It’s been a mellow year so far – highlights include snowshoeing with my dog and happy hour yoga at Ska. It’s a stark contrast to the start of 2012, which I rang in with my husband, Bryan, in Italy.

It was our first trip to Europe, so we wanted to see as much (and eat as much) as possible. We were decompressing in our hotel room after a train from Florence to Rome when something fantastic caught my eye in the guidebook.

“There are free papal audiences with the Pope on Wednesdays! Tomorrow is Wednesday! Do you want to go get blessed by the Pope?”

We’re not religious, but your papal highness is, after all, the most famous man in the world. So we hopped in a cab and sped to the Vatican to try to score tickets (“For free tickets go to the ticket office of the Prefettura della Casa Pontificia through the bronze doors under the colonnade to the right of St. Peter’s,” the guidebook instructed – very Da Vinci Code!)

Mission accomplished, the next morning we arrived with ornate “invitations” and no idea how to find the right auditorium. Crowds milled around the plaza fronting St. Peter’s Basilica, admiring the large creche and Christmas tree (no surprise that the Vatican is unabashedly pro-Christian holidays, I suppose). I panicked, but Bryan had sound advice: “Follow that nun! Where else would a nun be going right now?”

The habited darling led us straight there. Shortly after we settled into our seats, 3,000 people cheered as acrobats took the stage. The men wore brilliant purple and lime green leotards, and tossed, tumbled and lifted each other while jesters juggled silver bowling pins. A female acrobat with hot pink shells covering her breasts was the group’s Vanna White, smiling and presenting a human pyramid to the crowd for its approval. The cheers grew louder.

It seemed incongruous entertainment for a group waiting to be blessed by the Pope, though it certainly livened up the room. The Vatican’s modern “Paolo VI Auditorium” was a far cry from the nearby St. Peter’s Basilica or the Sistine Chapel in terms of “wow factor.” The half-empty hall had plain, cream walls and uncomfortable wood chairs bolted to the floor. Behind the empty, cushioned chair that Pope Benedict XVI would soon occupy was the room’s main ornamentation: an enormous wooden sculpture depicting Jesus ascending from smoky souls at the Rapture.“Creepy,” Bryan muttered.

The Swiss Guards standing at attention on the stage maintained stoic faces despite the indignity of wearing uniforms as brightly comic as those of the acrobats, electric blue- and orange-striped stockings, pants and jackets capped off by red pom pom hats. But it’s true that some women cannot resist a man in uniform, no matter how goofy.

“Are you trying to find a husband in the Swiss Guard, too?” an American teen asked the girl next to her.

The assembled faithful were from all over the world. Clusters of nuns sat peacefully, their black and white habits standing out amongst sometimes rowdy, sometimes anxious church groups clutching at Bibles, rosaries and other artifacts to be blessed. After the acrobats finished, we all grew listless – the doors had opened several hours before, and it was warm inside.

A roving videographer tried to distract the increasingly impatient crowd by filming it, projecting his images onto a screen to the right of the Christmas tree. A hush filled the room as the screen showed a man in a suit in the front row holding a white bag, nervously fiddling with the top. What was inside? Vestments? A communion chalice? A piece of the true cross, as Bryan speculated? The man almost opened the bag to reveal its mystery contents, but then shut it quickly. We all groaned in unison. What was in the bag? He opened it. We held our breath.
He pulled out a baby alligator.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Unity through reptiles!

Clergymen in black robes and fuchsia sashes entered the room. Bryan asked me if they were bishops, but my four years of Catholic school failed me. Then, it was time! The Pope’s white hat popped into view and we all leapt to our feet, screaming and shouting, cameras held overhead to capture his rock star salute to the masses. Brangelina couldn’t have equaled his star power.

The “bishops” took turns reading a Bible passage in seven different languages. Heads started nodding. This was more like the church I remembered from childhood. The Pope, dressed in bright white robes and brighter red shoes, read a long speech in Italian. Eyes glazed. But things got exciting when each clergyman took a turn at the mic and – in his own language – said something along the lines of “His Holiness, the English-speaking members of the congregation would like to share their respect and good wishes for you. From New Zealand, the parishioners of St. Francis of Assisi … .” and the group’s members would leap to their feet and wave flags and cheer, or in the case of nuns and priests, sing a solemn hymn. The Italians were last and loudest, bellowing “Viva Papa! Viva Papa!”

After the pilgrims had finished expressing their adoration, out came the acrobats to perform for the Pope. He seemed to light up during this part of the program – he clapped and grinned as they flipped around for his amusement. Who knew the Pope would be unfazed by such a display of Spandex?

The Pope blessed us in our various languages, and thousands sang the Lord’s Prayer in Latin. Our papal audience was over, and the dignitaries lined up to shake hands and kiss the ring. But even as they paid their respects to the Pope, his eyes frequently wandered to the acrobats, a childlike joy spreading over a wizened face that seemed to be transported back to a simpler, more carefree time.

Our minds blown, it was time to try to beat the crowds to the Sistine Chapel. But what was the quickest route? “It worked last time – follow that nun!” Bryan urged, pointing out a prospective guide. It may have been divine intervention, but we ended up outside the Vatican walls. It’s only fair – though we were delighted by the bizarre experience we’d just shared with thousands of actual believers – we weren’t exactly ready to convert. As we trudged around outside the walls of Vatican City, it felt like penance for interloping. And it was totally worth it.

 

– Jen Reeder