Rocking with Benedict

Yesterday’s full-day party with the Pope was just that. From the moment we stepped off the buses, around 9:45 am, at Yankee Stadium, the atmosphere was one of a concert or a soccer match. Piles of humanity trekked the approximate quarter mile from the lots, where the supposed 800-or-so buses parked, to the stadium. The weather was a bit cold, made all the chillier by the steady wind that was blowing. People were mostly quiet, no doubt still a little tired from the long haul from wherever they hailed. We made our way past a few Protestant hecklers, received and threw away literature from other Protestant non-hecklers, and finally arrived at the gate. Food was not permitted to be taken inside the stadium, so people were quickly snarfing down their snacks and lunches at 10:00 am.

Security was tight, but we made it through the lines in about 15 minutes. Once on the inside, I found it somewhat hard to navigate towards my seat, as there weren’t very many stadium maps around. While looking for some direction, I stumbled out onto the lower level of the stadium where I was able to snap a few pictures of the set up:

The “stage” (for lack of a better word) was designed to not rest on any actual grass from the baseball field, limiting any load-bearing structures to pitcher’s mounds or other infield dirt. This was the case for the Popemobile’s course also, which seemed to stick to other dirt areas of the stadium (e.g., warning track etc). After meandering around for an hour, I decided that it might be best to buy some lunch, and then make a more concerted effort to find my seat. After some deliberation, I decided on a sweet Italian sausage sandwich, with pepper and onions, and a coke. Delicious. And $12.75. Ouch.

After a little more farting around, I managed to find my seat. I was seated about 6 rows from the top of the stadium, but dead center on the altar. A great view, though things were obviously a little small.

Seated next to me was a nice young woman from St. Joseph’s parish. As she sat down, she offered me one of her chicken fingers, which I politely declined. Conversation turned to the Faith, and it turned out that she also was a convert, but from Methodism. Very soon, however, I decided to exchange seats with another man who understandably wanted to be seated next to his wife. Tickets had been somewhat haphazardly assigned, and were supposedly non-transferable. Nice try, Secret Service. My new neighbor was a deacon’s wife from Ss. Simon and Jude’s parish, who knew a deacon from our parish, who lives down the street from us. And a nice chap named Brian. Young seminarians were everywhere, as were young (and I mean, young) nuns from a variety of different orders. There is something about the sight of a young nun that is so refreshing. The Dominican sisters were especially out in force.

At noon, the Concert of Hope began, with some well-known and not-so-well-known artists singing, playing and dancing. The highlights were the Harlem Gospel Choir, Jose Feliciano and Harry Connick, though the latter was somewhat disappointing as two thirds of his performance was as a conductor of the orchestra. Maybe he felt his usual repertoire would be out of place at pre-Mass festivities. Anyway, it was all well done, and culminated in a “show” that involved a lot of people carrying around kites shaped like doves. It sounds corny, but was actually quite moving.

At this point, the anticipation in the crowd was growing exponentially by the minute. Everybody knew what was coming up next. The Wave was started (by the Dominican Sisters?). To our right a large Hispanic contingent, as well as a particularly rowdy group of the Neocatechumenal Communities of Boston, started singing a rousing version of some form of the Alleluia, with accompanying help from someone who had brought a bongo drum. With each succeeding round of the Alleluia, crowd involvement increased, and eventually, each round of the Alleluia was alternately substituted with Benedetto. When it wasn’t the Alleluia, it was chants of Viva and another version Benedetto (anyone who has listened to or viewed previous papal engagements will immediately recognize the chant).

At this point, the place was pretty much pandemonium. And suddenly, you heard people saying things like, “look, over there!”, and sure enough, a door had opened in the left field wall, and the Popemobile was emerging.

If you thought it was pandemonium before, it was nothing compared to the craze that then swept over the stadium. People started madly waving their yellow and white towels that they had been given upon entry to the stadium. The singing of Alleluia resumed and increased in pitch. The Pope slowly drove down the third base line, to home plate, and then around to first base.

