Day 10: St. Paul's Outside the Walls and trip home
Our final morning dawned early—our bags packed, hearts full, and just enough time for one last sacred stop before heading home. We went to St. Paul Outside the Walls, the great basilica built over the tomb of the Apostle to the Gentiles. The air was cool and still when we arrived, the rising sun lighting the golden mosaic facade of Christ blessing the world. Inside, the church was quiet and mostly empty, and utterly magnificent. Beneath the high altar rests the body of St. Paul himself, encased within a marble tomb that bears the words Paulo Apostolo Mart.—“To Paul the Apostle, Martyr.” Through a small glass panel you can see the stone coffin. This mighty preacher, traveler, and theologian ended his journey in humble surrender.
A few details about this basilica are worth noticing. It is one of Rome’s four major papal basilicas and the only one that still stands outside the old city walls. The position of this church and the body of St Paul within it being "outside the walls" is a fitting symbol: St. Paul, the great missionary to the nations, even rests outside the walls, still reaching beyond boundaries to bring the Gospel to the world. Overhead runs a long line of portraits of every pope from Peter to Francis—an unbroken line of succession that visually proclaims the unity of the Church through time. And in a quiet corner near the confessionals, if you look closely, you can see a small burning oil lamp that has been kept lit since the time of Pope Gregory the Great—an ancient sign of the faith that has never gone out.
Our Mass here had to be moved earlier than planned because our flight schedule was unexpectedly changed. At first it seemed impossible; the sacristy was locked until 9am. But I found a sweet little nun who works in the basilica and asked her if there was a way we could have Mass earlier. She smiled, made a quick phone call, and within minutes we had permission. It was a small miracle of hospitality—the kind of gentle mercy St. Paul himself would have loved.
We celebrated Mass in the St. Benedict Chapel, a simple, beautiful side chapel near the main transept. Fr. Jack celebrated the Mass, which was beautiful especially given that St. Paul is his confirmation saint. Deacon Charlie gave a lovely, simple homily: “We take life one step at a time,” he said. That’s how we did this pilgrimage—up mountains, down hills—and that’s how St. Paul lived his faith: one step, one trial, one act of trust at a time.
Because of the early hour, the sacristy had not yet been opened, so we had one simple host that I carry as an emergency host on any pilgrimage (you never know when you might need to have Mass) and, providentially, we just enough wine for everyone to receive from the chalice in Fr Jack's travel Mass kit. God provided exactly what we needed—no more, no less. As always, He was faithful in the little things.
After Mass, as we were gathering our things, I was surprised and delighted to see a familiar face, that of Msgr. Bill Stumpf, one of my mentors and priests from my days at St. Charles when I was discerning my vocation. He has always been a kind, steady presence in my life, full of wisdom and encouragement. I told him how much his priesthood has meant to me and asked his blessing. To receive a blessing from him, and in such a holy place, was very powerful.
We then made our way to the airport. Pilgrims tend to grow quiet on that final bus ride—there’s a shared sense that something beautiful is ending, but also that what began here will continue. In the airport, a pilgrim told me something that touched me deeply. She said that whenever she receives Holy Communion, she prays: "Lord, give me the bread of humility, the bread of faith, the bread of love, the bread of strength. And if today I have a crucifixion of some kind, I say Fiat, because it means being closer to You."
I asked her where she learned that prayer. She smiled and said, "In the adoration chapel, Jesus gave it to me." I had goosebumps. What a profound, Eucharistic spirituality. Earlier in the week, this same woman had told me to start each morning with a simple prayer: "Lord, fill me with Your grace and Your love." Such purity of heart—these are the quiet saints you meet on pilgrimages.
As I sat waiting for the plane, I began reflecting on the graces God has given me throughout this journey. Ten days of prayer, laughter, surprises, and deep peace. What did the Lord want me to carry home from all this?
1. A renewed closeness to Our Lady: From Medjugorje to Loreto to St. Mary Major to her statue at St. Peter’s, I’ve been reminded that the Christian life is simply letting Mary and her spouse the Holy Spirit take up her home within us, just as St. Philip Neri did. Her “yes” must become my yes. Her Magnificat must be the tune of my soul. She leads me always to Jesus, teaching me how to pray, how to trust, and how to love.
2. The Five Stones of Medjugorje: Prayer, fasting, Scripture, confession, and the Eucharist—those “stones” Our Lady gave to defeat the Goliaths in our lives. I think often of that little boy who gave me a rock after confession, smiling silently. I tucked it in my shoe, and it still reminds me that holiness begins in small acts of love, and that grace often comes in childlike simplicity.
3. God always puts people in our path to save us: On the third day, when Fr. Cassian appeared at just the right moment to keep a pilgrim from falling, I realized that God does this all the time, sending people at just the right instant....to use them even to save us. This trip was full of such moments. God has put so many wonderful people into my life: good priest friends, parishioners from my current parishes, old friends from OLG, people from my childhood parish who joined us, and new friends who came from Fr. Jack's former parish. Every connection was Providence and we all became a family.
4. A renewal of my priesthood: This pilgrimage brought together so many priestly influences in my life—Fr. Cassian who we bumped into all over, Fr. Zach in St. Peter’s, Msgr. Stumpf in St. Paul’s, and my good friend Fr. Jack, whose devotion to Our Lady (we need more Marian priests!!), simplicity, humility, and joyful love for the Church inspire me so much. He and I have been on several pilgrimages together, near and far, and I treasure his priesthood and friendship. Hearing confessions beside St. Leopold Mandic’s statue, celebrating Mass in St. Philip Neri’s church, praying at Peter’s tomb, praying with Fr. Slavko at his tomb and on Cross Mountain, renewing my vows on top of Apparition Hill—all of it rekindled in me the wonder of being a priest, a man chosen to bring Christ to others.
5. A renewed peace: If Medjugorje has a single word that defines it, it’s peace. And it’s that peace I want to carry home—the peace of hearts reconciled, of laughter shared, of quiet moments with the Blessed Mother. The peace of knowing that God is always near, even in the chaos of airports and the uncertainties of life.
I love being Catholic. I love the universality of our faith—the way you can walk into any chapel in the world and feel at home instantly, for Jesus is waiting in every tabernacle. I love that our story stretches from Peter’s tomb to Mary’s home, from Paul’s chains to the laughter of saints like Philip Neri.
If I had to summarize these days in one sentence, it would be this: God’s grace is never random. Every encounter, every delay, every mountain, every drop of sweat, every surprise blessing has been ordered by His love. He has reminded me that holiness is not about doing great things, but about saying yes—again and again—to the small invitations of His will.
And so, we come to the journey’s end not just as pilgrims but as changed souls—each of us carrying a piece of these holy places within. May the fire, the joy, and the peace we’ve received go with us, wherever the Lord sends us next.
Deo gratias.
