Smile Away.
I had the best dream about the Pope. In it he actually came to visit me because he had read my blog. I was so embarrassed to meet him that I called Fr. Z and some other priests I know to be with me when I met him. I hoped the Pope would pay more attention to them and lose interest in getting to know me. I was afraid he would realize how uneducated and unaccomplished I am in comparison with these other brilliant bloggers. But he wouldn’t have it.
He moved through the crowd of priests and other bloggers who showed up, and put his arm around my shoulder and said, “I hope you will excuse us, I came to see Terry.” I turned beet red with embarrassment, and began to perspire. After everyone left us, I felt much more nervous and tried to distract the Holy Father by directing his attention to the countryside. (It semed as if we were at Holy Hill in Wisconsin, on a very sunny day, standing on the church steps, and we could see all the way to Lake Michigan.)
He knew I was nervous and said, “Just relax and be yourself, we will spend the day together just like George and I sometimes do.” (George is his secretary.) He also told me I could just call him Father, like George does.
“But I thought Monsignor Ganswein called you ‘Holiness’ and you called him Father?” I protested. The Pope laughed and explained to me that was true in the office, but in the evening George calls him “Father”. Anyway - that set the tone and put me at ease, since I realized the Pope wasn’t there to interrogate or evaluate me. I thrilled to think he was simply there because he wanted to be with me.
We drove around in a 1930’s German sports car. I did the driving, and we made frequent stops to look at medieval chapels along the way. He explained that the parishoners liked it when the Pope visited so they could mount a plaque commemorating the event after he left. We picked up lunch at Bayonne, in the south of France, and decided to drive onto Rome after we ate. The Pope wanted to show me something in his apartment at the Vatican, but wouldn’t tell me in advance what it was.
The most pleasant aspect of travelling with the Pope, is that he actually cared about me, immersing himself in the present moment, without anticipating meeting anyone else. He expressed genuine interest in what I had to say, and never talked down to me. He was quite like a loving father, very comfortable to be around, and completely unpretentious. I recall thinking that for such a great academic, an intellectual of such international stature, he remained amazingly simple and down to earth.
I mentioned to the Pope how very different he is from John Paul II, that unlike his predecessor, he is actually much more personable and genuine. I told him I thought John Paul II always seemed to be aware of, if not preoccupied with himself, his presentations and public appearances. While on the other hand, Benedict seemed much more interested in others. I tried to explain myself better by saying I thought JPII appeared to be there to dictate and expound intellectually. I told him the former Pope impressed me more as a statesman or an international celebrity, and therefore remote.
I soon realized I was embarassing the Pope, but quickly finished my critique saying, “It is so hard for me to explain what I mean, but you appear to be much more available for others. You are far more accessible and apt to listen and encourage; respecting contrary beliefs and opinions, without compromising dogma. You seem to convince others of what is right and good, rather than lecture them. And you do it all so effortlessly.”
Suddenly we found ourselves in the Vatican, amidst a great hustle and bustle of activity. (I was sure our trip ended becuse I had been so blunt as to my feelings about John Paul II.) I noticed Pope Benedict had disguised himself as an ordinary Roman priest so that we wouldn’t be noticed. We had to be secretive since it turned out everyone was looking for the Pope, and if we were discovered, they would accuse me of kidnapping him. The Pope told me, “We must get back to the car and return to where we started.”
I was thrilled he wanted to come home with me, but I said, “No Holy Father, we are here. You must sneak back into the apartment and I’ll go home by myself. Act as if you never ran away in the first place. You are the Pope - you don’t have to answer their questions.” Smiling, he blessed me, thanked me for the day, and told me he loved me. I hugged him and assured him of my love and prayers, surprising him with a kiss on the cheek. Then he left me, walking away quickly, deftly sneaking into a hidden corridor, smiling back at me as he disappeared through the secret passageway.
I walked away extremely sad, knowing we would never be able to spend time together like that again - he would be much too busy. Looking back at the apostolic palace, I was thrilled to see the Pope standing in his window waving to me, holding up a cat. That was the secret he had to show me. He wanted me to see they allowed the Pope to have a cat in the Vatican, and to know he would be all right there alone.
[Top-most photo credit: Gerald, Closed Cafeteria ; Middle photo credit: Catholic Mom of 10]
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When I was much younger and voluteered at the Little Sisters of the Poor - not when I was a kid, but as a young adult - most, if not all of the sisters knew I was thinking about a vocation to religious life. One day one of the sisters who wasn’t very impressed with me asked what order I was thinking about. I mentioned that I was attracted to Charles de Foucauld’s Little Brothers of Jesus. Sister laughed mockingly, and shook her head saying, “You’ll never make it!” She then waved me off and walked away.
