One single man unites three
cities, also the world. He wears white. He raises his hand. He stops his Fiat to kiss a
young boy on a head, to touch a baby, to nod at an Argentine flag, to
laugh at something, to mime a quick sprint. He speaks, at a mass, of St.
Katherine. He honors educators and peacemakers. He talks about the
power of being individually different together and about the devastations of
attempting global sameness.
Celebrate your history.
Celebrate your culture.
Celebrate our many languages.
He celebrates the
immigrant, reminds those who must be reminded that we, here in America,
we, here, in Philadelphia, are all products of movement; my own Italian
great-grandfather became a naturalized citizen not even 100 years ago.
He asks us to look past walls and barriers. To be honest with each
other. To seek out peace, to stop perpetuating damage, to hold together
family and family life.
Money, fame, celebrity, awards, job titles:
These things do not impress him. He prefers his own shoes, his own
small apartment, his single suitcase of possessions.
We
are watching him, learning from him, studying the skies (the morning
hue here is the brightest pink). We are celebrating with those, like
Sister Kimberly Miller, who have stood in his presence. We are praying
for him today, another long day, and we will be praying for him, as his
plane departs tonight, and then after, when he has more meetings to attend to, another continent to greet and to inspire.
Make the peace, he says. Or keep it.
Be honest.
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