The ending of a pilgrimage, the beginning of a mission

How can I adequately capture what it was like to not just watch World Youth Day on TV, but to truly experience it as three million fellow Catholics have?

While waiting for the plane back to Newark in Miami, various news sources filled us in on the parts of the Pope’s visit that we couldn’t take in as English-speaking pilgrims on the ground. The Vatican website had his Vigil Mass homily translated into English, and our group of New Jersey pilgrims gathered around an Ipad as Father Paul, a great priest who joined us on our pilgrimage, read the homily aloud to us. In this way, we kind of got to experience the homily twice. Being in the presence of three million pilgrims while hearing the Pope speak at Copacabana was powerful enough, even though I didn’t understand what he was saying. Hearing his words in English though, and then being right there with the New Jersey pilgrims as they heard the words for the first time in English, really drove home the Pope’s message for me.

He said being an active Christian is like being an athlete and not just a spectator. To be an athlete one must train, while spectators only have to pay admission. If life were a sporting event, we as Christians are the athletes on the field when it comes time to profess our faith. But before we can do so properly, we must make practicing our faith part of our everyday lives, just as an athlete must train every day before entering the arena.

On the plane back to Italy, Pope Francis boldly answered all of the questions on hot button issues that reporters asked him. Just search the Internet if you want to learn more about his answers and the reactions of the Press, because I don't want to make this pilgrimage into a worldly affair. If I received anything from watching the media's reaction to the Pope's visit and his seemingly eccentric message, it's that there's no way for modern society to capture the depth of Catholic tradition and theology. Modern media takes the quick soundbytes they hear from the Pope's messages, the soundbytes that could have a hint of what they want to hear if they twist them around a bit; then they harp on those one or two statements of his, like 'Who am I to judge' homosexuals, and then they turn it into a big headline that makes it seem like the Church has changed its teachings. Then while they're dwelling on those two minutes of Pope Francis' words, they completely disregard the beauty, the power and magnitude of World Youth Day. Perhaps they'll make a passive comment while observing the crowds at Copacabana, saying 'the Pope sure knows how to throw a beach party!' Enough of that already, though. We have our faith, and no matter how much the media misinterprets true Catholicism, we know who we are.

No outside observation of the Vigil at Copacabana can compare to actually being a part of that crowd of witnesses on the beach. What a great idea to have the vigil right on the ocean. The plan was to have it at Campus Fidei, which would have been about a nine-mile walk into the rain forest. When we were told it had to be moved from Campus Fidei because the rain made the spot too muddy, that seemed to make sense since there was a great deal of rain over the past few days. But when I returned to the States and heard what the news was saying, I heard the main reason the vigil was moved from Campus Fidei to Copacabana was because the rain caused the alligators and monkeys to come out at Campus Fidei.

The streets of Rio could not have been more awe-inspiring than when endless crowds of young Catholics sang their native hymns to Jesus and Mary and chanted "Esta est la juventude de Papa" (This is the youth of the Pope). The songs and chants echoed in the streets and tunnels; and I venture to say that those joy-filled streets of Rio captured the truthful, grassroots, natural essence of World Youth Day, because in the streets was where we saw the most authentic, personalized expressions of faith.

We walked from our hotel to Copacabana, about a three mile journey, and during that walk I could see the essence of our pilgrimage. We didn't have to go by foot, but we chose to because it was such a greater witness than taking public transportation. Wide highways were filled with pilgrims waving their flags, dancing and singing. I've never seen such joy in my life. I've never had such a pleasant long walk. Times came when we had to, or chose to, take the bus or subway, and even then songs and shouts of joy took over the trains and buses. 

As we did throughout our time in Rio, we exchanged items authentic to our countries during the walk to Copacabana. Our group had the red, white and blue rosaries made by the group of ladies from Holy Innocents Parish, Neptune. I received a whole box of them from this anonymous, magnanimous group, and they were such a hit that by the day of the vigil, July 27, we had none left. Oftentimes when we started handing them out, pilgrims from other countries would gather around us asking for one of them.

I can go on and on about the Vigil Mass, but let it suffice to say that it will be one of those memories that  remains engraved on my heart, mind and soul, especially when I think of the communal power of the Church. The last two nights of our pilgrimage, we slept on the beach and then on the airplane from Rio to Miami. I got very little sleep on the beach, as was the case for many of us; but on the plane for some reason I slept soundly. The flight back to the States couldn't have gone more quickly for me even if I'd been teleported to Miami on the U.S.S. Enterprise. Many of the other New Jersey  pilgrims on the plane experienced the same deep sleep. I truly think the Holy Spirit placed upon us a deep slumber of contentment after the adventurous, fulfilling pilgrimage we experienced over the past week.

