The scriptural passage for each station was read aloud from an unknown speaker in different languages, further adding to the universal and communal aspects of the Church’s message.  However, we were disappointed not to hear English, an intentional sign by the Pope of his lack of support for the current war in Iraq. Yet, condemnation quickly turned to sympathy, as the cross passing in front of us was handed off to an Afghan family who lost their innocent son from a bombing several weeks prior. The cross was then handed off to the family of the Chinese doctor who exposed the world to the SARS epidemic. Often, the Catholic Church is perceived as irrelevant in the increasingly secular and modern world. But as witnesses to its spiritual power, we were reminded that Christ’s passion is just as important today as it was then.

Finally, at the conclusion of the stations, the Pope read aloud his Good Friday message. Though I had a basic proficiency in Italian, his poor health made it impossible for me to understand him. However, about ten feet or so from our spot we heard an English speaking Jesuit translating the Pope’s words for a group of students. We slowly moved in his direction, and hung on his every word. John Paul discussed the need for us to love, as Jesus had taught us to. But it was not his words that moved me the most, but his difficulty in saying them. At least six times, he was forced to pause and wipe his mouth of drool. Occasionally, his voice would tail-off to the point where he was barely audible. His obvious condition brought women in the crowd to tears, and seemed to mirror his message on the suffering of Christ. “At the place where Christians were martyred by Roman pagans, we too must keep in mind our responsibility as followers of Christ to bear our own crosses” he said. Eventually, he ran out of energy, his neck barely able to support his head, and an assistant came to the microphone and finished the written out speech. Unlike pontiffs of other generations, the piety and sincerity of Pope John Paul truly related him psychologically with the first Pope, St. Peter, who is buried just two miles down the road.  Just as the Coliseum behind us was clearly a shadow of its former glory, John Paul’s physical condition was a universe away from the spiritual power that lay within him.

The proceedings finally came to a close to the thunderous applause of the crowd, who understood the holiness of the occasion. The crowds dispersed on foot, vespa, or bus to return to their noisy, busy lives. Yet, at least for myself, I felt as if I shared an intimate conversation with all those present. Whether it was the little bambino running around the adult’s legs, the Jesuit translator, or his eminency himself, all those present shared in the one thing we had in common–being Christian. Until that moment, Rome had been simply a series of churches, ancient ruins, and sprawling piazzas. Though everything about those structures was beautiful, it was the beauty of the Italian people I began to recognize and fall in love with at that point. It is hard to find a more diverse and awe-inspiring collection of famous buildings, but their personalities were as cold as putting your face on their marble façades. It is the warm smile of an elderly woman at the morning market, the bright eyes of the children kicking around a soccer ball, and in this case, the spirituality and rarely seen vulnerability of perhaps one of the most important people on Earth that defines the beauty of Rome. The history and gravity of that night’s Station of the Cross fit in well with Rome’s title as the Eternal City, linking its ancient beginnings with its Catholic identity. At that moment, standing with my parents in the perfect Mediterranean night, I felt as if Rome had in fact always been my home, or at least that’s what my heart was telling me.

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