The Pope was traveling to a much anticipated, historic meeting with the Secretary General of the United Nations. Preparations for the meeting had begun months earlier, and the Pope, now restless from his long journey, eagerly anticipated his arrival at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York City.

As the pilot started his approach, he was instructed to land at Newark Airport in New Jersey rather than JFK Airport as planned. Then because of unsafe wind conditions, the aircraft was forced into a holding pattern, further delaying the arrival by more than an hour. When the plane finally touched down at Newark Airport, the Pope, now a bit agitated, was whisked away in a limousine to his conference with the Secretary General at the U.N. building in Midtown Manhattan.

With only minutes to go before the meeting was scheduled to begin, the Pope sat anxiously in the back seat of the limousine.

"Can you drive a bit faster my son?" the Pope gently asked the chauffeur. "I have a meeting with the Secretary General of the United Nations. There are more than two hundred dignitaries awaiting my arrival, and the outcome of this meeting could have a dramatic effect on world events. I must not be late."

"I'm terribly sorry Your Holiness," the limousine driver begged, "but I can't afford another speeding ticket. I already have been warned that if I receive one more violation I will lose my license. Surely you understand. I have a wife and three children at home. I'm very, very sorry."

The Pope responded sympathetically to the worried driver, then asked him to stop the car. To the chauffeur's astonishment, the Pope got out of the limousine, tapped on the driver's door and told him that he would drive the rest of the way. The driver moved to the back seat and the Pope got behind the wheel and sped off toward his appointment.

Driving much faster than the chauffeur would have dared, the Pope darted in and out of traffic, narrowly missing several parked cars. Observing the speeding limousine, a New York City police officer promptly chased the vehicle and signaled it to pull over.

"Let me handle this one," the notoriously tough officer announced to his partner. "These big shots think they can order their chauffeurs to speed around my city in their big limousines. Well they're not going to get away with it as long as I'm around. Before I'm through with this guy he'll have at least five tickets to pay! I'll make sure this is the sorriest day of his life."

After only a minute, the visibly shaken officer returned to his squad car with his ticket book still unopened.

"You didn't write him a single ticket?" his partner protested. "What happened?"

"I couldn't write him a ticket," the first officer said sheepishly. "This guy is big, I mean really big."

"Who was it?" his partner asked. "The Mayor of New York City?"

"No, bigger than that," the first officer assured him.

"Well was it the Governor of New York State?"

"No, bigger than that."

"Don't tell me," the policeman cried, "you didn't pull over the President of the United States?"

"No, he's even bigger than that!" the first officer insisted.

"Bigger than the President of the United States? Who in the world is bigger than the President of The United States?"

"Well I'm not exactly sure who he is," said the first officer, "but the Pope is his chauffeur!"