The Deacon's Bench
If you’re in Rome on a Wednesday, you just have to take in a General Audience with the pope. We did it the last two times we visited Rome, in 2000 and 2004, so this was a tradition we needed to continue.
We made online reservations for tickets at Santa Susanna, the American parish in Rome. We went to pick up the tickets Tuesday afternoon. I’m glad we did. You can also try and get tickets Wednesday morning at the Paul VI Hall. But the crowds are massive. Security is intense, with multiple ticket-checks, bag-checks, scannings and one x-ray that’s not unlike going through airport security.
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We arrived at St. Peter’s Square a little before 8. The audience was at 10. The weather was beautiful, sunny and in the mid-70s, and the atmosphere festive.
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We saw lots of groups (with matching hats or tee shirts), people with flags and banners, and a band playing various anthems.
Around 9:30, a priest strode to a microphone and began to read the names of various groups who are in attendance.
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Then the excitement built and the fun began. Without any fanfare, suddenly an image of the pope popped up on one of the large TV screens flanking the basilica. It’s a live image and he’s on his way. A cameraman was riding along in the popemobile with him, so you saw more or less what the pope was seeing, from over his shoulder, as he rolled through the crowd and people started to go nuts.
The next hour or so followed a fairly predictable pattern of prayer and reflections offered by the pope and then translators in multiple languages. (There were even sign language interpreters). It concluded with a blessing (and a priest took pains to let the crowd know that, yes, all the objects you have brought with you will be blessed as part of that—good news for me and my wife, who had lugged big bags full of rosaries with us!)
Herewith, a few random observations from the rest of the morning:
This pope connects with people in a way that is nothing less than phenomenal. It is electric. What we’ve seen on television, from his many appearances, is only the tip of the iceberg. In the square, it was a Pope-a-pa-looza. Everyone has a camera, a cell phone or—God help us—a selfie stick. (Indeed: vendors sell the sticks everywhere, and it looks like everyone with a phone and an arm is using them.)
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Pope Francis likes to take his time with people. John Paul, as I remember, made just one loop around the square. Francis makes several, and tries to get close to everyone. This may be his favorite part of the job. There are sick to touch, babies to kiss, faithful to greet. His joy at doing this is something to see. And people can’t get enough of it. I’m reminded of something journalist Sébastien Maillard told me the other day: people went to the General Audiences to see John Paul and to hear Benedict. But they want to touch Francis.
When he’s elected does the pope realize what he’s getting into? Watching Francis make his way to the stage, and seeing how he worked the crowd, I realized: It’s not just a job or a duty; for better or for worse, the pope is a very public commodity. The pope is the face of a billion believers and the head of the most important religious institution on earth, yes. But on the ground, to the people who work around the Vatican, he’s the face on tea towels, and coins, and stamps, and spoons. When he’s kneeling in prayer in the final moments before striding out to the balcony on the day of his election, I wonder if the new pope ever thinks, “I will now be immortalized in horrible marble paperweights sold on every corner of the city. I will be a stuffed doll and my face will decorate tee shirts and posters and rosaries. God help me.”
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No one leaves disappointed. As we filed out of the square, I said to my wife, “This is like leaving Disneyland after the fireworks.” And I wasn’t just talking about the massive mobs heading for the exits. You also leave with similar mingled feelings of wonder, gratitude, weariness and nostalgia. You’ve experienced something exceptional, and communal, and also very personal. It will take time to process. But it’s not something you’ll ever forget.
Below, a brief video from our vantage point.
All photos: Deacon Greg Kandra
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