A Letter to Pope Francis, Which May or May Not Have Arrived
Today, my letter has gotten to Pope Francis.
Maybe.
I had attended a Mass at Saint Elizabeth a while back where a priest was visiting from a Diocesan office. He was an amazing preacher. He told stories about being from New York City and all the different kinds of people he met. And it reminded me of my dad’s stories about having friends from every place when he grew up there. The priest talked the people he met in Tennessee while he worked in prison ministry. And it reminded me of my husband, who does the same ministry. The priest talked about being at Saint Jude’s children’s cancer hospital, and it reminded me of my daughter, who was declared cancer-free at age four. And then he talked about how humor is a gift of the Holy Spirit, and it reminded me of my dreams of being funny.
The priest was a gifted preacher, and I felt connected to him for so many reasons. After that vigil Mass, I asked him to bless me, and he said in prayer that I should be anointed to speak the name of Jesus and evangelize. I was so happy the Spirit led him there. These are also my dreams.
It wasn’t until after I got home that I really connected with something else he said during the Mass. He said he was not a diocesan priest. He was from an order that was supposed to bring mercy to others. He and priests from his order would have an audience with Pope Francis on Divine Mercy Sunday.
My heart suddenly filled with joy: if he’s going to see Pope Francis, I could write a letter to the Holy Father, and the priest could bring it!
I dug out a note card and started to write. And then I felt awkward. Why does the Pope need a letter from me? What do I have to say?
All the things I wanted to say came out more slowly on paper than the way they tumbled out in my mind when I had the idea. I put the card in the envelope. I wrote “Pope Francis” on the top. And then my tummy hurt.
After Mass that morning, the priest was surprised to see me again. But I didn’t get in line to talk to him. I chickened out, and I went to talk to a friend off to the side. But maybe the Lord wanted me to give the letter… because the priest came over.
I reached into my purse. “You’re going to see Pope Francis, right?”
His eyebrows furrowed. His smile disappeared. “Yes.”
“Can you give him this?”
He stammered. “Well, I have a couple of other things people asked me to give…”
“It’s okay if you can’t.”
“Well, maybe.”
And that’s how we left it. Today is Divine Mercy Sunday. Maybe he didn’t bring my letter. Or maybe he did. What I wrote is on an issue close to my heart. And beyond the words, I pray the Holy Spirit anoints it with His power to encourage, to admonish, to heal, to deliver, to bless and to give empowerment as He sees fit. If Pope Francis got it, I’ll be very happy. And if he didn’t, the Lord has heard my prayer. What I wrote follows below:
Dear Pope Francis,
I love you very much. My friend went to the Vatican and gave me a medal of Saint Michael that she had you bless. I wear it everyday to remind me to pray for you. My heart is sad for division in the Church and in the world. Jesus prayed so ardently in John 17 for us to be one. I join my prayer to His. You have my affection, Pope Francis. May Jesus and Mary give you their protection and love.
With affection, Norine Shaivitz
Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, Pflugerville, Texas