I am now on my eighth pope. The good news is, I am still younger than the pope. In 1978, we were all excited to have a Polish pope and a man who was a mere youth at 58. Everyone but our dad, of course, who prayed for any newly elected pope, but told us with a touch of melancholy: “You know you’re old when you’re older than the pope.”
Obviously, it will likely be my turn at the next papal election, but for now, I’ll bask in the spiritual bubble bath we have been luxuriating in since Pope Leo XIV’s election. I was working in my home office on May 8 when my wife rushed in exclaiming, “There’s white smoke.” My wife and I sat in front of the television and waited. There seemed to be more pre-planned pageantry than I remembered from previous papal elections, with marching bands, the Swiss Guard, and what I assume were the various branches of the Italian armed services. I say "assume" on the odd chance those guys dressed like sailors were part of the Vatican Sixth Fleet in charge of patrolling the Tiber.
As we waited for the doors of that famous balcony to swing open and hear the words “Habemus Papam” be proclaimed, I was especially grateful I had kept my pre-conclave vow to avoid the “Vatican experts.” That alone was almost an Ignatian spiritual exercise for my betterment. But sitting in my living room, I began asking God to make sure the right man was chosen. I am sure the Holy Spirit dropped whatever he was doing at the time to get right on my request. I would eventually identify the hubris of my request and refocus on my television.
As with everything God does to and for me, he lets me know in his own time what and when I need to learn something. Embracing the surrender that whoever walked out onto that balcony was not going to happen without God’s input made the waiting easier. But as the time drew nearer, I resorted to my go-to person for solace, inspiration, and comfort — the Blessed Mother, who has always been my ultimate security blanket. As it looked like there were stirrings behind the curtains on that balcony in Rome, I silently prayed Hail Marys until I lost count. The impact was immediate as I was uplifted and becalmed. I was still a little anxious — it is the announcement of our new pope for heaven’s sake — but I felt ready, and felt the holy mother by my side in Van Nuys as well as around the confines of St. Peter’s Square.
Then came the announcement. In order for one’s Latin to be rusty, it has to exist in the first place. I was lost in the lack of translation. I heard the name “Roberto” and then I heard one of the television commentators say the new pope is an “American.” I was amazed, and thanks to those Hail Marys, I was filled with an inspired sense of calm and happiness.
When Pope Leo XIV came forward and stood on that balcony, the television commentators began giving his bio in soundbites. It was disconcerting, so I turned the sound down. In the next instant, my phone blew up. I was getting texts from friends, family, and other Catholic writers. They all wanted to know what I thought. I answered them all the same way: “I think we have a pope; his name is Leo XIV, and God bless him.”
As he stood there and I watched in my living room, I was filled with a sense of connection. This amazing unbroken line that goes all the way back to the shores of the Sea of Galilee.
This moment in time was forever cemented into my brain, and I hope my heart as well. Then Pope Leo did something toward the end of his remarks to the throngs assembled in the square and in living rooms. He began leading us all in one simple universal prayer — a Hail Mary. We obviously have the same go-to mediator and counselor, where Van Nuys and Rome were one. I have no doubt there were similar connections made around the globe that day.
