One yellow helicopter, one distant white one, and a bevy of pigeon flew overhead, the latter probably irritated that every inch of space in St. Peter’s Square was occupied by a human body and there were no crumbs to eat. It was time for the Beloved Pope Francis to honor a new saint at St. Peter’s Basilica, where so many of our saints have been so ordained.

The bravest of the tourists and pilgrims had arrived before 4:30 in the morning to reserve seats in the public area – knowing they could not enter until 5:30 to wrestle for the prize locations – and everyone else, hoping not to have to sit on the stone ground (although many were already claiming their place, making walking through the crowd an obstacle course). And the anger and attitude of the overwhelmed guards was fiery and ferocious. They lost it. But who could blame them handling thousands of fans with no respect. Even the nuns were rude.

I had a skilled travel guide names Evelyn for my angel, uncomfortable as I am in any kind of crowd, and Jim and I started our push (literally) from the perimeter of the Vatican at 7 a.m. It was horrendous. The world was surely represented there, from Albanians to Indians to even Sheiks and Hindus and tacky tourists with back glorious Sunday morning crammed, jammed, dark skin to light skin, fat to thin, young to old, beautiful to ugly, brave to frightened, pushing and shoving, stumbling and lifting up, some pushing out tears to get sympathy, everyone angry at the security guards and police and Swiss guards trying to come up with some sort of order and save lives. Worse were the nuns who made violent moves and felt, in words expressed in anger, they deserved to be there even though not all had tickets. A bit of light was when some of the groups began to sing songs in Spanish, a couple even I knew. Music does soothe the soul when it is a bit corrupted and angry.

This was the morning of the canonization of Mother Teresa as a saint. For me, it was big. For me it was a way to give tribute to her work, her heart, and the gift she had given me years ago right before she went to heaven. Since early on, I knew I had been called to work with the poorest of the poor, those cast out that no one wants to work with, the “social junk”, as one sociologist wrote.I knew nothing about Saints, but that we are told we can all be saints if we believe and do the work. This was in the 1990s. And ministry began for me, with Mother Teresa the angel on my shoulder. I had received a note in response to a letter I had written her – She said: I am praying for you and each one in your family; make it something beautiful for Gd. I ask Our Lady to give you her heart so beautiful, so full of humility and love, so that you may love Jesus as she loves – in everyone – first in your own. God Bless you. And her signature. 20/18/1996. I lost this letter for about ten years, when I went through the dark night of the soul, and found it about 4 years ago near the death of my mother and my husband Sergio, when my life really got focused on the poorest, most desperate and the prisoners.

Those words from Mother Teresa showed me the pathway I was to take. Later, in 2008, to complete a pledge I made to her, I was able to visit Calcutta and volunteer in the Home for the Destitute and Dying for a couple of days, and that one never forgets because God, and Mother Teresa, is at every bedside and as well in the hearts and actions of the mostly youth from all over the world who spend time there scrubbing clothes in a stream of water, preparing meals, giving meds, grasping hands, holding hearts, hearing death.

Now, gasping at the magnitude of it, I was with over 120,000 of the new saint’s beloveds. That was how many tickets were said to have been sold – and does not include all those who jumped the fences, pushed their way in, and wrestled with the guards trying to keep order and peace. Imagine everyone going to the Super Bowl was late and the push to get through the turnstiles and security at the kickoff was jammed to almost impossibility. That was the experience. But, thanks to my guide Evelyn, who knew a few of the Swiss guards, we were able to get through a heavy iron fence finally after one hour and a half in the confused push and shove of the masses. I was happy to still be standingI and kept thinking is this what heaven is going to be like, the masses trying to get through the Pearly Gates? Lord help us, if so. Reminded me of those frightening tympanums over the entrances to pilgrimage churches.

Once seated in the sort of insecure chairs (a minimum plastic thing on 4 thin metal legs) I prayed and took a deep breath. The sun was at our back and moving slowly like a snail. I was given a booklet which contained the service in English, Spanish and Italian. It was beautiful to read the Eucharistic prayer III, and to see all the similarities of this mass with that we do every Sunday and I had celebrated 16 times just now in Uruguay. We had reached our seats by 8:30. The mass would start at 10:30. One could see with a squint into the distance even though we were by the one obelisk, the only one in the square, one onced moved to the center of the square because it was a site the pilgrims went to touch at the end of their journey, but outside the square, and the Vatican wanted pilgrims to come inside the square. Well, this pilgrim was blessed to be at its base and to be sheltered by it from the sun for most of the morning. Evelyn had great foresight.

