Pope John Paul II
8 min readWhere does one start when they have the opportunity to say something about the most influential person in their life? Why is it that we never say these things when that person is still living and breathing and has a chance to feel loved here on earth, when there is so much cold and evil around? Why do we wait until death to eulogize? Where are we going from here?
You have to excuse me for thinking aloud; it is times like these when thoughts flood my brain in such a manner that to not get them out would cause certain subdural hematoma.
I am Catholic. If you know me, you know that. If you have never met me, then let me explain myself:
It comes from my mother’s side. My grandparents weren’t straight off the boat, but they weren’t that far removed. My grandmother was a proud Roman Catholic woman and my grandfather a short, stout Irish Catholic. My mother’s ethnicity is one of contradiction, the Irish and the Italians in this nation both spent their time at the bottom, often times trying to crawl over one another to get out, but where they were drastically different, they shared one vital trait: their love for the Holy Roman Church. Inside the parish walls, there is no separation. You will find solidarity and unity, after all this is a group that has seen schism attempt to tear it apart. Scars heal, but they are still visible.
The faith of my grandparents came to me via my mother, and it became mine in March of 1981 when I received the Holy Spirit through the sacrament of Baptism. I was now, whether I liked it or not, a Catholic. It was something that no matter how hard I tried, I would not shake, even though for a while I tried.
I went through my sacraments and catechism classes during a youth that was more interested in baseball and Nintendo. I went to mass on Sundays and never questioned why. I pouted, for sure, but in the end always understood that this was what God commanded. My faith was still not entirely my own, but I was learning it and unknowingly storing it into an untouchable part of my psyche.
I grew quickly and the family moved out of the original parish. I hit my rebellious years and the first thing I cast out was the Church. I stopped going, thought I never denounced the Catholic Church. To do so would be an unspeakable crime against God and my family, two entities I was not prepared to cross. I had no problems casting out the Church though. I spent my lazy years sleeping in on Sunday morning. I spent my inquisitive years jumping from church to church, mainly various Protestant denominations I had no idea existed only years earlier. I could not pick out a Mormon from a Methodist, but it was different and I went. Church then again became and essential part of my Sunday and my life, and when it did, my tradition began to creep back in.
I sat in these buildings, wondering what had happened to the church in the six years I had been gone. I must not have gotten the memo. Where was the huge crucifix above the altar? Where were the tabernacle and the elements? Where were the hymns? Where were the pictures? The Stations of the Cross set into stained glass murals were gone. Where did the kneelers go and why were these people not being as reverent in prayer? Was Paul the same person as Saint Paul? Why have I not heard anything about Mary, the mother of God, in my entire time here? Where is the Holy Water? How could we celebrate the mass without the Eucharist? Who was this woman running the parish?
I was getting an emotional fix every week, and I told myself that was good enough. However, a quiet nagging, doubt had other ideas, and when my senior year of High School rolled around, Catholicism started its slow march back into my heart. It was already in my head and spirit, I just needed to understand and give it a chance.
This article, as much as I might want it to be, is not about me and why the Catholic Church is My Church. There was one wonderful earthly constant in my life, no matter where I went in my Christian walk. His name was Pope John Paul II. He was the leader of the Christian Church in the world. He was the tangible, visible leader of the universal church. For some reason, at times to my chagrin, the Catholic Church set the tone for Christianity and he was the leader of the Catholic Church. Friends would often voice their displeasure about the man, talking about how evil he was for leading the Roman Catholic Church and how he was surely the Anti-Christ. I tried forcing myself to think that myself.
But I couldn’t. Every time I saw the man, I saw through him straight to Christ. It was so blatantly obvious to me that this man, this short, bald Polish pontiff not only was guided by the Lord, but loved Him so much that he did not mind spending his entire life in priestly service to Him and the people He loved. Pope John Paul II gave up his live in service to the church. I seem to remember another person doing just that 2,000 years earlier.
