Twelve Months a Pope

© AP/Alessandra Tarantino [source]

This post has been about a year in the making. I meant to write it right after Pope Francis was elected one year ago today, in order to share with you, my dear bloglings, what I experienced that unforgettable night. Honestly, I did.

But the truth is, I was so sick and tired (mostly tired) of blogging by that point that I just couldn't face it. I kept putting it off and putting it off, until the papal election wasn't news anymore and there didn't seem any reason to write about it. But now everyone's favorite pope's first anniversary is here, and I finally have an excuse to write that post I've been meaning to write for so long.

Now, before we go any further, I don't want you to think that I'm still sick and tired of blogging. That was a temporary thing. You see, when dear old Benny (remember him?) decided he'd had it with the whole Supreme-Pontiff-of-the-Holy-Mother-Church/God's-Representative-on-Earth/Vicar-of-Christ/Must-always-Wear-White-no-Matter-the-Weather gig, I was swept up into a blogging (and tweeting) frenzy. As Rome moved toward conclave it got even worse. I ate, slept, and drank nothing but conclave. I became obsessed, my friends, obsessed. I even got added to the Huffington Post's list of conclave-related tweeps. That's how bad it got.

I'm sure you all know how long winded I am by now (case in point: this post), but my conclave-related blogposts defied all the rules of how long a post should reasonably be before you can assume your readers have given up and picked up War and Peace for some lighter reading. I blogged about Pope Celestine V, the only other pope who has willingly resigned, I blogged about the entire history of the papal conclave, which up till then had been my longest post ever, but then I topped myself just three days later when I blogged about every single minute (and probably useless) detail and rule of conclave that you have never wanted to know. What can I say, I was on a roll.

Then exhaustion hit. After spending something like 15 hours straight on that last post, I didn't even want to see my computer, let alone turn it on (and conclave hadn't even officially started yet!). But then I thought about Mozzarella Mamma. Big-time journalist, mother of three, she was running around the city, live tweeting from press conferences at the Vatican, interviewing the likes of Cardinal Timothy Dolan, and doing chimney watch from her perch atop Bernini's colonnade in St. Peter's Square, all the while baking red velvet cupcakes for her kids and hand-sewing them Carnival costumes. (OK, maybe I made that last bit up.) But still, I thought to myself, here is a woman with a crazy intense job, and three kids, and if she has the energy to blog about conclave every other night, surely I should have it to too.

So I eked out one last post on the first day of conclave, listing some of the most likely Papabili to take home the big prize. I left out our dear Frankie--just as the experts did--although I did predict an Argentinian, let it be noted! If the conclave had gone on for several days (or even weeks) as many people predicted, I don't know what I would have done. But as it happened, Pope Francis was elected the very next day, and afterwards I promptly collapsed and didn't post again for well over a month. Meanwhile Mozzarella Mamma posted a wrap-up just two days later--how does she do it???

Well, here, at long last, is mine. (Whoa, six paragraph preamble--I really need to learn the art of succinct blogging. Next time.)

Everyone knew the pope wouldn't be elected on the first day of conclave. With only two scrutinies, that would have been unprecedented. But most people didn't think he'd be elected the second day either. Unlike when Benny was up for election and a complete shoe-in, no one had any idea who'd be elected this time around, and we all assumed it would take at least three days. All I knew was, I wanted to be there when it happened.

I had missed the white smoke and first papal appearance back in 2005, and I wasn't going to miss it this time. Only problem was, I had tickets to the opera for the 3rd night of conclave, and I couldn't miss the chance of seeing Riccardo Muti conduct Verdi, especially as I had just interviewed him. If that hadn't been the case, I might not have gone to St. Peter's Square on the 13th at all, assuming it was too early anyway and planed to go the next night.

