Dear Family, Friends, and readers,
Praise God! With much patient endurance, we finally arrived at the tomb of Saint James at 7:30pm local time on Wednesday, July 3rd, which was the feast of a fellow apostle, Saint Thomas. Thirty-three days of walking (and one day of rest) came to their end as the golden beams of sunlight struck the impressive edifice. A bagpiper street performer, catching sight of our backpacks, changed his theme to provide an epic soundtrack for this epic ending to our journey, as we descended the steps into the main piazza. I am immensely grateful to you, my spiritual benefactors, for praying us there! Our last day was especially hot and difficult, covering 40K under the same sun, which made us even more grateful for the arrival.
We caught the tail end of the 7:30pm Mass that evening and brought your prayers and intentions to the tomb of the saint who spread the Gospel to the end of the known world.
After a good night's sleep, we went to the pilgrims' office the morning of the 4th to receive our "Compostela" which is a document in latin, the official language of the Church, issued by the Cathedral, to officially declare that we have arrived as pilgrims to the tomb of Saint James and have devoutly visited the Church with a religious reason, a "pietatis causa."
The scene was of great joy throughout the entire city as pilgrims reconnected after days, or even weeks of not seeing each other. Just as we met up with a Hungarian pilgrim who had just arrived after two months of walking from Le Puy, France, a group of Russian tourists approached us out of curiosity, desiring to see our compostela. They did not know all the struggles we had been through, but they had immense respect, or at least curiosity for these oddities in the modern world, that is, us, the pilgrims, who decide to take a month out of their life to walk to the tomb of a saint. Flashes went off left and right. The only thing that was missing was the red carpet.
At noon that day, we attended the Pilgrim Mass, which brought to end in a very fitting way the pilgrimage. More on that in the next post...
With much gratitude again!
Pax et Bonum,
Paul
Paul Inside the Walls
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Camino of Santiago-- Part 1: No Room in the Inn
After many weeks of silence ¨Inside the Walls¨ without a post, Rome lives on as a fond memory with many blessings received and many fine people who have shaped my character. Now, however, two weeks and 233 miles into the Camino of Santiago, I offer a small reflection on The Way, an ancient pilgrimage path to the tomb of St. James in Santiago, Spain.
Walking between 20 and 30 kilometers each day, I have met people from all over the world walking the Way for a variety of reasons. In many ways, it has been refreshing to have all of my posessions on my back, with no worries except where to sleep in the evening. In a sense, it has been two weeks of voluntary homelessness. This chosen poverty makes everyone open with their fellow pilgrims because, except for a few clothes and water bottles in the backpack, you have nothing to give the other except yourself and a testament of your own life. Without wasting any time discussing niceties or the weather, people get right to business: ¨Why are you on the Camino?¨ What follows is anything but ordinary. Some deep conversations have been had over juice boxes and plastic-wrapped croissants.
Patience has also been a forced lesson in the Camino. You have the destination of Santiago 790km ahead of you, but you can only cover 30 kilometers in a day, so needless to day the journey becomes more important than the destination. One take-away has been that good things are worth the time and the struggle to achieve them, even if the daily effort only seems to chip away at the rock with the appearance of no statue taking form.
The forced slowing down has also taught me to slow down and see the beauty in the present, whether it is the person across the table from me or the vast fields of wheat that roll off into the horizon. The Spanish cafe culture has helped in that regard, too!
In a most striking way, and in a way that cannot be replicated in one´s ordinary life, the Camino is a school in trust in Divine Providence. You are vulnerable when you are by yourself with nothing but a backpack on your back, yet you see in your weakness how the Lord provides for your needs, though it often comes in ways you least expect. On one pariticular occasion, my friend and I found ourselves in the pouring rain, weak and blistered from the 20 kilometers covered that day, with no room to stay in the pilgrim hostel. The church was locked, so we slipped into a tiny bar to warm up. When we had mustered up the courage to bite the bullet and trek on another 11 kilometers, we stepped outside to find that the rain had stopped. The rest of the walk passed through beautiful countryide overlooking vineyard upon vineyard, framed by majestic mountains in the backgroud. It was just the consolation we needed after a menacing thunderstorm had sunken our spirits. Upon entering our destination town, we slipped in a local church, where sisters were praying vespers, and a local elderly woman greeted us with charity; though we understood little of what she said, we received much love from her. When we arrived at the hostel, out of 92 beds, there were two beds left, just for us! We had Someone watching over us that day.
