POPE ENCOUNTER

“Do I curtsy?  Bow?  Genuflect?  Kiss his ring?  Do I call him Eminence, Sir, Lordship, Your Grace?”

I was full of questions, panicking as I stood in a small room in a villa in Rome waiting to meet Pope John Paul II.   I was there as part of a group of American and Italian benefactors to a Vatican educational project at the invitation of our Italian friend Achille Cardinal Silvestrini.  This was a June day in 1995, and at that time the Cardinal was thought to be among the possible successors to John Paul.

The air conditioning in the room was weak, such as it tends to be in Italy.  I was trying to think holy Catholic thoughts while perspiring a bucket and lamenting that my dress was damp, my hair was frizzing and my makeup was evaporating in the heat. 

But then he arrived.  Dressed in white from head to toe, he didn’t look overheated.  He looked like God. As he walked slowly down the receiving line where I was standing, he took a moment to hold each person’s outstretched hands, looking directly into their eyes, as if he was saying a quick silent prayer for each one.  Then he came to me.  I don’t remember if I bowed or kissed his ring; but I introduced myself and expected him to shake my hand and move on. He paused holding my hand, and asked me where I was from.  For a moment I couldn’t remember my name or anything else.  Somehow I answered and then he moved on.

Today, only the photograph I have is a reminder of the heat in the room.  Instead I remember so clearly that moment when his eyes met mine.  I had been touched by a saint.