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3 April 2005

I have lived through five pontificates, three of them as a priest. I served fourteen months as a priest under Pope Paul VI, one month under
Pope John Paul I, and seven months shy of 28 years under Pope John Paul II.

It’s been said that people always remember where they were when living through significant moments in history. Everyone alive in 1963, for
example, can tell you what he was doing when the news of President Kennedy’s assassination hit. My mother and I were watching
television in our Jersey Shore home on August 6, 1978, when we learned of the death of Paul VI at the papal summer villa, Castel Gondolfo.
On September 28, 1978, I was driving five boys from Boise to San Francisco, in the hope of gaining them scholarships to the St. Ignatius
Institute of the University of San Francisco. Amidst the blare of their rock music coming from the radio came the following, “We interrupt our
regular programming to bring you a special announcement: Pope John Paul I is dead.” The boys and I looked at each other and one of
them blurted out, “How tasteless!” We switched stations immediately as a protest, but heard the same story repeated. We were stunned.
Less than a month later, I was teaching a Sophomore English class when the school secretary came to my classroom door and used the
line I had taught the student body in preparation for the conclave, “Habemus papam – and he’s a Pole!” Three years up the line, I was in
Florida on business for the Catholic League, driving from Collier County, en route to Miami. Just before getting onto Alligator Alley, the
regular radio transmission was again interrupted with an announcement, “The Pope has been shot.” As I moved farther through Alligator
Alley, I lost the radio and for three hours had no way of knowing whether the Pope was dead or alive. The present milestone in papal history
was less dramatic because we had been prepared for it over a period of several days – not so dramatic but no less a difficult experience for
that.

John Paul has been called “the Pope of personalism,” that is, a supporter of a philosophy which is deeply rooted in a profound respect for
the dignity of each and every human person. Not surprisingly, then, so many people have personal anecdotes to share. I had the privilege of
being in his presence on numerous occasions over the past quarter-century. My first contact was serving as a Communion priest for his first
Easter Vigil Liturgy as Pope. The following Wednesday, my high school students and I had a brief encounter with him in St. Peter’s Square
during his general audience. He revealed to us at that time that he intended to visit the States in the Fall. One of the kids asked if he
planned on coming to Idaho. The Pope asked quizzically, “Eedaho?” “Yes,” said the fellow, “and we have good skiing.” The Holy Father
smiled and said, “I”ll come, if they let me. And I’ll ski, if they let me.” I concelebrated Mass with him many times, including in his private
chapel. And as awe-inspiring as all that might be, let me tell you I am most grateful to him for something very different – something that
never required an iota of personal contact and, therefore, something for which everyone of you can be equally grateful.

I am speaking about his teaching – a mass of documentation unparalleled in the history of the Church. Why does this mean so much to
me? Allow me to be personal again. For over a decade after the Second Vatican Council, the “spin doctors” attempted to high-jack the
Council for the cause of liberalism. This was, in truth, the meat-and-potatoes of my seminary career. Many of us knew this was wrong, but
we were hard-pressed to prove our position. As a matter of fact, those of us who dared to challenge the creators of the “brave new Church”
were told we were retrograde, attempting to “turn back the clocks.” As a penalty for such thinking, not a few of us were sent to psychiatrists
and some were even dismissed altogether. And then John Paul strode onto the stage of the Church and the world, confidently proclaiming
the eternal truths of the Catholic Faith: We were no longer under siege; it was the enemies of Catholic truth who were in retreat. In his
Wednesday catecheses; in encyclicals, apostolic letters and constitutions; in homilies and addresses around the world the “Faith once
delivered to the saints,” as the Epistle of Jude puts it, was being boldly re-asserted. And then, a high-water mark occurred – the
promulgation of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Now, Catholic faith and morals was accessible to anyone of good will and with a
desire to know precisely what the Catholic Church believed and taught.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not naive. Our Church is still riddled with a multitude of problems, but a lack of doctrinal clarity is not among
them any longer, and that development was a necessary first step for any future growth and development. Indeed, Pope John Paul’s
successor will be in a marvelous position to build on that very sure foundation of rock-solid orthodoxy and thus make other reforms needed
to ensure that “new evangelization” advanced and prayed for by John Paul II as the essential program for the Church of the third millennium.
Two sentences found themselves leaping off the Holy Father’s lips with incredible regularity, lines he uttered from his first day as Sovereign
Pontiff. First, “Open wide the doors for Christ.” Second, “Do not be afraid.” We can say they functioned as “theme songs” of his pontificate,
and they find a strong echo in the Sacred Liturgy for this day.

