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For the last quarter of a century, this non-Catholic has had a pope. Now that John Paul II is gone, I am even more of an orphan than the Christians in the Roman church. For they will surely have another pope, but that one may not be mine, since I haven't converted.

I am sure I am reflecting the views of many Protestants. Who else but John Paul II gave voice to my faith and my values in 130 countries? Who else posited personal holiness and theological clarity against postmodern self-deception and egotism? Who else preached the gospel as tirelessly as this man?

What other clergyman played any comparable role in bringing down communism, a godless system? What other world leader—spiritual or secular—understood so profoundly how hollow and bankrupt the Soviet empire was, so much so that this tireless writer never bothered to pen an encyclical against Marxism-Leninism because he knew it was moribund?

Has there been a more powerful defender of the sanctity of life than this Pole, in whose pontificate nearly 40 million unborn babies wound up in trashcans and furnaces in the United States alone? What more fitting insight than John Paul II's definition of our culture as a culture of death—an insight that is now clearly sinking in, to wit the declining abortion rates in the United States?

In Europe some time ago, a debate occurred in Protestant churches: Should John Paul II be considered the world's spokesman for all of Christianity? This was an absurd question. Of course he spoke for all believers. Who else had such global appeal and credibility, even to non-Christians and non-believers?

Of course, there was the inveterate Billy Graham. There were many faithful Orthodox and Protestant bishops, pastors and evangelists. But there was only one truly catholic (lower-case "c," meaning universal) voice of discipleship, only one determined to pursue this discipleship to the bitter end. And that was John Paul II.

I concede there have been times when "my" pope wasn't fully my pope. When he said the Virgin Mary had saved his life at Mehmet Ali Agca's assassination attempt in 1981, he left me bewildered. Naturally, I was thankful he survived. But as a Protestant, I would have given God alone credit for this wonderful turn of events.

We Lutherans also venerate the Virgin Mary. In some of our services the intercessory prayers begin with the words, "With Mary, the Mother of our Lord, and with all the Saints we beseech thee … " But then, the pope is by definition Catholic and therefore Marian, especially if he is a Polish pope. So, for God's sake, let the pope be pope.

But then John Paul II visited Agca in his prison cell and forgave him. Now he was again fully "my" pope. At a time when nothing plagues the world more than man's apparent inability to forgive—an inability most egregiously obvious in the Middle East—he reminded all Christians by his own example of their premier obligation to their fellow man—and to the head of the church, who is Christ.

In the past 25 years, I have often found myself in the odd position of having to defend "my" pope against the wrath of Catholics whose pope he officially was, at least on paper. No, he was not a comfortable pontifex maximus. The faith he preached and lived was no salami from which you could slice away bits according to your appetite.

He, the most Catholic of all contemporary Catholics, did not countenance the sale of indulgences intrinsic to contemporary ecclesial mushiness: Stay in the church, pay your dues and we'll bless in advance your sinful behavior, which we'll attribute to a God-given quirk in your personal makeup.

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April (Web-only) 2005, Vol. 49