Sometimes it takes going halfway across the world to discover God in the ordinary life.
Please continue your prayers for my companion, John, and me, that we may persevere in the daily struggle. Be assured of our prayers for you, too!
Walking between 20 and 30 kilometers each day, I have met people from all over the world walking the Way for a variety of reasons. In many ways, it has been refreshing to have all of my posessions on my back, with no worries except where to sleep in the evening. In a sense, it has been two weeks of voluntary homelessness. This chosen poverty makes everyone open with their fellow pilgrims because, except for a few clothes and water bottles in the backpack, you have nothing to give the other except yourself and a testament of your own life. Without wasting any time discussing niceties or the weather, people get right to business: ¨Why are you on the Camino?¨ What follows is anything but ordinary. Some deep conversations have been had over juice boxes and plastic-wrapped croissants.
Patience has also been a forced lesson in the Camino. You have the destination of Santiago 790km ahead of you, but you can only cover 30 kilometers in a day, so needless to day the journey becomes more important than the destination. One take-away has been that good things are worth the time and the struggle to achieve them, even if the daily effort only seems to chip away at the rock with the appearance of no statue taking form.
The forced slowing down has also taught me to slow down and see the beauty in the present, whether it is the person across the table from me or the vast fields of wheat that roll off into the horizon. The Spanish cafe culture has helped in that regard, too!
In a most striking way, and in a way that cannot be replicated in one´s ordinary life, the Camino is a school in trust in Divine Providence. You are vulnerable when you are by yourself with nothing but a backpack on your back, yet you see in your weakness how the Lord provides for your needs, though it often comes in ways you least expect. On one pariticular occasion, my friend and I found ourselves in the pouring rain, weak and blistered from the 20 kilometers covered that day, with no room to stay in the pilgrim hostel. The church was locked, so we slipped into a tiny bar to warm up. When we had mustered up the courage to bite the bullet and trek on another 11 kilometers, we stepped outside to find that the rain had stopped. The rest of the walk passed through beautiful countryide overlooking vineyard upon vineyard, framed by majestic mountains in the backgroud. It was just the consolation we needed after a menacing thunderstorm had sunken our spirits. Upon entering our destination town, we slipped in a local church, where sisters were praying vespers, and a local elderly woman greeted us with charity; though we understood little of what she said, we received much love from her. When we arrived at the hostel, out of 92 beds, there were two beds left, just for us! We had Someone watching over us that day.
Sometimes it takes going halfway across the world to discover God in the ordinary life.
Please continue your prayers for my companion, John, and me, that we may persevere in the daily struggle. Be assured of our prayers for you, too!
Sunday, March 31, 2013
One Day, Seven Churches, by Foot
On Wednesday of Holy Week, a group of roughly thirty Bernardians visited seven churches, covering 15.8 miles in one day. That is a full 25.4 kilometers! While pilgrims have been flocking to Rome to visit St. Peter and the saints for nearly two millennia, this particular practice of the seven churches--the four major basilicas and three minor-- was started by St. Philip Neri in the 16th century. During Holy Years, there are special graces associated with visiting the churches, but 2013 not being a Holy Year did not stop us.
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| S. Maria Maggiore |
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| High altar bedecked with relics. Silver reliquary in confessio below holds relic of the crib. |
After some time of quiet prayer venerating the relic of the crib of Jesus, we grabbed a not-so-hearty Italian breakfast of pastries, and made our way to stop number two: San Lorenzo fuori le Mura, which, as the name suggests, means leaving the walls and the safety of the old city of Rome. Thankfully, Atilla the Hun was not there to greet us, although his minions live on in the form of Roman traffic.
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| San Lorenzo Fuori le Mura |
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| San Lorenzo Fuori le Mura |
The altar below contains relics of three major martyrs: St. Lawrence, St. Stephen, and St. Justin Martyr.
One unique aspect to this church was the rather extensive lower level below the sanctuary, which contained some impressive mosaics and the tomb of Pope Pius IX.
Snaking our way through a not-so-eternal part of the Eternal City, we found ourselves at the third stop: Santa Croce in Gerusalemme.
