After a few days of relics and bones, frescoed and mosaic ceilings with Jesus’s arms spread out to shelter all of us pilgrims, sinners or not; figuring out whose chains belonged to whom (both St. Peter and St. Paul have holy chains in their histories now placed at altars like relics), tiring out one’s neck from looking up at the oversized marble statues of saints, or the golden glitter and glory on ceilings and walls, trying to stay vertical walking on well-trod cobblestones all over the city, dealing with security checks before entering any basilica area and especially the surrounding grounds of St. Peter’s Square – after night after night of prayer and conversations with God, something big was about to occur, God willing.

Because of my angel doctor in Uruguay who is a Roman Catholic and actually was a sponsor for my ordination to the priesthood, something I never dreamed possible happened. I just shared the canonization of now Saint Mother Teresa experience. And I thought well, that was as close as I’d ever get to Pope Francis, who I feel is the only hope we have in getting ourselves and the world right with life and love. At least, I feel, I have been in the same environment as him, although he was so distant, and so surrounded and attended to, that It was like looking at bees in a far-away hive. Something was better than nothing.

Thanks to Dr. Stanham, I was invited to participate in the first Organization of American States conference on religion at the Vatican – he could not go so invited me to take his place because he knew my compassion for the Vatican. Also the secretary-general of the OAS, his friend, is Uruguayan. Stanham said I needed to go to represent women in the church, represent my Anglican/Episcopal catholic church, and maybe I’d get to meet the pope. Of course, I was beyond grateful, but didn’t think I would ever be included in the high level kind of group that would have personal access to the pope. To prepare, I was also told to have a black mantilla, wear all black, skirts at the minimum two inches below the knees, and no other color accessories. I could do that. Black is my daily color.

The Conference began in an blonde wooded, modern auditorium in one of the buildings that is part of the Vatican. I had been dropped off by a driver a long distance away because streets are blocked off when there is going to be the weekly Wednesday mass in St. Peter’s Square and squeezing through the giant columns were pilgrimage groups led by someone with either a huge wooden cross, or a flag with a group name all aiming to get as close as possible to the Pope’s presence. I thought about taking my chances and sneaking over to the Mass to maybe getting close to him, but decided the conference was the priority. I had no idea where I was going on those cobbled narrow streets, but I noticed I was walking beside the giant columns that form a parenthesis around the Square. I went up a series of long steps. The entrance was peppered with Argentinian style men, in suits and ties, with a very few women as well. I was humbled and scared to be in the same room with so many dignitaries and diplomats – most were from Argentina (the Pope’s home) and most high government roles like Supreme Court justices and Human Rights leaders. There were about a dozen women, some participating in the program, others there with their spouses, others there to keep the program together. Sadly in the first hour, the secretary-general announced he had to leave because of a death in his family. But the very detailed and full event would go on. Speakers were ready.

I sat at the end of the fourth row because the others were reserved for diplomats. I sat alone, still not confident to break out in conversation with anyone. And the conference and speakers began their task of thinking about “dialogue,” the theme of the conference. Talking about how to talk to get a resolution to save the environment, the terra, and the family in the framework of religion. The whole thing, but for one super speaker from the US, was in Spanish. Some had ear-phones for translations. I tried to brave it, but often didn’t get what was being said. There was a morning and an afternoon coffee break, and lunch was to get it on your own. I had no idea where to go so wandered into the Square and chose to stop at one of the tourist stands where they sold frozen water in plastic bottles, and gelato, and plenty of other things. I tried a pistachio gelato that was just what I needed to re-boot. In the long afternoon session, I was befriended by the ambassador to Peru, a lovely new friend, and a couple from Uruguay, and the Uruguayan ambassador, and others from Folkorico. When the three women had the table and the opportunity to speak about their feelings on the topic of dialogue, the room was half-full. But their presentations were precise, quickly done, and powerful. It was an extremely long afternoon session. And we were told to be at the site at least by 8:30 the next day for the entire group would be visiting with the Pope.

My imagination went into extreme doubt. I was sure I’d be on the last row and probably not important enough to be asked to meet him. But I did what I was told to do about dress, promptness and tried to keep a bottle of hope to sip from now and then. It was my last night in Rome and dinner was a typical Italian meal in a restaurant with a patio, a good long walk down the Spanish alternative stairs (the real ones under construction) which of course, had to be climbed back up to return to the hotel. It was effortless and I felt encouraged.

In the morning, I was present at the right time. Everyone was excited and a bit nervous as the teams gave a round-up of what had evolved from the dialogue issue. Then a policeman who spoke English and was dressed in his priestly ware was sent to round us up and walk the 100 of us to the Pope’s palace. We must have looked like an impressive group – all dressed in black, men too, and most seemed very dignified. None paid notice to the many beggars in the square. And none showed agitation when groups of Korean women practically knocked a few of us down as they plowed through the group. The walk was long and once again I was trying to stay straight on the cobblestones. The sun had come out and was burning my back as we waited to go through security. One machine had been designated or us only as the list had to be checked. Then we were led under the columns to a modest door that invited us into a huge hall of stairs. And, after passing a number of the young, handsome Swiss guards in their yellow, blue and red uniforms, their hats with plumes, we started the climb, 220 stairs in all, mostly in lots of six but I wondered how in shape all these elegant people were. When we reached the top floor of the palace, we were led through a couple of rooms filled with paintings and sculpture of history, and into a very formal layout with nice chairs in even rows. This room had the Pope’s seal in the middle of the ceiling and over the chair where he would sit, the walls were filled with old tapestries of Jesus’ life, and the ceiling looked like a Michelangelo student had done the work.

I continued to fear something would happen and everything would be cancelled or only the diplomats would have the privilege to salute the Pope. It just seemed so miraculous, a true answer to months of prayer, but I didn’t want to jump the gun until it had actually happened. Guards of a sort in tuxedos and white bowties were making sure we sat where we were supposed to sit and that we didn’t wander around. We could take photos – and younger members were hot with the selfies – but we must stay in our seat. I was about in the middle row on the far right aisle. And then we waited. We waited about 45 minutes. So some of us chatted. I prayed deeply for all those I normally pray for so they could be a part of what was going on. Then suddenly , a scurry, and Pope Francis, dressed all in white, entered and sat down in his chair. Everyone buzzed and smiled because He really was there. Right before our eyes.

He spoke to us briefly, thanking everyone for the conference, and also reminding us that our task is to leave the world better than when we came into it. He spoke about allowing all of us to be able to have a moment to meet the Pope. I still didn’t believe it as I put the lace mantilla on my head. I was still sweating from the step climb. But we were called row by row, and when time came, I was so in awe and so thankful, I almost fell over. I also had worn my collar, which would signal to the Pope I was not a Roman Catholic, obviously. But he took my hand and I said to him, in Spanish, “I work deep in prisons. Please, Father, pray for our incarcerated youth.” And he looked at me, and beat his heart Tony Allen style and said “My heart is with you.”

Photographers were snapping pictures all around. And I moved on. We didn’t have but a couple of seconds. There were 100 of us. As I returned to my seat, I couldn’t believe this had actually happened, after six months of prayer and hope, but it seemed an impossible dream. But To dream the impossible dream is what we must all do to get anything done in this world. And I know that whatever I do with my work in prisons, Pope Francis understands.