Further, this last Papal event ends with the "journey" and not the Mass itself. This is our story: The pilgrimage director chose for us to get to Philidelphia at 11 or so to have lunch. We did so. Further, the writers from the Catholic News Herald were asking us to be interviewed for the whole trip. This was their last chance. We ate lunch with them, and they taped our whole interview. Even though the article wasn't in the original article on the pilgrimage, perhaps we will see it later. They were the most interested in our tattoos of the Immaculate Heart of Mary as mortifications for our Consecration to the Immaculate Heart of Mary, first done years ago. Immediately after lunch, we all got in line together to attend the Papal Mass. We waited and waited for five hours, allowing all of the severely handicapped to move ahead of us. The Mass began. The people in the apartment buildings around up put their TVs up to their windows for us to watch. Hoping to get in for some small part of the Mass, we stayed in line. I could tell by the music when it was time for the different readings. I looked up the Gospel and the other readings on my phone and read them to the people around me. Periodically, I would announce what was going on during the Mass (I knew only because of the songs that were being played). Entrance song. Kyrie. Gloria. Gospel Acclemation. Preparation of the Gifts. Holy, Holy, Holy. Our Father. Communion Hymn. Any song I recognized I would sing, and others would join me. It became a true Purgatory experience. We could hear the singing of the angels, but we couldn't enter. Pigeons flew above us instead of doves. We were packed together in punishment instead of the holiness of freedom. The Mass continued, and a whisper began that the Pope was about to bless all religious items. I started to cry as I pathetically held up what I brought [medals, framed pictures, my chaplet, a gift for Colin (my confirmation candidate who I am sponsoring], etc. Word got out that they ran out of the Eucharist far before most people could receive. As we got up to security, we noticed that something must have happened to increase the level of search. I personally saw the secret service go through each man's wallet and separate EVERY BILL. We entered the moment the Mass was over. I pushed through the exiting crowd just so I could see the empty stage and the jumbotron TV that now only had credits rolling. It was one of the few times in my life that I was hysterically crying. There were so many, in trying to comfort me said, "Oh, you came from so FAR!" It was very true that, in going, we saw LESS of Pope Francis and his message than those who remained at home. Then it was another five hour wait back into the subway. The worst part was being forced into line with a teen group singing, playing music, and being "on fire." Any other time, I would have joined in. That evening, I could only turn away and cry. But in retrospect, it was our sacrifice to allow the severely handicapped to enter before us. Even at the time, I knew it was necessary for me to have this Purgatory experience. I am proud of it now, happily displaying my button that declares, "I Got a Peep of the Pope!" And I am happy to sacrifice. Perhaps I will be able to join the angels someday.
