The Greatest Man of the 20th Century

Three years ago to the day, I touched the hand of the greatest man of the 20th Century.

One year later it was reported that he was deathly ill. A few days later, in the middle of my masters comprehensives, he died.

Two years later, thousands of Poles packed a church to commemorate our national hero, a man who shone with profound spirit and humanity.

Three years later, I'm working on my doctorate in Cleveland, and I still can't shake the memory of that fateful trip.



Needless to say, my Roman pilgrimage was a success.. From the moment I set foot to path, it was as if God's finger was on my little head, guiding my every step. A few days after arriving in the eternal city, I knelt in front of Pope John Paul the Second -- now, the "great" -- and expressed my gratitude, presented him with a choral work I composed in his honor, and walked away, as dazed as I have ever been. From what I hear, sudden, life-changing experiences have the habit of leaving one "dazed."

My time to reflect on JP2 will come later, as we approach the third anniversary of his going home on April 2nd. I want to talk about the trip that led me there. I'm putting my pilgrimage into words, as I promised a few friends I would do upon returning from that fateful journey.

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I had long desired to go to Rome, to see the second-oldest wellspring of Western Civilization beyond Greece, to walk where the deeds of the ages were part of the very fabric of reality. I wanted to see the Vatican, to come home to the center of my faith, to see the Church built on the very bones of St. Peter. I wanted to see with my own two eyes -- if only from a distance -- the living figure of John Paul 2 waving back at us.

This is no hero worship or deification I engage in here. After twelve years of bad Catholic schooling, I was an Agnostic, through and through. I had received just enough of a philosophical background to do harm to myself, and I was proceeded unfettered. Overall, I was a good kid. I believed in honor, friendship, hard work, and the presence of a good God, or a good "something" bigger than us.

Through my years of bitter agnostic life, it was rather easy to dismiss most Christianity. John Paul the Second, however, was a living, breathing, and apparently bullet-proof witness to his faith. I eventually read his writings, considering myself to be intellectually honest enough to read about that which I opposed. Between his life, his example, and his profound thinking (mercifully recorded in the written word), I was brought back to my faith. It was a faith rooted in reason, a faith backed by history, and a faith represented by a great man -- a man that had taken a near-fatal bullet for what he stood for.

The person of Christ is indeed enough to hold one to faith. For a person far gone, however, a distant mythological figure is not enough. God expects us to radiate him to others, to act rightly even when the masses misunderstand, to stand as authentic witnesses to a deeper truth than secular humanism can provide. In my eyes, John Paul the Second was that man. As a Pole, I cannot help but well with pride that this unknown man from an oppressed country did with great love and faith what many dictators and evil men were not able to do: tople governments, unite people, and lead the way to someplace better.

In the following days, which are now so special to me, I will write about the pilgrimage I was led to, and the great experience of meeting the only person I had ever thought of as a hero. I hope you will join me, and perhaps be inspired to take a life-changing trip of your own.