Margaret “Marga” Maranan gives us a first-hand experience of pilgrimage together with other Focolare youth of Lipa (Batangas) in the run-up to the Jubilee of Movements in Rome (Italy).
From the moment I arrived in Rome, I knew I wasn’t just stepping into a city, I was entering the heart of my faith. Every street, every pillar, every breath of the Eternal City carried centuries of prayer, suffering, and sanctity. As I visited one sacred site after another, I didn’t just witness history,I encountered it. Each basilica revealed a story, not only of the Church, but of how God continues to move in the lives of His people, and now, in mine.
Our pilgrimage began with a test of endurance. On our very first day, my feet already felt the weight of the journey. The cobblestone streets of Rome, although picturesque, were difficult to walk on, especially while pulling heavy luggage. I remember steering my suitcase to the far edge of the road, trying to find smoother pavement. But even in those moments of fatigue, I found grace in the selflessness of others. Co-pilgrims offered help without hesitation, pulling more than just their own burdens. It was in those simple, quiet gestures that I began to truly understand what it means to walk in communion.
Every time we checked Google Maps and saw the estimated walking time, we would joke, “Malapit lang.” (It’s near, just around the corner) Perhaps it was our way of coping with the long distances and the blazing Roman sun. At first, those walks felt daunting — each step seemed to stretch forever in the heat, especially with our tired bodies and aching feet. But over time, I started to treasure those long walks. They slowed us down, allowed conversations to bloom, and gave us the space to reflect and laugh together.
I found myself walking beside people I hadn’t spoken to much before, and suddenly discovering stories, struggles, and dreams that we shared. There was something sacred in walking together — something that made us more than just pilgrims; it made us companions. Those moments of laughter over “malapit lang,” and of checking in on each other, deepened our sense of family. In those long walks, relationships were built — genuine friendships rooted in shared purpose, patient understanding, and love that asked nothing in return.
Throughout the pilgrimage, acts of care filled each day. From cooking meals to helping the sick, doing laundry, or offering kind words, each small act was a prayer in itself. These were more than tasks — they were the threads that wove us together as one family. And in all of it, I felt Jesus walking with us.
Living together in one Airbnb made our sense of community even stronger. The space was not luxurious, but it was enough — and what it lacked in comfort, we filled with laughter, understanding, and shared responsibility. We took turns preparing food, setting the table, and cleaning up afterward. There was always someone washing the dishes, checking if everyone had eaten, or comforting someone who felt unwell. Late at night, we’d talk about our day, our reflections, or sometimes sit together in peaceful silence, simply enjoying the closeness of one another’s presence.
It was in those simple domestic moments that I witnessed the Gospel in action. We weren’t just co-travelers — we were a family, bound by more than just our itinerary. We carried one another, not just in words or logistics, but in real, everyday acts of love. And in that small Airbnb, I saw how sacred ordinary life could become when it’s lived with Jesus at the center.
On our first day in Rome, we began by visiting Castel Sant’Angelo, from where we had a clear and breathtaking view of St. Peter’s Basilica. From there, we walked slowly toward the basilica while praying the rosary together. That moment was filled with a deep sense of peace and reverence — each step brought us closer not just to a place, but to the heart of the Church. As we prayed, I felt something indescribable stir within me. The sound of our voices softly praying in unison, the breeze brushing against our faces, and the sight of St. Peter’s dome drawing nearer created a spiritual atmosphere that gave me goosebumps. It was as if heaven itself was walking with us.
One of the most powerful moments of that day was when we had the opportunity to tour the Vatican Museums and enter the Sistine Chapel. I had seen countless pictures of it before, but nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming experience of standing beneath Michelangelo’s masterpiece. The moment I walked in, I was struck with awe. The grandeur of the ceiling, the vivid colors, the stories told through the art — it was unlike anything I had ever seen. I stood there in silence, unable to speak, just taking it all in. Every detail, every brushstroke seemed to breathe the presence of God. It wasn’t just art — it was prayer made visible.
Being in that sacred space, where so many popes have prayed, where sacred decisions have been made, and where history has unfolded, I felt incredibly small yet so deeply connected to something eternal. I realized that I was standing in a place that has witnessed centuries of faith, a place where the Holy Spirit continues to move. In that silence, I prayed. I thanked God for bringing me to that moment, for allowing me to be part of this pilgrimage, and for letting me feel His presence so powerfully. That experience left a lasting imprint on my heart. It reminded me that God reveals Himself not only through scripture and prayer but also through beauty, through history, and through the faith that continues to live on in the Church.
Visiting the Jubilee Churches and holy sites in Rome deepened my reflection in ways I could never have imagined. At each site, two of us would present the history of the church, recount the lives of the saints, and invite us pilgrims to see beyond stone walls into the heart of the Church’s mission. With our Pilgrim’s booklet in hand, we prayed, learned, and walked through the living history of our faith.
