Part II: Divine Mercy and the Death of John Paul the Great

Throughout the week of our retreat we prayed for John Paul, and on Friday, after the retreat had ended, while we were celebrating the end of the retreat we heard that John Paul had died. (Of course as we now know he did not die Friday) Immediately we went to the Chapel and celebrated the Mass for the Decease Roman Pontiff, how embarrassing to anticipate the Mass for the Death of the Pope!! After Mass on the verge of emotional breakdown I left to go down to the Basilica to pray privately. I spent the night thinking the Pope dead, and I was shocked by how fearful I was for the Church (maybe in another blog I will speak of this). Anyway, I found out only the next morning that John Paul was still alive. Saturday we went to Paray-du-Mondale, where the Sacred Heart appeared to St. Margret Mary and where her body and her confessors bones were located. After our scare the night before I found myself profoundly moved at how appropriate it was for me to be at the site of the Sacred Heart apparition on the eve of Divine Mercy Sunday, as John Paul, my beloved spiritual father was dying. I was somewhat mad at myself for not being in Rome at the time but I think providentially being where I was united me to the Holy Spirit spiritually much more than I would have been in St. Peter's square. Of course that night, after night fall, liturgically on the morning of Divine Mercy Sunday, John Paul died.

Sanctae Johannes Paulus Magnus Pontifex Maximus
m. 2 IV 2005
Requiascat In Pace

It was appropriate for John Paul to die on the eve of the Second Sunday of Easter, rather than the day as some suggested he might, because he fell asleep in death in the darkness of Easter Morning only to be bathed in the Divine Light, the Divine Mercy, of the Rising Sun, of Easter Morning. This is also true for the Church, who in his death was cast into darkness, but was quickly reminded of the Light, of Christ Jesus' promise to Peter and the ten Apostles. The Sunday morning after he died I left Ars, with sadness lightly covering the joy that had been in my heart as a early spring snow fall occasionally lightly covers the budding spring flowers. As I heard more of the details of his death I was thankful that my prayers for him had been answered: from all accounts he died a saint's death. As the sun warmed by skin, the light snowfall of sadness gave way to some of the joy that was just beneath, however the day was on the whole quite somber. Retracing our steeps, our group, now much larger, returned through the mountains to Geneva. In Geneva, we took advantage of a brief layover to visit the Cathedral St. Francis de Sales had never been allowed to publicly entered—which had been renamed the Cathedral of the Swiss Reformation, or some nonsense of that nature, after it was stolen from the Church. Entering the ancient obviously Catholic Church, the emptiness inside was immense. In many of my blogs I often bemoan the fact that modern church architecture lacks a soul, but this beautiful Church was like a soul that lacked life. No altar, no blessed sacrament, very dead, very depressing, an example of the results of one of Satan's great victories against the Church.
(briefly) During the retreat the retreat master made reference to the great spiritual battle that we as priests, and those preparing for priesthood, are involved in. He pointed out that like those who haven't heard that the war has been lost, the Devil and his legions fight on, battling the Church, and occasionally winning battles despite the fact that the war is over and won by the Lamb. He noted the uncanny coincidence that in 1517 the protestants attack the Church and therefore the Spirit, i.e. the third pillar of the Creed; in 1717 the Masons spread syncritism and the seeds of modernism, attacking Christ as the only means of salvation and the second pillar of the Creed; and in 1917 the Marxists attacked God himself setting up the first officially atheistic state and undermining the greatest commandment (SHEMA ISRAEL) and the first pillar of the Creed of Nicea. Interesting, isn't it? Three dates, each two hundred years apart, and each building on the previous to undermine the faith handed down from the Apostles and Fathers of the Church. Father points out thought that throughout our priesthood, and, in fact, throughout the history of the Church the Church has always appeared the looser and often it has been written off, and yet it is still here, 2000 years after its foundation, hundreds of years after its enemies died, and will still be hear until the end of days, on the Day of Judgment when its Martyrs see their blood avenged. Being interested in the significance of numbers I also find it interesting that each of these three attacks where most likely started in a year ending in a six, but this might just be my imagination

(I digress) After celebrating the Liturgy of the Hours in the Cathedral, we went to St. Mary's Church where the pews were full and Mass was beginning. A smaller mostly Gothic church building, with more evidence of the artistic violence of the past century, but much more alive (i.e. a real church), was a great consolation to me.

