My chance encounter with a pope and why goodness still matters

It’s not every day that you meet the Pope. The mine was Pope John Paul. In the recent death of Pope Francis, and in all the love and generosity of this “pope of the people,” I remember a similar man.

There is no real yardstick for the Romans to measure the man, the head of an institution that exists from the Romans, that is to keep the respect of more than a billion people alive and the message of love, hope, generosity and salvation alive from 2,000 years ago.

I wasn’t going to see him. Just as it was destined, or I want to believe it.

I was on my spiritual journey. My studies ended in Norway, and I headed to Lebanon, where I was writing about the war. I was a young man, 17 years old, trying to understand the world and how it worked.

A week before Easter, I was in Rome, standing at the far end of St. Peter’s Square. As I remember, it was a very early and very beautiful morning. Even at that age, I found great comfort in the loneliness of the early morning. As if I had my own whole square, I looked back at this singular moment, and that I was alone in one of the biggest places in the world of spiritual gatherings.

But I was not alone. I placed the man next to the fountain where I had my backpack parked, curled up next to the stone wall, in a gentle, universal snoring. I quietly cupped water and washed my face and neck.

I nodded my head and smiled, giving him a short wave to the universal sign that we are all good and mates. He turned around badly. I was gathering my backpacks and about to go out when I saw a man walking across the square. Another soul, seeking the tranquility of the morning, I thought to myself. He distorted, thoroughly enjoying the morning air, and occasionally looked up at the sky.

He was a happy man who was alive and happy. I thought it was worth noting that there were two happy people in the world that morning and that they were both at St. Peters Square.

As if a bee was heading towards the flower, the man stopped when a small group of people, three or four souls, walking together, and the man approached them. I saw one of them reaching out to the man’s hand and then he kissed it. Now my curiosity is transformed into wonder, trying to understand what is going on.

My Roman Fountain friend began to slowly make a drunken bawling at me as he gestured towards the small cluster I was clearly staring at. His Italian was as good as my English and that was the end. He kept saying, “Daddy, daddy.” I asked him because I had no clue what his dad was. He then sat as if to gather every ounce of clarity he still lived in and said, “Pope A.” I pointed to the group. “Pope?” he nodded his head and said, “si. IlPope-A” (a combination of the loving and respectful use of Pope’s dad, later combined with the English version, with “Pope-a.”).

He smiled. I smiled. The apostles of the fountain had been delivering his message, so I was on my way to meet the Pope.

Soon I headed to a small gathering. I wasn’t quite sure how to add myself to the queue, just as small as it was. My mind began to swirl with pope-encompassing imagination. Does he speak Latin? Are you wearing silk roves? Does he have the relic of St. Peter’s Golden Staff?

Then I slowed down the walk, dressed up at the edge of the group, and he was there – the Pope, John Paul himself. He was smaller than I had imagined. There are no staff or silk roves. He chatted with small groups as if they were neighbors they met in the middle of the sidewalk, exchanging all their neighborhood news and latest sports scores for a refreshing mixture of Italian and English.

He then found me and shook me. I froze for a while. I don’t have time to study the Pope’s Manual of Pope Etiquette, so should I kiss my ring or hand, or swing it, or what? As I am not Catholic, I was not familiar with how to properly greet the Pope.

Then I did what a non-Catholic American 17 year old child on a spiritual journey. I combined a handshake/kiss with the biggest child smile I could call. He smiled and realized it was Pope and met a child like me in both respect and happiness by being together on a Sunday morning at St. Peter’s Square.

He asked me a few questions about not remembering my answer. That wasn’t a problem. I was talking to the Pope.

At the time, there was no Instagram, Facebook or Selfie-Taking. Everyone somehow understood that this was the moment you saved in your heart and in your heart. Taking a photo somehow tainted it, and everyone would have known it.

John Paul was a morning walker and shared his intimate time with a group of fellow morning seekers. He was warm, kind and sincere – a fellow prince in my book. The type of man who can talk on a bar, train or park bench. He practiced the highest generosity of the human mind. It’s about giving it without expecting anything in return. A gift of love that does not require barter or trade to make it happen.

With the recent and recent passing of Pope Francis, I felt that I needed to commemorate this memory of the day on paper. Francis’ generous Pope “better” and “faster” civilization to his love, to his children, to the sick and poor, to the oppressed, to those who have been rushed to modern times, never remembered another person who gave his heart and soul equally to his heart and soul.

In a world where many seem to try to understand who they should hate and how they hate, we find great comfort in knowing that there are people who understand that the better angels of our nature are better.

On a beautiful Sunday morning, in the small tides of the ocean of history, I met a man who helped me remember once more that the golden rule is golden as I glow with goodwill, grace and generosity.

Carew Papritz He is an award-winning author.Legacy letter“Invites children to read his ‘I Love Reading’ and ‘First Book Signature'” YouTube series.