I had not planned to go to Rome for the conclave. In fact, it hadn’t even occurred to me.
But then on the morning of May 4—a Sunday morning—I was in a hotel out West, having delivered a car to my college student son, preparing to fly back to Alabama that night, and I opened up my phone. I scrolled, as one does. I scrolled through my various social media feeds and saw the posts from folks I know in the Catholic media world, in just the Catholic world in general—from Rome. They were excited and prayerful, gathering, preparing to watch for white smoke.
It hit me. Why not? When am I going to have another chance?
So I checked airfare—not too horrible. I checked accommodations—available. I arrived at my house about 10:30 that night, did laundry, tried to sleep, did not sleep, then left the house again at 5 am, and was, amazingly, in Rome the next day.
Less money in my bank account, for sure, but not one single regret.
What a few days that was. I saw friends, made new ones, had some crazy serendipitous encounters in St. Peter’s Square—a man approached me after hearing me converse with some others and asked me if I was American and would I be interested in commenting for a story. He proceeded to introduce himself, and my jaw dropped. He was an editor of a publication for which I’ve written many articles, we’d never met in person, and somehow, he was prompted to start a conversation with me!
A small way to sense the presence of the Spirit in those Spirit-filled days.
To be in the midst of tens of thousands of folks from all over the world when the white smoke started pouring from the chimney and to be lifted by the mass of cheers, singing and yes, tears, exulting—yes, exulting at the promise of a successor of Peter—when we didn’t even know who it was! Lifted up again an hour later when the Cardinal emerged from the balcony and his words washed over us: Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum; habemus papam!
I announce to you with great joy: we have a Pope!
More cheers, more hugs, more tears, and still, we didn’t know who.
That, in a way, was the most lasting, profound takeaway from those hours for me. As exciting as it was to meet our new pope—an American!—what moved me the most was the trust, faith and hope in the Lord that was embodied in that cheering, exultant crowd in St. Peter’s Square.
The details were marvelous and amazing, and we’re grateful for the individual who is our new Pope, but what I heard in the crowd that day was joy, most of all, that whoever it might be, God had once again provided a shepherd for us, a rock in this uncertain world, a marvel in the moment that we learned that Jesus through Peter had kept his promise—he would, indeed, be with us always.
