As I see it...
-historically speaking-
In the spring of 1920, Karol Wojtyla was born in a small Polish town.
It seems to be that trauma was a large part of his life, which was probably pretty normal for most people in the 1920's in Poland and in any other part of the world for that matter. If trauma was the norm, then what was trauma?
His big sister died before he was born. Then, when he was 8, his mother passed away. Left with his elder brother, he stuck close and looked up to him. Then later on, he died too.
All the while Karol seemed to grow up as a caring and selfless child. This Catholic boy would volunteer himself to play soccer with the Jewish team when they were running short on players. Crossing uncrossable borders and connecting the dots at an early age.
A little later, he was rescuing people from the Nazis. A young girl had passed out on a train track and Karol carried her to a train and accompanied her to a hospital, caring for her the whole way. A good Samaritan story if I've ever heard one.
He did a lot of other things with his life later on, but I was pretty surprised with how all of this early life stuff played out.
Karol was shot at least once. A guy stabbed him another time. A guy tried to explode himself next to him but it didn't work. Karol visited the shooter in prison and he forgave him for the crime even though it is not known whether or not the man wanted to be forgiven.
-poem-
The widower's wallet squeezed dry of feeling, dreams, and ration.
A boy left alone through disease, the sadness of lonely compassion.
To keep moving forward, to keep pushing along.
For the trumpet to freeze yet to keep playing the song.
In and out of War, the badge of reconciliation proudly worn.
The badge has been yanked from the uniform,
but the humble marches on.
Into the system of tradition and through it a hopeful heart all the same.
Cut through the politics, a selfless heart remained.
Assassination, forgive them. Assassination again.
Forgive them, Father, pardon them all in your son's name.
Reconciled enemies, crossed over, called them friends.
The simple work of a broken man, freely to the end, bitter burden gone,
for the humble marches on.
-The Death-
I had heard of your death when an eager reporter mechanically told us so over an errant microphone. "Pope is dead. Pope is dead."
More so than that, Karol has moved along. With honors, traditions, and fancy titles that kind of matter and kind of don't, Karol has moved on into an Age of yesterday, today and forever.
May 18, 1920, Karol Jozef Wojtyla was born.
Amen
