No llores por mi, Argentina: Habemus Papam

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When I was a first-grader in Catholic school, we got a primer on the Pope. John Paul II was installed when I was three years old, so I don’t remember the process, but as a six-year-old, I did think it was really cool that white smoke would billow when God chose a new Pope: it seemed like magic, and magic was cool. I also remember thinking that maybe I wouldn’t have to go to church between popes.


I never tested that theory, because the next Pope didn’t come along for another 25 years, by which point:

  1. I understood white smoke was a chemical reaction based on people casting votes.
  2. I was no longer a practicing Catholic.

I have to congratulate my cousin Adrienne on being the second family member to have a Pope elected on her birthday. The first was my sister Kris, back in 2005, and I predicted it well in advance, much to her surprise. You’ve been POPED.

I can’t say I have much feeling one way or another, aside from raising an eye at his comment that “gay marriage is a machination of the Father of Lies.

In response, I’d like to point out:

Eventually attitudes will change, and at the very least, it doesn’t appear that Petrus Romanus has appeared.

If they don’t change, well, it won’t matter in a half-billion years when everything crisps up anyway.

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