Papal Handshakes
Through no merit of my own, I have had the honour and privilege of shaking hands with five Popes. It is not something I ever sought out or planned; these moments simply came my way through the providence of God. And yet each handshake has stayed with me – not because of the historical significance or the novelty of meeting a Pope, but because, in those brief encounters, something of the man and his mission were revealed.
I was 23 years old when I first shook hands with a Pope – Paul VI. It was in St Peter’s Square, and as the Popemobile was gliding past, the Holy Father leaned out to greet the crowds. He reached for my hand, and for the briefest of moments, our hands touched. His handshake was gentle, almost delicate, and then he was gone. It was over in a heartbeat. I remember that my knees felt weak. Looking back, I think his gentleness reflected the man he was: a shepherd steering the Church through turbulent waters with careful diplomacy and a pastoral heart. Paul VI carried the weight of the Second Vatican Council and the hope of renewal, yet he often seemed burdened, isolated. His handshake felt like a quiet blessing – fleeting, understated, but sincere. Whenever I go into St Peter’s Basilica, I always go below to where many popes are buried and I kneel down and pray at his grave.
Years later, I would twice shake the hand of John Paul II. The first time, again in St Peter’s Square, it was much like the encounter with Paul VI – a passing moment as the Popemobile went by. But where Paul VI’s touch had been gentle, John Paul’s was strong and assured. Even in that quick clasp, there was inner strength, the kind that came from years of prayer, suffering, and unshakable conviction. He looked you in the eye, even as the crowd surged around him, and for a second you felt as if you were the only one there.
The second time was in Cameroon, after a Papal Mass. He came down to greet the priests who had concelebrated. This time his handshake was firm, almost crushing – not in a way that hurt, but in a way that made you aware of his vitality and determination. John Paul II was a man of action, a Pope who strode into protests in Communist Poland, stadiums, and youth gatherings with the same fearless energy. His handshake in Cameroon seemed to say, “Be strong. Be courageous. Keep going.”
I met Benedict XVI by chance at a Papal Mass in Bellahouston, Glasgow. I happened to be round the back of the area where the Mass had been celebrated when the processional group arrived. Suddenly everyone went off to their various tasks leaving me alone with the Pope. We stood and chatted for five minutes and then shook hands to say goodbye. The contrast with John Paul II was striking. His handshake was so gentle that it almost felt like shaking the hand of a child. Not weak, but light, as if he were holding something fragile that he did not want to break – and perhaps he was. In that moment, I felt as if he were already half in heaven, a man deeply rooted in prayer, a mystic who carried the weight of the Church not with physical force but with quiet faith. His papacy was marked by intellectual depth and a longing to lead the Church to deeper communion with God. That gentleness in his touch mirrored a soul that lived in this world but was always reaching toward the next.
When it comes to Francis I, our paths have crossed more than once. In fact, I have shaken his hand five times. This came about because of my position as national director of Missio Scotland – the Pontifical Mission Societies – the Pope’s means of helping the Church in mission territories. Each meeting with Francis brought that same strong, warm clasp – a quick press, a moment of connection, and then an intense focus on me while we spoke. On two of those occasions, I took the opportunity to ask him to pray for a special intention, and he nodded with a smile that told me the request was taken to heart.
One meeting stands out for its lighter side. I had brought along Missy Moo, the Highland cow mascot of Missionary Children – part of Missio’s work with Catholic primary schools across Scotland. I showed it to him, explaining its role in encouraging children to think about the missions. He looked somewhat puzzled and bemused and then with a short laugh he tapped Missy Moo as a blessing of sorts. In that brief moment, I saw again what so many experience with Pope Francis – a joy in meeting people where they are, a delight in the small things that carry big meaning, and a heart wide open to the Church’s youngest missionaries.
And then came Leo XIV. This was different. He fully wrapped his hand around mine and did not let go until I let go. As he held my hand, he looked straight into my eyes and kept his gaze there. Time seemed to slow down. There was no rush, no sense that he needed to be anywhere else. The strength of his hand was matched by the steadiness of his gaze, and together they spoke of presence – a willingness to stand with you, to listen, to accompany. In that brief exchange, I thought of his years as a missionary in the mountains of Peru, walking dusty roads, sitting in simple homes, sharing the lives of the people he served. This was the handshake of someone who believed that hope is not a concept but a relationship, and that to be with someone – truly with them – is the beginning of the Gospel.
Five Popes. Five handshakes. Each different, each telling me something about the man and his papacy. Paul VI’s fleeting gentleness. John Paul II’s strength, twice experienced, one quick and one enduring. Benedict XVI’s mystic lightness. Francis’ brisk warmth, deepened by repeated encounters. Leo XIV’s unwavering presence. I treasure them all, not because they make me part of some exclusive club, but because in those moments I glimpsed the unique way each one bore the mantle of Peter – shepherd, teacher, witness, pilgrim.
It’s tempting to think that these encounters are all about the Pope. But perhaps what stays with me most is how, in each handshake, I was reminded that the work of the Church is, at its heart, about personal connection. It’s about meeting the other person where they are – with gentleness, with strength, with attentiveness, with warmth, with presence. It’s about letting the other know that, for this moment, they matter, they are seen, they are loved.
Five Popes, five handshakes – five reminders that the mission of the Church is lived out one encounter at a time. And perhaps that is the real grace I have been given: to have felt, in the clasp of each papal hand, a touch of the hand of Christ.