Dispatches from Rome: Installment #2

Join Cecilia González-Andrieu, a Catholic theologian and professor of theological studies in the LMU Bellarmine College of Liberal Arts, on a transformative journey to Rome. She will share "Dispatches from Rome," reflecting on the Synod on Synodality and the urgent call for women's leadership in the Church. She is part of a rich tapestry of voices gathered from diverse backgrounds, united in their mission to serve marginalized communities and engage in discussions on women deacons and Church representation. All in the spirit of hope and collaboration in this pivotal moment for the Church.

There's a very steep learning curve when you're at the Vatican, and most of it has to do with protocol.

Let me back up.

Back in July, Cardinal Pedro Barreto Jimeno, a Jesuit from Perú and President of the Conferencia Eclesial de la Amazonía (CEAMA), wrote a letter to Pope Francis suggesting that he meet with women leaders from the Amazon, along with several women from other parts of the world. The goal was to share a moment of reflection and prayer with him about the ministry of women, which the Cardinal stressed "is a gift to the church."

Implausibly, the Pope's positive response came just three days later but got buried in the Cardinal's email. When he found it, we had only a couple of weeks to change flight plans and prepare! Oh, and we had to keep it quiet until… well… now.

The day came. It was still dark when we arrived at St. Peter's, and street sweepers were cleaning the plaza while most of Rome slept. The women assembled, and as Cardinal Barreto joined us, one of our elders, Rosella Kinoshaneg from the Odawa/Ojibway people of Ontario, Canada, led us in prayer in her language as we faced the breaking dawn together. Brazilian Sister Laura Vicuña of the Kiriri people of the Amazon, and Vice President of CEAMA, then taught us a simple song. "We might sing it later," she instructed.

We headed into the maze of doors, marble staircases, and exquisitely frescoed ceilings of the Vatican, surprised when, after climbing four stories on stone steps once used by horses, we found ourselves in an interior plaza and were led to a small elevator. Along the way, Swiss guards in their colorful Renaissance uniforms saluted and made way for us. At every turn, a new and immaculately dressed member of the diplomatic staff escorted us.

I felt quite incongruous in such an opulent space-perhaps we all did. We were a group of women working on the margins with the poor, the sick, the undocumented, the young, and the forgotten. Maybe that was precisely the reason Pope Francis was receiving us in his private library. As he has said so often, he wants all of us to go out to the peripheries and with us, the peripheries were coming to him.

As we entered, the Pope greeted us with a broad smile but soon confessed that his knee was really bothering him and he needed to sit down. As we each approached, he shook our hands, and the two Sisters from the Amazon, overcome with affection, hugged him. Each of us had brought him a simple gift, and mine was from my LMU students. Just the week before, after reflecting, each student had handwritten a short message to the Pope, some of them in Spanish, telling him about their dreams for the world's future. Their messages were moving, honest, disarming. Their dreams are of peace, of kinship, of solutions to the suffering of so many. I put their dreams in the Holy Father's hands.

Seated around the Pope's desk, our conversation centered on what he saw as the gifts of women for bringing people together and getting things done. He reminisced about the many women he has put in positions of leadership during his papacy and remarked how much better things seemed to run as a result. He listened as each of us gave him a glimpse into our work. When it came to me, I recounted our efforts at LMU to support undocumented students and the painful barriers displaced people are facing. For a moment, it felt like we were speaking with a kindly grandfather. The Amazonian peoples call him "Abuelo Francisco." He gave us his wisdom; we shared our hopes with him. Before saying goodbye, we prayed for him and with him and sang the song Sister Laura had taught us in Portuguese: "Everything is interconnected, as if we are one; everything is interconnected in our common home."

When I return to LMU, I will carry with me a small white box stamped with the Pope's coat of arms that says miserando atque eligendo-a reference to Jesus' mercy in calling us. Inside is a white rosary, connecting me to over a thousand years of prayer in our Church. As he placed it in my hands, I looked at him and felt great compassion. He carries the weight of the world and the hopes of many. "Papa Francisco," I said in Spanish, "I promise to pray very hard so the pain in your knee will subside." He always asks for our prayers. We should send many his way.

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