Pomp, Pope and Circumstance

Wednesday, the 4th of October, 6:00 AM. I wake up before the alarm. This Seminary routine is starting to kick in. Time to rise, head to the shower, shave and dress up. As I tidy up the room, Hillsong plays on the background. 7:00 AM and I am in the main chapel to do the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer. Then down to the basement to have breakfast with my colleagues. It is better to hurry up because at 8:00 we're leaving promptly to attend the 10:00 AM Papal Mass at St Peter's Square. Better be safe than sorry; though on a regular occasion it could take us about 45 minutes to get to the Vatican, the traffic in Rome is unpredictable. After the usual security check, we take some seats between the obelisk on our left and the fountain on our right. We are almost next to the wooden rails where, hopefully, we will get a good glimpse of the Pope when he will ride the popemobile and greet the crowd.

An experienced seminarian hands me a sunscreen tub soon after rubbing some cream on his neck. '-I believe you will need this', he says. There is no point in arguing with an Australian; he must know what he is saying. So, meek and mild, I protect also my neck, and I anoint my face. I add to this a pair of shades and a cheap paper hat. 'A thousand can fall at my left and ten-thousand at my right', but I will not be scorched. I can now meet the Pope!

Pope Francis is presiding the Mass that opens the 15th General Assembly of the Bishops' Synod, which main focus is the youth. From afar I could spot tenths of green chasubles and white mitres; many of the prelates were there to concelebrate with the successor of Peter.

At 9:30 the spiritual engines start the warm-up: the Rosary begins and is recited in Italian, Latin and English. I assumed it was a practice started by John Paul II, but later I understood Pope Francis implemented it to counteract all the excessive clapping and flag waving before the Mass and to bring the attendants to a more spiritual disposition. Fair point, Your Holiness!

Then a processional cross emerges from the basilica, and the choir intones the first hymn; thirty thousand people join in: thus begin the Mass. Acolytes, deacons and priests enter the compound followed by a slow-paced Pope. I gaze at a senior man, wearing a beautiful mitre and a richly embroidered chasuble. Over his shoulders the pallium, worn by archbishops and symbol of the Bishop of Rome's primacy over the Universal Church. I noticed the Pope limped all the way to his throne. Seeing the Pope's expression, I could not avoid thinking he felt the weight of the Church and the world on his shoulders. I have to admit that I felt mildly moved when I realised I, an Anglican, was in a scenario of which not many can be part of. All over the world hundreds of millions of Roman Catholics dream to see the Pope in flesh and bone, but they will only see a white figure on a TV screen. I remember my mom, a devout Catholic. I could swap with her, to make her happy for a few moments. I am sure she would pay reverent attention to the words of the Bishop of Rome, in contrast with some people who were either talking during the service or standing up, moving from one chair to another, or taking the odd picture while blocking other people's sight.

Eventually, the Pope addresses the crowd with a homily. '-This is going to be long', I thought. But I was wrong. I took less than 10 minutes, I gather, and I could understand most of what he said in Italian. Soon Communion was distributed and the Mass ended shortly after. It was a short ceremony after all. Then the moment that all have waited for came. After greeting many of the bishops, some lay people close to the altar and representatives from other Christian Churches, Francis stepped on his white jeep surrounded by bodyguards and began circumventing the square. From where I was standing, I saw people losing their civility, climbing on their chairs and holding high their cameras in the hope of capturing the bishop in white.

And there he was, waving at the crowd. His expression was now transfigured. Before I saw a frail man; now I was contemplating a man with a broad smile emanating tenderness and warmth drinking from the energy projected by the assembly. For a split second I read his mind: '-I could spend hours here with these children. Let us forget the diary for a day.'

I have been to Rome. I have seen the Pope. I can go home... but not yet. The journey is far from ended.