Pope Benedict XVI US Tour ‘08

The t-shirt would be a little lame, right? I mean, the back would say this:

Pope Benedict XVI US Tour ‘08
“Blessing the US!”
Washington, DC
New York, NY

Not much of a tour, only two stops, but I guess that is what made it so special. I was thrilled to have gotten a ticket to a historic religious event like this. And I’m not even Catholic. As I told you in an earlier post, I was riding shotgun for my devout catholic friend who wanted a companion for the long trip. I owed her, and I’ll admit, in this instance I was glad I owed her and happy to pay up.

I could give you a blow by blow of the whole event, the drive to New York, the kindness of the Church group who allowed us to enter their parish lottery for tickets and then took us into their hearts and onto their bus. The drive down the Hudson, with the steely grey skies and a cold wind blowing us along.

My discomfort with seeing New York City again, I know that many people consider it a tourist destination, a thrilling fun place to visit and apparently a lot of people consider it a great place to live and work, but I have to admit I don’t care for NYC. I hadn’t been there in about 15 years and I could have spent the rest of my life with out going again. I don’t know, it’s just to grey, to dirty, to cement and steel, to crowded, to noisy and yes, I know about central park but besides that, I don’t see enough nature to keep a June bug alive. It’s just too manmade for me. I don’t like that caged in feeling I get when there are buildings towering all around me. I want to see the sky above, the horizon in the distance and the earth under my feet, so NYC and me, we just don’t fit.

I could go on and on about the amazing choreography of the support staff who parked 800 buses and got 57,000 people through security in the blink of an eye. I was having trouble telling the FBI guys in their conservative suits from the Catholic guys dressed for Mass with the Pope. The NYC cops were short. Yes, I said short. I’ve never seen so many short cops in my life. Maybe it’s a process of evolution; these homeboys growing up in crowded city conditions are naturally starting to grow smaller.

They were all very nice, just small. I was especially happy with the one who promised not to remove us from the event if we crashed the men’s room because honestly, the ladies room line was around the stadium. I saw one of the shorty cops in our section of the stadium, who had never taken his eyes off the crowd during the whole event, pull his crucifix out of his shirt and cross himself as the Pope concluded Mass. I suspect he was thrilled to be making overtime protecting the head of his Church, I just wish he could have participated in the Mass as well.

I could also go on and on about the number of people, the amazing diversity of ages and nationality, the large group of novice priests in baseball caps (so cute!), the occasional Nun in habit surrounded by little girls with starry eyes asking questions, ( that’s cute too!). The Monks in robes, the Knights of Columbus in full regalia (Stunning!), all the Bishops and Cardinals in tall hats and flowing robes, the elderly dressed in their Sunday best, the families of faithful, the crowds of security people, the reporters and cameras and all of our NYC hosts, the staff at the stadium.

I could go on about the pre- Pope show with Harry Connick Jr. which was a real treat and by then the cold winds were letting up and the clouds were beginning to slide away so the whole event was becoming much more comfortable. My hands were thawing out.

Finally the time for mass arrived and the bells called the faithful to service. The ritual of the Catholic Mass is a beautiful thing to see and even more so when attended by a horde of Bishops and Cardinals and 57,000 people. The Pope made his way around the stadium in the “pope-mobile” and the teenager behind me told his grandma he wanted to get a truck just like that to tour around town in.

When the Pope finally stepped onto the stage and the cameras focused on him, his image filled the big screens and I got a warm fuzzy feeling. I can’t explain it, I just did. Like I was looking at my best friends favorite Grandpa. I raised my white scarf ( handed to me at the gate courtesy of the church) and waved like crazy, welcoming the Pope. It didn’t take long for the crowd to become still, after all, I imagine a large number of people in the crowd had gone to Catholic schools, had been disciplined by the Nuns and knew when it was time to settle down.

The Mass started and I kept half an eye on my devout Catholic friend because I knew that the mass progressed in a predictable fashion and there were times to stand and times to sit and times to bow your head. I was taking my cues from my friend and wondering if God was keeping score, how many missed masses could I make up by attending one mass with the Pope? I figured conservatively that if I were catholic, I would have missed 2600 masses so far in my life. Could I trade, say, half of those in by attending this one?

I was contemplating this question, observing the crowd at their mass when suddenly it came to the part in the mass where the priest calls out and the congregation answers back and 57,000 voices rose together like a flock of doves above the stadium and as one voice answered the call of their faith. I was stunned with the beauty of it. It was enormous.

It was like the entire stadium full of people became one being and the rise and fall of the mass was the heartbeat and breath of this giant. The call of the Priest became the foghorn and the mass the lighthouse in the fog. The huge crowd moved as one being, eyes closed, just listening and responding as it was guided home. Every move of the mass was echoed by 57,000 beings moving as one being sewn together from 57,000 threads, stand up, sit down, bow head. It was the same, always, in every church everywhere and everyone moved with certainty. The consistency a solid rock foundation, they were held comfortably in the arms of the ritual they knew without doubt.

I stood aside as 57,000 people were given the sacrament by hundreds of priests. I looked around and saw 57,000 people in blissful contemplation of the most holy of their rituals. The “vibe” was almost visible and I think, just maybe, that the stadium seen from outside would have had a sheen to it. As the mass ended I took up my white scarf again, and with everyone else bid Pope Benedict XVI goodbye.

It was incredible to see, I mean, who would have thought 57,000 people anywhere, anytime, for any reason, could move in perfect synchronicity? But it did happen, I saw it. I heard it. I felt a sudden renewal in my faith in faith.

I think for most people, faith is like a red line on a thermometer, moving up and down in the seasons of their life. If we look at faith as the thread that sews the garment of our life together, we realize the consistency of the stitches to be what makes the garment stronger. As we learn to sew with faith and our stitches become more uniform, no longer tiny and tight in some places, long and loose in others, but consistently even, always in faith, sewn with care, the garment of our life becomes stronger. No longer is our garment easily torn apart by the hands of fate.

For me, that is the message of the Mass, always the same, everywhere, through time, never changing, consistently calling to the faithful to remain so.