Twenty-six years ago, I fell in love.
Reflecting on the graces of pilgrimage
Twenty-six years ago this week, I arrived in Rome for the first time.
I was sick. It was the end of a long two weeks where we attempted to see two countries in fourteen days. I was tired and overwhelmed. We were only in Rome a short time (that’s what happens when you try to see all of Italy and France in one trip), and I didn’t see the Colosseum, nor the Sistine Chapel. I don’t remember much at all.
But that trip changed my life.
One of my few memories of that short time in Rome was our very first night. We had arrived into the city in time for dinner, with nothing scheduled at the end of the long day. But we could see the dome of St. Peter’s from our hotel, so after dinner, our pastor decided we would go on an adventure.
The funny thing about St. Peter’s is that the dome is really big. So it looks really close… when it’s not.
We got lost in streets that I now know well. We walked for what seemed like a really long time (it was probably only about a half hour). But we eventually reached St. Peter’s Square. I had that feeling that many of you probably have had: I’m home. It’s almost inexplicable, really. How can you feel at home in a place you’ve never been before? The same way you can feel comforted and wrapped in peace in a gigantic stone piazza.
Years later, I’d have countless memories in that piazza: John Paul II’s funeral, Benedict XVI’s election, numerous papal audiences, Benedict’s installation Mass, a canonization that included a crazy man burning a bible while standing on top of the colonnade, leading friends and family on pilgrimages, Easter Sundays, wedding pictures, and Benedict’s funeral.
But that night began it all. Father pointed out the lights on in the Papal apartments, high above the piazza. Pope John Paul was known for working late, and we knew the light that was on was his office light. The piazza was fairly empty and quiet, with just the sound of the fountains splashing, as we made our way to stand under his window.
We decided to sing. First a few Church hymns. At some point, the lights went out in the office. But we finished our singing with the Polish song, “Sto lat.” I’m sure our pronunciation was atrocious, but we sang it with cheerful passion. “May you live a hundred years!”
At the conclusion of our song, we saw a figure at the window. It was dark and hard to see, but we were convinced it was Pope John Paul II. As we began to walk away, we turned back for one more wave. A candle had been lit in the window.
Is it true? Did it really happen? To be honest, I’m questioning the story myself as I type it. But my little youthful heart was so convinced, and our pastor encouraged the hope. Whether it was John Paul II or not, you have to admit: it’s totally something he would have done. So I’ll continue to believe it was him. Little did I know that years later, I’d be at his funeral in that same square.
My times in Rome have taught me a lot of things and changed my life. The biggest gift was that it gave me a love for the Church that is so deep and so authentic, it has withstood incredible things. Yes, I fell in love with Rome. I fell in love with the art, the history, the food, the beauty, the saints. I fell in love with the dirt and the graffiti, the “boh” attitude that manifests itself in schedule changes, strikes, or the hatred for making change. I fell in love with the unique blend of cigarettes and car exhaust that fills its streets on a chilly spring morning. I fell in love with amatriciana and cioccolato caldo, with pistacchio gelato and standing at the counter of the coffee bar.
But most of all, I fell in love with the Church. And it was a love rooted in the person of Jesus Christ and his incarnational desire to found a Church on the human person of Peter. It is a gift that is still being unwrapped and understood. I eventually recognized that I needed to do something to share the graces. In 2006, that meant going to grad school. In 2013, that meant leading my first pilgrimage. In 2016, that meant partnering for the first time with The Catholic Traveler to make those trips part of my diocesan work. In 2023, it meant joining Verso Ministries to work full-time in pilgrim formation. It has meant starting multiple podcasts, leading trips, and now developing formation for the Jubilee Year and writing books.
But it all comes back to a love for a complex Church. A pilgrim Church who has hurt and has been hurt. She is bruised but not defeated; she continues to walk forward and calls us to do the same.
You don’t need to go on pilgrimage to love the Church. Pilgrimage isn’t a mandate of the Christian faith like it is of some of the other major religions, and there’s a good reason for that. As Gregory of Nyssa quipped, it’s not as if the Holy Spirit descended upon Jerusalem and now is unable to travel to us.
At the same time, there is power in walking where Jesus walked, in tracing the footsteps of the saints, of seeing the places where the saints labored, loved, suffered, and persevered. We can read about these things in books, but there is a startling realness in walking down Via Sacra in Rome and realizing: Peter was here. He walked here, with the weight of the Great Commission on his shoulders, ready to convert the world.
It makes you feel very small and very big, all at the same time.
It’s not that we are holier for having gone to Jerusalem or Rome or Fatima. But those places should call us to holiness. Those places have a unique ability to imprint on our souls that God was active, is active, and wants to be active–if only we will let him. Pope John Paul II wrote, “just as time can be marked by kairoì, by special moments of grace, space too may by analogy bear the stamp of particular saving actions of God.”
When thinking of places that “bear the stamp of particular saving actions of God,” my heart goes to those Christians who are stuck in the middle of the violence in the Holy Land. On October 7, considering answering the Latin Patriarch’s call for a day of fasting and prayer for peace.
Time for one of my favorite things… book recommendations!
Want to know more about Rome? One of my favorite books is by James Papandrea, Rome: A Pilgrims’s Guide.
Want to know more about the ups and downs of Church history but don’t know where to start? My friend Mike’s book Yours is the Church is my favorite succinct and balanced approach to begin.
Think the times we face in the Church are terrible and need some perspective? Everyone should read Good Pope, Bad Pope… also by my friend Mike.
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Next year is the Jubilee Year in Rome (it actually begins in 82 days!), and my world these days seems ALL JUBILEE ALL THE TIME. If you’re thinking, “Wow, what’s the Jubilee? I’d like to know more!” I’d invite you to join the webinar I’m hosting next week. It’s free, about an hour of your time, and will be filled with tips for the Jubilee. While it’s mostly geared toward those of you who are thinking of taking groups over to Rome, it’ll also talk about ways we can celebrate the Jubilee if staying stateside.
It’s next Wednesday, October 9 at 3pmET/noonPT.
And speaking of staying stateside, if going to Rome isn’t in the cards for you next year but you still want to mark the year and live it a little differently (and you should!), I would love to come to your diocese, parish, or apostolate and speak about the Jubilee. I’ll be giving a talk “Pilgrims of Hope: Celebrating the Jubilee Year” all around the country. It’ll include what Jubilee Year even is (it’s biblical), what it means for us as laity (psst… it was kind of our idea), and ways we can celebrate it without going to Rome.
Interested? Reach out over on my (new!) website:
I have several exciting projects in the works that have kept me busy, so you’ll be hearing all about them soon. Let’s just say that I’ve been praying and thinking and writing a lot about pilgrimage in the last few months. It’s made me more passionate to share the fruit of that prayer and more thankful for the graces I’ve received on pilgrimage.
We’re all pilgrims, friends. So let’s walk together, shall we?
Great essay my friend. Carry on.