Op-Ed: Well, This Whole Pope Smoke System Is Nutso!

By Priest Geoff

May 1, 2018

The Vatican, 1500 A.D.

Well, here I was at the Vatican, ready for the best study abroad of all time. I’d been holed up at the seminary practically my whole life, reading and praying and self-flagellating so much, but I was finally here in Rome! I made it! La vita è bella!

I was ready to see it all: the churches, some stained glass, all the bishops’ houses, and if all went well I was gonna get brunch and gelato with a cardinal. But just my luck–the pope up and died.

Rats. First they lost my luggage, and now this?? I must have done a rosary wrong or something. God is a big prankster, and oh boy does He have it out for me. Also, it’s a bit grey and drizzly.

The pope dying really set a less-than-cheerful tone for the rest of the trip. Most of the restaurants were closed in mourning, and the pasta place I finally found didn’t even have a gluten-free/dairy-free option for my sensitive tummy. This was turning into the vacation from Hell (and I never use that word).

But there was one silver lining: I was gonna be here for the next selection! The big Papal Conclave! Truly a once in a lifetime but often many-times-in-a-lifetime opportunity! This is an even bigger deal than last year’s Christmas pageant. And I got to be right in the middle of it, camped out next to the Vatican.

The first day of the conclave, I tried to walk right in, but a Swiss Guard stopped me at the door. I explained that I’m a priest from out of town and I’d love to take part in choosing our next pope, but he was having none of it. He said I had to be a cardinal. I said I hoped to one day become one and I already bought the red outfit just in case. He said he knew I wasn’t a cardinal and also not a bishop. I thought I’d trick him by telling him I WAS the Pope, pretending to be a priest, but he was too smart—he saw right through me and informed me that he knew the Pope was dead.

So I was stuck. No way in, and no desire to go back to the seminary where I have to whip myself all day long. But I was eager–I wanted to know who my new pope was!

There were a bunch of us anxiously waiting outside, so at least I made some new friends. Then, everyone started freaking out—the first vote had happened! This was it! The new pope! I started squealing. We stared at the Sistine Chapel Chimney, waiting. While we waited, I realized that if I had really wanted to go in and be there, I could have climbed in through the chimney. But too late now; smoke was billowing up!

Black smoke! FUCK YEAH!!! I started screaming and cheering and crying tears of joy. “We got him! We got a new Pope! Hooray!” As I reveled, I realized everyone around me was still solemn. “What’s YOUR problem?” I asked.

They told me that I had been mistaken. It turns out black smoke means there ISN’T a new pope yet. Whoops, my bad! One of my new friends tried to help me with a pneumonic rhyme: “White Smoke, Pope; Black Smoke, Nope.” I repeated it over and over under my breath, trying to get it to stick. But I just kept mixing it up.

We went through a bunch more rounds of voting, and every time I thought they’d finally decided. But no… black smoke, black smoke, and more black smoke. They could have used me in there—I’m great at decision making!

Finally, after two whole days, people started murmuring. White smoke was coming up the chimney, like an angelic chimney cloud!

“White smoke! White smoke!” they all shouted.

“Darn it,” I thought. “Well, we’ll just have to wait for next time.”