WARSAW, Poland (OSV News) — On April 2, 2005, the world mourned the passing of St. John Paul II.
At 9:37 p.m., his earthly journey ended, but in his homeland of Poland, a powerful spiritual community began to form.
This moment of national unity left a profound emotional mark on Poles, a feeling Polish filmmaker Mariusz Pilis sought to capture in his new documentary titled by the hour of the pope’s death: “21:37.”
Pilis shared with OSV News that his goal was to “remember in order to awaken the emotions of that time” — emotions that united the nation and made people feel part of something greater. “No global experience has ever stopped time in such a way,” he reflected in the film’s introduction.
The documentary, which premiered April 1 in Kraków, focuses on the experiences of the average Polish person, intentionally avoiding famous figures. Pilis explained that by telling simple, relatable stories, the film allows viewers to see themselves reflected, evoking the universal sense of community felt during that profound moment.
These are “stories in which everyone can see themselves as if in a mirror,” Pilis told OSV News.
In early April 2005 in Krakow, Magdalena Hodalska was working as a translator and guide for a team of foreign reporters. When John Paul was in his final moments, crowds spontaneously gathered in front of the Krakow’s curia window — the very window from which the pope spoke to his compatriots during pilgrimages.
American correspondents with whom she worked were stunned.
“They were surprised that people were silently looking at an empty window,” Hodalska said in the documentary.
When John Paul first came to Poland in June 1979 — a pilgrimage that has awakened the sense of freedom in the nation — people spontaneously gathered by the residence of Krakow’s bishops at Franciszkanska Street, once Cardinal Karol Wojtyla’s home. They were so loud that at night the pope spontaneously climbed on the windowsill, with Cardinal Franciszek Macharski of Krakow literally holding the pope so he wouldn’t fall, and started a conversation with the youth.
“When I used to be here in Krakow, I was a pretty decent person. I never crawled on windows,” the pope joked as the crowd burst into laughter and excitement. “And now what has happened to me!” he said, before telling the young: “Go to sleep, go to sleep,” and ending with a Polish equivalent of “bye bye”: “Pa!”
The window encounter on June 6, 1979, started a tradition that the pope and his beloved Cracovians would continue until the last trip, with a professional window-climbing structure added to keep the pope secure for subsequent pilgrimages. When the pope was dying, Franciszkanska was a natural place for people to gather and mourn.
“We were looking at that window saying goodbye to someone who had previously spoken very important things to us” from there, said Hodalska, who is now a Jagiellonian University professor. “It was a very personal farewell,” she recalled.
Agnieszka and Jacek Lazowscy got married on the evening of April 2, 2005, in the academic church of St. Anne in Warsaw. The church is so popular among young couples that their marital Mass was planned for 9 p.m. that day, after a full day of other weddings.
“I wanted a modest wedding,” Lazowski laughed as he recalled that thousands of people attended — flocking from all corners of the Polish capital to pray for the pope.
“The crowd kept growing. Everyone was praying, and we prayed with them,” Lazowski said. His wife added that even though she — like millions of Poles — never had a chance to meet the pope face to face, she participated in Masses during his pilgrimages in Poland and that he shaped her life, formed her marriage and with the wedding intertwining with his passing — became their natural patron saint.
After the pope’s death, Poland declared a six-day national mourning period. During this time, extraordinary scenes unfolded. Supporters of rival sports clubs reconciled, while massive crowds gathered at Masses, in front of churches, and in squares, parks and even airports. Thousands of grieving Poles were trying to find spare seats in trains, planes and buses to travel to Rome for the pope’s funeral on April 8, 2005.
Father Robert Skrzypczak, an academic chaplain at St. Anne’s Church in Warsaw at the time and a professor, said that April 2005 was a time that saw people coming to confession 30, 40, 50 years after the last encounter with the priest.
“Sometimes I heard confessions until 4 a.m. and collapsed from exhaustion. That was a time when many people had their heads lifted by an angel,” the priest recounted in the documentary. He remembered hitmen and French Foreign Legion soldiers, used mainly for colonial conquests, coming to confession, moved by the life and death of the pope from Poland who had a profound impact on humanity throughout his pontificate.
The documentary’s director emphasizes that he had another important goal — to convey to the younger generation how significant John Paul was for Poles.
“Today, St. John Paul II is somewhat abstract to young people. That’s why I approached this project in a special way — to build an emotional image,” he said, “This is a good moment for family conversations. We have never had a figure of such stature in Polish history — someone who represented such intellectual, mystical, religious and identity-related levels.”
“When someone like that passes away, we feel isolated, as if we have lost something, as if the future is uncertain,” he added. “We look for people around us who feel the same — and we found them in our brothers and sisters. We saw it in the eyes of those around us. And because of that, we became a spiritual community.”
Paradoxically, he said, “it was one of the most beautiful moments we ever experienced” as a Polish national community, said Pilis.
“After 20 years, I wanted to ask: Do we truly understand what happened back then, and maybe it is a good time to return to it?”
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