The Pope Next Door

Riding uptown on Madison Avenue this morning was a bit creepy. Every Sunday I arrive at Penn Station and am in a yellow cab on my way to Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church by 8 or 8:15. Most mornings, there are very few cars on the road.

This morning was no exception … until we crossed Madison and about 50th. I began to open my sleepy eyes a little wider as I noticed that on every block stood a NYPD officer. In the 60s, there were black cars lining the roads, using all available parking spots. At about 65, black cars were mixed with squad cars, and at 72nd, there was an enormous crowd, with camera lighting and a huge white tent.

Last Sunday I noticed a similar scene, minus quite such a large police presence. Able to catch a quick glace of a woman with a curly blonde mane sitting in a director’s chair, I thought it must have been a Sex in the City shooting, and the woman, Sarah Jessica Parker.

This morning, the shooting could have been done not just with cameras, but also with machine guns in the hands of men and women in uniform on the streets and incognito on the roofs. This morning’s visitor? The Pope.

During his stay in the City, Benedict took up residence at 72nd and Madison, just a block from my church. As I got out of my cab in front of the sanctuary, I had to dodge four big truck-like vehicles that looked like they could plow through a wall - or a crowd. Watching from the front of the worship service, I could see out the back windows 2 ambulances from St. Vincent’s on call and ready. Watching the breaking of the bread during communion, I heard a chopper fly overhead - just about the time the Pope was supposed to be moving from Ground Zero to Yankee Stadium. Wow. Interesting.

As I walked downtown this afternoon, I couldn’t help but think about Oscar Romero, and dozens of other saints who have lived the Catholic faith on the ground so to speak, in the streets, in the line of fire. People whom this Pope, before he was Pope, discredited for their association with populist political and economic movements. People who didn’t have the protection of the Vatican or the United States government. People who died for love of their brothers and sisters.

I couldn’t help but think about all the other hundreds of thousands of people in the City who desparately need the presence of a protector, a mediator, or a medical aid person, but whose resources were reallocated for the guarding of this one person.

Who knows, maybe I’m just a cynical Protestant, but I’m glad I won’t always be going to church with the Pope next door.

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/04/18/popelockdown/