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| Santa Croce in Gerusalemme |
St. Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine, brought over dirt from the Holy Land for this Church's foundation, hence the name. It houses perhaps the greatest collection of relics of Christ's Passion, including a relic of the True Cross, two spines from the Crown of Thorns, one of the nails of crucifixion, and the plaque with "Jesus Christ, King of the Jews" written in three languages. There are also the crossbeam of the good thief's cross, and an index finger bone, thought to be of St. Thomas, the finger that touched Christ's resurrected body. Even in a chapel dedicated to the suffering of Christ, the Church cannot help but include reminders of Christ's resurrection. The crucifixion and resurrection are inextricably linked.
Just down the street, we found our fourth stop, St. John Lateran, the one and only Cathedral in Rome and the former home of the Popes before they moved to the Vatican proper. Notable here is the high altar, which contains the heads of Sts. Peter and Paul.
Without the coach buses of tour groups pouring into the Lateran, it made for an enjoyable experience. We settled into a side aisle, knelt down, and prayed the Holy Rosary, imploring Mary's help as we neared the halfway point of our day.
The story of Helena and Constantine continues down the street from S. Croce to the ancient Baptistry of St. John Lateran, where Constantine was washed with the cleansing waters of Baptism and welcomed into the Church. Photos simply do not do the building justice, but below is a taste.
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| Note the font below the octagonal structure and the fresco on the back wall depicting Constantine's conversion |
Lunch time! We split up into groups, as 30 people descending upon any one of the tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants of Rome would be nothing short of cruelty. I picked up pizza to go, found a fresh fruit market around the corner, grabbed a blood orange and a handful of on-the-vine cherry tomatoes, still smelling of the countryside from which they came, and had a veritable picnic in the park.
After lunch came a long trek out to San Sebastiano, by means of the Via Appia Antiqua. Before arriving, we stopped in the Chiesa Domine Quo Vadis, built on the spot where Christ appeared to St. Peter. Tradition holds that as St. Peter was fleeing the persecutions of Christians in Rome, Christ appeared to him, inspiring him to return to Rome to his martyrdom.
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| Fresco of Crucifixion of Peter inside the Chiesa del Domine Quo Vadis |
There was no time to reflect on the great men who had walked that road before us; our pilgrimage to S. Sebastiano required every ounce of our concentration as we squeezed between the stone walls of antiquity and Roman drivers shooting down the buckled road toward us at lightning speed.
San Sebastiano at last.
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| St. Sebastian's tomb. |
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| The original footprints of Christ, along with many relics. |
With daytime prayer having been prayed, we headed off to our penultimate pilgrimage stop: San Paolo Fuori le Mura. The current structure is a 19th century reconstruction of the original edifice after a fire destroyed most of the original church, although the high altar canopy and a wooden medieval crucifix did survive. Quite a distance outside the historic center of Rome, as we learned firsthand, St. Paul's offers pilgrims a quiet place to pray at the tomb of one of the Church's greatest missionaries.
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| Altar of the Conversion of St. Paul |
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| Apse Mosaic |
Last stop: St. Peter's. You know you are settling in to Rome when you feel like coming home to St. Peter's, which was exactly our experience. Despite the temptations to rush back for 7pm dinner back at our community, we braved the security lines, entered the living Rock of Peter, found a side chapel, and prayed Evening Prayer.
As the sun had run its course, so we had walked ours in the footsteps of many saints and simple Christians like ourselves striving towards holiness. May they lead us to Christ, the Way, the Truth and the Life.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Fumata Bianca...Habemus Papam!
Habemus Papam! Let us give thanks to the good Lord for giving us a
shepherd to guide the flock and pray that the Holy Spirit may guide the
Servant of the Servants of the Lord.
Last Wednesday, our day began with a Novus Ordo Latin Mass at the Tomb of Blessed John Paul II to ask for his intercession in the conclave. You know it is a good day when Mass at his tomb gets overshadowed by something even better!
My community was together in the square for the moment. Wednesday being our usual community night of prayer, we arrived together at the Square at 5:30pm to find a sea of umbrellas. Once settled, our Chaplain, Fr. Joseph Carola, SJ led us in Vespers and the Rosary offered for all the Cardinals in Conclave. Though we were just a couple hundred yards from the very men who were casting their ballots, we felt universes away as we patiently waited for the smoke, eager to see anything, black or white--though we all had a strong preference this time around. The system for alerting the world, simple in theory, is both mysterious and pseudo-liturgical to the curious 21st century mind, which is perhaps why so few people will stroll down the street to get to an "ordinary" Sunday Mass, yet hundreds of thousands will drop everything and run across the city of Rome, all because of a few whiffs of smoke that rise in triumph out of a little stack.
