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"Totus Tuus": "Totally Yours!" These are the words that
accompany John Paul II's coat of
arms, a golden Crucifix against a blue backdrop, next to which -in the lower
right hand
section- a golden M stands out, Mary's initial. The coat of arms first of
all is inspired by
Christianity's central mystery, that of the redemption fulfilled by the Son
of God on the
Cross, the revelation and gift of infinite love, thanks to which once and
forever Heaven
descended on earth and put down its roots here. The vertical part of the
Crucifix has
however been moved to provide room for the majestic capital M that reminds
us of the
Mother's presence below the Cross and her singular participation in the
Redeemer's work.
Hence, two decisive elements of the Polish Pope's spiritual identity and
mission are
expressed in this coat of arms; first of all, His passionate following of
Christ, the real centre and heart of everything he has been and achieved, a following that
has become
increasingly transparent until the current and mysterious participation in
the Master's
Mystery. Secondly, next to Christ's central position and primacy, there is
the intense love
for Mary, the Virgin Mother to whom he has totally offered himself: "Totus
Tuus." In no way does Mary take the place of her Son; she stands next to Him
until the terrible and supreme hour of the Crucifixion. She welcomes Him as
a gift and in turn gives Him away; when He dies she receives from Him her
mission as the Mother of the beloved disciple, and in Him also of each
disciple of the redeeming love. John Paul II therefore ardently loves Mary;
from Her and with Her he learns the intimacy and the amazement of a totally
singular relationship with God. In Her he sees himself as a son of the Son;
thanks to her example and her intercession he draws strength for his mission
as the servant of the servants of God until the very end, well beyond all
measure of tiredness. In its intensity and profoundness this relationship
with the Virgin Mother, although
studied less in-depth by the interpreters of this papacy compared to the
other decisive
relationship with Christ, is none the less the key for understanding this
Pope's work and
his message.
At the school of Mary, Wojtyla learns and bears witness to intimacy with
God; he learns
the constantly renewed capability to be amazed when facing the Mystery; he
learns his
mastery of the "maternal" language that is the language of the heart,
capable of being
heard beyond the sandbanks of self-imprisoned reason, evoking eternity in
time, the
invisible within the poor marks on the stage of this world that passes. It
is an ancient
language that young Karol learned from an adored presence, which too soon
became an
absence: "On your white grave" -he wrote in the springtime of his nineteen
years when
visiting his mother's tomb -"the white flowers of love are in bloom. / How
many years
have already vanished / without you -how many years? / On your white grave /
now
closed for years / something as inexplicable as death / appears to rise. /
On your white grave, / Mother, my lost love, / lost to my filial love / a
precious ..." Later he was to write intensely moving verses, lending his voice
to the Virgin Mary in that "maternal " language, which is the language of
intimacy with the invisible Loved One: "My difficult and grown-up son. My
simple son, / In me no doubt you become accustomed to the thoughts of men /
and in the shadow of these thoughts you wait for the profound moment of the
heart / which happens at a different time for each man / ... Enclosed within
this moment you do not change / and to this great simplicity you bring each
thing that is in me / so that, if mothers recognize the lightning of the
heart in the eyes of their children, / I should remain totally engrossed in
your Secret" ("The Mother," Poems by Karol Wojtyla). To Mary John Paul
II
entrusts both himself and each of us, that she may help us to learn the
maternal language of love, the language of unity with God that changes the
heart and also life.
At the school of the Mother, Wojtyla learns to experience his own mission,
understood as a gift received and passed on; the listening Virgin becomes
the Mother of love. United with her, he discovers he is loved by the Son who
came in time, that he is a brother for all His disciples, the shepherd of a
people born from the generation of the Word in our flesh. "I am John, the
fisherman. There is very little / in me for You to love" says the Poet Pope
speaking for all of us. And this voice is the memory of an encounter: "I
still feel the thin gravel under my feet, on the shores of the lake / and
all of a sudden Him." It is from that encounter that a life, a new
life, is forever born, a life he will yet again request for himself and for
each of us in Pompeii: "But He wished me to call you Mother.
/ And I pray that it is thus and that this word shall not lose its value ... /
it is really difficult to fathom the words / the meaning of which he has
instilled in both of us / because it is in them that all ancient love is
hidden" (ibid.).
Life invoked for all is a gift and a promise for everyone, as
the words Wojtyla wrote when he was thirty years old tell us, and that today
assume the fascination of a prophecy: "Your intense tranquility will stay
with me forever / the only outlet for my journey, and one day will be mine /
so much that I will experience this as a river transported by its
transparent bed / even should the body remain inert." Hence, as a theologian
and as Mary's bard, the Pope sends this message of hope to all of us, a
message stronger than any darkness and any interruption: hope in God, in His
justice, in His peace; the hope expressed in the "Magnificat," the ancient
and yet always new hymn to the Virgin, Mother of the Son, and our Mother,
Mary. |