And just like that, it was over.
After a great Italian farewell dinner at a nearby restaurant — pasta and tiramisu, of course — we packed our bags (some of us stuffed them) and prepared to bid goodbye to the country that has hosted us for the last 11 days.
We weren’t scheduled to celebrate Mass on our day of departure, but our planners pulled a few strings and got us the first available slot at Santa Maria Maggiore, the basilica that’s just a 20 minute walk from our hotel. It had added meaning this morning: this church is a favorite of Pope Francis, and it is where he goes to begin and end every trip. It was a fitting place to bring our pilgrimage to a close.
That was the good news. The bad news: it was at 7 a.m. So off we went at 6:40 into the early morning light.
The basilica was easy to find. Just a quick right turn and there it was.
They put us into one of the church’s breathtaking side chapels.
Those of us serving the Mass headed to the sacristy. The priest sacristan asked to check Fr. Ferdi’s Letter of Suitability. And then we were off.
I served alongside Deacon Rich Hay. We used the same Mass we used for our first liturgy in Italy: a special Mass for the Holy Year that is found on the USCCB website.
Here’s my homily:
A couple Sundays ago, when this reading popped up in the Gospel, I pointed out in my homily that Jesus had returned to Nazareth, site of the Annunciation, to make a second Annunciation.
This time, instead of an angel, the one doing the announcing was the Messiah himself. And what did he say?
“This scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.”
At that moment, he announced the beginning of what would become The Greatest Story Ever Told.
Well, over the last 10 days, we have seen what that meant and we encountered some of the extraordinary people who told that story.
They continue to tell it, even now.
There’s the son of a nobleman from Assisi who stripped off his clothes and sparked a revolution.
The young woman who dared to literally walk in the footsteps of Christ — and ran from an empty tomb to tell the world.
The deacon who stood before his accusers who demanded he turn over the treasures of the church, and then presented to them the poor, saying “These are our treasures.”
The boy who loved the Eucharist so deeply and lived that love for others so selflessly that people are flocking to Assisi now to see him and tell HIS story. That boy is speaking to a new generation.
Watch. See how many babies around the world will soon be named “Carlo.”
And if that weren’t enough, everywhere we went we saw towering monuments that also tell that story in marble and glass. Every church, every basilica, every cathedral had a story to tell — the story of generations of people whose lives were changed forever by the son of carpenter from Galilee, by miracles of bread and wine, healing and hope.
Those people saw the most beautiful art on earth declare to them: “The Son of God is here. He dwells within these walls. Come and see.”
Well, we did.
We’ve been humbled by it. Moved by it. Inspired by it. We understand better where we came from, and we understand this powerful truth:
We stand on the shoulders of giants.
But what comes next?
I mentioned to a few people on this trip that one of the great lessons I learned about preaching came from a homily teacher who said, “You should be able to summarize your homily in six words.”
We’re short on time this morning, so I’ll give you my message in four. This is what we should take from this trip. Just four words.
Keep telling the story.
Go home. Show the pictures. Pass out the magnets and tea towels and medals and statues to everyone you know.
But then we need to do more.
Tell the story, the story of Jesus Christ — and tell it not with what we bought, but with how we live.
What did all this teach us? How do we want to be like these saints we met?
After touching the miraculous and the holy, after being somehow changed by what we experienced, we need to live in a way that can continues that change, a way that carries the Gospel to others.
Love the poor, like Francis.
Remember the forgotten, like Carlo.
Be witnesses to the miracle of Jesus Christ, like the woman from Magdala.
Speak truth to power, like Lawrence.
The fact is, we can’t end this pilgrimage as the same people we were when we started it.
We’ve seen where we came from, what was passed on to us. The greatest story ever told.
We are a part of that.
May we always remember that.
And may each of us —with love, with courage, with hope —keep telling the story.
After Mass, it was back to the hotel to board the bus and head to Rome’s airport, about 45 minutes away. (We were given a much-appreciated bag breakfast for the trip: a croissant, toast, jam, fruit, juice boxes and water.)
We arrived at the airport, exchanged lots of hugs, and then grabbed some luggage carts — which are FREE in Rome — and began the check-in process. It went fairly smoothly. We had to go through the usual security checks — again, without any problems. We got to our gate about an hour after we first stepped into the airport. Our flight departed at 12:45 pm — a loooong trip to Atlanta (about 11 hours), then a changeover for a one-hour flight to Orlando.
We got to explore a little of the Rome airport while we were waiting.
Father Ferdi enjoyed one last slice of pizza and a capuccino.
Something different: the young lady who sliced and served the pizza used scissors.
Eventually, we boarded our flight and were on our way.
We arrived in Atlanta around 5:15 pm ET, then had to walk and walk and walk to go through passport clearance (“What was the purpose of your trip?”) and get our luggage, then walk and walk and walk to drop off our bags again and go through TSA again. Thankfully, we had more than enough time. They started boarding our flight to Orlando at 7:30 pm. We left at 8:10, landed in Orlando at about 9:30. It took a while to collect our bags, grab an Uber and begin the drive to Apopka. We dropped off Father Ferdi at the rectory and we were back home, at long last, at 11.
What a day.
I’m afraid to calculate just how many hours I was awake — after getting up at 4 am Rome time and finallly walking through our front door at 11 pm Orlando time — but I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
I have to say: We were buoyed by Siobhain’s continual praying of the rosary — a practice she did every spare moment she had, in every line, on every bus ride. I have no doubt it helped keep all of us sane and safe.
In the next day or so, I’m going to pull together some final thoughts and tips for any pilgrims who may be planning a similar visit to The Eternal City for the Jubilee. It was an incredible experience, at a pivotal moment in our church’s history. I’ll never forget it.
God willing, I can do it again in 2033, for the next Extraordinary Jubilee, marking the 2,000th anniversary for Christ’s Resurrection.
I have lots of time to plan.
Meantime, life goes on. I have magazine essay due on Friday, a funeral at the parish on Saturday, and then Lent comes galloping along, with the Ash Wednesday marathon and, just after, my first parish mission of the season, in St. Augustine, Florida.
I’m going back to bed.