When I awoke and found myself back in New Jersey after the flight from Miami, I was blessed with the clarity of mission. One of Pope Francis' messages to the pilgrims was 'You came here as disciples. You will leave here as missionaries.' We went to Rio as followers of Christ, as young people seeking a way to serve him. Now we are overflowing with blessings, grace and inspiration. We have been evangelized. Now it is time to evangelize, to 'go and make disciples of nations.' Throughout my WYD blog posts, starting with my first one, I pondered when it would be proper to say my journey has truly begun. Now I know there is no better time than now to truly begin my journey.  

Finding God on the streets of Rio

Every story has its climax, a point where the main character has to make a critical decision that will tremendously affect the rest of the events in the narrative. For this story on my experiences during World Youth Day, Rio, the climax didn’t occur at any of the major events I attended – like Pope Francis’ opening address, or the Stations of the Cross on the beach at Copacabana, and it won’t be the quickly approaching Vigil Mass that serves as the climax for so many pilgrims – because my turning point came in a much more unexpected, perhaps even controversial, manner on the night of July 25. 

On July 24, I got separated from the New Jersey group and wound up spending most of the day with a group from New York City. On July 25, I set my alarm an hour too late and missed the New Jersey group again as they headed for Copacabana for the Pope’s opening address for World Youth Day. I then tried to tag along with the group from Lafayette Diocese, but got stuck at the subway turn stall and lost track of them. So I headed to Copacabana alone, trying to make the best of the situation. I haggled with a beach vender to get him to sell me a beach umbrella and chair for $20 since I was all out of reals. Then I grabbed a spot considerably close to the stage as the crowd of well over a million grew all around me. I was surrounded by people, people who even shared my faith, but felt utterly alone because I knew none of them and didn’t speak their language. Then it started to rain, and I discovered holes in my umbrella.

As I sat there getting wet, questions began to rise within me, like ‘Why did I bother to come to World Youth Day? It has already been more of a hassle than anything else,’ and ‘What’s the big deal about seeing the Pope? Aren’t parts of this global event a bit overdone?’

I abandoned my coveted spot and even entertained the thought of leaving the opening ceremony all together, but as I was walking out the flags of U.S. pilgrims kind of tugged at my soul. I couldn’t leave without talking to them and making some connections. So that’s what I did for the entire afternoon while waiting for Pope Francis to arrive. As the sun went down and the Pope drove past the massive crowd on the avenue and beach, I was in the middle of the fray again, but barely hanging on. I wanted to leave. When the Pope’s address began in Spanish and no translation to English was offered, I did leave. It was a controversial thing for any pilgrim to do, considering the fact that we were there to see and listen to the Pontiff. Here I am at my first World Youth Day, and the first chance I get to hear the Pope speak, I leave before the talk even begins.

I got very lost on the way back to the hotel. This may have been Christ’s punishment for me for walking out on his vicar, but I cannot be sure. All I know is that I was tired, alone, wet and after at least an hour of being lost, I began to worry.  Fumbling in my pockets for a rosary, I found one of the red, white and blue ones made by a group of women from Holy Innocents Parish, Neptune. They gave the rosaries to a few WYD pilgrims from New Jersey, with the request that we distribute them to the pilgrims we meet in Rio.

Being lost in a foreign city can ignite the flame of faith, especially when there’s nothing you can do but pray to God that he leads you in the right direction. After praying the Rosary by myself on some quiet backstreets, I came across a taxi driver who was taking a cigarette break. I asked him if he knew how to get to Rio’s Presidente Hotel on Rua Pedro I. He understood the location but couldn’t explain to me how to get there in English, so he offered to drive me to the hotel… for free. At first I was reluctant, thinking I really shouldn't get in the car of a stranger, but at that point I didn't have much of a choice. I figured, if he drives me to some abandoned warehouse to interrogate and torture me, at least I can say I suffered in the name of Christ.

The taxi driver wound up being a Godsend and led me right to the plaza near our hotel. I was at a tipping point in my faith that night, but getting lost in Rio made me think of the one thing that has saved me in similar desperate situations in the past. My confidence in prayer was restored as this magnanimous taxi driver pulled over to the curb right by our hotel. As I walked back I kissed that rosary and offered a tearful laugh to heaven. World Youth Day, Rio, once again, strengthened my faith in an unexpected way. All these unconventional experiences of faith on the old streets of Rio are God’s way of showing me that there is no escaping his love.