When I returned to Rome I went immediately from the airport to St. Peter's square, suitcase in hand. Arriving, I found thousands of people standing around keeping vigil with the dead popes body. Everywhere I looked there were makeshift tributes and memorials to John Paul, from the governments “Grazie” posters that were plastered everywhere to, much more moving memorials made of: little scraps of paper (many plane and train tickets), candles, flags, and pictures. The next few days were surreal—on Wednesday I spent eight hours in line to see John Paul's body, not too bad considering that some waited 14-20 hours the next day. I found out only after I had viewed his body that I could have gotten in the back door with my ID, but it was an experience. I don't like crowds, claustrophobia, and so the experience that some had of waiting in line being fun was not my experience, but the wait did cause me to empathize with those in line. For this reason after, spending eight hours in line (4 am to 12 pm), having lunch I returned to St. Peter's to hand out water both Wednesday and then Thursday. This I much preferred since handing out water I was outside the queue but still able to talk with the people and help them out giving them water, helping them get out of the, then 16 hour line, to use the bathroom and then re-enter where they got out, and bringing notes, flowers, candles, etc. to the makeshift memorials which periodically got swept away only to reappear minutes later in the form of more flowers and candles. Shocked by the amount of love that John Paul engendered in these people, most (50% +) under 30 years of age, I remembered the Holy Cure of Ars who attracted 80,000 people a year to his little village for confession, catechesis, or just to catch a glimps of a saint. I have been at venues with large crowds before, often working them as crowd control, and I must say this line that came to pay their last respects to JPII was like no other crowd. They prayed, were kind and respectful to each other, helped each other out, and even their grumbling at long lines was good natured!! All day I conversed as best as I could in English, Italian, Polish, and French—trying to encourage those who were tired and make the time go by more quickly.

At night I came down to walk the streets around Saint Peter's, with my collar on I had pretty much unlimited access to the areas around the Basilica, and so I walked around and looked at the people who had come from Poland, but also from the rest of the world to say good bye to a saint. Most of them came without a place to stay in Rome and so all along the streets neat lines of sleeping bags, backpacks, and shoes replaced what was normally empty sidewalk. As I walked by one group of young people there with their priest, all on their knees around a improvised shrine to Our Lady and John Paul, I heard them praying the rosary and was brought to tears. During the days before the funeral the media pretended to play nice, i.e. complementing JPII while slipping little criticisms in where they could. One of these was that the majority of the people who came were Poles. This might be true, one to two million Poles did come down from the North, but also two to three million people from all over the rest of the world came, not to mention the three million Romans (like myself) who live in the city, many of whom also came. They also suggested that many who came disagreed with the popes views but came because of his celebrity status—again, I am sure that this was true in some cases, and in others, like the scores of people I saw fingering their rosaries, this is untrue. More importantly, I think, people came because John Paul offered an authentic Christian witness, he called people by his life to conversion and although in their freedom many did not choose to accept his witness, they recognized it as authentic, as the witness of a true Christian man! It is hard to be a Christian, to submit your life to God, to become detached from this world, mortifying your body and senses, and so many don't do it, especially in this age of media driven materialism—BUT to see someone authentically detached from the world and in love with God, gains the respect of many who might like to do the same but lack the force of will, truly the trust in God, needed. Ironic, though, that the death of this man caused millions to leave their TV, homes, cars, etc. behind and come to Rome essentially as “street people,” to pay homage to Pope John Paul.
Friday was the funeral mass. Our choir was invited to sing with the “people's choir” and so I thought I would have a seat for sure, however I found out Thursday night that there were not enough tickets for everyone on my house and so the ones we had would be given out by lottery. There where thirty tickets available, I got lot number 31! And so, frantically I called and email anyone I knew to see if I could find a ticket. Luckly, someone got a better offer and so I got his ticket. Seated inside the front gate to St. Peter's Basilica, behind the altar and to the right, we could see all the dignitaries arriving, Cardinal Ratzinger who in days to come would be elected Pope Benedict XVI came by as friendly as he normally is. I could see the whole Mass, including the procession, as well as the whole plaza and via Conciliatione and I was awestruck. The Mass, which they say 2 billion people watched, was beautiful and I believe that in years to come, that Mass as well as the witness of the five million mourners will bring great graces to the Church in Italy and in Europe. For the next nine days we mourned the loss of John Paul. Nine Masses were celebrated for his intention at Saint Peter's and every day the Church was full, i.e. about 10,000 people went to that one Mass, each day for a week and a half! Each day for nine days it rained, except on the seventh day when the sky was clear (I love the symbolism of numbers). I went to five of the Masses, skipping the others because of school and other obligations. As the week progressed I prayed more an more, not for the soul of John Paul, but for his intercession with the Father. I asked him to intervene on our behalf for the selection of a new pope. I feel certain that John Paul is at the right hand of the Father this day, and I bet that the Church will solemnly confirm this before my days in Rome are up.
I must admit it was a very odd feeling, not having a pope. In the States at least you got to say “in union with our bishop n.” in the Eucharistic prayer at Mass, but here in Rome we omitted both Bishop and Pope, praying “in union with all the clergy.” But not only that, going to St. Peter's and looking at the window, or looking at my pictures of JP on my wall, I got the distinct feeling that we many never see another his equal in the near future. The nine days were a sad time for me.