By Father Noel C. Burtenshaw

The pre-conclave days were intense. All kinds of suggestors were available. All kinds of suggestions were made. A Pope to suit them all was needed. The waiting, beleaguered Cardinals wondered how. Somehow, they managed.

Out of the many wailings, two distinct cries vied for priority. One pleaded he be an Italian. Within this delicate decade of renewal, it seemed logical to avoid more change. For 400 years, Italians have admirably tended the flock, giving honor and world respect to the Office of the Keys.

But another plea persisted. Let him be a product of the groaning Third World. Let him come from the palatial squalor of the Church in chains and the far-flung jails of poverty. Let him be a Prince Charming to voice their unheeded frustrations.

Balancing on the thin line of perfect guidance, the Conclave decidedly gave us both.

Albino Luciani is beyond doubt an Italian. The name rolls out, stamped with the sweet sound of musical Italy. For 15 years, he has courted the city of Italian romance -- Venice of canals and gondolas. Raised in northern Italy, moving around with job-hunting parents, he is truly a man of that earth, renowned for its art, its opera and its Popes. He is a stay-at-home Italian who is ignorant of diplomatic palaces of ecclesiastical diplomatic missions.

His roots are deeply tied to the survival classes. He is the product of the trade union poor and he has not forgotten that struggle. The Lucianis were migrant hunters of work, well lessoned in the art of making ends meet and surviving when the ends did not come together. As Cardinal Prince of Venice, the memory of those struggles returned. To bring solace to the retarded, he sold his bishop's cross. To open kitchens of hot soup, he banished the mini collections of gold and silver stocked away in the medieval churches of the city. And, most heartening of all, his appearance is remembered in the ghetto schools of Venice pronouncing the Gospel message to ragged urchins, wide-eyed and suspicious of this regally-robed priest.

The Conclave choice was perfect. The new Fisherman would indeed be Big -- traditionally Italian, wearing shoes well-soiled by the struggles of the emerging classes of poor. Both voices were heard in the Sistine voting halls.

His double-barreled choice of names was a unique and pointed surprise. It was obviously intended to unveil the man. Like John, he will dream with startling effective simplicity. Like Paul, he will furiously defend and tirelessly work to implement the dream. The names give us a head start on expectations usually shrouded in the uncertain secrecy of future time.

Albino Cardinal Luciani, whose excursion round-trip ticket to Venice remains unused in the Vatican, has most unexpectedly heard the voice of awesome Destiny. His Holiness Pope John Paul the very First.

Viva Il Papa!