A pilgrimage to Rome

I am a deeply happy chaplain. I've just returned from a four-day pilgrimage to Rome with 20 students, the other members of the Chaplaincy Team, a Catholic member of staff and one of our governors, Sister Moya O'Cleary. It was the second pilgrimage in as many years. Last year I was a little tentative with regard to praying (not personally I hasten to add, but with the group). I invited the students to worship events but emphasised rather too strongly that they should feel free to do their own thing at these times. This year I engaged in the new evangelisation with vim. We gathered in a corner of St Mary Major's and I read the account of the birth of Jesus and we prayed; we paused at a sculpture showing Christ's agony in the garden in the garden of the Passionist Generalate on the Celian Hill and I read a psalm; during our 40-minute wait in the queue outside St Peter's under a hot sun, I read the account of Jesus entrusting the keys of the kingdom of heaven to Peter; we went into the superb and welcoming San Lorenzo Centre for young people near the Vatican and adored the exposed Blessed Sacrament; and we all gathered for Mass at the Venerable English College in Rome. Everybody seemed glad to have the faith proposed to them in this way and to have the opportunity for quiet contemplation (though some of those who are not Catholics found the Mass rather "full on" - I should perhaps have explained more about it before we went in). I also know that the students had all sorts of conversations about the faith with other members of the Chaplaincy team as we walked along.

Everything was going swimmingly until the last evening, when it went swimmingly. As we began our long walk from the English College to the student hostels near Stazione Termini it began to drizzle and by the time we reached the Trevi Fountain, the rain was pouring down. Many of the students had not brought waterproofs (largely because I had not reminded them in the morning), I had not thought of a Plan B and was unclear what bus was going where, so we ploughed on along faceless modern streets, up a seemingly endless hill until we reached the station. Some of the lads had intended partying on their last night but retired exhausted to their bunks. One young woman remarked to me on the plane the following day that she had had to throw her pumps away: she could not have brought them through the security check because they contained more than 100g of water! By that time they had all forgiven me though. What a great joy it was to bear them company for those four days and to share my faith with them, if not my raincoat.