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.