Day 5 Reflection- Jordi

Day 5: 

Hook: When was the last time you felt true anger? When was the last time you felt your anger against another was justified and even respectable? Today, I feel victim to such feelings. If not for our time crunch, I can honestly say that I might have exploded. 

Long and boring summary of our day: Today was probably my favorite day of the pilgrimage. My apartment started the day early with a great breakfast of eggs (shoutout to Basil) followed by, of course, a quick stop at an Italian coffeehouse. We saw the Pope up close today, attending a papal audience where Pope Francis spoke beautifully and blessed all 1,846,240 of John’s rosaries along with whatever the rest of us brought. Next we took a long and leisurely lunch and gelato break, slowly working our way though the Coliseum and St. John Lateran’s baptistry all the way to Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. Here, where many relics of Jesus; passion are displayed, we spent a quick hour before crossing the city again in order to make the Laser Lights Show (as Father Johnson called it) at the Church of the Gesu. If you chose to come this, go for the breathtaking illumination of the paintings on the ceiling and the incredible statues rather than the lasers. There is a noticeable lack of lasers. Father Johnson lied. Do not trust that man. After that betrayal, we toured the apartments of some obscure saint from Loyola named Ignatius. Father Johnson seemed awfully excited about this guy for some reason. On a more serious note, the mass we celebrated in the room where Saint Ignatius worked and died was one of the most beautiful and intimate experiences I’ve had with God and the community shared at the following dinner made me truly thankful for my school and the Jesuits, even Father Johnson. 

Story of how why I got angry: Knowing we only had one hour, I fast walked into the Basilica of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme not knowing what to expect. As I first stepped in I was hit by a new feeling for this retreat. Uneasiness. Saint Paul Outside the Walls was serene. Santa Maria Maggiore was warm. Saint John Lateran and Saint Peter’s Basilica were breathtaking. Santa Croce was none of those. I realized it was the relics. I couldn’t face Jesus’ cross as I was. I couldn’t even look upon the thorns that pierced His head knowing all the mistakes I had made. I didn’t deserve to be so close to the nails put though Jesus sacred flesh if it was only a matter of time before I let him down again. Rather than immediately dash to the relics of the passion, I spent close to forty five minutes preparing myself. It took forty five minutes, but I accepted that I had to trust in Gods love. I was weak and I would fall, but God would help me up as many times as He had to. And always with a warm smile. 

Now was the time for the mad dash to the chapel that held some of the Church’s most precious relics. First, I looked. Then, I knelt, ready to pray and for a couple minutes, there was silence. After a couple minutes, a barely audible rumble came from the church. It grew louder and louder until I finally broke concentration and turned around. There stood an army. Their general, a stocky middle aged woman, marched their ranks into our peaceful chapel, babbling about the importance of the site in some foreign language through her transmitter. Her chatty soldiers loudly strode in past the signs reading ‘Silence,’ ‘No Phones,’ and ‘Be Reverent’ with iPhones in hand, videotaping of their surroundings, and photographing every inch of the shrine. You could say I was a little displeased. This was my time with God. I worked and prayed for this moment, and these tourists were treating it like if it were Disneyland. I was getting ready to throw a fit. If Jesus was allowed to flip tables at the temple, I can totally chew out a couple tourists. My anger is justified, right? 

Story of why I felt guilty about being angry: At mass, the more I thought about how justified and holy I was for wanting to yell at a couple of tourists, the more I thought about an old man I (sort of literally) ran into at the Papal Address. Before the address, the Pope drives around on top of the Pope mobile. If you’re near the front or a side, you can get within a meter of the Pope. THE POPE. Starting around the twenty fifth row in our section, we Strake Jesuit pilgrims charged to the front, willing to do whatever it took to get near the Pope. We evaded old ladies, dodged lost children, and hurdled nuns. We got to around the third or fourth row, where even being tall, I would only be able to partially see Pope Francis. Accidentally bumping into something, I turn to the sight of a tiny, wrinkly old man rubbing his nose. He looks at me in the eyes and struggles to stand up out of his chair, talking loudly in Italian pointing at me and his chair. Halfway though my apology in broken Italian, I realize he was never angry at me. The little man wanted me to stand on his seat so that I could see better. Helping me up, he put my hand on his shoulder so that I was more stable. Truly, I had an incredible view of the Pope. Why? Because a stranger chose to give up his great seat and view for some American teenager pushing past all those people who bothered to show up earlier than him. I was like the tourists and instead of chewing me out, as he had every right to, the old man chose to love me. I hope I develop the wisdom and selflessness to follow in his example someday. 

Jordi