First of all, what a tremendous grace to die during the Easter Octave as the eyes of the Universal Church are focused on Jesus Christ and
the power flowing from His Resurrection. Secularists this past week could not understand why we had pretty well ceased to pray for the
Pope’s recovery and instead began to pray for his “happy death.” A happy death? How absurd! Absurd to all deprived of the gift of faith so
powerfully highlighted in Our Lord’s dialogue with St. Thomas in today’s Gospel. Faith, you see, is not blind acceptance of absurdities.
Faith, like love, is a different kind of vision; it is seeing things from God’s perspective which, in turn, gives us access to truths and
experiences inaccessible to those who cannot or will not live by faith. And so, that Evangelist who is also known as the “beloved disciple”
combines faith and love at the close of his Gospel, informing us that he has recorded this handful of signs “that you may come to believe that
Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that through this belief you may have life in his name.” That is our reasoned hope, shared by
believers from the era of the Apostles right down to John Paul II – and that hope has made all the difference in the world as to the way men
have both lived and died.

Our First Reading reminds us that Christian joy lives only after it has been tried in the crucible of suffering. It was so for the Lord; it was so
for the Apostles; it was so for Pope John Paul; it must be so for us, too. And this, we are told, leads to our salvation. The world finds it hard
to understand this paradox, but truly Christian lives prove its veracity. I daresay that is why so many non-believers have been so impressed
by this man, who lived and died with remarkable consistency and fervor. Of course, Pope Paul VI understood this well, which is why he
asserted in his apostolic letter on evangelization back in 1975 that modern man is not very moved by teachers any longer, but might be
willing to listen to teachers if they are also “witnesses.” John Paul was a personal witness to what he preached and thus was taken
seriously even by many who disagreed with him mightily.

The Responsorial Psalm is a hymn to divine mercy. And herein lies the second great grace given to the Holy Father. He, the great promoter
of the Divine Mercy devotion, died on this Sunday within the Octave of Easter, the day he had designated as Divine Mercy Sunday, for Sunday
had already begun in Rome by the hour of his death. To a world bent on strict legal justice at best or revenge at worst, this Pope – like the
visionary Sr. Faustina Kowalska before him – served as the messenger of God’s eternal and merciful love. On this Sunday four years ago,
he said, “This miracle [of mercy] has changed humanity’s destiny.” Because God has been merciful to us and makes that mercy as
available and palatable as bread in the Sacrament of Penance, we are then called to show mercy to others. How different would our world
be if human beings reflected ever so slightly the mercy of our Heavenly Father. And once more, the Holy Father led the way not only in words
but in deeds, as he went to the prison cell of his would-be assassin and assured him of his forgiveness. Yes, the Chinese have it right,
“One picture is worth a thousand words.”

Today’s Gospel carries two themes especially dear to the heart of our beloved late Pontiff. The first, I have already alluded to, the Sacrament
of Penance. In this engaging encounter between the Risen Christ and the apostolic community, we behold the Lord’s conferral on that
frightened band the gift of the Holy Spirit, Who is given first and foremost for the forgiveness of the sins of the human race. As the use of the
Sacrament of Penance declined to tragically low numbers, the Pope repeatedly spoke and wrote about the importance and centrality of this
means of penance and reconciliation. True to form, he also provided an example for priests by hearing confessions himself, most notably
on Good Friday every year but this.

