During the Vatican's celebration of Good Friday,  the Pope worshiped the cross, barefoot as a sign of worship, asking for  forgiveness and penance.
"Truly, This Man Was the Son of God"
VATICAN CITY, APRIL 22, 2011 (Zenit.org).-  Here is a translation of the Good Friday homily delivered today in St.  Peter's Basilica by Father Raniero Cantalamessa during the liturgical  celebration of the Lord's Passion, presided over by Benedict XVI.
* * *
In  his passion, writes St. Paul to Timothy, Jesus Christ "has given his  noble witness" (1 Timothy 6:13). We ask ourselves: witness to what? Not  to the truth of his life or the rightness of his cause. Many have died,  and still die today, for a wrong cause, while believing it to be right.  Now, the resurrection certainly does testify to the truth of Christ.  "God has given public proof about Jesus, by raising him from the dead",  as the Apostle was to say in the Areopagus at Athens (Acts 17:31).
Death  testifies not to the truth of Christ, but to his love. Of that love, in  fact, it is the supreme proof. "No-one can have greater love than to  lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13). One could object that  there is a greater love than giving your life for your friends, and that  is to give your life for your enemies. But that is precisely what Jesus  has done: "Christ died for the godless," writes the Apostle in the  Letter to the Romans. "You could hardly find anyone ready to die, even  for the upright; though it is just possible that, for a really good  person, someone might undertake to die. So, it is proof of God's own  love for us that Christ died for us while we were still sinners (Romans  5:6-8). "He loved us while we were enemies, so that he could turn us  into friends"[1], exclaims St. Augustine.
A certain one-sided  "theology of the cross" can make us forget the essential point. The  cross is not only God's judgment on the world and its wisdom; it is more  than the revelation and condemnation of sin. It is not God's "no" to  the world, it is the "yes" God speaks to the world from the depths of  his love: "That which is wrong," writes the Holy Father in his latest  book about Jesus, "the reality of evil, cannot simply be ignored; it  cannot just be left to stand. It must be dealt with; it must be  overcome. Only this counts as true mercy. And the fact that God now  confronts evil himself, because men are incapable of doing so -- therein  lies the 'unconditional' goodness of God."[2]
* * *
But  how can we have the courage to speak about God's love, with so many  human tragedies before our eyes, like the disaster that has struck  Japan, or the shipwrecks and drowning incidents of these last few weeks?  Should we not mention them at all? But to stay completely silent would  be to betray the faith and to be ignorant of the meaning of the mystery  we are celebrating today.
There is a truth that must be  proclaimed loud and clear on Good Friday. The One whom we contemplate on  the cross is God "in person." Yes, he is also the man Jesus of  Nazareth, but that man is one person with the Son of the Eternal Father.  As long as the fundamental dogma of the Christian faith is not  recognized and taken seriously -- the first dogma defined at Nicea, that  Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and is himself God, of one substance  with the Father -- human suffering will remain unanswered.
One  cannot say that "Job's question has remained unanswered," or that not  even the Christian faith has an answer to give to human pain, if one  starts by rejecting the answer it claims to have. What do you do to  reassure someone that a particular drink contains no poison? You drink  it yourself first, in front of him. This is what God has done for  humanity: he has drunk the bitter cup of the passion. So, human  suffering cannot be a poisoned chalice, it must be more than negativity,  loss, absurdity, if God himself has chosen to savor it. At the bottom  of the chalice, there must be a pearl.
We know the name of  that pearl: resurrection! "In my estimation, all that we suffer in the  present time is nothing in comparison with the glory which is destined  to be disclosed for us" (Romans 8:18), and again: "He will wipe away all  tears from their eyes; there will be no more death, and no more  mourning or sadness or pain. The world of the past has gone"  (Revelations 21:4).
If life's race ended here below, we would  have every reason to despair at the thought of the millions, if not  billions, of human beings who start off at a great disadvantage, nailed  to the starting line by poverty and underdevelopment, without even a  chance to run in the race. But that is not how it is. Death not only  cancels out differences, but overturns them. "The poor man died and was  carried away by the angels into Abraham's embrace. The rich man also  died and was buried … in Hades" (cf. Luke 16:22-23). We cannot apply  this scheme of things to the social sphere in a simplistic way, but it  is there to warn us that faith in the resurrection lets no-one go on  living their own quiet life. It reminds us that the saying "live and let  live" must never turn into "live and let die."
The response  of the cross is not for us Christians alone, but for everyone, because  the Son of God died for all. There is in the mystery of redemption an  objective and a subjective aspect. There is the fact in itself, and then  awareness of the fact and our faith-response to it. The first extends  beyond the second. "The Holy Spirit," says a text of Vatican II, "offers  to all the possibility of being made partners, in a way known to God,  in the paschal mystery."[3]
One of the ways of being  associated with the paschal mystery is precisely through suffering: "To  suffer," wrote John Paul II in the days following the attempt on his  life and the long convalescence that ensued, "means to become  particularly susceptible, particularly open to the working of the salvific powers of God, offered  to humanity in Christ."[4] Suffering -- all suffering, but especially  that of the innocent and of the martyrs -- brings us into contact with  the cross of Christ, in a mysterious way "known only to God."