When that smoke came, it came. And it was white. At the sign, the tens of thousands who had already gathered in the square charged to the front of the barricades as though a general had just sent his orders to prepare for battle. I can tell you, these troops did not need to be told twice! Spotting my group was relatively easy, since we had the American and Vatican flags attached to 15 foot flag poles, but sticking with them was another matter altogether.
I quickly found myself detached from the main contingent of Bernardians, but still with a cluster. So there we were, suddenly shoulder to shoulder and at times pushed front to back until the excess air was pushed out of us, as if a giant man was trying to shove bubble wrap inside a box that was too small for all the contents. Someone has to pop! Discomfort aside, here we were, next to complete strangers from all different countries throughout the world, yet we were united by our love for Jesus Christ and His Church, and our unconditional love for the successor of Peter, whoever it would be. This is a bond that no political borders can divide.
Still awaiting the announcement of who the next Pope would be, my group offered another Rosary for him. Then, we caught our breath and took in the size of the crowd. There were some little Italian ladies to my right, some American college students in Rome for spring break in front of me, and a young woman from Latin America to my left, along with a few of my community members. In her broken english, she was able to share, using words interspersed with tears of joy, her gratitude for being in Rome at this time, a series of her events well beyond anyone's control. Singing, cheering, and chants broke forth as a general feeling of true joy flooded the square. The rain would not dampen our spirits.
Many minutes after the massive bells of St. Peter's rang out the news to the city and the world, a cardinal stepped out onto the loggia, the balcony specially prepared with regal red drapery for this event, to announce the Pope. All of you following on Television and the internet had a clear advantage over us, who could barely hear over the excitement of the crowd. Individuals around me caught bits and pieces of the official Latin declaration, and together we caught Ärgentina" and Francesco, but we were not sure if Francesco was his legal name or the name of our next Pope. We turned to each other with furrowed brows and puzzled looks, yet with a glimmer in our eyes, knowing once again how futile the media is in predicting who the Pope would be. Cardinals-1, Media-0. A surprise? You bet. To be expected? Of course.
Like children waiting to rush downstairs on Christmas morning to open presents, the crowd fixed its eyes to the white curtain of the loggia, eager to keep the lamps trimmed and burning for when their new shepherd would come to the wedding feast. At any slight rustle of the curtain, the crowd would sharply inhale Ahhhh!", then sharply tell others to quiet down in case that was the moment. Lights turned on behind the curtain, and the tension mounted. The drapes were drawn back, doors opened, and the cheers began. By now, out of respect for some of the vertically-challenged Romans, all the flags were stowed away and umbrellas lowered, so everyone would have a fair shot to catch the world's first glace of Pope Francis.
There he was, in all white, a small, but mighty figure. Shyly, he rose his right hand to greet the crowd, which was more than enough to make us all erupt in excitement. With my broken Italian, I was not able to understand his entire greeting message, but I sure understood his first six words: "Cari fratelli e sorelle, buona sera!" The Italians loved that simplicity, and all of us gathered this man's humility for starting such a significant moment with such ease, in a familiar way. We all prayed for Pope Emeritus Benedict. Before the blessing, Pope Francis asked all of the people of Rome to pray for him. At this point, with hundreds of thousands of people still in disbelief that the New Holy Father was there before their eyes, at his simple request the cheering stopped and you could hear a pin drop.
Nearly as quickly as he had come, he turned back in to the Vatican complex, the curtains closed, and in he went to prepare for the rebuilding of the Church.
Last Wednesday, our day began with a Novus Ordo Latin Mass at the Tomb of Blessed John Paul II to ask for his intercession in the conclave. You know it is a good day when Mass at his tomb gets overshadowed by something even better!
