Vere Papa mortuus est

Maybe it’s because he was Polish. Maybe it’s because in his last days he reminded me of my mother –his Slavic face, his Parkinson’s disease. But I think it was because he was a poet.

That’s why I mourn this Pope. I didn’t agree just about anything he professed, but I admired him. I didn’t come to that easily. I finally came to understand the complexity of this man, and to understand his appreciation of nuance, of metaphor and of symbolism. In my heart, I believe he was one of the most spiritual men to hold the office, and he embraced suffering as part of life with Zenlike discipline.

I know there are many who have been deeply hurt by the policies of the Catholic Church, many who have felt marginalized by the faith of their childhoods. I’m one of them. I always felt that if I could just have sat down with the Pope and spoken with him from my heart, I may not have changed anything, but I would have been treated with respect and dignity.

And we probably would have had a couple of good laughs, too.

Wieczne odpoczywanie racz mu dac Panie
a swiatlosc wiekuista niech mu swieci