Blogger just returned from St. Patrick’s
Cathedral. The pope arrived in his
small Fiat. I am moved by watching his face, his eyes, the tone of his voice,
the passing from profound seriousness – almost sadness-- to a radiant smile
that exudes goodness in somebody’s direction -- and gift, the slow total-gift-of-self cadence and emotion in every sentence. He looks like what he says. The
apposite description seems to be, “he’s the real thing.” The ceremony was
exceedingly beautiful, but at the center of it all – for me – is Francis’
humility, which I sedulously confuse with divinity. He is in the hands of
others and obeys with this air of availability, until the giftedness begins at
the sight of the person at the periphery – the older woman, the older man, the
older priest, the distressed child…
As I see it, then the music begins. This
happened after it was all over and he began leaving the church. The organ was
virtuoso fantastic as organ fanfares can be, but it accompanied Francis as he
made his way out into real contact with the people. He was looking for it and
feeding on it, and they were feeding him with themselves. He couldn’t get
enough of it, and obviously needed it. He is explicit on this need. It is Christ passing by. He is Christ passing by.
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