It was surreal when I received the news about the Pope early last Sunday morning through an SMS message from my mother. I wasn’t shocked to hear the news because just a day before a good friend of mine had pointed out the STAR headlines reporting that the Pope was in grave condition and that he had even received the last rites, but despite that, it just didn’t feel real. For the last four or five years I had been reading about the decline in health of our religious leader and time and time again he managed to hold on and not let go of this mortal coil. I guess I just somehow thought he would do it again. Don’t get me wrong though, although I am sad at his passing I do understand that he was suffering and I know he’s in a better place now. It’s all just been difficult for me to grasp, after all Pope John Paul II was the only Pope I’ve ever known. He was the Pope when I was born, he was the Pope when I first understood what "Pope" was, basically he was the Pope I’ve known my entire life and while I may not have been as devout and faithful as many of the pilgrims who flooded Rome over the last two weeks, I too felt an emptiness at his loss.
Not that I feel that was the end. Of course I believe that death is only the beginning and in all my religious searching I’ve always held on to the belief of life after death. The reason I am sad (even at the risk of sounding cliché) is for us, for those this wonderful man has left behind. He was such a beacon of hope in what is often a dark and dreary world. I’ll be first to admit that I may not have agreed with all his views but I always respected him for being constant and unwavering in his beliefs even with a steady stream of criticism and negativity thrown his way. He held on to the faith he cherished in his heart and spent his life bringing that message to others even when they blatantly rejected him or turned him away. In many ways, he was like a modern-day Jesus and I know that somehow he touched the lives of everyone in this world be they Catholic, Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, or any other religion. The bottom line for me is he was a good man and the world faces a huge loss in his absence.
Over the last week as I watched the news and read the articles expeditiously printed in all newspapers and magazines I thought back over my own experiences with our late pontiff. I consider myself even luckier than most because I actually got to see him up close and feel the brush of his white robes while he was here for World Youth Day. I was even given a special edition World Youth Day rosary with his picture on it and blessed by him. It was an experience I’ll never forget and now as he’s moved on to a much better place those memories come flooding back clearer and more real than ever.
I was 15 years old when the Pope flew back to the Philippines, which he loved so much, and part of the Assumption delegation that joined five million faithful in praying for the world’s youth. It was two days of heat, sweat, and poor hygiene but I wouldn’t trade those two days for the world.
I remember arriving with our group and putting down my sleeping bag in a space barely big enough for it and camping out in my "spot" for two days of prayer, reflection, and Mass. Some friends and I were extremely lucky because we managed to move our way up into the foreign delegation area near the stage and were mistaken for being part of the European contingent so when the Pope passed by and shook hands with some people there, we were there to see him and hear him, even though we had to rejoin our group further in the back for the Mass that followed.
It was an experience unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. This man exuded goodness and anyone within a 50-foot vicinity of him could feel it and bask in his radiance. I kid you not, despite having no leg room, no sleep, and no bathroom for more than 48 hours I was happier than I’ve been in situations of extreme luxury. I sang as loud as my voice would let me and even enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my already sunburned peeling face. Even the stickiness of my clothes and the pain of feet didn’t deter the celebration and as we headed home I remember holding that rosary and thinking that I wish it could have been longer.
Years have passed since then of course, a decade to be exact, but time hasn’t dulled the experience or the memories that I continue to cherish from it and hold even closer to my heart in light of these last two weeks. I have no idea what will happen in the future and who God has in store for us to become our next religious leader but I do know that the lessons that I’ve learned and the love I’ve felt over the years for Pope John Paul II will forever remain in my mind and in my heart and I can only fervently pray that our next Pope will be an equally great man.