My community was together in the square for the moment. Wednesday being our usual community night of prayer, we arrived together at the Square at 5:30pm to find a sea of umbrellas. Once settled, our Chaplain, Fr. Joseph Carola, SJ led us in Vespers and the Rosary offered for all the Cardinals in Conclave. Though we were just a couple hundred yards from the very men who were casting their ballots, we felt universes away as we patiently waited for the smoke, eager to see anything, black or white--though we all had a strong preference this time around. The system for alerting the world, simple in theory, is both mysterious and pseudo-liturgical to the curious 21st century mind, which is perhaps why so few people will stroll down the street to get to an "ordinary" Sunday Mass, yet hundreds of thousands will drop everything and run across the city of Rome, all because of a few whiffs of smoke that rise in triumph out of a little stack.
When that smoke came, it came. And it was white. At the sign, the tens of thousands who had already gathered in the square charged to the front of the barricades as though a general had just sent his orders to prepare for battle. I can tell you, these troops did not need to be told twice! Spotting my group was relatively easy, since we had the American and Vatican flags attached to 15 foot flag poles, but sticking with them was another matter altogether.
I quickly found myself detached from the main contingent of Bernardians, but still with a cluster. So there we were, suddenly shoulder to shoulder and at times pushed front to back until the excess air was pushed out of us, as if a giant man was trying to shove bubble wrap inside a box that was too small for all the contents. Someone has to pop! Discomfort aside, here we were, next to complete strangers from all different countries throughout the world, yet we were united by our love for Jesus Christ and His Church, and our unconditional love for the successor of Peter, whoever it would be. This is a bond that no political borders can divide.
Still awaiting the announcement of who the next Pope would be, my group offered another Rosary for him. Then, we caught our breath and took in the size of the crowd. There were some little Italian ladies to my right, some American college students in Rome for spring break in front of me, and a young woman from Latin America to my left, along with a few of my community members. In her broken english, she was able to share, using words interspersed with tears of joy, her gratitude for being in Rome at this time, a series of her events well beyond anyone's control. Singing, cheering, and chants broke forth as a general feeling of true joy flooded the square. The rain would not dampen our spirits.
Many minutes after the massive bells of St. Peter's rang out the news to the city and the world, a cardinal stepped out onto the loggia, the balcony specially prepared with regal red drapery for this event, to announce the Pope. All of you following on Television and the internet had a clear advantage over us, who could barely hear over the excitement of the crowd. Individuals around me caught bits and pieces of the official Latin declaration, and together we caught Ärgentina" and Francesco, but we were not sure if Francesco was his legal name or the name of our next Pope. We turned to each other with furrowed brows and puzzled looks, yet with a glimmer in our eyes, knowing once again how futile the media is in predicting who the Pope would be. Cardinals-1, Media-0. A surprise? You bet. To be expected? Of course.
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| Swiss Guards in formation after triumphal procession to greet the new Pope |
Like children waiting to rush downstairs on Christmas morning to open presents, the crowd fixed its eyes to the white curtain of the loggia, eager to keep the lamps trimmed and burning for when their new shepherd would come to the wedding feast. At any slight rustle of the curtain, the crowd would sharply inhale Ahhhh!", then sharply tell others to quiet down in case that was the moment. Lights turned on behind the curtain, and the tension mounted. The drapes were drawn back, doors opened, and the cheers began. By now, out of respect for some of the vertically-challenged Romans, all the flags were stowed away and umbrellas lowered, so everyone would have a fair shot to catch the world's first glace of Pope Francis.
There he was, in all white, a small, but mighty figure. Shyly, he rose his right hand to greet the crowd, which was more than enough to make us all erupt in excitement. With my broken Italian, I was not able to understand his entire greeting message, but I sure understood his first six words: "Cari fratelli e sorelle, buona sera!" The Italians loved that simplicity, and all of us gathered this man's humility for starting such a significant moment with such ease, in a familiar way. We all prayed for Pope Emeritus Benedict. Before the blessing, Pope Francis asked all of the people of Rome to pray for him. At this point, with hundreds of thousands of people still in disbelief that the New Holy Father was there before their eyes, at his simple request the cheering stopped and you could hear a pin drop.
Nearly as quickly as he had come, he turned back in to the Vatican complex, the curtains closed, and in he went to prepare for the rebuilding of the Church.
Conclave Opening Mass...Fumata Nera
Tuesday morning, my community made its way to St. Peter's for the Conclave opening Mass. We have gotten to be pros at Square waiting by now. Praying the Psalms of Lauds while waiting in line, I came across the verse, "I will sing to you, O Lord; I will learn from you the way of perfection." Just then, as my lips uttered the words, the gates opened and people flooded into the Basilica, as if the Lord was saying, "Yes let me lead you in."
