My Blessed Pope John Paul the Great

I was in the spring of youth, at age 26, when a Polish Cardinal became Pope John Paul II in October 1978.

That election electrified the world. He was the first non-Italian Pope after so many centuries. He came from behind the then Iron Curtain. He was relatively young as a Pope. He exuded a magnetism that attracted everyone instantly, honed in part by his background in the theater.

As a consequence, he approximated the status of a rock star, adored by legions. All these qualities were amply backed by a solid theological and spiritual formation, forged to a large extent, especially at the start of his vocation, in secrecy and hard labor. His pastoral exposure was vast and deep.

He was the right man to be in a communist country. When made a Pope, few doubted that he was the right man to deal with a world that at that time was in some kind of freefall to all sorts of anomalies and irregularities.

There was the tension between the West and the East, the so-called free world and the communist states that was reaching breaking point. The world was wallowing in worldly mire, not anymore knowing how to extricate from it.

Within the Church, the problems and challenges were no less daunting. Confusion, abuses and errors erupted after Vatican II in the fields of doctrine and practice. Vocations hit bottom, threatening effectivity in Church functions.

On one side, many churchmen turned left and experimented on the so-called Liberation Theology that tried to hybrid Marxist principles with Christianity. On the other side, a good number also turned too far right, sticking to rigid traditionalism and dogmatism.

In the Philippines, martial law reigned, enforcing an artificial system of peace and order, and economic prosperity and political stability. We all knew it was not going to last. The bubble would soon burst.

In all these, I was just like everybody else, trying to make do with the status quo, contented with what I had at hand, which was already quite a bit then. More tellingly, I practically had no idea how to go forward other than just flowing with the tide.

Somehow, the seeds of change and transformation were sown the day Pope John Paul II presented himself to the world for the first time. He looked great, even gorgeous, if that term can be used.

He threw a challenge, something like opening the doors of the world to Christ. I’ve heard that line before, but at that time it had a different ring. It fell on a ground that surprised me because the soil took it very seriously.

So I followed him closely, at first, very discreetly, then later on, more energetically. I noticed how he used to the hilt all his God-given gifts of intellect, charm, prudence and fortitude. I feasted on his writings, which came copiously and all hard-hitting.

A friend of mine used to joke that the Pope wrote faster than we could read. And I agreed, because trying to digest his words and thoughts was like swallowing a brick.

But the moment, I managed, I felt greatly rewarded, as a new, strong light would be shed, clearly identifying my errors and ignorance and expanding my views and knowledge significantly. With those experiences, I understood more why love necessarily involves suffering.

Then the Pope came to the Philippines in 1981. My excitement was indescribable. I did everything to get close to him. I made myself part of the press team, though I was not into writing at that time. Together with others, I filled the streets of Manila with the banners carrying his motto, Totus tuus, All yours.

Then finally came the encounter. It was in Baclaran Church, the first stop the Pope made after his arrival. I placed myself right behind the chief security officer assigned to him by Marcos.

When he stood up and made his way to shake hands with some people, I made sure I was one of them. And I got it. I’m usually blasé with personalities and celebrities, but at that moment, I practically melted. I could not forget his gaze on me. It spoke volumes.

That sealed my attachment to him. I obviously had to purify it and put it in its proper place, but I knew it was like a pump that made me going and going until I finally got ordained a priest by him in Rome in 1991.

I consider that a miracle because I never thought I would become a priest.

***

Email: [email protected]