When the Vatican announced that Pope Francis would be giving a special Urbi et Orbi to pray for the end of the COVID-19 pandemic, it went round the Catholic world in a flash.  Such a blessing ‘To the City and to the World’ is usually reserved for newly-elected popes on their first outing on the loggia soon after the fumata bianca and subsequently only twice a year during their pontificate: on Christmas Day and Easter Sunday.

So yes, Catholic Church watchers and the faithful alike all agreed that this is a big deal. But then we are used to Pope Francis tearing up the papal playbook and thought nothing more of it.

Our blasé attitude lasted until 6pm on Friday, March 27. A date that will go down in history as one of the greatest moments of the Church, at least in the media age. The rest of the world joined in and gave the same verdict.

We all know that Pope Francis is a master of the gesture, of the mot juste, of the striking image. But nothing could have prepared us for the poignant scene of an elderly man in white, struggling to walk up the steps of the grand but desolate St Peter’s Square. You could hear the collective intake of breath across the world behind every screen, be it a TV, a tablet, or a smartphone, at the sheer strength in the body of an old man who seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The Church thrives on symbolism. From the sign of the Cross to more complex symbols of the faith, they serve as signposts on the road to holiness. There have been many moments of symbolism recently that have stuck to our collective consciousness: the wind blowing the pages of the Gospels during the funeral Mass of Pope John Paul II, the helicopter carrying Pope Benedict XVI on the day he ceased to be Supreme Pontiff of the Catholic Church and countless symbolic gestures of  the current incumbent in the Chair of Peter. None come close to the compelling symbolism of the Bishop of Rome walking alone in a silent square that is usually teeming with people at any given time of the day and night.

The solitary walk in the rain in the silent vastness on the day when Italy had the highest number of deaths to COVID-19, his faltering steps, the wailing sirens of the carabinieri at the moment of the Benediction, the face of Christ on the cross dripping with rainwater, the sound of the plaintive bells, our anxious hearts beating in unison, our sighs and tears, all served as perfect choreography of a Good Friday out of its liturgical time.

So yes, Catholic Church watchers and the faithful alike all agreed that this is a big deal

Or was it?

The pope’s cassock wet with rain recalled another cassock of another pope who also walked among his anguished flock in Rome. Only that time it wasn’t the rain but blood of the victims of the Second World War. Pius XII whose Urbi et Orbi message on Easter Day 1957 also spoke about the blessed night that overcame darkness and anxiety.

This is the beauty and timelessness of the Catholic Church. The message of hope in Christ remains the same, it’s the medium that changes.

The news reports all stressed that the pope cut a lonely figure. But we, his flock were accompanying him every step of the way. Millions of eyes were watching him, millions of hands gently pushed him on, encouraged him at every step of the way.

When he stood resolutely in front of the Lord like Moses in the breach and begged for mercy in a frail and breathless voice, made his supplication all the more significant.

Even if some of us couldn’t join in the chanting of the hymns, either because we are lapsed Catholics or we are not believers, we still got the symbolism. It was a liturgy for all. The worldly sounds of the rain, the sirens, the bells, our sighs were interwoven with the sacred sounds and they were transformed into prayer by all, believers and unbelievers alike. At that moment, Pope Francis came into his own as the self-styled ‘parish priest of the world’. 

There was a heart-stopping moment when Pope Francis looked particularly unsteady on his feet and the monstrance seemed too heavy to carry. We watched in trepidation. But we understood that it was a visible moment where the Church seems to have been burdened with much, but Christ is always there in the boat.

In the pope’s frailty lies the most powerful moment of his pontificate.

It is said that the adage ‘where were you when…’ was coined after president Kennedy was killed, so momentous was the event. We all know where we were on Friday, March 27: shuttered at home in fear of the world just like the apostles after Christ was crucified, rooting for an old man in white walking with the weight of his age and of this world on his shoulders.

But then the Vicar of Christ held Christ aloft to a frightened world.

What seemed like an endless Good Friday that started in February was transformed into Holy Saturday. We have yet to wait for the joy of Easter, but until then the Lord tell us, “Why are you afraid?”  because as the parish priest in white told us on the extraordinary Good Friday March 27, 2020, “with God life never dies”.

Alessandra Dee Crespo is chancellor of the Church Court of Appeals