When I became a Catholic in 1984, John Paul II had already been pope for several years. I knew the Church to be solid in her understanding of human sexuality and unchanging in her moral teachings, which I had found irresistible, but I had yet to understand how the faith was meant to personally guide my life. Thus I immediately set out to find what she taught about the particular vocation of women. Little did I know that this inquiry would lead me to the most amazing discovery of all: that the very Church I had entered was the paradigm for my own life and the life of every woman.

It is the combination of this reality—the nuptial reality of Church as Bride—combined with the rich and energetic theology of the John Paul II that has opened wide the doors to all women, that they might find their value, their essence, and their authentic dignity.

In 1978, the new pontiff’s first words to his flock—and the world—were, “Be not afraid!” Not only was this call to fearlessness preached, but it was lived until his last hour, and women must in particular take it to heart. Why would women—more than men—need to shun fear? Certainly both men and women have to embrace courage, but it is a fact of life that women have distinct vulnerabilities that may cripple them and cause them to shrink from living the fullness of love and life to which they are called. Let’s for a moment take the hand of the pope and step out and study the fears that he wants us to abandon.

Fear not the Fatherhood of God

For many women, the image of “father” is not one of comfort, security, or trust. For a variety of reasons, many women in the last century rose up against the image of fatherhood and heaped on it a scorn and vitriol that had to be borne of personal pain and disappointment. The century gave rise to wars that ravaged every corner of the earth, oppressiveness that was often in the name of “family,” and educational systems that alienated students from the truth of who they were. In this light, it was understandable that patriarchy and all it stood for was confused and misunderstood.

Through his writings and speeches, Pope John Paul II took on this dark, blasphemous force and reminded us of the love and mercy intrinsic to real fatherhood. He spoke on behalf of our dear Father-God, reminding us of His goodness and fidelity. But primarily—beyond words—he lived a fatherhood that was palpable to everyone with whom he came in contact. One journalist was commenting on an exchange with the pope, in which he brought to John Paul’s attention the fact that many did not follow the Church’s teaching in a variety of matters. He said the pope just smiled and said, “I’m the father. Just because my children do not listen to me, it doesn’t mean I stop loving them.”

How simple and how perfect. Through his own unconditional love, he reminded us of the the beauty of fatherhood, bringing to life the father of the prodigal son, showing the world that the arms of God the Father are always open. If fatherhood has been abused in our experience, we must take it to the Tabernacle and beg for the grace to forgive. The fatherhood of God is real and waiting to embrace each of us when we conquer our fear of drawing close.

Fear not your own femininity

There is no doubt that John Paul II loved women—strong women. His friendships with them remained throughout his life and his theology was profoundly influenced by women, especially women saints. He beatified and canonized hundreds of women over the years and pointed out that they are uniquely capable of a “feminine genius” that the world desperately needs. All of his teachings on marriage, sexuality, and vocation speak of the dignity of the human person and the admirable qualities of women—qualities that he didn’t want lost in a sensual haze.

Recognizing that women face certain vulnerabilities and temptations, he reminded them of the magnificent feminine calling offered to them, which was complementary to the gift of masculinity in the world. Rather than leaving women under the domination of men, he wanted every gift of woman to be available to the world, while recognizing a hierarchy within families that flowed from the hand—and nature—of God Himself.

Motherhood is a treasure that the Church has always highlighted, in both physical and spiritual realms. Motherhood gives life, nourishes, educates, and affirms the human person in countless ways, and its attentiveness to the cries of his heart is irreplaceable. Just as the motherhood of the Church comes before its “petrine” (or priestly) mission, women in the world are the first to receive the love of God in order to hand it on to the people God entrusts to their motherly hearts. The receptivity of women—both to the love of God and to the souls that turn to them in need—is the heart of femininity, and John Paul begged women not to turn away. Trust in God, was his message to women, and be not afraid to find your feminine voice.

Be not afraid to love!

Love in a fallen world means suffering. Reaching out with the heart will often result in misunderstanding, rejection, loss, abuse, or indifference. How can one bear it when it appears that the safer route would be to guard oneself from such suffering?

The only lasting exchange in the universe is love. When the stars burn out, when the rivers run dry and all peoples of the earth have been summoned before their King and God—only love will remain. It will be the melodious backdrop at the nuptial banquet, the communion among the wedding guests, not to mention the sumptuous fare itself. Every deed of love and charitable intention from our sojourn on earth will enhance the feast, united to the perfect love of the Bridegroom.

The Church must love—she must reflect the perfect sacrifice of Christ, which came at the expense of the lash, the nails, and a crown of humiliation. He endured it out of love and forgiveness and that is our model. Women must love in order to build up the Church, to people it with children who know sacrifice and suffering. Women who offer love, no matter what they receive in return, have embraced the Groom and shared His mission. It is difficult, painful, and staggering in its implications—but there is no alternative.

John Paul II never stopped reaching out with his fatherly love, and we have to mirror that with our motherly attention. We cannot put armor around our hearts in order to shelter ourselves. Suffering comes regardless—best let it be joined fearlessly to that of Christ so that the love will bear fruit for the Kingdom.

My Encounter with the Holy Father

I had the privilege of being presented to the Holy Father in November of 2002, when a group of authors went to Rome to give him a book on which we had collaborated. We wanted to show our gratitude to him for his “theology of the body” and the great and positive impact it had on the understanding of authentic femininity.

So many through the years have shared the joys of the Wednesday audiences, and my day was similar to most. Granted, there was a bittersweet element in seeing that our spiritual father had declined so much physically, but the typical international crowd was as jubilant and boisterous as ever. We sang with the rest, we cheered, we clapped, and we cried when he appeared. We knew he was a special man, spiritually gifted, an extraordinary soul—but how could we grasp how special, how gifted, how extraordinary? He appeared pleased with our little gift, like a grandfather accepting a token from his grandchildren. He knew that what was important was the love with which it was given, and he received it in love, which meant the world to us.

To call it a “token” is not to diminish the effort each us put into it, or to deny the truths within its pages. It is only to acknowledge that all of our efforts are childlike. When Thomas Aquinas came to his end, he put down his pen—the pen that had written the Summa Theologica—and he smiled. “It is all straw…”

And so it is. As eloquent as our words might have been, trying to nail down love into human syntax is well nigh impossible. It is a message to be lived—an action, not a phrase, though it lives on in the telling. The beauty of love is that it matters. The smallest gestures, the quietest prayer intentions, the weakest efforts to reach out to one another each bear infinite value. We cannot allow fear to keep us from adding our little twigs to the bonfire of Divine Love. God beckons us closer, to toss in our branches, to bask in the glow. John Paul personalized that invitation and reminded us not to be timid. This fire—though it roars and crackles—will not burn us, but only purify us in order to step into it one day, to enter the very furnace of God’s own heart, which blazes with love for each of us.