Where to begin?
As mentioned previously, the location for the vigil with the Holy Father was moved because it flooded due to the unseasonable rain. As a result WYD officials had two days to replan all of the logistics surrounding a Mass with 3 million people. Copacabana Beach was the only reasonable alternative, but it was too small. The originally planned fourteen milometer (eightish-ish miles) pilgrimage hike with three different entrance points was reduced to a four mile hike along a single path and one entrance point. Pilgrims were given the option of sleeping on the beach, or leaving and returning in the morning. Most stayed.
With our small group leaders, we deliberated about how we would proceed. I was the lone voice of dissent when it was decided that we would go, make camp, and stay. I realized Sunday morning that it would have been sheer madness to attempt to come then. So, it all played out as follows. Brace yourselves. This is a long one.
Friday night, farewells were made in our host homes, and gifts exchanged. Bags were packed, and excess weight discarded. A brief sleep, and an early morning brought Andrew and I to the parish church where we joined an already assembled group of clerics led by a deacon from the parish. Prior to leaving, I had received word that a small group of pilgrims would share the honor of attending Mass celebrated by the Pope and pilgrim bishops from around the world at the local Cathedral. So, we headed that direction in a minivan. The rest of our group gathered a bit later to have Mass and make their way to the beach.
To attend the Papal Mass at the Cathedral, one ostensibly needed one's priestly credentials and a yellow bracelet only acquired at the official distributed of such things. Andrew had neither of these, but we had decided our lone seminarian deserved the chance to get in. When our contingent arrived at the cathedral, we joined the throngs of priests already standing in a line nearly a quarter mile long. The Cathedral seats twenty thousand, and it was packed. The line moved steadily forward, and rain did little to deter the people standing therein. With each step Andrew became more certain he wouldn't get in. I was skeptical, but kept that to myself.
Finally we arrived at the front of the line. I instructed Andrew to stand right behind me. The security asked for my bracelet and credentials. I showed my badge, and then pulled the bracelet from my money pouch. I was told to wear it. I turned and and pretended to do so, then passed it back to Andrew. They didn't check me again, and now Andrew had a bracelet. In the confusion and hurry to get everyone through, they didn't try very hard to force him to show credentials. Fr. Marcin used to comment that an accent covers a multitude of sins. In our case this was quite true.
In the meanwhile, the rest of our group made their way toward the beach. The couldn't manage to get on a single bus, so Fr. Christensen took the first group to the beginning of the hike, with Fr. Sparks and the rest coming on the next bus. When Fr. Christensen's group disembarked, they discovered more busses waiting. When the last arrived, they hopped aboard and were taken to a location within a mile of the beach. They had pitched camp by noon.
As that was happening, Andrew and I made our way into a packed Cathedral. Catholics in general and priests in particular lose all sense of sobriety and decorum when the Pope is around. People stood on pews, pushed, shoved, and generally made a scene waiting for the arrival of His Holiness. A military band played marches. Finally he was there, but as we were at the back of the Church, we saw little. The Pope greeted each of the bishops present personally before Mass commenced. It was by far the most reverent and beautiful Mass of the trip. Though preached in Spanish, I could understand little of the homily. After Holy Communion, we pressed ourselves against the barricade where the Pope would exit. We had brought a gift to him from the people of South Dakota, a beautiful beaded cross. Andrew has a better arm than me, so I gave him the box, and told him to throw it when the Holy Father got close. We were within fifteen feet of him when he passed, and I saw his attendant collect the gift for him after Andrew's throw fell short of him. It was glorious.
While the rest of the group was resting on the beach, Andrew and I returned to the parish to collect our bags, eat lunch, and have a nap, which we planned to take in the sacristy. An hour into our nap, we were discovered by a screaming Brazilian woman who ultimately directed us to an upstairs room with a bed.
Our taxi arrived at five and brought us within half a mile of the beach. Fr. Christensen had sent a text message with a description of where we would find them, but I was simply not prepared to contend with the enormity of a crowd without specified walking areas. For two hours Andrew and I meandered through a line of single file people trying to avoid walking through the middle of other people's camps. I don't really know how to describe this experience. I was terrified, frustrated, tired, and crushed on every side. We had to go where the line went. There was no movement side to side or backwards, and the line was going away from where I needed to go. From behind me, an Italian priest would occasionally shout, "Coragio!", be courageous! These words drove me forward.
We finally were able to turn in the right direction, and aside from our bags being nearly swept into the sea as we took a pause near the shoreline, the remainder of the walk was uneventful. I was never so happy to see me group as that night.
That evening, the Holy Father told us that we were fertile fields of the faith, and called us to fidelity to prayer, the sacraments, and service, a message he would expand upon the following morning, telling us to courageously spread the Gospel with our lives. We adored our Eucharistic Lord with him, and the millions on the beach were nearly silent as we did so. When adoration concluded I fell asleep. Many we're awake most of the night.
The priests left the group around 7:00 for 10:00 Mass. We acquired vestments easily enough, but 20,000 priests don't fit easily anywhere. About a thousand of us were locked out until a bishop came and insisted the a space be found for us. The coralled us behind some poraopotties, where we invalidly concelebrated Mass. Most of us didn't even receive The Sacred Body, let alone the Precious Blood. But, we were at Mass and at least fulfilled our Sunday obligation. All of our pilgrims, we learned later, did receive communion.
The rest of the day was spent getting to a hotel, sleeping, and eating. We are now on a bus about three and a half hours from São Paulo. We leave the airport around 10:00 tonight. Most of us are slightly ill. All of us are tired. We are all looking forward to being in America. But, we are changed. This has been a truly amazing experience, and one of the best WYDs yet. It will take some time to digest what it all means, but it was good, so very, very good. After this post, I'll pass the phone around and let others share their thoughts. When there is wifi, I'll add more pictures. Until then, thank you all who made this trip possible. Thank you God for all these blessings.
