Pope Francis Accepts the Staff

Holy smoke, and it was white.

"His election was the election of a rejection of power," said a Jesuit priest in the Vatican's press office--a brother-member from the same Catholic 'religious order' from which Pope Francis has come to us.

Italian was spoken in the pontiff's childhood Argentine home, taught to the son of a railroad worker who emigrated from Italy to South America.

That he's of Italian ancestry should delight all of Rome and Italy. That he has been called from the Americas, a Spanish speaker, endears him to most of the world's Roman Catholic population.

That he rejected palatial surroundings of the Cardinal's residence in Buenos Aires, choosing instead to live in a downtown apartment and ride the bus to work is testament to his humility, and more, to his focus on the mission of his life's work rather than its trappings. Were one to accuse him of being out of touch, as Cardinal, he regularly visited the slums of Buenos Aires, and if one can't find humility in any slum, then where, spiritual or not?

That he bowed his head, asking the world's church to pray for him in silent prayer, silencing the wet and cold thousands rejoicing at St. Peter's Square was a departure from his predecessors. Again, recognizing weaknesses of humanity and his place among it, recognizing from where the Church and its faithful draw our true strength and leadership.

Italian. Spanish. American. Latin American. Humble. Student. Scholar. Teacher. Leader. Leader by example. So far, so good?

Each of the religious orders has their charisms. The Jesuits are regarded as scholars, teachers and missionaries, the Catholic community that dedicated itself to promulgate "The Sacred Heart of Jesus."

Pope Francis earned a degree in chemistry, taught, learned, served, and continued learning and serving and leading. One might cite fearlessness in leadership, when, in the 1990s, he challenged his community, calling for reform within the Society of Jesus ("Jesuits"), and not so very popular a notion within its ranks. Yet, here he is, Pope Francis, the first Jesuit ever to become the Vicar of Christ, testament that even the voice for reform in one of the Church's most structured and respected of Catholic communities, he not only survived politically but continued to earn the admiration and respect from the hierarchy of the Church, in the persons of its College of Cardinals.

Of thousands on thousands of words I've read to research my new shepherd, there was a speech someone called "fiery," where he was compelled to remind his peers--without mincing words--words to the effect that Jesus bathed lepers and broke bread with prostitutes. It was an impassioned plea to emulate Christ, to tell his brother servants that it was time to climb off their high horses, and to serve prayerfully, with humility.

Pope Francis seems to have every ingredient for which I'd wish in a spiritual leader, the ingredients in proper proportion to the whole, in perspective.

The first non-European pontiff in over 1,000 years, he's being hailed as a Pope "...from the New World.." And I think those pundits have it right. Nearly. It's my feeling he's not just from, but for a New World. His holiness, Pope Francis, may just deliver that to his faithful and beyond, a new world, for the betterment of all.

He's accepted the staff as our shepherd, and history may well reflect that Pope Francis was, in the truest spirit of Christ, one who walked softly with bold confidence, carrying that big stick from the moment he said, "Yes," accepting the burdens of a troubled world, the sinfulness and failings of its people that reach into the depths of his own organization. He accepted responsibility to carry and deliver, exemplify hope and forgiveness, with the path toward our salvation constantly enlightened.

My prayer is that he is as I perceive him to be. My faith tells me he'll succeed in a job I regard as one which no man could take lightly, especially when told by peers that it is his torch and cross to bear, God's will.

Bailey Call Collect

Bailey Gallagher played with dollies, jumped rope, had tea parties, got good grades, dreamed of princes, driving a car, a boyfriend, prom dresses, a husband and motherhood. 

She played soccer, was a cheerleader, in drama club, Spanish club, and somewhere along her path of her Irish-Catholic upbringing, specifically high school, she encountered a nun and a priest she liked and to whom she could relate. They taught a couple of her religion requirements, and their passion for and presentation of their classes awakened the unexpected in Bailey. She spoke nary a word of it to another soul. 

The girl was popular, dated alot, but was never considered as 'easy' or 'slutty.' Bailey had  intercourse only a few times with her senior year's boyfriend. To Bailey, sex was in context of a balanced life, normalcy, not a burdensome obsession. She would often revisit whether sleeping with him had been a good decision, and left it with her father confessor. 

She graduated from high school and accepted a scholarship to attend Franciscan University with hopes of getting a degree in education and teaching high school. 

Three years later, she was in front of her academic adviser, confessing she felt called to a spiritual life. The adviser guided her to prayerful and academic/research approaches of discerning answers to, "Me, really?," "Why me?," "Okay, but there are hundreds of  communities of nuns so how do you pick one?."

Four years following, Bailey was was before a bishop, with tears of joy falling along with her hair from tonsure's sacred rite, followed by her profession of solemn vows. 

Thirty-one years, five months and nineteen days later, Sister Mary Bailey was on her lumpy cot in candlelight, under a corrugated roof's rain pounding. She lay there reflecting on a life spent in the Congo, nursing and teaching children. Just four years of those nearly thirty-one and a half  years were spent Stateside, required restorative time to spend among her sisters at the order's 'mother house.' 

Her career's reflection wasn't in wonder of having spent or misspent her life. She was thanking God for all the disease and hardships and deaths encountered in her assignment, grateful that hers was the caring heart, helping hand and available ear chosen for the less fortunate. She knew that few would ever understand, even from the beginning. 

To her, it mattered to the one who mattered --the one who had called her--the one who told her she mattered. 

A gust from the African savannah's storm extinguished the candle, leaving Sister Mary Bailey in darkness but for an instant. In the same instant, her hands quickly found the cruicifix on her chest, and she clutched it tightly, one hand over the other. 

Her death arrived silently, leaving  life with a smile for the hand she saw reaching out to her through her last living thought, and the light, that beautiful light.
#