Our church bell tolled 84 times. We draped the front door in purple and black. A framed action photo of the Holy Father was on display in the sanctuary, surrounded by the Easter flowers, propped between the new Paschal Candle and the baptismal font used only last week to welcome and sanctify the new members of our parish. The mourning came twice: first yesterday, prematurely, when the false announcement came, then this afternoon when I was alone and Mary was teaching the new altar servers. An angel-weeping drizzle had been falling all day. I wiped some tears. I turned on...