“This is it,” I yelp – then all at once –
– Is Rome in my room, or are we in Rome?
Bells swing, flags wave, a tsunami of sound
Crashes and breaks, knocks me into my chair
As the kids leap from theirs – their joyful cries,
I swear, have broken the sound barrier,
Reach through the screen to the other side of the world,
And mingle with those in St. Peter’s Square.

“White smoke!” That’s all that I have time to text.
“White smoke!” is all that my dad needs to message.
“White smoke!” my messenger screams to the office.
“White smoke!” – and that’s enough.
                                                  “But what’s his name?”
I’ve no idea – it’s not that I don’t care,
But rather, that I do not need to know.
Today I wait in hope and breathless joy.

Floundering, shaking, I gaze at the dancing
And chanting youth around me, and I wonder –
Are they too loud? Ought I to make them quiet?
But when you come out – you gaze patiently
At thousands of loud children just like mine
And smile that fond and parental smile
That’s been upon my own lips countless times.

New Papa, I hope you sleep well tonight:
The father of a billion wild children!
We cheer for you today, and yet tomorrow
We’ll claim that we know better than you do,
Rebel like angry teens, and throw our tantrums
And claim you don’t understand us at all.
But you – don’t turn from us that gentle smile!

Two thousand years ago, the Lord holds out
The weighty, massive keys – now you stretch out
Your hands across the centuries to take them.
I wonder, are you afraid you might drop them?
Or does the Holy Spirit buoy your hands?

Two thousand years ago upon the seashore,
The Lord fed you, asked you to tend and feed me,
And though you were not there – saw not his face –
Today you hear his voice and heed his call.

He said, too, that one day you would stretch out
Your hands to receive someone else’s clothes
And be led in his footsteps to a place
You did not wish to go, I can’t but wonder
How hard it was to step out on the water
Amid the raging storms, knowing that you
Could not see his hands should you start to sink.

How upside-down your crucifixion is!
We cheer for you and give to you a palace,
And then mostly ignore – while you lay down
Your life, even your name! all to become
The shepherd of a billion wand’ring sheep,
Fisher of trillions of scattered souls,
Servant of servants, chief washer of feet!

I realize with a start that I am trembling,
And I could cry or laugh or leap – all three.
I still don’t know a single thing about you,
What does it matter? You, stranger in white,
Have just adopted me, and this whole world,
The father of all the prodigal children.
And how can I be anything but thankful?

Our weight could tear the strongest net to pieces,
Yet you carry us home upon your shoulders.
May Christ make us, your burden, sweet and light!

The keys on the flag are shaped like a cross,
Indeed, that is the only way to bear them.
How glad I am not to be in your place!
Are you sure that you want us? We’re a handful.
But if you won’t turn back – if you will love us,
New Papa – I can only proudly hail you.
How glad I am that you hold safe those keys:
The rod and staff of God that give me courage.
And as the children chant, “We got a pope!”
One murmurs, “We have a father again.”