surprised if his successors describe themselves as sinners. It is nothing new. The Pope is a man who needs the mercy of God. I said it sincerely to the prisoners of Palmasola, in Bolivia, to those men and women who welcomed me so warmly. I reminded them that even Saint Peter and Saint Paul had been prisoners. I have a special relationship with people in prisons, deprived of their freedom. I have always been very attached to them, precisely because of my awareness of being a sinner. Every time I go through the gates into a prison to celebrate Mass or for a visit, I always think: Why them and not me? I should be here. I deserve to be here. Their fall could have been mine. I do not feel superior to the people who stand before me. And so I repeat and pray: Why him and not me? It might seem shocking, but I derive consolationfrom Peter: he betrayed Jesus, and even so he was chosen.
W HY are we sinners?
Because of original sin. It’s something we know from experience. Our humanity is wounded; we know how to distinguish between good and evil, we know what is evil, we try to follow the path of goodness, but we often fall because of our weaknesses and choose evil. This is the consequence of original sin, which we are fully aware of thanks to the Book of Revelation. The story of Adam and Eve, the rebellion against God described in the Book of Genesis, uses a richly imaginative language to explain something that actually happened at the origins of mankind.
The Father sacrificed his Son and Jesus humbled himself, he allowed himself to be tortured, crucified, and annihilated to redeem us for our sins, to heal that wound. That is why the guilt of our forefathers is celebrated as a
felix culpa
in the hymn of Exultet, which is sung during the most important celebration of theyear, Easter Night: the fault was “happy” because it deserved such a redemption.
W HAT advice would you give a penitent so that he can give a good confession?
He ought to reflect on the truth of his life, of what he feels and what he thinks before God. He ought to be able to look earnestly at himself and his sin. He ought to feel like a sinner, so that he can be amazed by God. In order to be filled with his gift of infinite mercy, we need to recognize our need, our emptiness, our wretchedness. We cannot be arrogant. It reminds me of a story I heard from a person I used to know, a manager in Argentina. This man had a colleague who seemed to be very committed to a Christian life: he recited the rosary, he read spiritual writings, and so on. One day the colleague confided, en passant, as if it were of no consequence, that he was having a relationship with his maid. He made it clear that he thought it was something entirely normal. He said that “these people,” and by that he meant hired help,were there “for that, too.” My friend was shocked; his colleague was practically telling him that he believed in the existence of superior and inferior human beings, with the latter destined to be taken advantage of and used, like the maid. I was stunned by that example: despite all my friend’s objections, the colleague remained firm and didn’t budge an inch. And he continued to consider himself a good Christian because he prayed, he read his spiritual writings every day, and he went to Mass on Sundays. This is arrogance, and it is the opposite of the shattered heart mentioned by the Church Fathers.
W HAT advice would you be inclined to give a priest if he asked you: how can I be a good confessor?
I believe I have already partially answered this with the things I mentioned earlier. A priest needs to think of his own sins, to listen with tenderness, to pray to the Lord for a heart as merciful as his, and not to cast the first stone because he, too, is a sinner who needs to be forgiven. He needs to try to resemble God in all his mercy. This is what I would be inclined to say. Weneed to think—with our heart