Joseph Planta's Commentary - thecommentary.ca

Sunday, 03 April 2005

The death and devotion of Pope John Paul II

By Joseph Planta

VANCOUVER - The death of Pope John Paul II has conveyed many remembrances in pages of newspapers and on hours of television around the world. And rightfully so. Rarely are we able to bear witness to the passing of greatness. Sure, we see former and current leaders take their leave, but few of them are truly great.

John Paul II's greatness is borne in his devotion to, and his service to God and the Roman Catholic ministry here on earth. His greatness is also borne in his deep and abiding conviction that man be moral and upright in the light of God, as well as in his innate ability to unite his church, and those who may not believe. John Paul II had a charm and charisma that was humble, yet infectious. He captivated the world with his love of the outdoors, and his unique ability to touch people's lives, to inspire faith, and to convey the universal message of God-love. Furthermore, John Paul II's greatness was aptly demonstrated in these painful final years of his life. Saddled with illness and physical agony due to Parkinson's and other ailments, the Pope was a figure of courage and inspiration, serving out his fated mandate as Christ's Vicar, Peter's successor, and the leader of a billion or so Catholics worldwide.

For many, he was the only Pope they have ever known. In 1978, the year in which there were three popes, he was a compromise candidate. The Catholic Church never immune from politics, selected the Polish Karol Cardinal Wojtyla instead of the two frontrunners, and thus was ushered the very first modern Pope, one that would be widely travelled, and who used the media proficiently to spread his message of faith. His travels around the world were undertaken in the same spirit of Christ, by spanning the far reaches of the world to speak to the masses. Wherever he went, he was accorded immense adulation and adoration. Perhaps it was for this magnetic man, who overcame the Nazis during the Second World War in Poland, or who later played a pivotal part in defeating communism, or perhaps it was for the fact that he was such a vital link to Christ himself in a very modern world that was proceeding at a very fast, if not frightening pace.

The Pope's legacy is that in this very modern time of his papacy, he was able to withstand the pressures of the outside world in a very public way. John Paul II's pronouncements against homosexuality and abortion were controversial sure, but he was expected to do nothing less considering he was custodian of a faith that has withstood much before, and doubtless will withstand more as years go on. John Paul II was modern, sure, but the archaic rituals or kissing the fisherman's ring or the mystery of the events celebrated and meditated upon during mass remained. A steadfast devotion to God was resolute, despite popular influences. The idea of service despite illness and the fragility of his once sturdy and vibrant frame sustained him, and inspired many. The notion of suffering, and the mystery of accepting it willingly and faithfully, especially in a world of modern medicine and faithlessness, is remarkable, inspiring, and remarkably Christ-like. In a world when presidents, prime ministers, CEO's, and others can eschew responsibility, abdicate and resign, the Pope despite physical infirmity continued and accepted whatever was his fate, as Christ did. And like Job, John Paul II understood that in suffering was the greatest test of faith, and perhaps within which an understanding of holiness, eternal life, and salvation would be derived.

I am, like many, witnessing the passing of the only Pope I have ever known. In a world of globalisation, secularism, and materialism, it's easy to regard the passing of this man as just another news story, and his succession just another political sweepstakes. Yet, in the inspiration gained from witnessing this Pope's physical demise and spiritual resurrection, one is viewing the deep abiding knowledge that human life is precious, and that there is nobility in suffering. This is not just another death in the pantheon of public consciousness, but rather a passing that takes on greater meaning, for Christians, and for the greater world.

Growing up John Paul II was another of those images that I would see on the news, a parade of the faces famous and infamous who were seemingly important in our world. Thanks to his longevity, and the proliferation of his image he took on some greater importance, much like a president or prime minister. He was like Reagan or Thatcher, or Mulroney or Trudeau-important sure, thanks to office. Yet John Paul II took on greater importance, in fact he became great itself. His path of faith was straight and unbending. Therein, in a world of salaciousness, sin and the pursuance of satisfaction at all costs, was something different, something honourable, and something remarkable. Despite the quick fix of medical science, or the comfort bought thanks to wealth, the Pope in all of his simple glory, public or otherwise, captured life and its essence. It isn't the material, but the spiritual that brings salvation in the end.

When Pope John Paul II came to Toronto for World Youth Day nearly three years ago, I happened to be watching his arrival on the CBC. It was one of those live shots that are compelling if only that regularly scheduled programming would be pre-empted for something extraordinary. The procession of Canadian dignitaries, who usually shine at state functions or State Openings of Parliament were there, but they looked slightly diminished. Not dejected or anything like that, just diminished in anticipation of the supposed greatness set to descend from the papal plane. John Paul II, a man of once great physical vigour, was being pushed around in a moving platform, stooped, tired, and obviously in discomfort. He braved the long journey, and touched down in Toronto to meet the masses who had gathered. Thousands and thousands of youth who gathered for a glimpse, maybe not even that, of the father of the Church here on earth.

The parade of pols from Chrétien to the Governor General and other 'Honourables' and the sort with their spouses gathered in a hanger at Pearson Airport, lined up ready to nod and bow at the entrance of the Pope, to shake his hand if they were so lucky, to share a word or two if they were so blessed. Then as the dignitaries had their chance, a line of children was summoned to queue for their chance to meet the Pope. This was all playing out on the Canadian cable news outlets, and for some reason, I was compelled to sit and watch this procession of the faithful. It was strange being compelled to this, but later on, I chalked it up to the enormity of this seemingly frail man. Then the cameras focused on a young girl. She was in line, crying. The cameras focused on her, which was odd, but her crying was such that television producers saw the visual value of this shot. She got her chance to greet the pontiff, they embraced, or kissed, I can't remember. Then, she turned and came rushing down the stage, in more tears, frankly overcome. At this point, it was hard to take. I found myself, dabbing my eyes, a seemingly odd, if not silly reaction to television images, I thought. I thought about it for a few minutes, and realised such was the greatness of the man. The Pope was a symbol of a weathered church, which at its essence, which perhaps it lost along the way, or forgot, was about love.

The next morning, questions as to why the little girl was so overwhelmed with joy and tears were answered. The front page of the National Post had a huge photo of the slumped Pope in the background, and this young person, who was finally identified, Georgia Giddings, weeping in obvious adoration. The headline above the photo said it all: "I told him I loved him and he said it back."

The photo taken by
the National Post's Chris Bolin

Hours after Pope John Paul's passing, his greatness is mourned, sure. That's expected. For me, that image of 10-year-old Georgia Giddings remains the manifestation of John Paul II's mission, his legacy, and his goodness that all-Christian or otherwise-ought to strive towards in our lives. Accepting the suffering that ensues in our lives, may seem seemingly very simple. But such is the mystery of faith, that we realise it's much harder to actually live by such basic tenets of faith and love.

John Paul II has crossed that threshold from this life to the next, with ease and serenity. For the rest of us, seeking such an easy entry into the afterlife shall be our task. Our mission.

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