So this past week the D.C. area was blessed with the presence of the Bishop of Rome. Of course, given it was the first time this Pope has been here and the fact that this city can’t handle a light rain without going all nuts…everyone went all crazy. Things shut down. Roadways were closed, businesses closed early, the ball park was decorated and packed with people all wanting to see the Pope while he was in town. There was a special twinge of excitement because on top of all of that it was the Pope’s birthday. A double helping of pandemonium please.
I didn’t realize just how much people were in a tizzy about this until I went with our daughter for her 5-year checkup (another interesting parenting lesson: if you can get your spouse to go to that for you, DO IT; MAKE THAT DEAL. There’s nothing like holding your screaming child down as he/she is being poked repeatedly with needles for booster shots). It turns out that our pediatrician is a relatively “non-practicing” Catholic who has a son who works in the GAO. The son was able to wrangle a ticket for his dad to be one of about 1,000 people the White House had arranged on the front lawn of the White House to sing Happy Birthday to his pontifness. What a wonderful photo op I imagined.
Now we at the seminary were thinking, since the Episcopal Church is a cousin of the Catholic Church that we’d perhaps be invited to any of the myriad of lunches, breakfast meetings, mid-morning “Scones and Tea” parties, etc. as one of the “other religious leaders and groups” that could meet the Pope. Not so. Apparently there was just no room for us…OK, I don’t know that for sure, but no one asked ME if I wanted to go meet the Pope. And, oddly enough, I’m just fine with all that.