As it happened, I met my friend Jill (officially the most Catholic person I know) to take a leisurely stroll toward the Vatican around 5:30pm on Wednesday March 13th. Neither of us were expecting to see white smoke that night. When we arrived in the square, the atmosphere was jovial. Everyone was having a good time and no one could imagine the intense night that was ahead of them. Finally, at around 7pm, as we were milling about the back of the square, laughing with an American family we had just met, we noticed the smoke. At first it looked black, but nevertheless, just seeing the smoke was exciting, and everyone gasped gleefully. But then the smoke got grayer, and then it turned white. A collective whoop arose from the crowd as we realized we had a pope.

The very first sight of the smoke. It still looked gray at this point. © Tiffany Parks

Instantly everyone began pressing forward, and I knew what I had to do. I grabbed my friend's hand and took off, fighting to get as close to the Benediction Loggia as possible. How many times in your life do you get to see a newly elected pope appear on that legendary balcony? Not many, and I wanted a front-row seat.

Can you see the tiny puff of white smoke behind me?

Being short has its advantages, and I was able to push and dodge and squirm my way up nearly to the very front of the metal barricades until finally we could get no further. I dug out my phone and texted my maritino, telling him to high-tail it over here. Jill assured me we had at least 40 minutes before the new pope would be announced. Even so, my maritino ran. It was raining by this time and he just put his head down and ran. He described to me later the streets of the city, traffic stopped, just full of people running, all running toward the Vatican. I don't know how but he got there in 15 minutes (usually it's a 45 minute walk).

In the fray. White smoke clear as day. © Tiffany Parks

Somehow in that crowd of tens of thousands of people, we managed to find each other. We also managed to secure a prime spot, just behind the statue of St. Peter (appropriate). The wait seemed eternal but at last we heard those historic words, "HABEMUS PAPAM." It gave me goosebumps, not because I am the world's biggest fan of the institution of the papacy, but because I knew I was witnessing a historic moment. When the name Bergolio was shouted, I was truly stumped. That wasn't one of the names I had painstakingly researched. The maritino was quicker, he shouted, "Argentino!" and I was happy just for that--without knowing anything about him--just that he was from South America. Just that was enough to make the election historic.

We were so caught up in the announcement of who the new pope was, we completely missed his papal name at first. Then we heard far-off voices, Roman voices, shouting "Francesco! Francesco! Francesco!" Could it be? we asked ourselves. It's not possible that he chose that name. Another first.

Pope Francis's first appearance. © Tiffany Parks

But the moment no one who witnessed it could ever forget waswhen our new pope appeared. After the deafening cheers quieted, the newly minted pope stepped out onto the balcony and, with a humble smile, uttered the two words no one had expected, "Buona Sera." As if he were just talking to old friends. The entire square gasped and then exploded into even more cheers.

But surely the most moving moment was when he asked that, before he bless the crowd, (and give us all our hard-earned indulgences--no purgatory, yay!), that every person in the square should first bless him, and pray for him. He bowed his head with unimagined humility, and for a long moment that exuberant crowd of tens of thousands was absolutely silent and focused and reverent and it was powerful to be a part of.

I don't know how they managed to print this so fast. It was available before we left the square that night. © Tiffany Parks

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A Pope's Last Stand: the final papal audience of Benedict XVI

Pope Benedict XVI's final audience, St. Peter's Square, 27 February 2013

On the night of the 1st of April 2005, barely six months after moving to Rome, I stood with my roommates in St. Peter’s Square, holding vigil with thousands of others for Pope John Paul II. It was the night before he died, and the last full day of his papacy.

Today, in strangely parallel yet contrasting circumstances, I stood in St. Peter’s Square on the last full day of Pope Benedict XVI’s papacy. As you can imagine, the mood in the crowd was completely different: lighthearted, affectionate, nostalgic perhaps, but without a trace of grief or fear. And no surprise why: no one had died.

"Holy Father, we love you"

On that April night back in 2005, the warm spring air was heavy with collective grief. Nuns from nearly every nation prayed the rosary, young couples cried into each other’s shoulders, Latin American students sang and lit candles. And everyone’s eyes were fixed upon the Pope’s window where his light shined on, late into the night. We all expected it to be snuffed out at any moment, signifying that John Paul had breathed his last, and we were ready for the inevitable wail that would rise up from the crowd. But the light was still burning when my friends and I made our way back home.

