All wealth stems from knowledge.
Knowledge comes from mother and father.
The highest knowledge comes from God, whose earthly representative is the Holy Father.
When I was a little boy, I served at mass. I was very careful to ring the bells at the right moment, together with the other altar boys. I was strangely moved by it, as if at times I was soaring into the air, overcome with a magnificent rapture.
For as long as I can remember, I was always the ugly duckling—pushed around, insulted, despised, beaten. In the Church of Christ’s Mother in Milanówek, in Warsaw, in Aleksandrów Kujawski, in Bydgoszcz, and finally in Podkowa Leśna, I sought help, support, and solace. And I received them. That is why I call her my Mother; I even refer to her as my Boss.
In 1970, I was a craftsman. In my workshop, I began producing images of the Blessed Mother.
At the Secretariat of the Polish Episcopate, then located at Dziekania 1, there was an Institute of the Nation’s Vows. I will never forget the kind and extraordinarily helpful Mrs. Teresa Romanowska and a particular episode. I entered, carrying heavy packages of my images. Mrs. Teresa, visibly excited, greeted me at the door. She could hardly wait for my visit and the moment when she could tell me the extraordinary story of a man’s conversion through contact with the image of my Mother that I had created.
Whenever I visited Jasna Góra, I always stopped by the chapel to thank my Mother. She would either smile at me or look at me sternly—but always with great indulgence and motherly love, like a mother. When I was near her and spoke to her with deep reverence, I felt enveloped by her love, like a warm breeze—calm, understanding, wonderful, my Mother.
Jasna Góra is also home to the Institute of the Nation’s Vows, a spiritual formation of Cardinal Primate Wyszyński. In 1975, during one of my numerous visits, another journey with my images, I spoke with Mrs. Wanda Mejer and asked her a question: “The Primate is the most important person, a man of great spirit and intellect, but is there anyone else of his stature in the Polish Church?”
Wanda thought for a moment and replied, “Yes, our father, then for a long, long time, no one…”
At that time, Cardinal Karol Wojtyła was the Archbishop of Kraków. His genius had not yet been recognized, like an undiscovered sun dimming in the radiance of an already known sun.
None of us will ever forget that great day when white smoke appeared above the Sistine Chapel, announcing that we had a new Pope. The entire world was electrified by the incredible news: Polish Cardinal Karol Wojtyła was the new Holy Father.
I do not know what happened in other homes, but I jumped to the ceiling, tears of emotion streaming from my eyes, loudly and unconsciously repeating over and over: “Mother, Mother, Mother…”
For as long as I can remember, I have always taken care of sick flowers, plants, large and small trees, dogs, cats, and various other animals—even frogs. Then, to my amazement, I realized that I could also take away people’s pain. So whenever I saw someone suffering, I would take them to a quiet place and tell them that I could relieve their pain. My offers were usually received with great curiosity, and news of the astonishing effects of contact with me spread like wildfire by word of mouth. Yet for many years, I remained extremely self-conscious about what I could do and the recognition it brought. However, seeing suffering, I would rush to help and then place a finger to my lips, asking them not to publicize this secret, heartfelt need of mine to help others.
Thus, days, weeks, and years passed.
Then came 1985, and as if in a golden dream, I found myself in Kuwait. Of course, I flew there by plane and, of course, to heal people. But thanks to this journey, I was able to experience a different culture and observe another religion up close.
Islam. I never imagined it was so powerful. I stood in front of a mosque, looking into the faces of those entering. A huge African man, elegantly dressed in pink swathes of gleaming velvet, walked proudly and with immense dignity, his face radiating solemnity. Right behind him, an Indian man wrapped in something resembling a translucent bedsheet draped around his hips and torso, casually thrown over his shoulder, exposing much of his back. And then the Arabs, one after another. Their black, gleaming eyes, slim figures in youth or corpulent, signaling prosperity, in old age. Clad in white, ankle-length dishdashas. Their heads always covered with a white cloth held in place by a black headband.
The mosque filled up swiftly because those entering did not push past one another but took their places in rows, standing one behind the other.
I did not understand the sermon that soon flowed from the speakers after the mosque was filled, but its sound carried immense power. I listened, amazed by its strength. And when the prayers ended, my Arab brother, Abdulla Mohammed Al Harmi, invited me inside. There, I could see those who had stayed behind to converse with their god, Allah, or his prophet.
Why do I tell this story? Because this experience stirred in me a great need to strengthen my own faith. And as soon as I returned to Poland, I ran to church. There, I saw people pushing past each other, chewing gum, children eating sweets, others chatting during the Holy Mass. I felt sad and thought to myself: Where has their faith gone? Why are they even here? I immersed myself in my meeting with Christ and His Mother.
We need a renewal of our faith, and the Holy Father, through his presence and his words, strengthens our connection to God more than what we have learned at home or in religious classes. He is the strongest motivation for persevering in faith during moments of human weakness and doubt.
What is his influence on my faith, prayer, daily life? His words addressed to me, his insights from his pilgrimages?
Who is he in the supernatural dimension?
Above all, he carries within him immense power and glory, like a spark igniting imagination to acts of madness and courage, greatness and heroism. Such as “Solidarity”—the spring of freedom that, among other things, brought down the Berlin Wall.
The influence of the Holy Father has constantly built me up. There were entire periods in my life when I even tried to make my voice sound like his, always wondering what I, an ordinary, unremarkable, unknown man, could do for others.
Reading the revelations of Our Lady of Fatima, I discovered that the world could avoid the most terrible war if the Holy Father consecrated it to the Blessed Virgin. From then on, I was haunted by the thought that I had to do something about it…
Z. Nowak
(“The Holy Father and I,” Archdiocese of Warsaw Publishing House, Warsaw 1999, pp. 231-237)