My final node is what I call the “style” of salvation history: “God is not loud. He does not make headlines,” as Ratzinger said in a homily. This quiet gentleness forms the climax of Jesus of Nazareth, which he knew would be his theological last will and testament:
It is part of the mystery of God that he acts so gently, that he only gradually builds up his history within the great history of mankind; that he becomes man and so can be overlooked by his contemporaries and by the decisive forces within history.…
And yet—is not this the truly divine way? Not to overwhelm with external power, but to give freedom, to offer and elicit love. And if we really think about it, is it not what seems so small that is truly great?
Tracey Rowland has perceptively noted that Ratzinger is drawn to what is affective, natural, interior, organic, communal; conversely, there is an “aversion to the ugliness of the industrialized world,” as well as its rationalism and materialism. Her comments point to what I would call the monastic, particularly Benedictine cast of Ratzinger’s thought and life: a simple, regular life of prayer, work, reading, and community.
This emphasis on the small and seemingly insignificant nature of divine action in the world, together with Ratzinger’s repeated predictions (dating back to the 1950s) that the Church of the future would be smaller, stripped of its institutions and social influence, has given rise to perhaps the most baseless yet widespread criticism of his thought: that he desires a “smaller but purer” Church shorn of its dissenting and even merely lukewarm believers. I sometimes wonder whether the real object of this criticism is Ratzinger himself or the unpopular Church teachings on, say, sexuality and ordained ministry that he upheld in the face of pressure for change.
In any case, Ratzinger unambiguously rejects any form of spiritual elitism or Donatism. Instead, at the heart of his theology is the thoroughly biblical conviction that God saves the many through the one or the few: Abraham is chosen to be the father of many nations; Israel is elected for the sake of the Gentiles, Christ—the new Adam—gives his life for the sake of all; the Church’s mission is to be light to the nations. God prefers to start small and to use mustard seeds to accomplish his work of salvation. The Church is open to all, and whether big or small, the greatest gift that it can offer the world is being itself and living the twofold commandment of love of God and neighbor.
As a theologian and as a hierarch, Ratzinger played a long game, trusting in divine providence. In his papal installation homily, he said, “God, who became a lamb, tells us that the world is saved by the Crucified One, not by those who crucified him. The world is redeemed by the patience of God. It is destroyed by the impatience of man.” I believe that this humble trust in providence fostered his sense of being a simple “worker in the vineyard of the Lord” and sustained his decision to step down from the papacy.
Now the last surviving major participant at Vatican II is gone. An ecclesial era has ended. The man who grew up under Nazism, who resisted Marxism and theological liberalism, has passed. There are new movements in the world and in the Church, new signs of the times, for good and for ill. Still, I am convinced that the stature of this “mustard seed” theologian and hierarch will grow over the coming decades and bear much fruit.