Question 2.39

2.39 What are your most striking memories of those four years?

The trip to Japan was an extraordinary time. On March 11, 2011, a severe earthquake of magnitude 9, followed by a tsunami, struck the eastern part of Tohoku, around Sendai, causing the deaths of several thousand persons, very serious damage in the entire northeastern part of Honshu, and the nuclear accident in Fukushima.

I arrived in the country on May 13, 2011. Two months after the catastrophe, everything needed to be rebuilt. I was struck by the welcome that I received from the population, which was predominantly Buddhist, who were helpless but strong at the same time. During those days I understood that the people whom I was visiting expected from me not just material relief; despite the difference in our religious beliefs, they wanted me to give them the hope that comes from God. And so, after distributing the pope’s logistical and financial aid, the most important thing that I had to do was to pray at length in the midst of that whole populace which was so sorely tried. It became essential for me to turn to God for those orphaned children whose eyes were so sad, for those men and women who were trying to rebuild their houses, for those old people exhausted from fatigue. I was distressed when I left, because I knew that God alone could truly come to the aid of all the Japanese by entering into the depths of their hearts. Money is a necessity, but there is a tenderness that can come from God alone.

A letter from a young Buddhist woman, who wrote to me two months after my return from Japan, moved me profoundly. She told me: “After the terrible tsunami in which we lost many members of our family, and almost all our belongings, I wanted to commit suicide. But after hearing you on television, with the peace and serenity that I rediscovered while watching you pray for the survivors and for the dead, after the effect in me of your recollection and your silent prayer on the seacoast, and, finally, after the moving gesture that you made by throwing flowers into the ocean in memory of all who were engulfed by the waves, I gave up the idea of killing myself. Thanks to you, I understood, and now I know that, despite this disaster, someone loves us, lives beside me, and shares my sufferings, because we must certainly be of great price in his sight. This someone is God. I felt his Presence and his compassion through the Holy Father the Pope and through you. I am not Catholic, but I write you these lines to thank you and to thank the Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI for this immense comfort that you have given me. I know that other persons have received, as I did, this precious spiritual aid that we all need, especially at a time of great, terrible trials.”

I had never seen the person who wrote me that letter. She did not receive any concrete material relief from me. Nevertheless, this Buddhist woman helped me to understand better that charity has a value in itself, as a testimony to God, above and beyond its technological, economic, political, or sociological effectiveness. It is part of the Church’s mission, which consists of revealing God’s love and tenderness and helping people to rediscover the presence, the compassion, and the merciful love of our Father in the midst of our sufferings. That Japanese woman helped me profoundly to grasp my mission as president of the Pontifical Council Cor unum.

The real relief that we must bring to the poor and to afflicted people is not just material but spiritual. It is necessary to reveal to them the love, the compassion, and the closeness of God. God is with us in the trial. He walks with us along the road to Emmaus, the road of disappointment, suffering, and discouragement.

Some Catholic organizations are ashamed and refuse to manifest their faith. They no longer want to talk about God in their charitable activities; their excuse is that they do not want to proselytize. Nevertheless, Pope Francis writes even more strongly in Evangelii gaudium: “Since this Exhortation is addressed to members of the Catholic Church, I want to say, with regret, that the worst discrimination which the poor suffer is the lack of spiritual care. The great majority of the poor have a special openness to the faith; they need God, and we must not fail to offer them his friendship, his blessing, his word, the celebration of the sacraments, and a journey of growth and maturity in the faith. Our preferential option for the poor must mainly translate into a privileged and preferential religious care” (EG 200).

Several months ago, in Jordan, in the Syrian refugee camps, a little seven-yearold Muslim boy shouted at me: “Does Allah exist? Does Allah exist? Why did he allow my father to be killed?” Indeed, his father had had his throat cut by the Islamist rebels, in his presence, and he was profoundly shocked. We attempted to talk to him about the good Lord, God the Father and Creator of all wonderful things, who detests evil, to try to help the boy get over his traumatic experience. How could anyone ever forget such suffering, which is a direct result of the barbarity of men who have perverted religion? This child had all the necessary material aid, he lacked nothing, neither clothing nor food nor sanitary facilities nor housing. That was not enough to console him. Only the closeness of God and the experience that he loves us and suffers with us, in us, reveal the mystery of suffering and bring consolation, comfort, and interior peace.

In Haiti, in 2010, after the earthquakes, the population had to face very violent hurricanes. Over the course of my life, I have witnessed many situations of great poverty. In Africa, I remember so many tragedies that followed one after the other with terrible regularity. But I can say that I never saw such sufferings as in Haiti. I had the feeling that an entire population was overwhelmed by the natural catastrophes that pummeled it. The sadness seemed to pervade the soul of a whole nation. I worked a great deal to make our aid as effective as possible. I also discovered a people with immense faith and absolute confidence in God in the midst of its numerous sufferings.

If we know how to practice charity, we will know how to revere God and we will be able to journey toward eternity. Through charity, we allow God to accomplish his work in us. Through charity, we abandon ourselves entirely to God. And he is the one who acts in us, and we act in him and through him and with him.

There is never any more authentic relation with God than in an encounter with the poor. For this is the source of life in God: poverty.

Our Father is poor. This is perhaps an image of God that eludes us and repels us, because we have not really met “the Son of man [who] has nowhere to lay his head” (Mt 8:20).