Thoughts on the Holy Father
I was glad to go home this weekend. I needed the time to myself, honestly.
But when I heard that the Pope had gone to the hospital again, I wasn't all that surprised. He was, after all, eighty-four. He had pulled through so many times, though, that I expected him to do it again.
Did I tell you guys that I saw him at the All Saint's Mass in San Pietro? It's hard to explain my reaction to that. He was so sick, and it honestly shocked me, because he looked nothing like the man I remembered.
In my time in Italy, I grew to respect him even more than I had, and as a Baptist, this may sound really sacreligious. But while I was there, I began to think of him as MY Holy Father too. My dad wasn't around (and couldn't be from 3,000 miles away), and I felt like, in a way, the Holy Father cared about me too when I really needed someone.
He was a diplomat, poet, teacher, linguist, and an enthusiast of youth programs. The world has lost an incredibly talented man, and as Kathleen said, "Even if you're not Catholic, you have to respect him."
Part of me wishes that I was there to see the funeral, but I'm sad by the whole thing. He's not in pain anymore, which is most important- because for someone with so much respect for all forms of life, to be imprisoned in a body that would have slowly stripped him of dignity had he lived must have been agony.
Ciao, Papa. Tu siempre con angeli. Mi cuore con tu.
But when I heard that the Pope had gone to the hospital again, I wasn't all that surprised. He was, after all, eighty-four. He had pulled through so many times, though, that I expected him to do it again.
Did I tell you guys that I saw him at the All Saint's Mass in San Pietro? It's hard to explain my reaction to that. He was so sick, and it honestly shocked me, because he looked nothing like the man I remembered.
In my time in Italy, I grew to respect him even more than I had, and as a Baptist, this may sound really sacreligious. But while I was there, I began to think of him as MY Holy Father too. My dad wasn't around (and couldn't be from 3,000 miles away), and I felt like, in a way, the Holy Father cared about me too when I really needed someone.
He was a diplomat, poet, teacher, linguist, and an enthusiast of youth programs. The world has lost an incredibly talented man, and as Kathleen said, "Even if you're not Catholic, you have to respect him."
Part of me wishes that I was there to see the funeral, but I'm sad by the whole thing. He's not in pain anymore, which is most important- because for someone with so much respect for all forms of life, to be imprisoned in a body that would have slowly stripped him of dignity had he lived must have been agony.
Ciao, Papa. Tu siempre con angeli. Mi cuore con tu.