in the public park of Cracow,, the Holy Father restated the right to liberty — especially religious freedom, as exemplified by St. Stanislaus who died because of his faithfulness to the integrity of the Gospel message and to the principles of Christian mortality.
Life, land and liberty — these basic human rights were restated in a compelling manner and with tremendous insight by one who was truly honoring St. Stanislaus by imitating him — by being clear and courageous in his proclamation of the Gospel.
It was a joy to hear the words of the Holy Father and to see how they were received by people who obviously love him and are proud of him.
When his words would suggest a popular hymn, the congregation would interrupt the Pope and begin to sing, while the Holy Father himself either smiled and waited or joined in the singing. It was as if the responsorial psalm of the Mass had been extended to the homily, with the response of the congregation reflecting their understanding of and their commitment to the truth that he was preaching.
On one occasion, at Nowy Targ, a group of young people began to sing the hymn, "Our God Reigns." The Holy Father spoke over their singing to say, "The last time I heard that hymn, I sang it with you!" And then he wept. As the voices of the young people swelled with the hymn, the Holy Father covered his face and wept and struggled to compose himself after feeling the painful tug of memories of those he had known and loved and had to leave.
I was also deeply moved by the experience. The Holy Father had kindly walked across the field to ask me to join him in the sanctuary area — and so I felt close to him in many ways when the incident occurred. Also,the hymn restates my own motto as a bishop, "Deus, Rex meus," "God is my King,"and, since my name means "king" in Polish, a form of the word "krol" was part of the hymn's refrain.
In all situations, however, the Holy Father's love and affection for the people and their devotion to him were very evident. He would frequently insert extemporaneous remarks into his prepared text; he would often gently joke with the congregation at the beginning or end of his homily.
While his added remarks might add several minutes to the ceremony, the congregation not only did not mind the added moments; they looked forward to them and seemed genuinely disappointed when the Holy Father stopped speaking to them.
The Holy Father himself told me that he found this pastoral journey easy, because of his greater facility with his native language. He also said that he had come with 35 prepared texts for special occasions, but that other formal occasions kept getting added to his schedule. Thus, within eight days, the Holy Father gave between 45 and 50 formal talks and frequent informal talks on such occasions as the appearances at the window of his residence in Cracow. Probably no other man would say that he found such a schedule easy — but that is what the Holy Father said, and he meant it.
It did seem as if everything went perfectly during the trip. The Holy Father always said the right thing in the right way; he always chose the message appropriate to the place and the occasion.
In a talk at Nowa Huta, an industrial suburb of Cracow, for example, the Holy Father reminded the congregation that, as a worker, he had helped to build Nowa Huta, but he told them that it was built on the foundation of Christ and His Cross. Such a message in such a place showed the Pope's identity with workers and reflected his firm belief in the dignity of work, but it also enabled him to show that work without God is slavery, while work with Christ is creative and redemptive. The dignity of work, the Holy Father emphasized, must reflect the dignity of man. He also reminded the congregation of the sacredness of Sunday as a day of rest and as a day to honor God.
Whether his homilies touched on profound social issues or on simple acts of piety, as in a moving talk in Czestochowa on the value of the Angelus, Pope John Paul spoke from the heart and to the heart.
Although his schedule was crowded, he never appeared rushed or rattled or disturbed. He appeared to be what I know him to be: a man in tranquil possession of his own soul.
Of all the event-filled days of a truly historic week in Poland, the Holy Father's final day in his beloved Cracow will be unforgettable. I don't know of any other religious event in the history of the world that brought two and a half million people together in one place as did the Holy Father's final Mass to mark the 900th anniversary of the martyrdom of his predecessor in Cracow, St. Stanislaus. Since Philadelphia had been host to the 41st International Eucharistic Congress in 1976, it was particularly consoling for me to hear those millions of voices join in the Eucharistic Congress hymn, "Gift of Finest Wheat."
Later, after lunch, the Holy Father graciously encouraged me to accompany him to the airport. As we rode in the automobile directly behind the special van carrying the Pope, the people lining the route were like the banks of a river — solid, unbroken lines stretching for miles.
Just as the officially atheistic government had constructed the altars for the major outdoor liturgies and had provided the sound equipment and communications facilities for one of the most effective efforts of preaching the gospel in the history of the Church, so they also provided a motorcycle and security escort — an appreciated but somewhat superfluous gesture, since the crowds perfectly combined enthusiasm with reverence and displayed remarkable discipline and order.
One thing the crowds could not control, however, was their tears. Many of those who waved banners and flags also wept — freely and openly. They did not want to see their Pope — their Holy Father — return to Rome; they did not want to see him leave them. The students at the state university even dared to decorate their dormitories with crosses and with banners which read, "We are with you," and "Jesus, the way, the truth and the life."
The events of Sunday, June 10, in Cracow — from the morning Mass, through lunch with the Holy Father, through the 50-minute ride to the airport through cheering and weeping crowds will remain, I am sure, the most memorable experience in my life.
Finally, after the farewells at the airport had been said, the Holy Father knelt for a final time to kiss the soil of his beloved Poland and turned to board his plane. Then, the people from the mountain regions began to sing the song of the highlanders — a song which the Pope had told me on the morning after his election that we should sing together once again. The words to the haunting melody say, "Highlander, why must you leave?"
The Holy Father knew the answer, of course, but it was a question he must have been asking himself.
The answer is that Pope John Paul II no longer belongs only to Poland, he belongs to the world.
And even during his visit to his native land, he used Poland as a pulpit to preach to the world about the dignity and destiny of man and about the goodness and glory of God. As the Pope has done and as we all must do throughout life, the Holy Father — like a grain of wheat — died a little as he left his native land so that in Christ's name he might bear more fruit — fruit which will remain.