Pope John Paul II's last gift to me

The funeral of our Pope, John Paul II, was a deeply moving event for me. For the first time since standing in St Peter's square where I was blessed to be present when our Holy Father died, I was able to cry. When the pall bearers were carrying John Paul II's casket into the basilica after mass, they turned around at the entrance so that the whole world might see him one last time, and it was then that I realized he is now forever gone. I cried because I will miss him dearly. He did so much for our Church, he did so much for me.
There is a lot that is known about John Paul II. He was purposefully open with his life because he had nothing to hide. He was a humble man who had emptied himself, so that Christ might fill him; and Christ shone through him like a light in the darkness. But there was a private side to JPII, just as there was to Christ; private in the sense that it was between him and God. The prayer life of our Holy Father has been spoken about time and time again, because like Jesus in the garden inviting Peter and John to keep vigil, John Paul II invited many into his chapel to keep vigil. Anyone who has been there can testify to the powerful image of seeing him deep in communion with our Lord. What they spoke to each other we do not know, but I think that his prayer was more powerful than anything he did, for the prayers of a righteous man are strong indeed. Repeating the words of Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger in his funeral homily, "We can be sure that our beloved Pope is standing today at the window of the Father’s house, that he sees us and blesses us."
There are many ways that I have failed to live up the standard that Christ sets for us, "Be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect." On my own, I cannot do this, but with Christ in me, anything is possible. The reason I fail is because I do not allow Christ to be fully in me; I tend to reserve a place for myself. I have often looked at my life compared to the saints around us: Saint Mother Theresa, Saint Jose Maria Escriva, Saint Padre Pio, and many other saints as well as many holy men and women. In doing this, I always find myself wanting. These men and women seem so far from me, from my lifestyle, that I can easily fall into despair that I will never be truly holy. This last Wednesday I was sharing a reflection about how John Paul II has affected my life, and I said that one of the most profound gifts the holy father gave me was the encouragement and strength of God to press on in Hope, that I can indeed become holy. I look at the picture of John Paul II in our private chapel here, and find him gazing at me with a comforting fatherly smile, and in my heart I hear him saying, "Christopher, you can do this, I believe in you." With these words in my heart, I feel like I can do anything.
Every moment that passes since the death of our Holy Father, I am more and more convicted that I need to change my life, and change it now. I feel the radical call to give my life to Christ more deeply now than I ever have in my life. In my past, this call seemed like a good option, or even a great option. After this life changing week here in Rome, I realize that this is no longer an option, it is necessary. I must change my life and change it starting now. This is the gift John Paul II has given to me: with the ending of his life, it is time for the beginning of mine.
Praise to God forever, Amen.

John Paul II

The body of our Pope John Paul II. [Photo courtesy of AP news service]

John Paul II

I recently viewed the body of our deceased pope John Paul II and I am constantly amazed at how many people are coming to view his body. I believe that the major reason is that so many people love him. This begs the question to be asked, "Why do so many people love this pope?" I believe that the answer is because he loved us first. Pope John Paul II took the time to love each person individually. He was radiant with the merciful love of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. In addition to his great love, he was a humble man. As St Paul petitions us to do, JPII counted all others as superior to himself. He treated everyone he met as if that person was the most important person in the world. A poor person received the same treatment as a president of a country. John Paul II looked upon each person as Christ looked upon rich young man: with love.

I have been asking myself, "What is the Lord trying to teach me through this experience?" There are many lessons, but I think one of the most important is teaching me how to love and how to be loved. I keep asking, how I am supposed to react to all these blessings, like being in Rome, being at St Peter's with him when he died, being able to view his body, and even the attendance of his upcoming funeral. I often feel helpless and swept away in something out of my control. I feel like a grain of sand on the beach with the tide flowing in and out. Since this all began I have felt one step behind all of the events, mainly due to the fact that I don't speak Italian fluently enough to understand what is going on until after it happens. I have been in shock here in Rome. I feel like I am standing still while the world rushes around me. I have been asking myself, "What should I be doing?" John Paul II gives me my answer, which comes originally from Christ: Love and be loved.

