We were shown into a small, high-ceilinged room with red fabric walls an elevated throne stood at one end. My mother and grandmother were draped in black mantillas. My father was in uniform, two stars on each shoulder. My parents, my grandmother, my four brothers, and I made our way up the Bernini staircase to the papal apartments in Vatican City. My family was granted a private audience with Pope John XXIII. This was 1960, and I was seventeen, aiming to be an Air Force officer, like my father, a major general. Once, I felt that way myself, about another Pope. But surely not because he is from Argentina.”
His look, his voice, everything is near to my heart. We came just for this, for his blessing, whatever it is-physical, emotional, or spiritual.” She told me that they were from Argentina, as is Francis. The woman told me, “My husband has a brain tumor for the last four and a half years. The Pope made a sign of the cross in the air above them and moved on.Īs the crowd dispersed, I approached the couple. Then Francis placed his hands on the man’s head. They stood like that for a while, the couple enveloped in the arms of the Bishop of Rome. The Pope embraced him, then drew the woman in. Francis looked startled, drew back a bit, then turned to her partner.
#Myary judge dishes wave license
Francis reached for her hand, which she took as license to put her mouth by his ear. But when Francis turned to them the woman leaned forward with such gravity that the Pope took notice and stopped. Unlike others at the railing, who were waving and calling, “Papa Francesco! Papa Francesco!,” they held back. The couple in the front row were in their thirties, tall, and dressed in dark clothing.
Now the prelates were gone, and Francis, with guards at a discreet distance, moved along the railing, greeting the people. Then a line of prelates approached his chair. After Francis spoke, others summarized the remarks in various languages.
“What kind of love do we bring to others? . . . Do we treat each other like brothers and sisters? Or do we judge one another?” The throng was silent, listening carefully. A large man with a ready smile, he read from a brief text in Italian, but with fervor. Beyond them, Francis, seventy-six years old, in his stark-white cassock and skullcap, seemed energized by the festive crowd. In front of me were a pair of Vatican ushers in white tie and tails, several clergy, a short man in a yarmulke, and a handsome couple holding hands. Wooden railings imposed order in the square. It was the first of three large gatherings Pope Francis presided over that week for a celebration of the family during the Catholic Church’s “Year of Faith.” It was a balmy October morning, and more than a hundred thousand pilgrims, tourists, and Romans had funnelled into St. On most Wednesdays, the Pope gives a general audience, and this one was packed.
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