Beautiful words...

I recently posted in remembrance of Blessed Pope John Paul II on his first feast day.

Having been raised Protestant, he is the first Pope I remember. My earliest memory is of one who always seemed to be accessible to the people. If we had passed on the street, I would not have hesitated to have spoken to him. And thousands did...

I was recently read these words in a column about him:

He was a typical village priest.  He said mass, heard confessions, presided at baptisms and weddings and funerals.  He founded a small youth group that quickly became so popular, it grew from 20 people to 200.  He took students hiking, kayaking and skiing.   While he was kayaking on the lakes of northern Poland, he got word that Pope Pius XII had named him a bishop.  He was 38 years old.  Karol Wojtyla refused to cut short his trip.  He kept on paddling.

And so it began.  This is how he began the path to sainthood.  His was a life spent not only gazing toward the heavens, but also kissing the earth.  He picked up those who fell and rescued those in need and risked his life for what he knew to be true.   He saw hardship, and hate, and hope.  He shared joys and sorrows, struggles and fears.  And he saw God’s mercy at work, in sins that were forgiven and faith that was restored.

So it was that 33 years ago today, on an autumn morning in 1978, he stood before the world and said with clarity and conviction: “Do not be afraid.”  They were the first words of his first homily as pope.  They were words that he had lived.  “Do not be afraid.”


Read the 2nd paragraph again...what more could one want than to be remembered this way? I have a feeling, he would have liked it just fine.