I found her in between a huge overfilled garbage can and a pretzel vendor in the dimly lit bowels of Yankee Stadium. She looked to be in her eighties and was eating ice cream out of a plastic NY Yankees baseball cap. I stopped and asked, “Sister, would you like some company?” She smiled with her eyes and told me yes. We sat and spoke to one another as we awaited our Holy Father’s arrival for the Papal Mass. As a steady stream of humanity passed us by, she told me she was a Poll, who’s family had been run out of Eastern Europe and into South Africa, where her father hoped to find work. There was more trouble and ultimately her family was torn apart by the Second World War. I was a forty-three year old Chicago native and father of two, but we had everything in common. She told me of seeing five Popes in her lifetime and that she’d met four of them as either cardinals or bishops. Her eyes flashed with joy as she described Pope John XXIII, and John Paul II. Her ice cream looked really good, so I bought some too. I found a flight case against a wall and made a makeshift seat out of it for us.
The air itself was charged as if lighting had just struck nearby. The 60,000 people in the stadium created a constant level of excited noise, which seemed electric, and was only occasionally accented by a passing train or the sounds of helicopters buzzing above us.
Sister asked me about my children, about my wife, about my ministry as a deacon, and about my Irish and German heritage. She told me I was a gift to the church. I looked down at the floor as her eyes spoke to me of holiness; a woman consecrated to Jesus directly, a woman who’d likely spent more time in prayer than I’ve spent alive. I asked her to pray for me. She agreed but countered by asking for my blessing. I awkwardly mumbled a few words, made the sign of the cross and called out the names of the Trinity. We shook hands and I thanked her for talking with me about her life and papal experience. I helped her off the flight case, and we said goodbye, one pilgrim to another. I was deeply moved by our chance encounter, and marvel still at how she could reveal to me a depth of wisdom and love with only her eyes.
I suspect it was like that all day long with people filled with joy, finding a common thread in our Catholic tradition of faith. There were no strangers amid the 60,000 people. We were all safe inside the Yankee fortress that became a Cathedral for a day, and we were ready to participate in the most full expression possible of the Catholic Mass. None of us were disappointed for the long lines, security measures, or the cold and heat. When he finally arrived, the place erupted with shouts of joy, cheers for the Pope in every language. It was the greatest sign of unity I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Communion was amazing, watching all those priests walking off the altar carrying hundreds of ciboria to the faithful. The music was so good, the words so filled with truth, it was hard to continue at times. The whole of the day was a huge blessing that will sustain me for years to come, if not a lifetime. I can’t wait to tell my kids about seeing the Holy Father, and for participating in the mass. Never before were the words “one holy, catholic, and apostolic church, “so meaningful.
It was an organized collision of America, with every skin color, race, age, and creed present. Every diocese in the United States had people there; it was awesome. Pope Benedict moved from “the Pope” to “our Pope,” and even, “my Pope,” for many of us that day. Afterwards as we walked to the subway, I reflected on how much I felt an increased sense of pride in my Catholicism. I realized though, that the Pope didn’t belong to us as much as we belong to him as the successor to Peter. His constant smile and bright eyes gave away the plentitude of his overflowing joy.
Being able to make this trip with students from KCHS is especially gratifying for me. Though there is always some level of drama at KCHS, the kids are great and teach us all things; they are filled with hope for their collective future. The nine we took to New York were more than well-behaved and complained little even as we walked for miles and occasionally missed our subway stop. Walking through the streets of Manhattan with three Dominican Sisters is a guarantee of invisibility for the rest of us, and for this photographer, it was just the diversion that I needed to make some interesting images along the way.
