A PROTESTANT friend was kind enough to write and offer condolences on the day Pope John Paul II died.

“Though the Pope is respected world wide, I know that you of the Catholic faith especially mourn his death,” she wrote. “My prayers are with you as you grieve for this very special man...”

But all I could think to write back was: “This might sound awful, but I’m not grieving. I’m happy and thankful that he was our pontiff for 26 years. I’m grateful for the tremendous role he played in advancing freedom, working to bring different faiths together, and affirming the things that the church stands for without compromise or apology.”

That seemed insufficient, so I went on to explain that the pope had been “suffering, and with his work done, his time had come. Now he has gone to his certain reward. I’m glad for him. He was a vigorous and athletic man for most of his life (I just saw some pictures from his visit here, and it is amazing how different he looked then), so his long decline had to be especially difficult for him. I’m glad he doesn’t have to endure that any longer. In fact, he is now free of all sorrow, and with God. So... it makes more sense to celebrate his life than to mourn his death....”

Maybe that sounded cold. What I wrote seemed to make sense, but maybe there was something wrong with me — aside from the usual excuse, which is that when news happens, a newsman isn’t supposed to emote; there’s work to be done.

Anyway, I was relieved when I saw a release from U.S. Rep. Jim Clyburn on the day before the funeral: “In the Southern tradition, I join in the worldwide celebration of Pope John Paul II’s homegoing. Today is not a day to mourn his passing, but to rejoice in the extraordinary life of the Holy Father,” the congressman said. “Pope John Paul II devoted himself to the sacred mission bestowed upon him, and he is now enjoying his well-earned reward.”

So it wasn’t just me.

Things would have been different, for me and for the world, if Mehmet Ali Agca had succeeded in killing this pope in 1981. That would have been worth mourning, even though we couldn’t yet know how much we had lost. The Solidarity movement, and hope for the wave of freedom that later swept across Eastern Europe, might have died with him. He would not have lived to travel the world and inspire poor and oppressed people everywhere.

And it could so easily have happened. I realize that more acutely than most. As it happens, 1981 was the year that I became a Catholic. That’s not something I did casually, but rather after much searching and questioning. I got a lot of help in that from the Rev. Jay Jackson. Before studying for the priesthood, Father Jay had been a reporter at the same Tennessee paper where I worked when I met him; we had played softball together when he was just plain “Jay.” All that made him easy to talk to, and he had the right answers for me.

Only weeks after I entered the Church, the pope was shot. I was in South Carolina for my brother’s college graduation. When I flew back to Memphis, my wife had bad news when she picked me up at the airport: Father Jay had been shot to death.

His death briefly made national news, because of initial speculation that it was a copycat killing inspired by the shooting of John Paul. But it was just a random thing. His killer, already in prison for murder, had escaped, killed a policeman in Memphis and then used the cop’s gun to kill Father Jay when he caught the man burglarizing the rectory.

Father Jay was a brand-new priest, energetic and full of promise, and we did mourn him. He never got to finish his mission the way the pope did.

The memory of John Paul II will remain special to me for another personal reason: In 1987, I was at a personal and professional low point. My job as an editor in Wichita, Kan., had gone very sour. Every day I dragged myself in to work at that paper was worse than the one before. I was exhausted and dispirited, and undergoing counseling for depression. I had to get out of there.

The opportunity came to interview for a job at The State, the largest paper in the state of my birth, in the town where my parents lived. Compared to Kansas, moving to a place where my children could grow up with their grandparents at hand sounded wonderful. But how could I be assured — especially in my depression — that my work life would improve? Though making a lateral move, I would have to take a pay cut, and would this job be any better than the last?

In my very first interview here, fellow Catholic convert Tom McLean happened to mention that the pope was about to come here. Right here, to Protestant Columbia. (Not only that, but to St. Peter’s Church, which would become our new parish home, and where my wife now serves as youth director.)

It may sound silly, but that made me feel better. It was a sign. The pope choosing Columbia as his destination seemed as unlikely as the fact that the company I worked for had just bought The State, right out of the blue. I felt like I was being nudged. And just in case the pope wasn’t enough, Billy Graham was coming here as well. (And both would appear at Williams-Brice Stadium, right next door to where The State was then located.) Billy Graham was less surprising, but still — it was like God was sending all his troops to help show me the way.

I doubt that my experience is likely to count toward those two miracles John Paul needs to become a saint, but hey, I figure it can’t hurt, so I offer up my humble tale. Like the rest of the world, I owe the guy.

But I’m not grieving.

I’m just glad for us that we had him as long as we did, and I’m glad for him that he’s home now. If anybody deserves that rest and reward, he does.

Write to Mr. Warthen at bwarthen@thestate.com.