A pope for the world

Over the past few weeks, a great chapter in history was laid to rest with the body of Pope John Paul II. As it is said, "history must be written by and for the survivors." With no other authority than being one such survivor, I offer some of my thoughts herewith.

"Be not afraid," were among the first words that Karol Wojtyla spoke to the world as Roman Catholicism's newly-elected pope. It was a charge that neither he, nor the burgeoning democratic movements of his time, would take lightly.

I cannot help feeling that few people these days can speak such words, not because there is more fear in the world, but because it would seem disingenuous. As a Pole, John Paul witnessed firsthand the ravages of World War II and the Holocaust (there are tales of his return to Wadowice, his hometown, when he realized all of his Jewish childhood friends were dead), and he knew personally the evils of communism. The pope earned the right to espouse courage, and he knew that people desperately needed to hear these words.

When the Soviet Union collapsed decades later, it was clear that the papacy had awakened from the Middle Ages. It shook off its slumber and, with fierce determination and renewed relevance, stepped boldly into modern times.

John Paul was arguably history's most relevant pope. In comparison with his land-owning, army-commanding predecessors, he was armed with little more than wit, wisdom and an indefatigable devotion to humankind. Yet with these weapons, he helped bring a socialist empire to its knees, unsettled the dictator of a captive island nation and won the hearts and minds of billions without ever compromising his moral integrity. Our own and other governments would do well to take notes.

Eventually, history's most traveled pope would be forced to come home. It was in returning to the Vatican for his final days that John Paul taught us his two greatest lessons -- one about dying with dignity, and the other about the means for achieving ubiquitous peace.

After all the political bickering about dying in our own country, the pope's death was quietly refreshing, but nonetheless traumatic. There is something natural in the human spirit that grieves when a great light goes out in the world, not so much for who is departing, but for ourselves and our future. I had only seen the pope once from afar, but his death affected me and many others on this campus. Millions bowed their heads in those final days not because they had met the pope or knew him personally, but because John Paul represented the best that humanity had to offer. As John Donne put it so many centuries ago, "Send not to know/ For whom the bell tolls/ It tolls for thee."

The bells of Saint Peter's are today silent, and the pope is buried safely beneath the heart of the Church. He will now be a memory, a few lines of text, pixels on some fortunate tourist's digital camera. He will, like all great things, become an idea, a rallying cry, a principle for the principled.

He will be canonized. He will be called John Paul the Great. We will proudly reminisce with our grandchildren about a time when holiness walked the earth, when morality took a stand, when hope wore white. Let us also hope that such sentiments are more than mere memories.

For the youth of my generation, and for the youth yet to come, John Paul will be an unparalleled beacon of inspiration for those seeking to do what is right. He will become for us the patron saint of charity, honor and learning. As we plunge into our future and a new, intrepid pope takes the stage, we will remember that John Paul once again made man more than man and reminded us that we are still capable of greatness.

I believe this pope's funeral will be marked as the first truly global event in the name of peace; no other occasion has been as symbolically far-reaching. Our consciousness will forever be changed by images of the incarnate past processing into the 21st century, of the world's greatest leaders, peoples and religions sitting together in one place, of the masses paying homage to an archetype. Frankly, none of us can comprehend at this moment the great wave of history that has arisen in our midst, and I will not presume to try.

My limited words will never fully encapsulate the impact of these events, so I finish instead with the pope's own last words on this earth:

"I have looked for you. Now I see that you have come to me. And I thank you."

It is we who thank you, John Paul. In Pace Requiescat. "Amen."

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