When you see the white smoke rise,
Do not look for thrones or crowns.
Do not strain to hear the trumpets,
Or expect the voice of kings.
Look instead to trembling footsteps
In the echo of the Upper Room –
Where sandals tread on sacred ground,
And silence bears the weight of Rome.
He comes not wrapped in power,
But robed in mercy’s thread.
His hands are not for ruling,
But for blessing bread and head.
He wears no prideful splendor,
No armor forged by fear –
Only the yoke of fishermen,
And the tears of Peter near.
The world may cheer with thunder,
Cameras flash like firelight –
But the Spirit breathes in whisper,
And calls him through the night.
He comes not with a title,
But the Cross etched on his soul –
To walk the way of the cross
Where love becomes the goal.
So when you see the white smoke,
Pray not just for the man –
But for the Church he’s called to carry,
In the shelter of God’s plan.
For he is not a ruler,
But a servant to the least.
A shepherd walking humbly
To the Table of the Feast.
He comes to serve and not to be served
By Fr Kelvin Lampard Munkuli SJ
English