Here is the part where I have to break momentarily and preface something: I know a lot of you reading this are not Catholic. I am most certainly not calling the Pope a Christ figure. He does not guarantee us eternal salvation but he certainly lived a Christ-like life, hence the parallels. Now moving back…
I began defending the man. In my early college years, I spend innumerable nights in a non-denominational auditorium fighting for the man while he was being attacked on all sides by the good Christian people I adored. The man who had just given a wonderful sermon now sat down and talked about how this man would be the downfall of the Christian faith. I remembered another leader of the church once telling his followers to be prepared because they would be hated by their own people the same way that he was.
I eventually transferred to a small Methodist college and my reversion to Catholicism actually was finalized after studying Wesley’s Quadrilateral. It was either Wesley, or the treatment I received from other students that led me back. I began attending mass daily and gathering up all my old Catholic literature and buying new books.
Much as I now had the new obligation to live out my re-found tradition, I found a parallel with a man who had much higher level of responsibility than me: Pope John Paul II.
My love for this man grew by leaps and bounds. As I had spent these last few years mingling amongst the Christian brethren of varying denominations and sects, I gained a great admiration for them and a desire that one day we would worship together in ecumenical celebration. Schism became my enemy and unity my goal. But at the same time, it was not just my goal; it was the Holy Father’s goal. It became very apparent to me that he not only was heeding Christ’s call, but that Christ was working through him. I had no doubt that in time the church would reunite, and we would look back at this man and say that this was where it started.
Everything he did, he did so for Christ and for His Church. In times of stress, he never turned away from Mary, whom he loved with such fervor that no Pope before him had ever placed such an importance on the Virgin Mother. As I gained respect and exuded love for this man, he continued to age.
His health began to fail as early as 1993 when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. It was the beginning of his most impressive hour, which would also be his final. He continued a torrid touring pace, determined to visit as much of the world as possible. He extended olive branches to the Jewish people and the Eastern Church after years of conflict and was a vital part of ending Communism in Europe.
I watched for years as the strength of the Catholic Church weakened, and even though he became frail and weak, he seemed indestructible. Here was a man who was once shot, and lived to forgive his would-be assassin, suffering through terrible pain every day of his life, fighting diseases that cripple. He never complained or whined abut his situation, but graciously accepted his role with a strange mix of Confucian ideology and Christian obedience. He lived the way we all wished we could live, and he did it for us. He suffered in his life as a visible example that He who died for our sins also suffered and we should feel blessed for the opportunity to do so as well.
Pope John Paul II understood that when we are at our weakest, those who maintain their faith are at their strongest. Those who stay the course and run in such a way as to win the prize will do so. He knew that Christ accomplished his ultimate work when he was physically useless and nailed to a cross. John Paul II was not physically nailed to anything, but his body was wracked by pain unimaginable to those who have no experienced it. Yet as his breathing began to falter and intense pain took hold of his body, the Pope followed through on his Wednesday audience, blessing the people who came to his home to wish him well. He could not speak and he could not move, aside from his arm which he crossed three times toward the onlookers.
On Saturday, April 2, Pope John Paul II’s spirit was released from his body. He had made the great journey from life to death and on to life eternal. The Catholic Church lost one of the greatest leaders it has ever known, yet gained a solid intercessor in heaven.
In spite of his pleas not to weep for him, I could not stop the tears. I did not sob at the news, but a steady flow of tears flowed freely from my eyes. The only pontiff I had ever known was now gone and the course of the church may change with it. I had fallen in love with John Paul II’s staunch nature, or rather his ability to stand beside the issues he knew were proper for him too. He did not waver or make political concession. He was labeled a conservative by a world that demands we conform to one side or another, but do not let the label fool you. This man was all Christ, not in conforming to what a faction of the Church desired, but in laying out the plan that God had bestowed upon him.
I am already excited for the Conclave and the election process to see who God will have appointed as successor. I still tear up when my thoughts dwell on this death. It is a reaction that I wish I could control as a 24 year old man, but it stands to remind me that there are things in this world that are bigger than I am and I can not fight that. I can choose to humble myself and carry on in a way that is a fitting example of what Christ had done. Thankfully I had the opportunity to watch one of the best in action.
