The Pope

As usual, Lileks has the perfect thing to say.

Two images stick in my mind from the weekend:

The vast crowd at St. Peter’s, absolutely silent as the bells toll.

The body of the Pope on the bier, with his shoes sticking out the end of his robe. It’s a very humble and human image. We always saw him wrapped in the costume of the office, a garment that transformed him – otherwise his was a face you would expect to have seen down at the Polish Community Hall, sitting at a table, having coffee with friends, talking. He was still that man when he put on the robe, but he was that man + Pope, that man plus two millennia of history and tradition. The shoes, however, you didn’t expect. The Pope has shoes? Of course; shoes of the fisherman, metaphorical shoes. But real ones? You never think of the Pope putting on his shoes, tying the laces, buffing out a blemish. You never think of the Pope having a favorite pair. Or kicking them off and sighing with relief: the shoe-part of the day is done; now it's the fire and an ottoman and a good book. Just looking at those shoes makes him seem humble and mortal – which he always was, of course. We lose sight of that quite easily; it’s just human nature to look at the crown, and not at the feet.