* * *
After  Jesus, those who have "given their noble witness" and "have drunk from  the chalice" are the martyrs! The account of a martyr's death was  called "Passio," a passion, like that of the sufferings of Jesus to  which we have just listened. Once more the Christian world has been  visited by the ordeal of martyrdom, which was thought to have ended with  the fall of totalitarian atheistic regimes. We cannot pass over their  testimony in silence. The first Christians honored their martyrs. The  records of their martyrdom were circulated among the churches with  immense respect. In this very day, in a great Asian country, Christians  have been praying and marching in the streets to avert the threat  hanging over them.
One thing distinguishes genuine accounts of  martyrdom from legendary ones composed later, after the end of the  persecutions. In the former, there is almost no trace of polemics  against the persecutors; all attention is concentrated on the heroism of  the martyrs, not on the perversity of the judges and executioners. St.  Cyprian even ordered his followers to give twenty-five gold coins to the  executioner who beheaded him. These are the disciples of the one who  died saying: "Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are  doing." Truly, "Jesus' blood speaks a different language from the blood  of Abel (Hebrews 12:24): it does not cry out for vengeance and  punishment; it brings reconciliation."[5]
Even the world bows  before modern witnesses of faith. This explains the unexpected success  in France of the film "Of Gods and Men," which tells the story of the  seven Cistercian monks slain in Tibhirine on the night of the March  26-27, 1996. And who can fail to admire and be edified by the words of  Shahbaz Bhatti, a Catholic politician in Pakistan who was recently  killed for his faith? His testament is a legacy to us, his brothers and  sisters in the faith, and it would be an act of ingratitude to allow it  to be quickly forgotten.
He wrote: "I was offered high  government positions and asked to quit my struggle but I always refused  to give up, even at the cost of my life. I do not want popularity; I do  not want any position. I just want a place at Jesus' feet. I want my  life, my character, my actions to speak for me and indicate that I am  following Jesus Christ. Because of this desire, I will consider myself  most fortunate if -- in this effort and struggle to help the needy and  the poor, to help the persecuted and victimized Christians of Pakistan  -- Jesus Christ will accept the sacrifice of my life. I want to live for  Christ and I want to die for Him."
We seem to hear again the  martyr Ignatius Antioch, when he came to Rome to suffer martyrdom. The  powerlessness of the victims doesn't however justify the indifference of  the world toward their fate. "The upright person perishes," lamented  the prophet Isaiah, "and no one cares. The faithful is taken off and no  one takes it to heart" (Isaiah 57:1).
* * *
Christian  martyrs are not the only ones, as we have seen, to suffer and die  around us. What can we believers offer to those who have no faith, apart  from the certainty our own faith gives us that there is a ransom for  suffering? We can suffer with those who suffer, weep with those who weep  (Romans 12:15). 
Before proclaiming the resurrection and the  life, with the weeping sisters of Lazarus before Him, "Jesus wept" (John  11:35). At this time we can suffer and weep, most of all with the  Japanese people, now recovering from one of the most devastating natural  disasters in history. We can also tell those brothers and sisters in  humanity that we admire the example of dignity and composure that they  have given to the world.
Globalization has at least this  positive effect: the suffering of one people becomes the suffering of  all, arouses the solidarity of all. It gives us the chance to discover  that we are one single human family, joined together for good or ill. It  helps us overcome all barriers of race, color or creed. As one of our  poets put it: "Peace, you peoples! Too deep the mystery of the prostrate  earth."[6]
But we must take in the teaching contained in such  events. Earthquakes, hurricanes and other disasters that strike the  innocent and the guilty alike are never punishments from God. To say  otherwise would be to offend both God and humanity. But they do contain a  warning: in this case, against the danger of deluding ourselves that  science and technology will be enough to save us. Unless we practice  some restraint in this field, we see that they can become more  devastating than nature itself. 
There was an earthquake also  at the moment when Christ died: "The centurion, together with the  others guarding Jesus, had seen the earthquake and all that was taking  place, and they were terrified and said: ‘In truth, this man was son of  God'" (Matthew 27:54). But there was an even bigger one at the moment of  his resurrection: "And suddenly there was a violent earthquake, for an  angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled away the  stone, and sat on it" (Matthew 28:2). This is how it will always be.  Every earthquake that brings death will always be followed by an  earthquake of resurrection and life. Someone once said: "Only a god can  save us now" (Nur noch ein Gott kann uns rette").[7] We have the sure  and certain guarantee that he will do exactly that, because "God loved  the world so much that he gave His only-begotten Son" (John 3:16).
Let us, then, prepare to sing the ancient words of the liturgy with new conviction and heartfelt gratitude: "Ecce lignum crucis, in quo salus mundi pependit (See the wood of the cross, on which hung the savior of the world). Venite, adoremus (Come, let us worship)."
NOTES
 [1] St. Augustine, Commentary on the First Letter of John 9,9 (PL 35, 2051). 
[2] Cf. J. Ratzinger - Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth, Part II, Ignatius Press, San Francisco 2011, p.133.
 [3] Gaudium et spes, 22. 
[4] Salvifici doloris, 23. 
[5] J.Ratzinger - Benedict XVI, op. cit. p.187. 
[6] G. Pascoli, I due fanciulli (The two children).
 [7] Antwort. Martin Heidegger im Gespräch, Pfullingen 1988.
[Translation by Father Charles Serignat, OFMcap]
ZE11042201 - 2011-04-22
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