The car stopped. Pandemonium. The back door opened. Pandemonium. Out comes His Holiness Pope Benedict. Extreme pandemonium. Wild singing and waving. He goes into the first base dug-out to vest for the Mass. When he emerges…you guessed it, pandemonium. Which quieted to dead silence the instant that the processional music began. Mass was underway. Respect is due.

(check out the red shoes)
Sort of. Most of the con-celebrants had processed into the “church” before the pope’s arrival. Other celebrants now processed in before the pope, each kissing the altar in turn.

Once the pope was seated, Cardinal Egan made some opening remarks, in which each archdiocese celebrating its 200th anniversary was introduced by name. This quickly became a competition by each archdiocese to see who could greet the pope…loudest. New York won hands down by virtue of their practically filling the joint with their own folks (cheats!). But, per capita, Philadelphia was very well represented.

And then Mass truly began. Now respect is due…for real. And so it was. Fifty, sixty some thousand Catholics quiet and attentive to their pastor, responding, singing, praying, worshiping. “The Lord be with you.” Sixty thousand people can sound very loud when they are saying the same thing in unison: “And also with you.” The settings of the Mass were very traditional, very uplifting. Readings were mostly in English, with some Spanish thrown in. General intercessions were in several different languages. The Creed was chanted in Latin, which people managed very well. Reception of Holy Communion was a little iffy, especially all the way up in the nosebleeds. Things were pretty cramped. In fact, we ended up receiving communion, officially, technically, after the Mass was over. But no matter. Religious articles were blessed. And it was over. The pope recessed out of the “church”, de-vested, and climbed back into the Popemobile. And completed his interrupted track around the stadium, from first base back around to left field.

It took a long time to get out of the stadium. Once we were out, people were notably in higher spirits than when they arrived. We made our way past some Protestant non-hecklers handing out more literature, back to the bus. I always find these types of interactions very interesting. These people have obviously invested a lot of time and money into their literature, but they inevitably always charge us poor, blinded Catholics with practices that, in the end, aren’t Catholic. “The Pope can’t save you!” Well, duh. “Mary can’t save you!” Well, duh. “Jesus is the only Mediator.” Well, duh. To name three specific instances from this particular event. It’s almost as if any affection shown to anyone is interpreted as a sign that you consider that person a god. “Your wife can’t save you!” Whatever.

We got back to the bus somewhere between 5:30 and 6:00 pm. We didn’t leave the parking lot until 7:30 (the Dominican sisters from another bus helped us pass the time by coming on board and singing for us), and were back at Ss. Simon and Jude by about 9:50 pm. In bed and passed out by 10:30, after quickly snacking to refill my long-since-empty stomach. We got (count it) one pretzel on the way back. Meaning, the kind of pretzel whose diameter fits between your thumb and forefinger. The seats were far too small for me, so I couldn’t sleep with the other short people. The bus was old and vibrated terribly when it went over 55. There is no part of the traveling at which the windows were not completely fogged up. All in all, a great time.

Lessons learned. The Church is…well, catholic. Universal. Men and women. Old and young. Every race, tribe, people and tongue. Every temperament. Everything that is human is there. And contrary to what the talking heads at the New York Times will tell you, the Church is alive. And the Church is young. There is no reason to suppose that Our Lord’s promise to the Church is going to be revoked anytime soon. It was good to be a part of such a vibrant group of Catholics. Revitalizing. Memorable.

“Authority” … “obedience”. To be frank, these are not easy words to speak nowadays. Words like these represent a “stumbling stone” for many of our contemporaries, especially in a society which rightly places a high value on personal freedom. Yet, in the light of our faith in Jesus Christ – “the way and the truth and the life” – we come to see the fullest meaning, value, and indeed beauty, of those words. The Gospel teaches us that true freedom, the freedom of the children of God, is found only in the self-surrender which is part of the mystery of love. Only by losing ourselves, the Lord tells us, do we truly find ourselves (cf. Lk 17:33). True freedom blossoms when we turn away from the burden of sin, which clouds our perceptions and weakens our resolve, and find the source of our ultimate happiness in him who is infinite love, infinite freedom, infinite life. “In his will is our peace”.

I am very grateful to have had the chance to attend this Papal event. I will never forget it. Especially seen as I have now recorded it in gory detail.