It took a lot of talking to myself to not be irritated by the people pushing in, fighting with the guards, standing up in front of you with flags (Germany was in front of us) even though they were told not to hold up those flags during the service. Reminded me of Grizzlies games where everyone in the first 4 rows stands up and fails to think about the people behind who can’t see when the do a mass block-out of the action. There were even cutout heads of Mother Teresa like those of Mark Gasol and Mike Conley. Yet, I could see above the altar the giant banner visible to all, hung over the entrance to St. Peter’s Basilica with Mother Teresa’s gentle image and that helped to push down the demons testing me from within. It was as if she was watching over this honorable celebration of her goodness.

We were among the cheap seats, so to speak, the Diplomats were about 10 rows in front of us and there were thousands. Two women decided to sit at our feet, and inhibit the standing and sitting required in the mass, but I got accustomed to them and lived with it. We are all equal there before God and need to put aside fears and phobias. And the day got hotter. I finally pulled out my blue scarf to put on my head – the Arabs do have something in the abundance of fabrics they wrap up in, even in the desert – they cover themselves up in the heat and that really does help, especially when there is a breeze.

I kept reminding myself I’m here after the long, often frustrating effort for an Anglican-Episcopalian to get attention and tickets. I dreamed of being close, but close was even so far. That’s how big the square is. I was learning humility and what better place than at the sainthood of Mother Teresa. Finally all her critics were silenced: those jealous of her heart, who didn’t agree with her methods, who cursed her because she took care of the poor and was not making them un-poor; who put energy into negating and criticizing claims of cures and miracles which happen in lives of believers, and added up to what was required for Pope Francis to finalize her as a saint.

Song began. It seemed to come from very tiny people in the distance. If you held up your hand, they were about the size of my little finger. But every kind of beautiful religious song filled the air vis a vis a spectacular sound system, no echo. A choir carried most of it. In the distance we could see them dressed in choir robes and I thought about Calvary. Truly, our Calvary has something to cheer about. Bodies began to appear in black – priests and bishops and cardinals. They filled up the seats on the podium which was huge. Time crept by. A good moment to pray and give thanks. Finally about 10:15, it was for the frosting on the cake. Bishops in white chasubles with gold/red decor, began to process to the altar. Deacons too, who serve the Pope. Then the Pope follows the cross he represents.. He seemed so tiny to be so magnificent. He sat mostly behind the altar in sort of a kiosk to keep him from the sun until it was time for the prayer that confirmed Mother Teresa as a saint. What a moment. Here is the Prayer –

For the honor of the Blessed Trinity, the exaltation of our Lord Jesus Christ and of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and our own, after due deliberation and frequent prayer for divine assistance, and having sought the counsel of many of our brother Bishops, we declare and define – Blessed Teresa of Calcutta – to be a Saint and we enroll her among the Saints, decreeing that she is to be venerated as such by the whole Church. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

And everyone applauded and cheered. This began the service. The Mass, which was normally done on Sundays for the public and had been passed to the previous day, was now on the move, in honor of our new saint. I feel she is everybody’s saint, no matter what faith. She certainly was close to the Hindu and Albanian people, and maybe non-believers who she attended to in her hospitals. She knew no prejudice. And she even had her own dark night of the soul, her doubts, her fears, which somehow she let go of so she could be who God needed her to be.

The Pope delivered his homily in Italian, so I missed that message but found a translation. In it he reminded us that God wants mercy, not sacrifice (Hos 6:6, Mt 9:13). God is pleased by every act of mercy, because in the brother or sister that we assist, we recognize the face of God which one can see. (Jn 1:18). Each time we bend down to the needs of our brothers and sisters, we give Jesus something to eat and drink or we clothe, or we help, we visit the Son of God (Mt. 25:40) He continues that we must do concrete acts. and he praises volunteers in this year of the Jubilee of Mercy. Volunteers who just loving Jesus, serve the poor and needy and do not expect thanks or recompense. They “renounce all this because they have discovered true love.” For mother Teresa, mercy was the “salt” which gave flavor to her work. And she loved to say, “Perhaps I don’t speak their language, but I can smile.” At the end was applause.

Many lined up at various spots to receive the body and blood of Christ offered by priests and deacons, I suppose, carrying yellow and white umbrellas (the colors of the Vatican flags) as they wandered through the masses, row by row, section by section, to offer those prepared for it or given special indulgences for this day. Then, when the Pope was to give his final benediction, the blessing, the booklet had said, his blessing would include not only we the people, but all the items and charms and crosses that we brought along to be blessed by him. It seemed a bit of a let down that there wasn’t some mention of it, but I trust what the Pope does. And we began to move toward a very distant exit, crowds calmer now, but crammed in lines up against giant gates (no one could topple) hoping the Pope would pass by at the end. We left, knowing I had another opportunity and it would be healthy to get a start on getting out of the crowds.