We came to seek others

RIO DE JANEIRO – 21 TO 31 JULY 2013

I still remember the summer of 2013, when a group of 26 near-strangers got together at the parish of Sant Mateu to set off for Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil, to live the WYD being held there and to accompany the Holy Father during those days at the gathering of young Catholics from all over the world.

To set the scene a little: in September 2012 the parish got a new parish priest and, little by little, over that year we formed a youth club for children and young people. There were no more than 15 of us (of very different ages, from 12 to 35) when we started thinking about crossing the ocean to join this gathering of young people. It was madness to consider it at that late stage, because time was against us and there were lots of preparations to make. Even so, we trusted that the money and the arrangements would work out and, before we knew it, it was 21 July and we were at the sending-off Mass, where they hung the cross of Jesus around our necks so that we would keep him in mind throughout the journey, and we were heading off to the airport to catch the plane.

The first stop on the journey was Fátima. We reached the Portuguese town late at night and, after greeting Our Lady, we went to get some rest. We spent one more day there, learning the story of the three little shepherds and visiting the place where the angel appeared to them, without really being aware of the magnitude of such an extraordinary event. After this encounter with Our Lady, who at that time was our guide and point of reference, we caught a flight that took us to Charlotte, where we had a long layover and were able to visit the American city and celebrate Mass. From there we caught a second flight that took us to none other than Rio de Janeiro. How many times we had looked forward to it in the months before, and how excited we all were!

I remember that day perfectly, because it was probably the longest day of my life, the first time I had been awake for more than 24 hours straight. We got off the plane, collected our suitcases from the baggage carousel and, as we went through the airport doors, I realised that in the city of the sun, where I imagined it was always summer, it was pouring with rain. Not once had we stopped to think that it was the rainy season on that continent, and we had only brought summer clothes!

That week we went everywhere the Holy Father went: we went to welcome him on the Wednesday and, after waiting for at least two hours, putting up with the elbowing and shoving of other young people who were just as impatient as we were to see the Holy Father, a group of young people in front of us stepped aside so that the youngest of us could stand in the front row at the barrier. It was a hugely generous act, like so many of the gestures that stayed with us throughout those days: the welcome of some nuns who gave us breakfast and lent us warm clothes, the space in a sports centre that a group of young people let us use, and all the selfless donations that people we didn’t know had made so that the trip could go ahead.

On 26 July we went up to Christ of Corcovado. It was unthinkable to go to Rio, cross the whole ocean and not visit the monument that best represents the city. It was a powerful experience. The bus dropped us at the foot of the mountain, with a very steep street lined with favelas ahead of us. But every effort and every sacrifice has its reward: once at the top, the views were spectacular and, at the feet of Christ the Redeemer, as it was starting to get cool and dark, we came down the mountain praying the rosary.

At last the day of the vigil arrived. In the morning we found a spot on Copacabana beach and, between songs, games of cards and times of prayer, we passed the time until the Holy Father arrived. All around me was an immense crowd, pushing and shouting. My bare feet moved strategically so that nobody would tread on them because, in the rush and excitement, I had come out without shoes. Time passed slowly, as more and more young people gathered around the barrier that closed off the road along which the Holy Father would pass an hour and a half later. Nerves were showing and the excitement was intense. Police cars arrived to secure the area: the Pope wouldn’t be long now. The popemobile approaches. And just as it passes in front of us, the Pope turns, looks at us, waves to us and smiles at all of us. At each one of us. At that moment suffering loses its importance; pain is put into perspective. You feel that you are not alone, that you matter.

I remember loving everything that came afterwards too: the message of the vigil, sleeping on the beach under the roof of the starry sky, the closing Mass of WYD, the atmosphere of young people from all over the world reminding you that, even if at some point you may feel alone, you aren’t. Seeing five million people gathered for a single cause, forging friendships with the people we were living alongside and, above all, with Christ... Living for the other, doing things for others. Discovering that this doesn’t take your joy away, but gives it to you. That your joy is reflected in the smile of your friend, your brother, the Pope. Discovering that with that you have more than enough. Everything I remember from this first pilgrimage, and that has been present in the ones I have lived since, has convinced me that this year’s pilgrimage to Lisbon is truly worth the pain, and more than the pain, the joy! Because I hope to find myself in these uncomfortable situations: eating sliced bread, sleeping on the floor, being cold, sunburn, blisters on my feet, walking with the person I find hardest to get on with, being asked for help when I am at my most tired... so that I can remember this experience from exactly 10 years ago, which will end right where it all began, and turn directly to Jesus to ask him to help me never to seek myself, but others.