Love is a choice; it is an action. It is something I can do. But who?, how?, where? Once again my answer comes from the life of John Paul II reflecting Christ: love each person individually. I am to meet them where they are at in life. Not to judge them, or to dispense justice, but to look upon them as if they are Christ. To act as if the person in front of me is the only other person in the world, and this person is royalty. I am to devote my whole attention to each person as they come into my life, but even more, I am to seek people out and love them. I am also called to receive the love that the Lord has for me, in whatever form it comes in. The fact that I have to ask "how?" is why the Lord has me here. For here, as I stand in the Saint Peter's square with millions of people moving past me, I find my answer. I must have courage, I must risk rejection, I must let go of my constant attempt to control my life, and let myself be swept away by God's action. For I, on my own, am not able to truly love these people as Jesus calls me to. But God can love them through me and I must let Him. I must give up my desire to control everything in my life, and follow him, even when I do not know where it will take me.

I have fear. I have fear that I will not be happy, and that I will lose myself. Being around John Paul II has taught me that I love myself very much, and the idea of losing myself is frightening to me. What will I become? Will I be rejected? Will I be hated? Will I be despised? Jesus does promise such things for those who follow him, and I am afraid it will all come true. But did these things happen to JPII? Yes: the world rejected, hated and despised him, but billions of people loved him. I seem to want the impossible: to be loved by all. But how can I reasonably ask for this when not even God has that. But against all reason I still want it. I don't like being hated and rejected, so I often try to create a little world around me where the only people I interact with are the ones who love me. Then I can pretend that the whole world would love me, if given a fair chance. I hide in a comfort zone that I created, that I have control over. Doing what JPII and Jesus did, choosing to love unconditionally, makes one a public figure and opens oneself to the ridicule of the world. I have seen the truth in loving unconditionally because I have experience unconditional love. The world and I, in seeing these men, is filled with conviction that often leads to shame because we see where we have fallen short. Thus we all cry out "Crucify him!" as if that will rid us of our shame; as if we would not see our own shortcomings if these men did not exist. I fear people shouting at me, "Crucify him!". I still love my life and fear my death too much.

I have had the great gift of good formation in my life, and I know in my head what is good and right and true. I have been blessed with the ability to understand, a well developed conscience, and good reasoning. However, many of the things that I claim to "know", I know only in my head and not in my heart. I can say, "It is right to mourn and feel sorrow and loss," yet I cannot make myself feel these things. I feel like I have a major disconnect between my head and my heart; my intellect and my will. I believe that am here in Rome to receive the grace from God to finally make this connection; to put into action all the Lord has taught me. I don't like admitting it, but probably the one of the only things in the world that could have jolted me "out of myself" is to be present when a man as great as JPII passes away. It is like a bucket of cold water dumped on my face to wake me up. It is no coincidence that I am here in Rome this semester and that I went to St Peter's square that Saturday of John Paul II's death. The Lord led me here to be present for all of this so that He might change me; that I might let Him change me.

I have told myself many times, and have encouraged others, "Don't leave here unchanged." Only seldom in history does the Lord raise up men like John Paul II . We need to reflect on his life and let ourselves be changed. We must commit to change. I must take action; I must love. But I must love not just one time or for nine days of mourning, and then go back to my "normal" life. I am called make a promise to the Lord: the promise to be changed forever; to love forever. For me this means stepping out blind and afraid into the unknown. I have heard it said that risk is closely linked with love; to love much is to risk much, but to risk little is to love little. So I must take courage and strength from the Lord and risk much. John Paul II was human just like me, and if he could do it, so can I.

I pray that I may never regret a day, or even a moment in my life, from this moment forward.

May all glory be given to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.