I hope the Pope comes to the North. I would like to take my children to see one of the most courageous figures of our age. It would be even more significant now that he is not a handsome, charismatic figure, but a man whose body no longer obeys him, even though his brain is as sharp as ever, writes Breda O'Brien.
He has always been a powerful communicator, with a simple message. Nothing you own can ultimately satisfy you. Giving brings more satisfaction than the relentless pursuit of getting. Yet in this last decade he has begun to communicate one of his most important messages, not through words, but in his very existence.
In an age that worships at the altar of the young and the beautiful, he is a scandal, an old man who slurs his words, and sometimes drools.
Once photogenic, now he is nothing except a tired, sick old man who refuses to hide from our embarrassed eyes the fact that he is ageing and weak.
He is probably the most famous person on the planet, but he turns our notions of celebrity upside-down. He became a celebrity, not because he was a crowd-pleaser, but because he resolutely refused to tell us only what we wanted to hear. Today, in his battered frailty, he is once more telling us something we don't want to hear but perhaps which we need to know.
Two years ago, when rumours that the Pope would resign were everywhere, Paul Vallely of the London Independent reported that John Paul had said that he would carry on "because Christ did not descend from the cross".
Not exactly a catchy soundbite. In fact, it is the kind of statement that would have most spin-doctors chewing the carpet, because not only will it not play in Peoria, it won't play in most places today.
To locate suffering uncompromisingly at the centre of life, and to proclaim it has a value? What kind of madness is that? Most of us expend large amounts of energy trying to evade the unrelenting reality that we all suffer. We certainly don't want to be reminded of it. As a result, we never hear the postscript.
Suffering does not have to be meaningless. It is only when we stop trying to run away from suffering that it slowly yields its meaning. John Paul lives the reality every day. He has a body which refuses to co-operate with a mind that is still acute, and still he goes on. He says, without saying a word, that human beings are valuable even when they are broken.
To be weak and vulnerable is no shame. The shame lies in those who would exploit weakness and vulnerability.
Sometimes, when I see him on television, unable even to lift his head properly, I am reminded of something apparently unrelated. I think about the young woman who had a nose job after appearing on Big Brother. She could not cope with the abuse her nose evoked from the parasitic media that feed off Big Brother.
I wish that young woman, and all those who believe that their worth lies in their physical appearance, had access to one per cent of the indomitable spirit of the old man on the screen.
Recently, I was asked to speak at a novena in Limerick. I sat through session after session in the church, trying to figure out how a big church can be filled 10 times a day in an age when religion is allegedly dying.
The Redemptorists read out petitions and thanksgivings at every Mass. It is a novena to Our Lady of Perpetual Help, so the petitions are often addressed to "Mother". It is deeply affecting to hear the prayers that come so simply from people's hearts. "Dear Mother, please pray for a young girl who was raped and has attempted suicide." "Mother, pray for a little boy who is only five and who has a tumour on his kidney."
"Dear Mother, I am so grateful for my fiancé and how happy we are. May we be happy in our future life together." "Dear Mother, my sister's partner has died. He was her rock, and she is lost without him."
No doubt a sceptic might sneer, and talk about people clinging to superstitious practices like nine days of prayer when all else fails. My intuition is that the sneers are misplaced.
There is a quiet dignity about people who do not take refuge from life's harshness in sophisticated cynicism, or weary hedonism. Instead, they come in all their vulnerability and humility to ask for help, and to support each other. In a way, they are another expression of the truth that John Paul now embodies.
The value and beauty of human beings does not lie in their power, or their wealth, or their ability to manipulate life to their desires.
People have a right to express their opinion that Ireland has grown beyond the need to turn out in large numbers to pay respect to a world religious leader.
Yet by labelling this man as conservative, critics only manage to lay themselves open to the criticism often levelled at the church, of being obsessed with sexual matters. It is difficult, unless one ignores every other aspect of this pontificate, to say that John Paul is conservative.
What of "War is always a defeat for humanity"? Or his tireless championing of the poor and despised, and the right of the developing world to throw off the yoke of crippling debt?
Some people fear that it would be embarrassing if the numbers turning out were dismally small. This is not about numbers. Those sensitive to the symbolism of the Pope being received in Northern Ireland, and of its historic import in the life of this small, bloodstained island, will welcome him. Older people who quietly believe, and smaller numbers of young people who have already learnt that the buzz of a booming economy is not all it is cracked up to be, will be there.
And yes, there will be gawkers, day-trippers and begrudgers, as there are everywhere he goes.
In the midst of them all will be an elderly man, more eloquent, more moving now in his old age, than he ever was 25 years ago in his health and strength.