Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli was born (the third of thirteen children) on November 25, 1881 in a village in the hills of Piedmont, near the old walled city of Bergamo (north Italy). His family were frugal peasants working a small farm. He struggled through the village school, impressing no one, and then went to the minor (1892-1895) and major (1895-1900) seminary in Bergamo. On January 4, 1901, he arrived in Rome and completed his third year of theology. From November 1901-November 1902 he did his military service, returning to his studies with the rank of Sergeant. He received his Doctorate in Sacred Theology in July, 1904 and was ordained a priest on August 10. The next day he said his first mass in the crypt of St. Peter’s Basilica and was received in audience (surely not alone!) by Pius X.

He returned to Bergamo as secretary (1905-14) to Bishop Tedeschi (a capable and dedicated man intent on learning a new way of relating to the changing world of the turn of the century) and also lectured in church history in the diocesan seminary. He travelled widely meeting theologians and bishops who would come to exert great influence in the church.

In May 1914 he was recalled to military service in the Italian army; serving as a hospital orderly and then chaplain. In December, 1918, his military service completed, he was assigned to the seminary at Bergamo as a spiritual director.

In 1921 he was appointed by Benedict XV to the service of Propaganda Fide as president of the central council for Italy of the Papal Missions (the office that oversaw the finances of the Italian foreign missions). Roncalli worked to revamp the Congregation’s fundraising efforts. He taught a course on the Fathers of the Church for a year in Rome’s Lateran Seminary. During this period he continued work (begun in 1908) on what would prove to be a five volume work on Charles Borromeo (1538-1584), the Bishop of Milan who was a major reforming figure during the Council of Trent. It was while researching this book in Milan’s Ambrosian Library that Roncalli came to know Achille Ratti (future Pope Pius XI).

In 1925, Pius XI made him titular archbishop of Areopolis and sent him to a far from glamorous posting in Sofia, Bulgaria (apostolic visitor and after 1931, the first apostolic delegate). Here he had to try and maintain cordial relationships between the anti-Roman local leadership and the Vatican.

In 1934 he was transferred to Istanbul where he was named the Apostolic Delegate for Turkish and Greek Catholics (20,000 Catholics in Turkey and 50,000 in Greece). He lived ten years in Istanbul, learning the local languages and urging Greek and Turkish pastors to use them (instead of Latin) in their liturgical ceremonies.

In December, 1944, at 63 years of age, he was named Apostolic Nuncio to France, presenting his credentials to General Charles de Gaulle, president of the provisional government on January 1, 1945. Here he learned firsthand how to work amid cultural anti-clericalism and charmed all of France. Here too he encountered a world in need of political and spiritual rebuilding after war. He came in contact with the experimental "worker priest" movement and convinced the Vatican to work with rather anti-clerical UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization). It was during these years in France, too, that he first met Brother Roger of Taizé ("that little springtime").

On January 12, 1953, Pope Pius XII raised the seventy-one year old Roncalli to the rank of cardinal and three days later appointed him as Patriarch of Venice.

At the death of Pius XII, Cardinal Roncalli was papabile, one candidate among others as the conclave opened.

Hearing of the death of Pope Pius XII, Don Primo Mazzolari, a well known Italian communist, wrote in Adesso:

At 4:50 p.m., October 28, 1958, on the third day of the conclave, on the twelfth (eleventh?) ballot, Roncalli received 38 votes (two-thirds plus one votes are needed for election) and white smoke poured from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel.

When asked: "By what name do you wish to be known?" Roncalli’s answer was the first of many surprises: "I will be called John." This change in name (after four Popes named Pius in less than 100 years) prefigured a profound change in the direction of the church itself. Given the length of the conclave, it was clear that he had been elected as a compromise candidate. Because of his age (seventy-seven), it was equally clear that he was expected to be a "caretaker Pope" for a few years after which the College of Cardinals might be able to reach a consensus around a younger, more vigorous leader. John, fortunately, didn’t have such clarity! In a matter of days and weeks, John changed the face of the papacy, making it more human and accessible. The image of "good Pope John" was soon established.

John XXIII’s first speech on Vatican Radio set forth his program as Pope. He wanted to see unity in the church (the whole church) and peace in the world. His good wishes on that occasion embraced the Orthodox churches and "all those who are separated from this Apostolic See." He was determined to embark on a new style of papacy — "We are not on earth," he said "to guard a museum, but to cultivate a flourishing garden of life." On one occasion John remarked: "I don’t want much of human beings, just their hearts."

He soon created 23 new cardinals (exceeding the limit of 70 set in the 16th century by Sixtus V — there had been only fifty-two (fifty-one to be precise) at his election), the first from the Philippines, Japan, Mexico and Africa (the first black cardinal). All of this only 40 years ago!

In a five hour coronation mass, John XXIII became the two hundred and sixty-second supreme pontiff. It was November 4, the feast day of Charles Borremeo. The triple tiara was placed on his head with the age old formula: "Know that thou art the father of princes, of kings, pontiff of the whole world and Vicar of Christ on earth." But in his homily (the first ever at a coronation) he explained that he wanted to be a pastoral pope, a good shepherd to the flock, the whole flock, after the pattern of Jesus:

Less than three months after his election, on the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, Sunday, January 25, 1959, John visited St. Paul’s Outside the Walls (one of the four great Roman basilicas) built over the tomb of St. Paul. Later in the morning, after the Mass, he met with the seventeen assisting cardinals in the chapter-room of the Benedictine abbey and told them of his intention to convoke "an ecumenical council for the universal Church." This dramatic announcement was met with stunned silence, John noted (tongue in cheek) in his diary: "a devout and impressive silence."

