Last week I was worried when I heard that Pope Francis had been hospitalized. I was afraid he would miss Holy Week, which is always so powerful at the Vatican. What a shame, I thought, for him to miss touching so many people’s lives in that way.
I was so short-sighted.
Not only is the Holy Father safely back in place for all the Masses and events of the week, but he has also brought extraordinary beauty and meaning to these last days of Lent.
While in the hospital, he baptized a baby boy in a simple yet moving ceremony that was captured on video.
Then, as he was leaving the hospital, he got out of his vehicle to greet some reporters, sign a child’s cast, and comfort a couple whose 5-year-old daughter had died. You can see the video here.
That exchange with those grieving parents has had a deep impact on my Holy Week. The way the pope holds the mother and reaches out to the father shows such compassion and love. The way he pauses to pray with them as if they are the only people in the world is such a beautiful gift.
I don’t need to know what he is saying. I don’t have to hear a single word to understand the encounter. The pain in the parents’ eyes, in the mother’s demeanor, haunts me. With humility and care, Pope Francis opens his arms and his heart to help shoulder that burden.
This man—who has just left the hospital himself—seems to be concerned only with this mother and father. In that moment, he is priest and pastor and Christ to them.
What more could you ask of anyone at the start of these most somber days?
Holy Week is full of emotion. There’s a heaviness and solemnness to this time, and we must be present for it. We need to walk through these days. We kneel with Jesus as he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane. We stand and watch as he’s beaten and crowned with thorns. We walk with him on the journey to Calvary. We remain at the foot of the cross.
We know that we must push through the darkness before we can come into the light. These are dark, heavy days as we hold onto hope and faith that we are approaching the Resurrection of Easter.
Our Holy Father could easily have chosen not to stop on his trip out of the hospital. He’s been ill himself. He was on his way home to prepare for the holiest days of the liturgical year. But he stopped. He stayed. He held the mother, reached out for the father, and then prayed with them and blessed them.
By holding that sobbing mother, Pope Francis reminds us of the need to carry others’ pain. He offers comfort and strength in the face of unimaginable grief. He grieves with them, mourns alongside them, and accompanies them in their sadness.
What a beautiful example for each of us as we walk toward the cross of Good Friday.
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