Monday, June 25, 2018

The Day I Met Pope Francis



I don't really consider myself a very ambitious person, but as a Catholic coming here to Rome, the heart of the Church, I had one pretty big ambition.


I wanted to meet the Pope.


    It was a little more than just meet the Pope, actually. There is an old tradition that if you present the Holy Father with a zucchetto (the white skullcap he wears) he will either give you his, or put your one on his head and hand it back. Either way, you now have a zucchetto worn by the Pope!
This is what I wanted to do.
    First, I had to buy a zucchetto. It has to be pure white silk, definitely not polyester. I scoured the internet back home, searching New York City for a clerical shop selling such an item, but to no avail.
    I decided to wait until I was in Rome to buy it; I had found the address of the papal tailor, Gammarelli’s, on the Via di Santa Chiara not far from Piazza Venezia.
    So one day quite early in the semester (just two days after Ash Wednesday, to be exact) after morning Confession and Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica, and just after class for the day was done I set out with a good amount of money and a friend to purchase a white silk zucchetto. However, it seemed that we were not meant to get even so far as across the Tiber River; the tram stopped running, we were all ordered off, and it would be a very long walk to Piazza Venezia. We decided to visit a few churches and get some gelato. I gave up my venture for that day.
    As we stood despondently in the sun, enjoying the sweet creamy gelato from del Viale, I saw something approaching us. Tram 8 was running again! We ran towards it, hopped on, and soon were at the Vittorio Emanuele. It was not difficult to get to Gammarelli's but we did make a few wrong turns thanks to my abysmal sense of direction; however, we eventually spotted the storefront with a white zucchetto gleaming softly in the centre of the window display.
I walked up to the door and entered the shop; my goodness, it was fancy! Bolts of richly coloured fabrics covered the walls, ornate chalices shone scintillatingly from shadowy corners, filigreed pectoral crosses could be seen in a glass case towards the back, a headless mannequin was vested in alb, cincture, amice, and the most beautiful chasuble I have ever seen. Priests and seminarians looked at me with raised eyebrows; I was the only woman there and the only lay person present besides the shopkeepers. As I took all of this in, an attendant materialised at my elbow and asked what I was looking for. “I would like a white zucchetto, please,” I replied hesitantly, “for the Holy Father.” The clerk did not bat an eyelid. He bowed, opened a narrow drawer, and carefully lifted out a white cap. He swathed it in delicate tissue and placed it in a heavy white silk box, and put the box into a large bag. I paid and left the shop with a quickly beating heart, a light wallet, and a quest accomplished.
    I told only two other people about what I had done. I honestly had no hopes of this even working; it is notoriously difficult to get the attention of the Pope at a Papal Audience, at which there are thousands and thousands of people in attendance every single week. The number on my ticket was 21086.
    On Wednesday the 21st of March I was at St. Peter's at around 6 am. I'd been awake since 4. I had hardly slept. I was the most excited I had ever been. I had woken up upon every hour the previous night. Did I mention I was nervous?
    It was raining at the Vatican. Perhaps the Pope wouldn't even stop the Popemobile. Perhaps he wouldn't even look at the crowds beyond a quick blessing. Perhaps the audience would be moved inside the basilica and then we wouldn't be able to even see the Pope close up at all.
    As soon as the gates opened and I got through security I sprinted and slipped across the wet cobblestones of the piazza with my umbrella flailing; security guards and Carabinieri waved their arms and yelled hoarsely at me in Italian to slow down. I did not slow down. I needed to be as close to the front and as close to the barrier as possible.
    This was going to be a problem. I was seated on the right side of the centre aisle near the back corner of the front quadrant, an auspicious place to be, but I was about 3 seats away from the barrier.
    Near to me by the barrier was a group of students from a college in England. They were there in Italy on a school trip and had brought picnic lunches of crackers and hummus. They chatted away as we waited for the audience to begin. One of the girls looked up at the faded icon of the Blessed Virgin to the right of the square above the colonnade. “Who is that now?” she mused to her equally clueless friends. “I know she’s someone important but I don’t know who she is.”
    As the rain cleared and blue skies appeared, my mood lightened and I began to look about me for a better spot. I noticed that the couple in the row behind me had barrier seats, and a lot of room too. Holding the zucchetto in my hand and giving my most winning smile, I politely asked if I might stand with them by the barrier as the Pope passed by. The man did not crack a smile. “Well actually, I'm gonna be standing there to take pictures,” he said complacently, holding up a little tourist camera. I was annoyed but quite equal to the situation. “Well, I have something for the Pope!” I retorted, and I brandished the zucchetto in his face. I don't think he even knew what it was as he appeared nonplussed and turned away without granting me a share in the barrier. “It would be in your best interests to let me stand there,” I thought sarcastically as I turned away, “providing the Pope sees me and stops you would get the best picture of your life. All your pals back home/Facebook friends would love it!”
I had heard that if you talk to a Swiss Guard they may stop the Popemobile, so I climbed over a few rows of seats and out the gate to accost the nearest guard. However, he was not much help; all he said was, “You just have to try.” Uh, duh!
    As the time for the audience drew near I stood up and stealthily moved to the row behind me, squeezing as close as possible to the front of the crowd. It was almost 9:30 and the audience was scheduled to start at 10:00.
    Suddenly there was a fanfare of trumpets and the two big screens on either side of the square zoomed in on the left hand side of the basilica, showing a parade of security surrounding a small car in which stood a figure clad head to toe in white--it was the Pope! The audience had started a full half hour early!
    The little car traveled about the piazza; wherever it went it was greeted by loud screams and cheers. I noticed that Pope Francis was stopping by every baby he saw and was picking it up for a blessing and a kiss; he did not descend from the car but the guards handed him the children.
The Gendarmerie were sprinting about trying to anticipate the Pope’s next move; one of them ran past me and then immediately turned and ran back the other way. I heard him curse as he raced by.

