The first time I went to Rome, I was a young newlywed. Now 25 years ago, my wife and I traveled to the Eternal City with nothing more than a backpack each, and a few reservations at cheap hostels. We were still college students and had no idea what we were doing. We’d never traveled internationally. Looking back, it’s clear to me now that we didn’t take nearly enough money and were probably flirting with disaster the entire time, and this was in the days before mobile phones worked in foreign countries so there was no easy way to figure things out. We were poor college students and didn’t even have a mobile phone to take if we’d wanted. Smart phones hadn’t been invented yet, so we had no email, digital map, online ticketing, or any of the other modern conveniences we take for granted these days. No, our lot was to wander around, lost, exploring, getting on random trains and hoping it was the right one, praying we would eventually make it home, hoping the museum might be open, or the restaurant we ducked into was good.
The whole trip was a glorious shamble. Completely unplanned and spontaneous, we had the time of our lives. This was before we became Catholic, so the churches were like museums to us. We had no idea that Holy Mass still took place in St. Peter’s, or that it had a side-chapel for the Blessed Sacrament, or that on Sunday the Pope would lead prayers outside in the Square. We were there for the history, the novelty of travel, and the spectacle of great art. Purely as tourists, though, it was an experience we’ll never forget.
I wrote last week about going with a group of high school students on a pilgrimage to Rome. This was the first time I’d been in Rome as a Catholic. The whole experience felt completely changed. We did many of the exact same things I had done decades before (the Eternal City never changes) – gelato, the Vatican Museum, the Pantheon, coffee – but the trip was distinctly different. We lingered in churches. We attended daily Mass. We stopped at sacred sites and prayed rosaries. I crawled up holy steps on my knees. The steps were worn from the knees of millions of pilgrims and, at the top, an Italian guard chastised us all for taking too long. The entire focus of the trip was different. It was less about indulging in the sights and sounds of a new place and more like a homecoming. We were a group of Catholics from St. Louis, halfway across the world, but were in Rome being introduced to our heritage.
We didn’t simply stare at the architecture and paintings for their cultural value. They were for us an adornment of beauty that induced devotion. We sought out relics and tombs, and approached the catacombs like a visit to a family cemetery. We paused and prayed at the tomb of St. Peter as if asking a friend back home to intercede for us. In the churches, we met the saints and martyrs we had so often read about and their physical presence felt like being in the company of brothers and sisters.
A tourist is probably happy going anywhere that’s unique and fun. It wouldn’t have mattered to me too much, those many years ago, if we’d gone to Paris instead of Rome. The experience would have felt very similar. We would have had a wonderful cultural experience in either place. But as a pilgrim, Rome is very different than Paris. Rome has its own saints and holy sites. Paris has its own. The two are not inter-changeable.
Tourism stays at the surface. As a tourist, I mostly want to have fun and relax. I might see a museum or two, go to a highly rated restaurant and try out a local specialty, see the sights, do some shopping. I appreciate being a tourist because I get a flavor for local culture. It’s a broadening experience. Often, though, it’s indulgent. When I go on vacation, I want to spend time doing things that are entertaining or relaxing. It’s my time to read a beach book and watch the kids play in the sand.
A pilgrimage goes much deeper. Pilgrims linger in holy places. They wait in silence. They seek out discomfort and give themselves over to prayer. The trip is less about themselves and all about seeking God. Pilgrims have a specific destination – they often desire to be at this shrine for this feast day. They even plan out how they’re going to get there (best if by foot, right?). They want to pray in specific churches and, when a Catholic enters a sacred space, it feels like home even if it’s on the other side of the world. Pilgrimage isn’t indulgent. It’s sacrificial.
During our time in Rome as pilgrims, I never once asked myself if I was missing anything touristy or not taking enough pictures. I wasn’t traveling to find myself, collect stories, or add a stamp to my passport. I was traveling in order to encounter God in the specificity of the lived experience of his Church on earth.
As an illustration of what I’m talking about, in every church we visited, we paused to chant something beautiful, something sacred and liturgical. Chant is made for those spaces, and churches come alive when they are filled with song. Churches aren’t made to be museums but active sites of worship. What I noticed is that, when our group entered a church, tourists would already be inside taking in the sights, marveling at the paintings and stonework, maybe reading the explanatory plaques or taking pictures. They were doing exactly what tourists ought to be doing, moving from painting to painting, searching out all the artwork of interest. But after we started singing, the phones would go back in pockets, the wandering stopped, people calmed down and paused. Everyone would experience the sacredness of the space, its beauty, its peace. Something precious unveiled, a divine presence.
If the act of a tourist is to observe and enjoy, the act of a pilgrim is to pray and participate.
If you have never made a pilgrimage, I highly encourage it. Either head to the cathedral nearest you for a big feast day, or a local shrine, or all the way to Rome. The destination matters, but it isn’t the whole point. A big part of pilgrimage is the journey it places us on. We go not to take a picture before heading back home but to join ourselves to the wider Church and allow God to speak to us in fresh ways. It’s an unforgettable experience, one that assures us Catholics that, anywhere we are, anywhere we travel, if God is with us then we are home.
