Confounding peace

When Sputnik, the first human-made satellite to orbit the earth, traveled across the skies over my hometown soon after its launch, my mom, dad and we three children were lying on a blanket in our backyard at 2:00 a.m. with binoculars in hand to watch its faint, blinking light and experience the wonder of the moment. This was but one of many such experiences my parents initiated to broaden their children’s experience of the universe. 

So it will not surprise you to know that at 3:00 a.m. on April 26 I awakened, reached for my iPad and earphones, and scrolled to YouTube to live stream the funeral of Pope Frances. The circumstances were a bit different. A soft bed, not a lawn. A climate-controlled, bug-less environment.  Lying under, not on, a blanket  and in the comfort of my bed. But the Brown gene was raging in full force as I tuned into the other side of the world in the middle of the night to remember the witness of a man who lived before us a life that was a vivid manifestation of compassion. 

There were many take-aways from the next couple of hours, but one fragment from the funeral commentary has loomed large in my mind—a photograph of two red chairs located in an empty St. Peter’s basilica, occupied only by Presidents Trump and Zelensky. The two men were seated facing one another, almost knee to knee. Their bodies were both leaning forward, toward one another. Their faces were intense with eyes focused on each other. Deep engagement was the communicated message of the image.

Later, a political observer described that encounter as one that was not appropriate for the moment. “A violation of the sacred,” said one. “An embarrassment,” said another. Surely the world’s political agenda could have been laid aside for at least a few moments to honor this great spiritual leader.

I thought about the comments as I studied the picture of the two men. And then, remembering the description of the pope’s witness in the just-preached homily as well as my observation of his life, I had to disagree with the pundits’ assessments.

As I studied the image, the photo of the presidents became an icon that revealed the soul of the pope and what he had embodied through word and deed as well as the nature of God. A visual illustration and summary of both God and Francis’ heart. There in a room filled with prayers offered over centuries by priests, popes, and pilgrims, were two world leaders reaching out toward one another in a search for peace.

While some might think the political conversation between the two national leaders to be sacrilegious in that context, I saw in it the essence of Pope Francis. The encounter revealed in one photograph, all he had been about— an invitation to move toward one another and not away from one another in the midst of difference, an invitation to connect and not alienate. A search for peace that confounds the public mind and passes all understanding in both its simplicity and profundity.  All I could see in that moment was a broad, joyful smile on the pope’s face, observing from the other world this come together occasioned by his death. Sacred indeed.

Francis, you have shown us the way of unity in times in which many seek only to divide and conquer. In life, in death, in life beyond death, well done, thou good and faithful servant.