    Good heavens, would he even come up the centre aisle? He seemed to be sticking to the side aisles an awful lot. Trembling with excitement, I stepped up onto the chair of the man with the camera, who was now hanging over the barrier trying to see through the lens of his camera where the Pope was. I was still not close enough to the barrier. I stepped one more chair over and found my dirty boot planted squarely on camera man's wife's blue Vera Bradley handbag (very expensive). Oops. But we all have to make sacrifices.
    I leaned far out over the couple (who began muttering angrily at this impertinent theft of about 6 inches of their precious picture taking space) and planted one hand on the barrier while I clutched the zucchetto with the other hand. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand.
    And then...oh my goodness, the little car was coming our way! I leaned out farther, trying not to fall. The crowd around me started screaming; Pope Francis had his back to us and he was about to pass by. “Papa! Papa!” I shouted, but the people on both sides of the barrier were yelling and screaming, and my voice was lost in their cries. I had to be louder. “Papa! Papa!” I shrieked and waved the hat. At the very moment he was passing me the Pope turned so he was facing my side of the aisle; the Popemobile paused and he reached for a baby about two people down from me. This was my chance. As Pope Francis held the child I leaned out even farther and yelled so loud my own voice was unrecognisable to me. “PAPA!! PAPA!! UN ZUCCHETTO!” I waved the skullcap as close to his line of vision as I could, screaming again and again; tears were running down my face and I was shaking, and my voice was hoarse and unrecognisable, I was screaming so hard. “Please, please hear me, look at me, take the hat, take the hat!” I prayed frantically in my mind. I screamed again and again and as the Pope was handing the baby back to the guard he looked at me, looked at the hat I was flagging him down with, looked back at me, smiled, and started laughing, reaching his hands out in a placating manner. He reached out and gestured towards the hat, which his guard took and handed to him.
    Pope Francis held the hat in his hand and laughed! The sun beamed brightly as he chuckled. Everyone around was screaming and waving, camera man was snapping away, I was crying, my eyes were blurry...what are you supposed to do when the Pope is looking at you and smiling and laughing?
The Pope, still smiling, removed his own zucchetto, placed mine on his head for several moments, and handed it back to the guard, who in turn handed it to me. I was worried that someone would snag it off him as it was passed to me but I soon held it tightly in my hand. Pope Francis gave me a thumbs up. “Pray for me!” he called. “Si! I will! I will!” I yelled, and the Popemobile continued on its journey towards the basilica.
I tried to step down off the chair but I was shaking so much an elderly man had to take my arm and help me down. The rest of the audience was a blur. I had finally accomplished the one thing I came to Rome wanting to do.

-Gammarelli’s: Via di Santa Chiara 34-00186 Roma (near the Pantheon) -Fotografie: Servizio Fotografico Vaticano: www.photovat.com (this is where you can find and purchase pictures from Papal events. You can also have a friend with you, like I did, and they can take phenomenal pictures too!)

Monday, June 18, 2018

Leaving Rome: A New Beginning




The last week of Lent is an eventful one; there is the celebration and bustle of Palm Sunday, and then there is the solemn quietness of Holy Thursday through Holy Saturday.

At the beginning of Holy Week I had almost forgotten that our time in Rome was nearly at an end, but as the Triduum drew near I remembered it more and more with each passing day. In another week we would all be off home, or away on new adventures traveling around Europe. The togetherness we had all shared during the past weeks in the Eternal City would be gone, and while we were sure of seeing one another back at school, it would not be quite the same.

The thought of returning home is bittersweet. It is always a joy to return to the familiar things that one is used to, but on the other hand leaving Rome is something that for many of us will not be easy. What will home be like after having lived in the heart of the Church for so long? What will it be like to walk down a street without seeing a myriad of churches, or without catching a glimpse of some tantalising dome in the distance? What will it be like not to awaken early in the morning and hear Mass at St. Peter's Basilica?

Going home will be like starting afresh; you will wander about in a daze as you are reunited with your favourite old haunts. You will become aware of things that you never really noticed; the colour of that wall in the sun, the way that branch has always hung over the path. Yes, home and family will be sweet, but there will always be a slight shadow of what has been left behind.

In the joyous Easter season, as we celebrate Christ risen from the dead, we must also be joyous about returning from Rome, the city that has given us so much. After all, the time after Easter is one of rejoicing and giving thanks. I will rejoice at my return home and I will give thanks for the time here in Rome, but part of me will always look forward to another new beginning in the Eternal City.