Pope Benedict XVI's visit to the United States on April 15 has generated great excitement among Americans from the moment it was first announced. Interest in the trip now matches or in some respects surpasses the astonishingly successful visits of John Paul II.
Two months ago, Mark Ackerman, director of the archdiocese of New York's efforts to coordinate six papal appearances in that city, reported that there had already been 180,000 requests for the 90,000 available seats for the papal Mass at Yankee Stadium. His predicament, he said, was "heartbreaking" because of the sorrowful reactions of people when they are told there are no more seats available. The archdiocese of Washington faces similar overwhelming demands for Mass tickets.
Some commentators attribute this excitement solely to the fact that Benedict's time in the US is relatively brief and will be restricted to two cities. They say the trip's brevity and the pontiff's age – he will soon be 81 years old – has created the sense of this visit being a "once-in-a-lifetime" opportunity. It is quite likely that Pope will not be returning anytime soon.
But there is more to it. Behind the enthusiasm for Benedict is a suffering Church and a suffering nation seeking its way forward. It is not so much curiosity that is attracting Americans to Benedict; it is the doubt and pain present among the people, coupled with admiration for this Good Shepherd.
The people are demonstrating the accuracy of a prediction made 70 years ago by British historian Christopher Dawson. He argued that the Roman papacy, because of its unique origin and history, was becoming ever more essential to the moral unity and advancement of mankind. Dawson came to his prediction based on the work and writings of 20th century Popes. He did not know the work of John Paul II or Benedict, which has further increased the Vatican's moral stature worldwide.
How do those most anxious to see Benedict explain their reasons? They have a sense of desperation about finding relief for the confusion and pain in the country as a whole. They long to be in the presence of the Pope as people have longed to meet outstanding figures and saints in every period of history. They trust that he will say something that will help them face the future with real hope. What is the confusion and pain they feel? I think it is this: that America is, to the dismay of all of us, no longer the "land of the free and the home of the brave" but a land of war against the unborn, of egregious violence in the media and in the streets, of political corruption, of the plight of immigrants, and of the increasing awareness of the heavy cost of a foreign war the nation entered into at the urging of special interest groups whose primary concern was not the general welfare of the nation as a whole.
No one expects Benedict to deal with all these woes. What people long for, however, is a sense of direction, a path that individuals, the Church, and the country might take out of this dark valley. In a sense Joseph Ratzinger has been describing such a path all his life — the way individuals and societies could move from the City of Man to the City of God. Central to his thinking is for individuals to turn to Jesus. As Pope he has repeatedly urged audiences to pray, meditate, study and lead lives of charity and selflessness — always in personal conversation with Jesus. He describes this as the greatest adventure, the most joyous and meaningful life that can be lived.
Benedict's visit will be intensely evangelical. Benedict will say often and insistently — to President Bush, to bishops and Catholic educators, to audiences in stadiums, to interreligious groups, to young people, and to all of us by his silent prayer at Ground Zero — that God is calling all of us, individually and as a nation, to build a civilization of love, of true freedom and justice. Such rebuilding can only be based on a religious foundation of faith, hope and love.
I once had a conversation with the Holy Father, long before he was Pope, and asked him how he intended to evangelize in these difficult times for the faith, our times, and he said: "What seems to be important for me is that the faith does not remain some set of positivistic commands, but that it is seen as something to be understood, lived, acquired, and visible in everyday life.
"Yes, that is something worth believing in: a faith that is a way to be lived, a faith that helps one find answers to the troubling questions of life."
