The pope is here! The pope is here! And this non-Catholic is filled with emotions.

Conflicting emotions. Mostly joy. And fear — lots and lots of fear. His Holiness is heading to Philadelphia.

Philly is a great city — steeped in history, ripe with culture. I married a man from Philly. I've lived in the greater Philadelphia area before, and I have found the pulse of the city, much like the people, to be full of personality, opinions and passion.

It's the passion that scares me. Philadelphians are crazy-passionate. Passionate about which establishment makes the best cheesesteaks. Passionate about Yuengling beer. Passionate about sports. Remember, this is the city that pelted Santa Claus with snowballs during an Eagles halftime show.

I considered beginning this column with the words "No offense, Philadelphia, but..." until I realized there'd be no point. Philly folks don't take offense to anything I've said. They take pride.

This is the city that recently beheaded hitchBOT, the cheerful hitchhiking robot that made safe cross-country trips across Germany, the Netherlands and Canada before being vandalized a mere 300 miles into the United States. And how did Philadelphians respond? By saying, "The smiling bot bastard deserved it."

And this is where we just sent our pope! Have we thought this through? Was he properly warned? Did no one tell him that the nickname "City of Brotherly Love" is intended to be ironic? That was intended, right?

(By the way, I'm sure the pope will agree Pat's makes the best cheesesteaks. Does Yelp give an extra star for a positive papal review?)

For the most part, my fears about the pope's visiting our amazing country have been far surpassed by my excitement. This man holds the ear of the world. I've eagerly listened to his speeches, tracked his route, noted his decisions. And I've been impressed by his willingness to stray from popular opinion, both when it does and does not match my own views. No matter your personal beliefs, there is something incredible about being in the presence of one of the few people who can make a difference on a global level.

Which brings me to my next emotion: shame.

I have been in the presence of His Holiness once before. Not this His Holiness but two holinesses back. (Is that how you would say it?) Pope John Paul II. And I desperately want the chance to make up for that debacle.

In the months after graduating from college, I backpacked Europe. In doing so, I took on a responsibility of representing my country by presenting myself as kind, knowledgeable and respectful. This zigzagging adventure across the continent landed me in Rome a few weeks before Christmas. More than anything, more than the Colosseum, more than the Sistine Chapel, I wanted to see the pope. I wanted to be in the presence of a person who held the ear of the world.

Pope John Paul II had been ailing for some time, so there was no guarantee he would show up at his window to speak. The morning was chilly, and the fervor in the crowd grew as the minutes ticked past the pope's expected appearance time. Folks from around the globe unleashed their antsy anticipation by singing Christmas songs as local news crews caught the action.

A reporter came up to me, held a microphone in front of my face and asked, "What brings you to Vatican City this morning?" I was all smiles and holiday cheer when I said, "To see JP Squared. Duh!"

Immediately afterward, I was panic-stricken. What had I said? What had I done? Why did I call His Holiness that? The reporter asked what country I was from. I thought about saying Canada, but it felt wrong to lie in Vatican City. I tried to explain that my bunkmates in my hostel had been referring to the pope as JP Squared. I meant no offense; it just came out! But then the pope appeared at the window, and the moment passed.

I found the mass prayer experience surprisingly emotional and left feeling grateful — not unrelated to the realization my interview would never air because I didn't speak Italian. A blessing if there ever was one.

Hours later, I arrived back at my hostel's common room, greeted by applause. My interview had just been seen on the local nightly news.

Sorry, sir. Sorry, America.

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