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It was my second time to join a private audience with Pope Francis. I had hoped I was more prepared, but no preparation ever sufficed for the Pope of Surprises.
Like the first time I joined a private audience in the Apostolic Palace at the Vatican, I was accompanying my boss, Nobel Peace Prize laureate and Rappler CEO Maria Ressa. But unlike on May 11, 2024, when I had no idea I could also line up to greet the Pope, I knew this time that I was part of the queue.
It was January 27, 2025. The Vatican’s Dicastery for Communication invited Maria and me to join the Pope’s private audience with bishops and directors handling church media. Since Maria was a keynote speaker at the Jubilee of the World of Communications two days earlier, she had one of the front row seats in the 16th-century Clementine Hall.
Since I was with Maria, I also got to sit in front of the Holy Father.
I still remember how the Pope entered the room in a wheelchair, briefly greeted us, and then took a seat. He spoke of the need to “sow hope in the midst of all the despair” and to “overcome the virus of division that undermines our communities.” He cracked a few jokes and went off the cuff, eliciting laughter from the audience.
When he ended his speech, it was time to greet the Pope individually — first the bishops, then the other guests.
Based on my experience in the private audience eight months earlier, I had an idea of what would happen next. We would line up, stand before the Pope, shake his hands, and exchange a few words. There was no time limit, no usher to restrict us, no special gesture to make. There were no express prohibitions either. It was truly “come as you are.”
The last time I was there, I asked him to pray for my family, my friends, and our website Rappler, then showed him the faith chat room of the Rappler Communities app. I was surprised when he blessed our app.
This time, I thought I should follow the tip that more than one Filipino priest had told me: “Tell him you are Filipino.” It would make all the difference, they said. So I tried to do precisely this.
When it was my turn to greet the Pope, I was nervous but tried to look him in the eye. I used the little Italian I know: “Santo Padre, mi chiamo Paterno. Sono filippino. Ti chiamiamo Lolo Kiko.” (Holy Father, my name is Paterno. I am Filipino. We call you Lolo Kiko.)
When I said the word “filippino,” oh, the face of the Holy Father lit up!
I wanted to continue, but the Pope interrupted.
I will never forget the words that Pope Francis — the Bishop of Rome, the Supreme Pontiff, the Successor of Saint Peter, the Vicar of Christ no less — told this 38-year-old journalist from the Philippines.
“Mi ricordo Tacloban,” the Pope said, “e i sette milioni di persone a Manila.” (I remember Tacloban and the seven million people in Manila.)
He was referring to his January 2015 trip to the Philippines, particularly his visit to Tacloban City in Leyte, after Super Typhoon Yolanda (Haiyan) killed at least 6,300 people in November 2013; and his closing Mass in Manila that drew seven million people, which still holds the record as the biggest papal Mass in world history.
I was stunned. Was the Pope striking a conversation with me?
Then he continued speaking. He even became animated, making hand gestures the Italian way. (While he was Latin American, he had Italian ancestry. And, well, he lived in Rome in the last 12 years of his life.)
Okay… I have to admit, at this point, I can no longer recount his words in detail. Why? He spoke Italian so fast, and I failed to keep up!
I told myself, “My gosh, if this were my Italian teacher, I would have said, ‘Puoi ripetere, per favore (Can you repeat, please)?’” But this was the Pope, for goodness’ sake. I could not make him repeat his words!
But I could understand context clues. He was smiling as he recalled a funny anecdote about his Tacloban experience. He asked me along these lines: “How many shoes do you think I brought to Tacloban? One or two?”
“Uno o due?” the Pope asked.
I froze.
I thought, in all honesty, that it was a rhetorical question. After all, he was the Pope and I was a nobody; why would he engage me in friendly banter?
But he waited for me to answer! Uh-oh.
“Ah, Santo Padre, due (Ah, Holy Father, two)?” I nervously replied.
I could not recall his words — I hope, one day, I can get the Vatican’s video of this private audience! — but I remember him getting animated again. He told me he ended up praying to the Madonna. Yes, the anecdote ended with prayer.
He laughed. And, well, I laughed too (even if I hardly understood).
Then I continued speaking: “Santo Padre, prega per me, per la mia famiglia, per i miei amici, per il nostro sito web, e per il nostro Paese.” (Holy Father, pray for me, my family, my friends, our website, and our country.)
Then I took his hand and placed it on my forehead, in a traditional Filipino gesture of respect: “mano po.”
The Pope, who often refused to have his ring kissed, allowed me to perform the Filipino mano.
I returned to my seat but did not cry, like the first time I joined a private audience in May 2024, but I was filled with wonder and my heart was full. Later that day, at least three people in the private audience approached me to ask: “What did the Pope tell you? Your chat was longer than usual.”
I was convinced that the Philippines had a special place in his heart.
While Francis had visited a thousand places on earth, the name “Tacloban” left a lasting imprint on this pope from Latin America. He also never forgot the seven million people who showed up for him in the Philippines.
It was a testament to his 12-year pontificate: a focus on the world’s peripheries.
The Pope loved the Philippines, the biggest Catholic-majority country in Asia and the third biggest in the world — home to a beautiful yet often suffering people.
Remember how he celebrated Simbang Gabi at Saint Peter’s Basilica in December 2019, and praised Filipino migrants as “smugglers of the faith”? He was referring to how overseas Filipinos spread the Catholic faith in different parts of the world, such as domestic workers teaching prayers to their employers’ children.
Remember, too, how he appointed many Filipinos — most of all, Cardinal Luis Antonio Tagle — to important posts in the Catholic Church?
Yes, it was true: when speaking with Francis, “I am Filipino” made all the difference.
Francis was, in many ways, a Filipino pope.
Salamat po, Lolo Kiko. – Rappler.com
The Wide Shot is a Sunday column on religion and public life. If you have suggested topics or feedback, let us know in the faith chat room of the Rappler Communities app.
