Sede Vacante.

The blogosphere has been all a-twitter (n.p.i.) since 2/11. Until now, I have kept my thoughts close. How could I adequately express how the abdication of the Pope--my Pope, Benedict XVI--knocked the wind from my lungs? What could this mean? Why now?

Ironically, I was asking those same questions on April 19, 2005.

Back then, I was only just rediscovering what it means to be Catholic. I was a left-of-center Cafeteria Catholic who couldn't understand why God had chosen the dreaded "Rottweiller" to be His vicar. Wasn't the Church evolving? Becoming more inclusive? Surely this was a mistake--perhaps a recount was in order...? Little did I know how much this papacy would change the face of Holy Mother Church, and my own life.

I became a Catholic in 1991. My conversion was largely aesthetic: I was in love with the institution I saw on T.V. and in the movies. All that arcane ritual, incense, Latin and chant in majestic stone cathedrals lit by massive stained glass windows. Mozart's Requiem. Vestiges of a noble medieval past. I didn't care much for the doctrine; but that distasteful stuff was changing, right?

I was acutely disappointed to discover that those changes had also eliminated everything I loved. The new way of doing things didn't really move me the way "Cathollywood" did. I still chose to be baptized, but it wasn't long before I lost interest and wandered off. (I wasn't really that fond of hippie music.)

For six long years, I tried different things on for size, then lost belief in everything. I grew severely angry, depressed, nihilistic and bitter.

Flash forward to 1996. A few events had happened that shook my worldview significantly (I won't bore you with the personal details.) Nostalgic and a bit lost, I wandered into the chapel of the local Newman Center. I sat there for a good long while, staring at the altar and wishing I could come home. I'm not sure what moved me to talk with the pastor, but I did. He radiated peace, joy and wisdom. He was also a dreadful Neo-Modernist; but at that time I was ignorant. I didn't even know that term existed (truth be known, I wouldn't have cared if I had.) One talk led to another and I was soon singing with the choir every Saturday.

Then I rather abruptly met and married a Wiccan, outside the Church. I quit going again. Four years and one kid later, we were in divorce court. Broken, I moved back home to reassemble the pieces. For the sake of my kid, I went back to church. An acquaintance went to St. James the Just, so I started attending there, despite the infamous Father Erik J. Richsteig. (Had I heard the bells of fate ringing, I probably would have run in the opposite direction.) By then, I was used to the Novus Ordo. I even had my favorite hippie songs. I was singing in the choir again. My attitude hadn't really changed much, but it was changing. Slowly. The biggest catalyst for change were two dreadful words thundering out on April 19, 2005:

"Habemus papam."

The man I dreaded more than Jesse Helms was now the Holy Father. What to do? I chose to let it rest in God's hands. Over the course of a year, I discovered that everything I "knew" was wrong. My daughter made her first Communion. My ex-wife became a Catholic.

Then came Summorum Pontificum. Right about that time, I discovered that my ex-wife had fled to the SSPX in desperation, thanks to recurring issues in our lukewarm diocese. Like any good father, I began looking closely at this disturbing new influence in my daughter's life. In the process, I discovered the FSSP and an entire trove of Traddies in full communion with Rome. I was elated. I bought a 1962 Roman Catholic Daily Missal from Catholic Caravans when they came to visit our parish. Immediately afterwards I half-jokingly approached Fr. Richsteig to have it blessed, holding it aloft:

"Hey, Father! Are you going to give us a chance to use these?"

He gave me a look, made the Sign of the Cross over my new purchase, and slowly replied "HmmMay-be."

About a year later, he did (despite passive-aggressive resistance.) Every Wednesday and the first Sunday of every month. I became a regular attendee; soon I was learning to serve. The graces that come with service at the altar have changed my soul and my outlook forever. I joined the Confraternity of St. Peter, embraced the rich patrimony of the Extraordinary Form.

I had grown to love "our German Shepherd." My dismay was now joy. The Church I had wanted to join was here again (albeit diminished, in absolute ruins on our local level.) Pope Benedict XVI was to thank for it.

I also rejoiced when the Pope introduced changes to the English translation of the Novus Ordo Missae. By that time my doctrinal understanding had evolved into something unrecognizable from the shallow aestheticism that led to my baptism, the sappy & sentimental need to belong that had formed my "reversion" (both times.) Still a far cry from the depth and splendor of the Usus Antiquior which has become my preferred mode of worship, I see a glimmer of hope for the future of the Ordinary Form which was not there when His Holiness Benedict XVI became Pope. His papacy has formed my future, and that of my family.

On February 11, 2013 His Holiness knocked the wind out of me again.

I got a text from my fiancee. Our beloved Holy Father was resigning. I was stunned. Had the circling wolves at last devoured my dear shepherd? Anxiously I watched the news, hoping to make some sense of this jarring development.

Thanks to this insightful post by Dr. John C. Rao, I have some perspective and equilibrium again. I will pray for the coming Conclave. May God send us the Pope we need at this crucial time.

Veni, Creator Spiritus.