I went for a haircut today; I felt I wasn’t looking very professional. I have been following the course of the Pope’s struggle the last few days closely. I’m not in Rome but I wanted to share, I wanted to feel, to commiserate.
When I walked into Hugo’s, Fox news was on and they were already running commentary on the death of John Paul. I had missed it. For an ordinary errand, I had missed the death of my Pope. I tried to stay cool, during my hair cut. No one else seemed to be affected. My barber took a call, it was from his wife. She had commented that all the rain we were having here in New York were God’s tears for the Pope’s passing.
As I sat there I knew I had to do something, I had to some how show my respect to a Pope, who had been the Pope of a lapsed Catholic for over twenty years. There was a Church around the corner. I wanted to go there and pray, as best I could for a while. One of the last times was my mother’s passing (I think she is talking with the Pope tonight) and the absolute last time that I remember praying was at Ground Zero, watching the remains carried off the pile.
My hair cut was done and I walked out into the rain. I walked around the block and up the steps to St Benny’s, Saint Benedict Joseph Labre. I sat own in the far right pew, way in the back and I prayed.
I have not prayed in a long time. For the Holy Father I could only offer “Hail Marys” and “Our Fathers” I sat there and I tried to organize my mind. Then it dawned on me, I was sitting in the church of the Parish I had gone to school in and, when; on a day in October 1978 I had learned that a Polish Pope had been elected. I was less than 300 feet away from that classroom. I had completed some minor circle.