Without seeing the pope

MANILA, Philippines - Waiting for four hours to receive and share blessings from Pope Francis was an exhilarating but draining experience and totally missing him as his entourage roared by could touch off a gamut of reactions – frustration, depression and, for some solace, divine intercession.

For two of the five days of the papal visit, we waited and braved a sea of faithful along the route to have the blessing or even a glimpse of Pope Francis – but we were simply in the wrong place, at wrong time and wrong turn.

He was so up close and personal on television screens the moment the papal aircraft taxied into the Villamor Airbase, and so humane and full of compassion on his homily in the rain at a makeshift stage at the Tacloban Airport Saturday that we felt we should be physically present when he gave his blessings to the people lining the streets.

“Leave early to avoid the crowd,” said the Papal Visit guidelines.

There was this elbow of a corner after the Nagtahan Bridge and under the MRT rail, the last turn for the papal entourage before reaching Malacañang for his meeting with
President Aquino, which we thought ideal for the occasion of our encounter with Pope Francis.

But security roadblocks around the area forced us to navigate through a densely populated area on the poor side of Sampaloc and ride a padyak tricycle (for double the usual fare) to reach the place – only to be met by a roaring mammoth crowd which had assembled four hours earlier.

And it grew deeper and deeper as more people, families, out-of-towners, vendors, kept pouring in until the place became a heaving, happy mass of humanity anticipating the arrival of the pope.

“Ayan na, ayan na (here he comes),” a section of the crowd would shout, but it would turn out – again and again – to be a false alarm.

But even then, it would stir the crowd into a frenzy, surging forward, raising hands holding rosaries, clasped in prayer or clutching iPads, mobile phones and more mobile phones at the end of monopods and colorful ribbons.

Suddenly, there was a slew of motorbike-riding police escorts, white vans, their sirens at full blast, filled with security personnel and media, limousines ferrying Vatican and foreign dignitaries and government officials emerging atop the Nagtahan Bridge.

A black closed van with Pope Francis in the back seat came whizzing by and, as if on cue, the crowd stood as one – and blocked my view.

Those who saw the closed van as it passed by said its window shield was rolled down, revealing a side profile of Pope Francis smiling and waving and igniting cheers of “Papa Francis, Papa Francis, Papa Francis.”

Then the motorcade disappeared round the bend – and just as quickly the crowd dispersed.

The air remained festive. There were no grumblings on how swiftly it was over and done with after enduring long hours waiting for the papal entourage.

They were simply happy to be there, aware that even for some fleeting moments they were touched by his presence.

But we missed the “moving” rite for sure. “No matter, you are blessed.” We were undaunted. Some pesky thoughts gnawed at the mind and wouldn’t be stilled until we shall have been granted the pope’s blessings, and what had started as a simple task of seeking divine help from the Vicar of Christ had turned into a full-scale obsession and a self-imposed goal.

Off we went the Sunday of the Feast of the Holy Child when Pope Francis was to meet the nation’s youth at the Pontifical University and later celebrate the Holy Mass at the Rizal Park before a huge turnout of faithful, which would eventually lead to record seven million devotees.

Ready to catch Pope Francis’ motorcade at the corner of Quirino Avenue and Osmeña Boulevard a kilometer away from the Apostolic Nunciature, we came at the crack of dawn with parka jackets to wear against the cold and incessant downpour and armed with a folding steel stool – to better get a vantage view of the holy convoy as it barreled down the avenue.

As it turned out, there was no view to get from any vantage point tottering on the stool. The place was packed with devotees who seemed to have made the corner their private preserve, with those on the second row standing on blue plastic seats a foot taller than our miserable stool.

Facing the same predicament earlier near Malacañang, we positioned ourselves at road curb behind and watched as police escorts, media and official vans roared by, followed by an empty popemobile and when the crowd broke out in loud cheers we knew with sinking feeling indicated that the pope’s van had passed us by – a second time.

We went through another maze of side streets along the shelters of informal settlers and rode back home as the skies darkened and became heavy with rain. “Don’t worry you were blessed,” the wife assured again.

Later while we watched on the TV screen as Pope Francis, in a jeepney popemobile, toured the quadrants of the joyous throng at the Rizal Park, a pesky thought crossed the mind anew.

With close to seven million people getting ringside view and personally being blessed by the pope, why would this one unfortunate man miss him in two attempts?

One could only surmise, that in his mission of mercy and compassion, there’s always a little space in his heart for everybody, and those with less of the pope could keenly appreciate his presence and feel the message more and, in the end, bask as well in hope.