Dear friends, I chose to tell the story of John Paul II's undershirt because he was the first to make us believe in ourselves even when he was acutely aware that his illness was taking him from us. I still remember as if it were yesterday when he announced that he would proclaim an extraordinary jubilee for us—what came to be known as the "Jubilee of Mercy." It was later opened by Pope Francis, who, carrying forward John Paul II's message, ensured that he would never be forgotten, even by the smallest among us.
As we approach the jubilee of 2025, which we all await with great anticipation, I want to recall the man who, through his struggles and his suffering, ensured that today we have become a vital part of the Catholic Church despite our disabilities.
I share, then, the testimony I gathered from a nun at what was, until 2013, the Provincial House of the "Daughters of Charity" in the Province of Rome.
I am a Daughter of Charity and entered this novitiate in '63. The following year (in '64), a young girl named Anna came, also intending to become a Daughter of Charity. After five months, however, she realized that was not her true calling and left. Throughout her life she worked as a nurse at Gemelli Hospital, and on May 13, '81—the day of the assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II—she was on duty in the operating room at Gemelli.
The Pope was brought to the hospital and the nurses immediately intervened to remove his clothes and prepare him for surgery. Anna had the Pope positioned on his side so she could undress him by cutting away his garments, making sure he moved as little as possible so as not to further compromise his condition.
Once this work was done, the Pope was taken to the operating room. After the surgery was over, Anna noticed his white undershirt completely stained with blood. She immediately thought to collect it, wrapped it in white gauze, and took it home. There she wrapped the package further in a white terry cloth towel and put it away in her closet.
Years passed. Anna continued to work very hard with all her heart for the good of the people she cared for and treated, until the time came for her to retire and move on. She realized with dismay that she was completely alone and didn't know where to go. Her parents had passed away, she had not built a life with a family of her own, and the thought of being alone filled her with dread.
One day she thought perhaps she could knock on the door of the Provincial House where she had been in '63, and so she did, asking for shelter and to spend her remaining years with those sisters.
Sister Anna arrived at the Provincial House on the evening of December 23, 1996—Christmas Eve. And she remained there until her death, living the same life as the sisters of the House of Charity. One evening she asked me to accompany her to her room, took a bundle wrapped in white cloth from her closet, and placed it in my hands, telling me it contained the undershirt of Pope Wojtyla—the undershirt he was wearing on the day of the assassination attempt. As she handed it to me, she urged me not to publicize it; for now the matter was to remain a secret, and I honored her wish, putting the package in turn in my room's closet.
But the thought of the Pope's undershirt kept returning to my mind. I was particularly worried that it might deteriorate and need to be preserved differently so it could last over time. So I decided to confide in a sister, and together we decided to have it properly conserved. Experts in preservation laid it out, placed it on two sheets of glass, removed the air, and sealed it. And it remains so to this day, well preserved and visible to all.
I wanted to preserve the authenticity of this relic, so I confided to a sister what our friend Anna had told me. By then she had passed away and been buried alongside our sister nuns. I also decided to write down the entire story in detail to keep its memory alive. I wrote a letter with the history and kept it together with Anna's letter. When the Pope died, in order for the Church to officially recognize the relic, I brought it to the Vatican along with my letter and Anna's. I left the relic there and returned home. After fifteen days it was returned to me. Now it is displayed and visible to all.
This relic is so important because it shows us how the Pope radically put forgiveness into practice. After his recovery, the Pope went to the prison to speak with the man who had tried to assassinate him, and he forgave him. This lesson should accompany us in our daily lives, because, especially as adults, it is difficult to let go of resentment and forgive those who hurt us.