The next evening, John Paul did die, and we returned to the square once more. Strangely, the atmosphere was different. It was as if the oppressive grief of the night before had lifted, and been replaced with a sense of peace, a knowledge that the beloved pontiff was no longer in pain. The thousands of faithful seemed filled with a sense of quiet hope.

I took some poignant photos that I would love to share with you, but alas, they were lost when I accidentally smashed my external hard drive. (Major technology fail.) Ah well, at least I have the memories, which are surprisingly vivid.

Nearly eight years later, once again I got to witness the end of a papacy, albeit a much less painful end for many Catholics. But what was, for me, so thrilling about being there was the knowledge that I was witnessing history. After all, it has been over seven centuries since a pope has voluntarily resigned, and everyone is curious about how things will play out in the next few weeks as a conclave unlike any other (with the previous pope still alive) approaches.

Walking down Via della Lungara toward St. Peter's to see the pope's final appearance

As I left my apartment around 8:30 this morning, without realizing the significance of it, my feet led me along Via della Lungara, which was originally known as Via Sancta, since it led directly from Trastevere to the Vatican, and was a well-trod route for pilgrims heading to St. Peter's. It was an ancient Roman road that was enlarged, coincidentally, by our good friend Pope Alexander VI Borgia. Is it my imagination or does il papa cattivo keep popping up everywhere I turn?

Once within sight of the Vatican, I met up with my partner in crime, Theresa, and we braced ourselves to enter the scrum. Neither of us like to be in a big crowd, but our need to be part of history triumphed over our agoraphobia and we heartily braved the masses.

Upwards of 150,000 people came to say goodbye to Benedict XVI

It was actually not as bad as I had expected. It was just after nine and the square was still filling up, so we drifted toward the left of the square's two fountains, the one built by Gianlorenzo Bernini to match Carlo Maderno's earlier one on the right (north) side. As luck would have it, the fountain was off and bone dry. Several people and a few journalists were standing up on the edge of the fountain, so we figured, why not? We pulled ourselves up, thinking we would just take the opportunity to snap a few photos over the heads of the rest of the crowd, but it was so nice up there, and so much less crowded than below, that we ended up staying there for the entire audience.

You never realize how huge those fountains are until you are actually standing inside one of them.

This cute French family was climbing up the fountain to get the best possible view.

We had a panoramic view of the entire square, and the Pope himself, under his canopy, was in our direct line of sight, although little more than a tiny white dot from where we stood. He rode past, not far away, in his little Pope-mobile, and we would have been able to get a very good look at him, had it not been for all those darned pilgrims and their cumbersome banners. 

So much for our view!

The soon-to-be-ex-pope spoke for a considerable amount of time in his timid, accented Italian, reiterating his promise that he will not abandon the church, but will be serving it in a new way. The crowd was resplendent, powerfully shouting "Vivat Papam" in chorus and handing him babies to kiss as he drove through the throngs. Flags from seemingly every nation waved, from Spain to the United States to China to Ghana to Brunei to Palastine. The sun shined brilliantly all morning and it seemed much more like April than February, even for Rome. The difference in the two "last days" that I experienced was stark. The first, somber and grief-ridden; the second, joyful and full of hope for the future. And it struck me that perhaps it's silly to continue a tradition in which the pope, elected already an old man, should be expected to serve until his dying breath. The modern life expectancy means a pope could be made to languish for decades of ill health and frailty, all the while expected to make momentous decisions and provide leadership for billions of people. 

To be honest, I haven't completely made my mind up as to how I feel about the pope's decision, but a little change certainly couldn't hurt.

As smug as I was with my prime spot, my maritino, as usual, found a way to top it. His position was just slightly better than mine, and I have him to thank for these last three photos.

Benedict XVI's last ride in his Pope-mobile

Benedict XVI's final papal appearance

All photos by author and friends

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