Goodbye, from an accidental pilgrim

The first time I saw the Pope, it was completely by accident. I was traveling in Europe with four friends after graduating from high school, and we happened to be in Rome on a Sunday. I had little use for Catholicism, but as all four of my friends were Catholic, and I wanted to see the art and architecture of the Vatican, there was no doubt that we would end up at St. Peter’s for a while.
The Pope appeared at his apartment window, for a customary blessing of the thousands of people who assembled there that hot July day. I wish I could report that I fell prostrate on the ground and embraced the fullness of truth right then and there, but I didn’t. (I would have been trampled by the sweaty pilgrims, for one thing.) But I could say I saw the Pope, though he was but a small white figure waving to us in the distance.
Four years later, my future wife and I were received into the Catholic Church, and four years after that, we were married and took our honeymoon in Rome. One of our parish priests had studied in Rome, and put us in touch with a member of his seminary’s faculty, who gave us passes to the Wednesday papal audience along with “a special treat.” Having no idea what that might be, we showed up at St. Peter’s on Wednesday morning. The Swiss Guards kept waving us past the throngs of people lined up to get into the auditorium; we ended up sitting to the Pope’s left with about a dozen other newlyweds.
After the address, the couples were ushered up to the Holy Father, two-by-two, Noah-style. I kissed his ring, and thanked him for all his work on behalf of families. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his firm thumb tracing the sign of the cross on my forehead. He blessed my wife, and held her hand tenderly, putting his hand on her cheek and smiling. A cardinal stepped in to whisk us away so the next couple could receive their blessing.
Many things affect a marriage, but I am convinced that the Pope’s prayer for us has enhanced our married life, and continues to do so. He asked God to give us good things, both spiritual and material, and we have indeed been blessed, above all with our several children.
I know the Pope belongs to everyone and no one, but I feel like he was my pope, in a way. I saw him before I was Catholic, and I was impressed by his rock-like refusal to give in to the world, even as he sought those who worship the world’s false promises. Someday, I hope to see him again in the New Jerusalem, though I’m sure he will again be off in the distance, near the throne of the Most High, and I will be in the outer suburbs. Perhaps he will wave to me again.

Goodbye, my Holy Father.