Once inside, I found myself next to a couple of pilgrims from Bavaria who had planned their trip months ago intending to visit Pope Benedict, and there they were, in Rome, without a Holy Father. As Providence would have it, there are many such people who found themselves here at this historical time in the Church on spring break trips or parish pilgrimages that were planned long before Pope Benedict announced his resignation on February 11th. Half an hour before Mass, the tens of thousands of pilgrims in the Basilica recited the Rosary together in the Church's mother language, Latin.
Then the Introit Chants began, but unlike the Ash Wednesday Mass, Pope Benedict was not to be found anywhere in the procession. Although we know the Mass is never for the Pope's sake, his real absence from that Mass was palpable that day. With all the Cardinals in attendance, the universality of the Church was apparent, as was the variety of expressions on the Cardinals' faces. Some sealed in prayerful reverence, others tensed up by the burden, still others, smiling and waving to the faithful. Out of one of these men, Christ will call one to be the next Rock of Peter, I thought. Most likely, one of my classmates remarked afterwards, not one of them ever expected to be in his position right now, and would probably much rather be a regular parish priest in his home diocese, but the Lord has called him to sacrifice his will for the sake of the Church. So there he is, with the real possibility that his life will forever change.
Mass continued with the Latin Canon, the Missa De Angelis familiar to all, the transcendent polyphony all contributing to a foretaste of the Heavenly Jerusalem on Earth. Cardinal Sodano preached the sermon in Italian, which may be found in English here: http://www.news.va/en/news/homily-of-cardinal-angelo-sodano
In the evening, I went to see the smoke rise after the first round of voting. Black smoke. That recalibrated my smoke color palette, which was important, because you would be surprised how quickly nearly two decades of experience telling white from black can fly to the wind when the stakes are so high!
Monday, March 11, 2013
Benedict XVI Photos (and a familiar but less known face)
For your edification and reflection, here is a link to a slideshow of Pope Emeritus Benedict's final days of his Pontificate. You might even recognize someone in the first picture! More background and reflection to follow.
Greetings from Rome!
Hi everyone!
Blessings to all. I begin this blog in media res, having been here in the Eternal City for a month and a half through the Catholic Studies program at the University of St. Thomas in Minnesota. After the sudden announcement of His Holiness Benedict XVI's resignation from the Papacy, I have felt called to be a voice for those back home as the key events develop, especially the passing on of the keys. So, I write this blog, not because I want to publish to the world wide web, but because the Lord wants me to. In the interest of sharing graces received, and hoping to act as your eyes and ears, here it goes!
I take inspiration for this blog from St. John, who, all the while witnessing Jesus on the Cross, was there in silent contemplation, knowing that he would be asked to write about it later. Pray that I may have open eyes and an open heart to see reality and share it with you. On this eve of the opening of the Papal Conclave, let us pray for the Cardinal-Electors, that they may be guided by the Holy Spirit to select a courageous and faithful successor to Peter, the Rock.
St. Michael, Pray for us.
St. John, Pray for us.
St. Paul, Pray for us.
St. Peter, Pray for us.
Blessings to all. I begin this blog in media res, having been here in the Eternal City for a month and a half through the Catholic Studies program at the University of St. Thomas in Minnesota. After the sudden announcement of His Holiness Benedict XVI's resignation from the Papacy, I have felt called to be a voice for those back home as the key events develop, especially the passing on of the keys. So, I write this blog, not because I want to publish to the world wide web, but because the Lord wants me to. In the interest of sharing graces received, and hoping to act as your eyes and ears, here it goes!
I take inspiration for this blog from St. John, who, all the while witnessing Jesus on the Cross, was there in silent contemplation, knowing that he would be asked to write about it later. Pray that I may have open eyes and an open heart to see reality and share it with you. On this eve of the opening of the Papal Conclave, let us pray for the Cardinal-Electors, that they may be guided by the Holy Spirit to select a courageous and faithful successor to Peter, the Rock.
St. Michael, Pray for us.
St. John, Pray for us.
St. Paul, Pray for us.
St. Peter, Pray for us.
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| A classmate and I stopped by Gammarelli's on the way back from school last week to see the three cassocks prepared for the next Holy Father. After all, being the Pope isn't a one-size-fits-all job. |
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