The second theme is that of faith and how it interacts with reason. As both a theologian and a philosopher, John Paul II saw the necessity
for the Church and humanity to fly with both wings, faith and reason alike. When he published his encyclical, Fides et Ratio, the New York
Times editorialized that while the Church of the nineteenth century at Vatican I had felt compelled to defend faith from the incursions of
rationalism, the world had taken such a turn since then that John Paul felt compelled to defend reason itself to a world that had seemingly
lost confidence in any reasonable propositions and discourse.

Just a couple of additional observations. Hasn’t it been fascinating to note the media reaction to the Pope’s last days and his death. I have
never seen such a positive media presentation of things Catholic in my entire life, not even with such films as Going My Way or The Bells of
St. Mary’s! The presence of the young in St. Peter’s Square and around the world in the days leading up to last night has surely given even
the most skeptical reason to pause and, at least, to ask why. Tributes and prayers from such unlikely sources as Evangelicals (Did you hear
Pat Robertson nearly canonize John Paul the night before his death?), Jews, and Moslems have truly been astonishing. What is the reason
for this unfathomable outpouring of love and respect from such disparate quarters? The only sensible response, it seems to me, was one
spoken by an old black Baptist lady in the South Bronx during the Pope’s first visit to New York in 1979. When asked why she and so many
other non-Catholics were present, she simply exclaimed, “He shore know howta pope!”

Well, I think I’ve said enough. Please understand that it has not been my intention to eulogize the Pope. That will be done by thousands of
others over the next days, weeks, months and years. Besides that, I’m not too sure he would be too interested in that approach. My purpose
has been to fulfill my role as your father in God and to help you come to grips with this moment of transition – a bittersweet moment – bitter,
because we have lost our common father; sweet, because our Easter faith bids us rejoice in the fulfillment of his pilgrimage of faith.
Permit me to conclude by relying on some of the lovely, inspiring and gracious words of the Victimae Paschali, the magnificent Easter
Sequence we have been singing for the past eight days.

1. We read that “mors et vita duello conflixere mirando,” “life and death have contended in a stupendous combat.” We saw that in Christ’s
Paschal Mystery; we saw that Paschal Mystery re-enacted in living color in our Holy Father this past week.
2. Then the hymn-writer addresses the Magdalen: “Dic nobis, Maria, quid vidisti in via,” “Tell us, Mary, what you saw on the way.” And then
she replies: “Sepulchrum Christi viventis et gloriam vidi resurgentis,” “I saw the tomb of the living and risen Christ and His glory.” Hasn’t that
been the totality of the life and mission of Pope John Paul II? To tell us and the whole world of his knowledge, his experience, both from his
head and his heart, of the glory of the Risen Christ?

3. The hymnographer asserts, “Surrexit Christus spes mea,” “Christ my hope has arisen.” It was no accident that John Paul’s official
biography was entitled, Witness to Hope. And St. Paul teaches us that hope, true hope, hope rooted in a firm conviction in the Lord’s
Resurrection “does not disappoint.” Indeed, the Sequence goes on to speak with great certitude, “Scimus Christum surrexisse a mortuis
vere,” “We know that Christ has truly risen from the dead.” Yes, we know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Christ has risen. Therefore,
throw open the doors to that Christ; therefore, no need to be afraid of anything or anyone.

One final anecdote from this pontificate. As we got word of the Pope’s death, I went to the church to toll the bell. I tolled it once. I tolled it
twice. Then the strangest thing happened: The rope broke, so that I was unable to continue. Upon arriving back at the office, I went to the
internet and found a story from the morning’s New York Post, recounting an episode from the Holy Father’s final hours. It seems that his
closest associates surrounding his deathbed had begun to cry when all hope of a recovery was gone. He reached for a pen and paper and
wrote: “I am happy, and you should be as well. Let us pray together in joy.” I think I got my answer as to why the bell cord had snapped. I
was tolling when perhaps, from the perspective of Christian faith, I should have been rejoicing.

The Easter Sequence provides a fitting conclusion to our reflections. The last line cries out in a pleading but assured voice, “Tu nobis, victor
Rex, miserere,” “Have mercy on us, Victor King.” Yes, have mercy on us and on your servant John Paul, O Victor King. Amen. Alleluia.