Echoes from the Jubilee of Hope
In his book Jesus a Pilgrimage, Fr. James Martin, SJ, wrote about how on a journey to the Holy Land, he and fellow Jesuit Fr. George "decided to aim for a pilgrimage as close as possible to a spiritual retreat.” They planned for a time to pray every morning before each travel, attend mass as part of their daily schedule, and have plenty of time to linger at places of contemplation.
At a recent Marian and Jubilee of Hope pilgrimage, there were 15 of us coming from nine different countries who endeavored to have a similar routine. We converged in Paris and culminated in the Eternal City of Rome to join in the celebrations of the Jubilee Holy Year.
The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops website states that 2025 is “the 2,025th anniversary of the incarnation of our Lord.” It is an "event of great spiritual, ecclesial, and social significance in the life of the Church." The concept of "Jubilee" has its origins in the Book of Leviticus.
In the slim book, Opening the Holy Door, Catholic speaker, writer, and podcaster, Joan Watson, admitted to having visited St. Peter’s Basilica many times but not having walked through the Holy Door, which she explains is different from any doors of the basilica. It remains “closed, bricked up from the inside.” It is only “open during Jubilees, special times of grace” that happen every 25 years.
At the start of the jubilee, the late Pope Francis invited “every individual, and all peoples and nations, to find the courage needed to walk through that door, to become pilgrims of hope, to silence the sounds of arms and overcome divisions.”
So, on a resplendent morning, hours before the sun kissed the horizon, we lined up, squeezed among pilgrims at Via di Porta Angelica, the fortified entrance that would lead us through security clearance and eventually to St. Peter’s.
St. Peter’s Basilica
Entering the Holy Door, consisting of 12 panels depicting events in the New Testament, is a solemn moment. The distraction of fellow pilgrims snapping pictures and the temptation to do the same were unavoidable. But I also thought of how we prepared through the sacraments of reconciliation and the Mass, and how we paused to pray the Creed and the Jubilee prayer at the door. There’s not much time to contemplate because one thinks of the throng of pilgrims waiting for their turn.
The time for reflection always came after the rituals. At St. Peter’s, it was at the tomb of St. John Paul II, by the Adoration Chapel, where I lit a candle and when I stopped by Michelangelo’s Pieta. Contemplating the revered oeuvre, I felt the same mysticism 26 years ago, the first time I was there as a young would-be mother. Despite the murmur of the crowd, I only felt calm from within.
St. Mary Major
So deep is my prayer for our country and for peace that after we entered the Holy Door of St. Mary Major, I wrote down in earnest my mass intentions and entreated at the Chapel of Salus Populo Romani (Protectress of the Roman People). Lofty as it sounds, but it was in front of the image of the Madonna and Child (believed to be the oldest Marian image in Rome), adjacent to the humble crypt of Pope Francis, where I knew my ardent prayers for peace would bear fruition. Maybe not soon, but at an appointed time, because as Scripture promises: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
St. John Lateran
The crowd had thinned when we entered the Holy Door of St. John Lateran, known as the “mother and head of all the churches of the city and the world.” At the right panel of the door is a visually arresting sculpture of the crucified Christ looking down on a subsumed figure of the Virgin Mother and baby Jesus, whose hands are pointed above. Inscribed are the words “Christus Heri Hodie Semper” (Christ, Yesterday, Today, Always).
I associated the image with an earlier poignant spiritual experience at Scala Santa, which, as tradition implies, houses the staircase in Pontius Pilate's praetorium, stained with the blood of Jesus. We ascended all 28 steps on our knees (I later read they’re made of marble encased in wood). Panting with every throbbing step, I glanced at fellow pilgrims and listened to the cadences of firm and wobbly knees struggling to climb one step at a time. They seemed like the shared sounds of sorrow, of harmony, of love, and of fidelity. As we reached the final step, a delightful scent filled the air. “It’s myrrh,” my friend Cindy whispered. My eyes blurred and my heart basked in thanksgiving—for the gift of faith, mercy, and life.
St. Paul’s Outside the Walls
The basilica farthest from Rome’s city center is St. Paul’s Outside the Walls, built to honor the martyrdom of St. Paul. After fulfilling the formalities at the Holy Door, we descended to pray where the sarcophagus of the beheaded apostle rests. The grandiose basilica has a sprawling cloister, an archaeological area, and a massive collection of precious art pieces.
I stopped by a bronze sculpture of people representing diverse backgrounds with a timely caption that reads: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some unknowingly entertained angels.” The Altar of the Conversion, on one hand, represents St. Paul’s “sudden and decisive conversion to a new life.” I prayed for those consumed with greed and who make corruption a way of life—that they would take inspiration from the life of St. Paul.
A message of hope
At the Pope’s Jubilee audience, we listened to his message, customarily delivered in Italian, through the English translation at the Vatican website. Pope Leo mentioned the “questions of the poor, the women, those who have been silenced or condemned.” From somber to hopeful, he said that “the church becomes a champion of humanity when she carries in her heart the echoes of the questions.” He enjoined us, the faithful, “to hope for what we do not yet see.”