By Annmarie McLaughlin

For the first time in a long time, it’s trendy to be Catholic. For the past week, we’ve listened to the secular media struggling – with mixed success – to understand and explain the basic tenets of Catholicism. We’ve heard the rituals of the Mass and Vespers explained and dissected to an audience of millions. This from a media that loves to label Catholics as “ultra-conservative,” not in a polite way, and which recently lauded the same Supreme Court decisions that seek to undermine the foundations of Catholic morality. We’ve seen politicians who support bills that seek to force the Little Sisters of the Poor to violate their consciences fall over each other to greet the pope; we’ve witnessed the respect and admiration that spread across these politicians’ faces as they stooped to shake hands with a man whose humility can be likened only to that of Jesus himself.

On a recent trip to Manhattan to celebrate my 20th wedding anniversary with my husband, I left feeling as though I never wanted to go back. In the few short years since my children began attending high school there, the city seems to have reverted into the den of iniquity that we thought Rudy Giuliani had banished. I walked through Times Square and quickly discovered what all the recent controversy was about: how did we become a city that allows women to go topless, cover themselves in paint, and solicit money from men while their children have their photos taken with Olaf?

Homeless people lined every street corner, leaving me to wonder why a city advertising the sale of apartments that are – quite literally – lined with imported marble – is unable to provide desirable shelter and food to a downtrodden vet.

Yet, I found myself frantically searching online to see if there was any tiny little corner of Manhattan where I might be able to squeeze in without a ticket and see the pope parading down Fifth Avenue (there wasn’t). Tickets had disappeared weeks ago; the lottery I entered was bombarded by similar requests, and I was not among the chosen ones. No matter, I consoled myself. I had a better view on television.

I was struck by the contrast between the security detail that had swooped up babies on Constitution Avenue in D.C. to present to the pope, and the thick traffic that now surrounded the popemobile five blocks from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It seemed the popemobile could scarcely move amidst the cars, motorcycles, and security personnel encasing the tiny vehicle. Welcome to New York, Papa Francesco!

New York’s citizens took off work, submitted to upwards of three hours waiting to get through security checkpoints with only water bottles to sustain them, and stood for 10 hours crammed against each other in Central Park. All this just to catch the tiniest glimpse of Pope Francis. This was a city of hope.

For two days, Pope Francis transformed Manhattan. As Cardinal Dolan asked Pope Francis to bless the newly renovated cathedral. As a certain emptiness swept over Central Park following the pope’s departure, I recognized a section of the park I’d passed multiple times before, and I thought, “The next time I go there, it will have been made holy by the man who briefly passed by.”

As Pope Francis rode his golf cart through the throngs of eager crowds in Madison Square Garden, I realized that this was the closest I’ll ever be to seeing what the crowds who surrounded Jesus must have been like. When a woman broke through the barrier and jumped up and down with excitement after the pope touched her hand, I was reminded of the woman with the hemorrhage who broke through the crowds just to touch Jesus’ clothing in the hopes of being healed.

I cried as the pope reached down to encircle the face of a handicapped girl with his gentle hands, and as a noticeably emotional couple presented their ill child for a blessing. Then the pope blessed the child’s mother as the father embraced the child and covered him with tears.

Though I teach the Bible and have analyzed the stories of Jesus many times, for the first time, I understood what it was like to live during Jesus’ brief time on Earth. I understood why 5,000 people gathered on the sunny hills of Israel – without bringing food – just to hear Him talk. I understood why the crowds pressed against Him and trailed after Him, reluctant to leave His presence, after the multiplication of loaves and fishes. I understood why occasionally the apostles had to whisk Jesus away in a boat so that he could have a few moments of peace and quiet.

Never before has Manhattan seen anything like those couple of days. Sadly, it may never see such a tremendous outpouring of faith again.

Yet Jesus told His disciples that they would do “greater [works] than these.” This week, we saw those words come true. We saw Jesus’ crowds of 5,000 swell to 80,000 in Central Park and hundreds of thousands in Philadelphia. The world now has 1.2 billion Catholics, thanks to the perseverance of 12 apostles and their followers.

My fear is that the throngs of people who dropped everything to wave at the pope, took selfies and chanted “Papa Francesco,” will, in a couple of months, forget the fervor they felt as the popemobile inched toward them. I hope they won’t.

If there’s one thing I learned from seeing the pope step out of his Fiat and into the popemobile on Fifth Avenue – surrounded by flashing lights and nervous-looking security personnel – it’s that fear can be defeated by hope. And I learned it all from the view on my television.

Annmarie McLaughlin teaches theology as adjunct instructor at St. John’s University. She also is the chairperson for the Brooklyn Diocesan Bilingual Women’s Conference and executive chairperson for the Diocesan Pastoral Council.