Just remembering
This is a time for memories.
In a few days, or a few weeks, there’ll be time for looking ahead, for seeing where the church is going, and under whose earthly leadership.
But for now, this is a time for memories. A pope is dead.
And there surely are many memories. Pope John Paul’s pontificate thrived for more than a quarter-century. He is the only pope known to at least one entire generation. And, because of his contributions on the world scene, many others have a new—and better—understanding about what it means to be the vicar of Christ.
But about those memories. Certainly the pages of this edition of The Catholic New World shares them. The people of Chicago, rich in its Catholic and Polish traditions, always seemed to have a special connection with Karol Wojtyla, the man who showed his faith for more than 26 years a pope.
He was honored by millions, celebrated by nations and, for some, seen as an icon of fame in much the same way as an international celebrity. It was a fame he used to proclaim Jesus Christ to a world in need of hearing.
We journalists, though, are a different breed. For most of us in this business, fame isn’t all that special. Sometimes, it’s even ho-hum. That comes from interacting with “famous” people, up close and personal, in ways that everyday citizens often don’t.
It breeds cynicism.
In four decades as a reporter and editor I’ve met my share of famous folk, from sports figures to entertainment celebrities to politicians.
Reporters who are agog at their brushes with fame aren’t going to be very effective. That doesn’t mean, however, we are completely unaffected.
Pope John Paul II, as perhaps the most accessible pontiff in a millennium, met scads of people. I was with him twice, both times (at least nominally) as a journalist.
The first was in 1987 when the pope visited Detroit as part of a U.S. trip that cut a swath from South Carolina to California, but skipped over Chicago. In the Motor City he met with deacons from around the country. The Chicago Sun-Times, where I was working at the time, sent me to cover it. Of course, as a deacon ordained in 1979 for the Diocese of Joliet, for me the meeting was a two-fer. The group wasn’t small, but neither was it Grant Park.
The second time came in February 1999, when I accompanied Cardinal George and Greek Orthodox Metropolitan Iakovos on a journey that took us from Istanbul to Rome. In Istanbul we met with Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew I, leader of Orthodox Christianity, and carried his greetings to Pope John Paul II.
That meeting was much smaller and more intimate.
The private audience was never assured, but when it came it happened quickly. Our delegation of Chicago Catholics and Orthodox was led through Vatican hallways, our heels clicking on ancient marble floors. In a meeting room, we waited. And waited. In some ways, it seems, the Vatican bears a resemblance to the U.S. Army: there’s a lot of “hurry up and wait.”
But then the waiting was over, and the pope came in. His illnesses were beginning to affect him, even then, and he walked with a cane. But when he saw Cardinal George, the pope thrust the cane into the air and joyously shouted, “Ahhhh, Chicago!!”
The pope talked to us as a group for a bit and then we were each introduced, one at a time, while a papal photographer snapped “The Photo,” the special remembrance that almost always accompanies such private audiences.
And because Pope John Paul II has been so accessible, having The Photo hardly makes me special; many people do. At best it places me in a group which probably numbers in the tens of thousands or more.
Even so, it’s a memory. And a good one.
Tom Sheridan
Editor and General Manager