Later one of the cardinals asked John what he expected the council to do. He strode to the window of his study, threw it open and said "We expect the council to let some fresh air in here." John’s clear purpose for the Council was aggiornamento, bringing up to date of the Roman Catholic Church. His fervent prayer, too, was an ecumenical hope: "that they all may be one." John once said: "Whenever I see walls between Christians, I try to pull out a few bricks." Speaking of reconciliation among Christians a few days after his announcement of the twenty-first ecumenical council, on January 29, 1959, John said: "We will not put history on trial; we will not attempt to find out who was wrong and who was right; we will simply say: let us be reconciled!"

The Council was to be entrusted with the task of laying the groundwork for the eventual union of all Christian churches. In addition to the 2500 bishops from around the world, John invited more than 50 observer/delegates from various Christian and non-Christian groups to the council sessions. It was Pope John who popularized the use of the term "separated brethren" in reference to Protestants—certainly preferable to "heretics." The Secretariat for Christian Unity which he had established June 5, 1960, was to help non-Catholic Christians to follow the work of the Twenty-First Ecumenical Council.

Mater et Magistra, encyclical letter of Pope John XXIII on Christianity and social progress, was issued on May 15, 1961 (more than thirty years ago!). Its purpose was to bring up to date the tradition of Catholic social teaching initiated by Leo XIII in Rerum Novarum.

It was the first of two towering encyclical letters of John XXIII. Many consider this the most impressive statement of John's papacy. At the time, The New York Times wrote: "No document of our times is more apposite to contemporary problems, or more socially advanced."

Mater et Magistra speaks about the concern of the church for the exploited poor in the factories of industrialized nations and about the forgotten poor in colonial and emerging nations.

It insists on their need for the basic necessities of life but goes beyond this to speak of human dignity. It redefines social justice in the mid-twentieth century to mean that all people must share in the wealth produced by modern technology not just a privileged few.

"Socialization" (a word that would have struck terror in the heart of Pius IX), "an expression of the tendency in human beings to join together to attain objectives which are beyond the capacity and means of single individuals," is specifically endorsed, so long as it is achieved in freedom and full consideration of the rights of all (obviously not the case with Communism).

On October 4, 1962, just one week before the opening of the Second Vatican Council, Pope John made a pilgrimage to Assisi and Loreto (250 miles total) by train. Today with the extensive world travels of John Paul II that doesn’t seem very special, but when John got onto a train at the Vatican railway station, it marked the first time in 99 years that a Pope had been on a train and centuries since a Pope had travelled so far from the Vatican (At this time John was also fatally ill.) On his return he retired to a Vatican tower for a week of prayer for the success of the Council.

On the morning of October 11, 1962 ("a date to enshrine in the annals of humanity"), eighty-one year old John XXIII was carried into St. Peter’s on his sedia gestatoria for the official opening of the Second Vatican Council. From film of the event, it is clear that Pope John's face was wet with tears. For the first time in the history of ecumenical councils, John’s inaugural message was addressed to "all men and nations" not just to Catholics around the world. In the speech, at the end of a very long opening ceremony, Pope John spoke out against "prophets of doom" and indicated that the church was going to update herself radically and without fear. He also signalled (in the presence of non-Catholic observers) an end to the "Cold War of the Churches." In the words of one commentator, John, "having toiled to the upper slopes of the sacred mountain, pointed to the promised land beyond."

The Council’s first session lasted 2 months, ending on December 8. It was not an easy two months for the Conservative elements among the Bishops. Characteristically, John took the occasion of the closing ceremonies to console those who were feeling hurt and defeated. It was clear on that occasion that John would not likely open the Council’s next session.

Time Magazine voted John XXIII as their man of the year for 1962 proclaiming that "To the entire world Pope John has given what neither diplomacy nor science could give: a sense of the unity of the human family."

Pacem in Terris, published April 11, 1963, was the first encyclical addressed not just to bishops and the Catholic faithful in that it added, for the first time ever, the greeting "and to all men of good will." It was, in some sense, Pope John's "last will and testament" and offered a blueprint for a world community in which people of different religions, and different political persuasions could live in harmony, justice, security, and freedom. It predicts the end of colonialism as a "sign of the times" and (just after the Cuban Missile Crisis) war, especially nuclear war, as madness. The New York Times, in an editorial, called it one of the "most profound and all-embracing formulations of the road toward peace that has ever been written."

By spring of 1963, it was obvious that John was dying. Typical of the thousands of messages of good will pouring in from around the world, from the great and the small was one from an atheist: "In so far as an atheist can pray, I’m praying for you." These spontaneous expressions of affection from such a wide body of people made concrete John’s entry in his journal: "The whole world is my family. This sense of belonging to everyone must give character and vigour to my mind, my heart, my actions."

Ten days before his death, John dictated the following statement, summing up his vision of things and looking prophetically toward the future:

Other Popes had decried war and defended peace, praised virtue and condemned evil. But in the experience of living men, none before John XXIII had ever moved the church toward the mainstream of human endeavour, or welcomed all men and all creeds to the good fight, or made it seem even remotely possible that they could win. And even more deeply, the world’s millions were caught up with the man who had lived beneath the robes of the supreme pontiff of the universal Church, bishop of Rome, vicar of Jesus Christ and sovereign of Vatican City. To the multitudes, some devout, some disaffected, the peasant face with its undisguised warmth meant more than all the weighty titles. "I am your brother," he had told them. And they had come to believe him. (Elliott, I Will Be Called John, 322.)