By Father Noel C. Burtenshaw

There was no time to achieve.

Destiny gave him 800 hours in the historic Chair of Peter. It was insufficient to make a mark on the pages of precious scrolls. There will be no collector's volumes sold in his memory; no coins struck in his honor; no library built in his name.

There was no time for jets to wing him to waiting welcomes. Or for diplomats, in penguin suits, to come with greetings to his Vatican palace. There was no time for his tears, cleansing the woes of his world, or for words that would encourage and console. There was just no time.

Time disqualified him from refereeing the aftermath of Camp David. It barred him as mediator to those claiming the holiness of Jerusalem or the sovereignty of Lebanon. It stopped the steady stream of good will building for the shutaway Christians behind the Soviet curtain.

There was no time for the onward march of renewal to which he was sworn or for fulfilling the dream of John whom he loved or Paul whom he served. There was time alone merely to accept the honor, fill the Fisherman's Shoes, don the cassock of white -- AND -- smile.

He made time to smile. His days were filled with smiles. He laughed and widely grinned on and off camera. He enjoyed the burden. He loved the load. He looked like a lasting instant replay of smiles. And the cautions watching world was caught in the trap of that winning happy face.

The seal of his month-long adventure was stamped with the word "Humility." It would teach him to practice it, he grinned. And the burden of projecting a papal image unruffled him, since he knew nothing about "this job." The rest of us grinned.

Pomp and circumstance was summarily dismissed, it no where fitted his tiny frame. The triple-decker crown he shyly shelved. A simple badge would be its substitute. But the best badge of all remained that flashing, catching, watched-for smile.

He raced against the clock to do his best work. And it was done high above St. Peter's Square. His magnetic, pied-piper presence mysteriously filled the famous Roman Square. And there, locked in the trance of mutual communication, his Apostolic message was wildly cheered. The message was always the same -- he smiled.

His 800 hours were magical moments of papal remembrance. Just a short time. Just a brief time.

And it was time to smile.