My son got married two weekends ago. We were all thrilled when my mother made the long trip from New Zealand for the wedding of her only grandson.
Mom was excited when she learned that Pope Francis was going to be in town during her stay. When I received two tickets to the Papal Mass, it was not difficult to decide who to invite. And what an adventure we had.
Mom is 83. An active person all her life, she is, no surprise, starting to slow down and occasionally unsteady on her feet.
The day of the Mass was beautiful. Warm under a cloudless sky. We took the Metro from Glenmont to Brookland/CUA. No problem.
Our tickets were for the Purple entrance, at the farther end of Michigan Avenue, nearest the main entrance to the Basilica. We were told that we needed to take a detour around the nearer entrance points by walking over to Franklin Street and then turn right towards the Basilica. That made sense to us, but my lack of knowledge of the surrounding streets raised the first problem of the day. We walked, and walked, and walked. It had to be about eight blocks. Fortunately, we came across a shuttle soon after those eight blocks, and I was able to get Mom a golf cart shuttle ride up to the security screening area.
It seemed a bit of a shambles in the area outside the Purple Gate. There were no marshals in evidence. We tagged onto what looked like the end of a line and stood, and stood, and stood. Little to no movement. We kept drinking water, but it sure was hot and progress sure was slow. Well, two hours later, that’s when things took a turn. Mom started to get “the wobbles.” With the assistance of the man behind me and the miraculous appearance of a folding chair, we got Mom seated before she went down. The paramedics arrived soon after and quickly had Mom on a gurney and headed to the First Aid tent.
By the time we had Mom cooled down and rehydrated almost an hour later, the Pope was just minutes out. We figured correctly, as it turned out. We would not make it to our seats for the Mass. However, at the very last minute, we were told to hop on a golf cart. Up the main driveway to the foot of the Basilica steps, crowds pressed tight against the barriers waiting for the imminent arrival of the Holy Father. The security person told us to continue across the front of the Basilica. The next Secret Service person directed the golf cart to continue down the chute that ran alongside the congregation. Huge crowds were pressing against the barriers on both sides now.
When we reached the corner, our golf cart driver informed us, “I can’t take you any farther. You have to get out here.” Okayyyy. So where were we supposed to go now? All access points to seating were closed behind barriers. We were halfway along the route the Pope would travel in his Popemobile, a route now sealed off. Every few feet on both sides of this chute, Secret Service, Homeland Security, and military personnel were facing the crowds. In the chute, not a civilian in sight in either direction, just me and my Mom. What to do?
So we started walking onward, along the back of the seated congregation. And that’s when the cheering started. I guess people had been waiting a long time. They were certainly amped up. Mom, recovered from the earlier heat episode but by no means feeling spry, leaning on my arm as we slowly processed. The cheers grew louder. I remember one guy shouting, “Hey, you’re not the Pope!” I could only smile and shrug. Yep, not the Pope.
We walked to the end of the chute, when finally, a Secret Service person paid attention to us: “You can’t be here. You need to get behind a barrier. Now.” Okayyyy. With great difficulty, a barrier was moved, and we were fitted snuggly behind. Mom was upset for me, knowing it was unlikely we were ever going to get to our seats for the Mass. I was upset for Mom for the same reason, and the ordeal the day had turned into.
But God is good. It seemed like two minutes later (though it might have been as much as five) when we watched Pope Francis come towards us, driving the same narrow chute Mom and I had just walked. The Popemobile took a wide turn and passed slowly--maybe 10 feet in front of us. It then turned and came back for a second close-up view before taking the Holy Father to be vested for Mass.
At this point, I made the calculation. Still very hot. Still no shade. No seating. Mom had already had “the wobbles.” Getting on the Metro at the end of Mass was going to be a challenge. “Mom, we’re going home.”
We walked very slowly down the hill to the Metro. A train obliged by coming promptly. We were home in Silver Spring before the conclusion of the Liturgy of the Word.
Not the day we anticipated. A scary moment in the heat. A crowd cheering our long, slow walk. A close encounter with Pope Francis. And a beautiful memory of time with Mom.