Inside the awe-inspiring St. Peter’s Basilica, I was filled with wonder and gratitude. Beneath its magnificent dome, I felt the embrace of God’s love. Standing before the tomb of St. Peter reminded me of the courage and humility required to be the rock upon which Jesus built His Church. I was amazed to see the tombs of many popes, a testimony to centuries of faithful service. We were also privileged to attend Mass in one of the basilica’s chapels, where we unexpectedly met Bishop Bobet Mallari of Tarlac and other priests from the Philippines. That encounter made the church feel even more like home. I remember whispering prayers of thanksgiving, not just for the opportunity to be there, but for every single person who made that moment possible.
At the Basilica of St. Mary Major, the presence of Mary was deeply felt. Knowing this was one of the favorite churches of many pilgrims and popes alike, I entered with anticipation and reverence. The moment I stepped inside, I felt a motherly peace wrap around me. As I knelt before the altar, I thought of all the “yeses” Mary gave God without hesitation. I asked her to help me give my yes, too. There was something deeply comforting about being in a space so filled with grace and maternal warmth. It truly felt like a home where I was understood without saying a word.
This church is also where the late Pope Francis is buried. He chose to be laid to rest here because of his special devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, particularly under the title of Salus Populi Romani. It was to this image of Mary, housed in this very basilica, that he often came to pray before and after his apostolic journeys. His burial here is not just a mark of honor, but a testimony to a life lived in humble service and unwavering trust in Mary’s maternal care.
As I stood there, close to his resting place, I felt a deep connection to his life and legacy. Pope Francis was a man of simplicity, compassion, and mercy — and in this church that he loved so deeply, I understood why. He found in Mary the gentle strength and fidelity needed to walk with the Church through joyful and challenging times. In my heart, I whispered a prayer: to live with the same humility and courage, and to always seek Mary’s intercession as I continue my own journey of faith.
The Basilica of St. John Lateran took my breath away — not just because of its architecture, but because it is the mother of all churches. As I stepped inside, I felt an immense sense of belonging. This wasn’t just the Pope’s cathedral; it was mine, too. I thought about how this Church had witnessed so many beginnings, so many declarations of faith. And there I was, one small pilgrim among many, adding my prayer to the walls that had heard countless cries to heaven.
The Scala Santa — or Holy Stairs — was an emotional journey all its own. I climbed the stairs on my knees, step by step, with my thoughts racing and my heart overflowing. Each step was a prayer, not just for myself but for every intention that had been entrusted to me. I remembered the people who supported us, the prayers they asked us to bring. As my knees touched each worn marble step, I thought of Jesus ascending those same stairs, bearing so much pain out of love for us. Tears fell. Not of sadness, but of deep gratitude.
St. Ignatius of Loyola Church was a visual masterpiece, but what touched me most wasn’t its famous ceiling — it was a smaller chapel tucked quietly to the side. With Nessa and Mari, I sat before Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. We read the names and intentions given to us, one by one. Somewhere between prayer and silence, we all began to cry. It was overwhelming — in the best way. I felt the trust people had placed in us, and in that moment, I knew their prayers had reached heaven.
St. Sebastian Outside the Walls felt like a personal moment with God. As someone from the Parish of St. Sebastian in Lipa, it was deeply meaningful. The silence of the church felt sacred, like a blanket of peace. I sat in that stillness, feeling completely held by God. It wasn’t crowded, it wasn’t loud — it was simply holy.
At St. Paul Outside the Walls, I stood at the tomb of the Apostle to the Gentiles. His life of mission, of fearless proclamation, stirred my spirit. I prayed to be brave like Paul, to love the Gospel enough to give my life to it, in whatever way God asked. That day, I was honored to present the history of the church alongside Kuya Jim, which deepened my connection to the place even more.
These churches weren’t just beautiful buildings, they were windows into heaven. Each one gave me a glimpse of God’s story, not just in the Church, but in my life. In them, I met the saints, but I also met myself — my hopes, my fears, my prayers, and my deep desire to live for something greater.
But the most unforgettable moment in Rome was attending the Pentecost Vigil on Saturday and the Holy Mass on Sunday with Pope Leo XIV.
The afternoon of the Vigil was filled with anticipation. Seeing Pope Leo in person felt surreal. His presence carried a peace I cannot explain. His homily wasn’t just heard — it was felt. I remember listening, thinking, “These words are not only for the Church — they are for me.” That evening, I felt a divine reassurance: I was exactly where I was meant to be.
The next day, I nearly missed the Mass. I had returned to our Airbnb to fetch some things we needed, and by the time I got back, the line to enter St. Peter’s Square was long. Renz and I waited patiently, hoping we could make it in. Ate Mary Ann had messaged that Pope Leo’s motorcade would soon pass their side of the barricade. I prayed hard.
To my surprise, the line moved quickly. We entered just in time — but we couldn’t reach our group because the gate had already closed. We stayed near the barricade, unsure if we’d get a clear view. Then, Pope Leo’s vehicle passed right in front of us.
I was so overwhelmed with joy. Because I’m small, Kuya Renz carried me and said, “Marga, kalungin kita para makita mo lalo.” (Marga, I’ll carry you on my shoulders so that you can see better) In that moment, I felt like a child being carried not just physically, but spiritually. I couldn’t contain my happiness. From almost missing the Mass to seeing the Pope so close, I knew this was God’s grace in action. That day, I received not only a blessing, but a deeper strength to keep walking in faith.
Margaret Maranan
