Archbishop of Sydney

The Funeral

By + Cardinal George Pell
Archbishop of Sydney
17 April 2005

It was about 6.15am on the morning of the Pope’s funeral when the phone rang and continued to ring.  Eventually I picked it up as I thought it might have been another Australian journalist wanting a comment.

In fact it was the Italian police who were to escort us to St. Peter’s.  They wanted to know where the palace of St. Calistus was in Trastevere, the ancient Jewish suburb where I stay in Rome.  It was pleasing to put this local right.

We had been asked to be at St. Peter’s by 9.30am for the ten o’clock start.  The police insisted we leave soon after 7.30am, under escort and follow a pre-determined route through almost deserted streets, lined every few metres with police and soldiers.

Traffic had been stopped since 2.00am and the millions of mourners directed to giant screens set up around Rome in the piazzas and at the Circus Maximus.  Only 250,000 were allowed into the Square itself.  There had been considerable apprehension for public safety.  In fact the day provide to be a triumph of efficiency for the Italian authorities.  No one was hurt or injured.

Already the commentators, secular and religious, are trying to work out the significance of almost 4 million people coming for this funeral.  About 100,000 attended the funeral of Pope Paul VI in 1978.  This time the Italian authorities requested the Polish, French and Spanish governments not to give any more exit permits for Rome.

The ancient rituals coexisted uneasily with the demands of today’s fractured world.  Helicopters droned overhead, security was tight, anti-aircraft missiles deployed to prevent another September 11.  National rivals and enemies attended together and exchanged the sign of peace; President Bush and President Chirac of France, Prince Charles and Mugabe, the leaders of Israel, Iran and Syria.  Our Governor General was prominent in the front row.

It was a cool autumn day and the breeze freshened during the service.  The Square was full of flags, many of them Polish, one huge banner proclaiming “Wadowice”, the Pope’s home town, and many signs of “subito santo” – a saint now.

The sermon was interrupted by applause about a dozen times and we heard for the last time tens of thousands of young people chanting plaintively “Giovanni Paolo”.

It was a special moment when the coffin was halted in the Square before being taken into the Basilica.  The huge doors swung shut, the great bell began to toll, and the slow procession continued down the central aisle between the two rows of cardinals towards the crypt.  I was standing not far from where the length of St. Mary’s Cathedral is marked out on the floor.

An extraordinary life had ended with an extraordinary funeral.

As a boy my mother had told me of the old Irish saying “Happy the corpse on whom the rain falls”.  That night it rained heavily in Rome.