Wanted to write this post on Sunday but my server didnīt agree.
Sunday was one year since the death of my much admired John Paul II. I was at home when it happened, although the day before I had spent the night in the city with a friend, in a prayer gathering, and daydreaming about taking the first flight to Rom.
Two days after he died I had to go back to Germany, and there I had a unique experience, īcause my church there was run by Poles, and the people in my Bible group were all Polish. I could share with them all the memories from the times where Catholicism was persecuted; the role of the Pope, even in his days as priest and bishop, in fighting dictatorship; the depth and variety of their faith.
The priest who ran the group told us how they made a pilgrimage to Rom when he was young, fooling the government to get a visa, hitchhiking in little groups (they were about 20 people) to get there, and how the Pope received them.
He also told us that, since JPII had died, he needed to go walking to the forest everyday to listen to the birds, as he had done when his own father had died. Despite all that, underneath lied the stoicism, the faith and the hope that I so admire in the Polish people. They felt orphan, but knew they werenīt. Their pain was sharper, but their hope in the future of the Church was bigger. We had wonderful conversations abot pain, loss, hope, future...
In a couple of months, the pain was eased, and sustituted by a deep gratitute for this man who kept true to his Master, for this Steward who kept true to his King. Iīm sure he is close to God now, and that he intercedes for the Church he served for 26 years (and many before). When I face a particulary difficult problem, I turn to him, who went through so many difficulties, much bigger than mine.
Dear Karol, you were like a father for many. You were like a stern but loving grandfather for my generation. Keep protecting us.