Where I Last Saw You

“Do not allow pain and sadness to overtake you, but unite and regain strength in friendship and the love of God.”

–        Pope John Paul II to the General Audience

Vatican City

Allowing for no pomp or applause, the Pope instructed the gathering to keep quiet, pensive state of being. No Pope mobile rides today. His black limousine drove in front of the square and up the altar to the red canopy, and attendants assisted him into his chair of red velvet and gold frame. Frailness, which has joined his countenance for several years, was now superseded by sorrow, empathy, and righteousness. Yesterday’s events shook him, as it did everyone. A lifetime of service for global peace, now tried. A long moment of reticent anticipation introduced the spiritual figure, as he calculated the exact instant to begin. We stared fixedly, rapt in solace before an utterance spoken.

            With words of reassurance and conviction, the Pope rallied courage and understanding. Calling a religious summit, Buddhist monks, Rabbis, and several Christian religious denominations were announced to support religious tolerance and peace. The Pope on large projection screens exuded the calm wisdom of love. Crested hand on forehead wrung of quelled sadness, augmenting love. His concentrated stare penetrated questioning spirits, our sprits now wrapped in peace, even if it were just for the moment. His speech was like a concerned, fatherly lecture to a grappling teenager being thrust into adulthood by tragedy, not readiness. The assembly was one mass in synchronicity as a school of fish undulating in currents of thought.

Overwhelmed by the events, the speech, the moment of solidarity, I cried. For the uncertainty of life in America, I cried. Tears of worry streaked down my face for the safety of my family. Words of comfort were rebuffed by thoughts of impending retaliation that may lead to war. And most of all, I felt guilty for being safe and happy while so much hardship was experienced at home.

With sidelong glance I noticed that others were touched as well. Mom was crying muffled tears, trying to go unnoticed. Dad took Mom’s hand wordlessly, caressing. Everyone in the group was contemplative in one’s own way. Joe and Theresa were also holding hands while peering at the pure white grain that was our vision of the Pope. Simultaneously they smiled, without looking at each other, only they knew why. Screens were not real enough. Kathy Jo and Doris were in repose. Marie was standing crouched, to the frustration of those sitting behind her, enthralled by the Pope’s words and presence. She must view that spot where he sits. There was new kinship in our group; we were family abroad now. With pats on shoulders and hands, solidarity manifests itself.

            The Pope read his speech first in Italian and then in English. Then, various cardinals read the speech in other languages: Spanish, French, Polish, and Greek. I only understood a few words in those recitations but the message was given time to saturate into the pours of spirit and mind. Eighty thousand people were in the square, within view, reachable, contemplating the same message in different tongues at the same time. I could see most of them: some contemplating, some in soulful meditation, some children gleeful despite everything, some bothered more by the heat of the day than by world events. A security helicopter flew overhead, quite low.