Benedict and Marilyn

Tom Hoopes here. What a beautiful event. I just left the front lawn of the U.S. Papal Nunciature. The last person I spoke with was Marilyn Villacort, and she was in tears.

The Holy Father came out of the embassy later than expected. He had to get to Catholic University to deliver a major address on Catholic education. And then to the John Paul Cultural Center for an interreligious meeting.

But then, when he walked out the front door of the embassy, he was greeted by a boisterous, largely Hispanic crowd that erupted in cheers, applause ... and song.

They were singing Latin American folk praise songs: A chanted "Ave Maria" the song "Alabare" and a new folk praise song: Benedicto, sung, shouted and cheered in rhythm with clapping hands.

The limo drove up to take the Pope to his event, raising hopes and expectations. The car had a U.S. flag and a Vatican flag, and a twin limo had the same. One thing I remember from living in D.C. is the pollen that coats the cars in April and May. Not Benedict's car. They dusted it as it waited.

At one point there was a look of consternation in the eyes of secret service agents and amusement on other eyes as a shirtless jogger came by. Their looks said: "Hey! Who let that guy in?"

A short time later, the Pope came out. Benedict was late, and the media coordinator said there was no way he would spend any time here. But he made a beeline around the back of the limo, straight to the waiting pilgrims.

There, he shook hands and was generally mobbed.

"He was trying to give me peace," said Marilyn Villacort from St. Catherine Laboure Parish. "He was bringing me and my family a message of peace from God. Only God knows what I've been going through. He just stared at me and wouldn't let go of me, saying 'Everything's gonna be okay. Just trust in God and everything will be okay."

Then the Secret Servicemen came and began peeling arms off of him and urging him back to the car. In the car he was so energized by the crowd that he turned bodily in his seat, leaning over the cardinal next to him to keep his face in the window closest the crowd.

Even the Washington Post photographer, as we walked away from the event, was moved. He threw his arms in the air and said, "This time I can say: 'Thank you God!'"