Day 8: St. Peter's Basilica and Loretto
The day began early, but there was already quite the morning bustle took over the streets. By the time we reached St. Peter’s Basilica, the line for entry was already quite long—no surprise in this Holy Year, when pilgrims from around the world come to cross the Holy Door and pray at the heart of the Church. As we stared at the dome of St. Peter’s, I thought of all the generations of believers who have stood right where we stood, hearts full of faith.
We walked in and around a but before we were finally standing at the massive Holy Door—a tall bronze door covered with biblical scenes of mercy and redemption. It's the right most doors. Normally, these doors are sealed shut with concrete from the inside. But every 25 years, during a Jubilee or Holy Year, the Pope orders them unsealed, inviting pilgrims to pass through them as a sign of repentance and renewal.
Walking through the door is more than a tradition—it’s a prayer in motion, a physical reminder that Christ Himself is the Door to salvation. As we stepped through, I wondered who I might offer my indulgence for. I can never decide! But I heard how, if you can't decide who to offer your indulgence for, you can always ask Our Lady to apply it where it’s needed most—and I did just that. There is a plenary indulgence granted for those who pass through the Holy Doors of Rome’s four papal basilicas—St. Peter’s, St. John Lateran, St. Mary Major, and St. Paul Outside the Walls—and tomorrow, we plan to visit the others.
Our guide shared a little history as we walked across the marble floor. St. Peter’s Basilica is the second church to stand on this sacred site. The first, known as Old St. Peter’s, was built around 326 AD by the emperor Constantine, the first Christian emperor of Rome, directly over the tomb of St. Peter the Apostle, who was martyred here around 64 AD during Nero’s persecution. For over a thousand years that original basilica served as the heart of Christendom—pilgrims, popes, and saints worshiped there. But by the 15th century, after centuries of weather, earthquakes, and neglect, the old structure was crumbling and unsafe. The roof beams were rotting, the walls leaning, and parts of the foundation collapsing. So, in 1506, Pope Julius II commissioned a new basilica—one grand enough to express the faith and glory of God’s kingdom. It took 120 years to complete, involving the genius of the greatest artists and architects of the Renaissance: Bramante, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Bernini. The result was not just a building but a visible profession of faith—stone and mosaic proclaiming “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church.” O to be Catholic!
It’s also worth remembering why Rome is the home of the Catholic Church and the Pope. Both St. Peter and St. Paul, the pillars of the faith, ended their earthly missions here—Peter crucified upside down on the Vatican Hill, Paul beheaded on the Ostian Way. Their martyrdom consecrated Rome as the center of the Church. The bishop of Rome, as Peter’s successor, carries that same mission to shepherd Christ’s flock. Rome, once the capital of an empire, has become the spiritual capital of the world—the place where heaven and history continually meet.
Inside the basilica, every corner seemed to hold a treasure of faith. There were people everywhere. I was especially moved to stop and pray in the Chapel of St. Sebastian, located near the main altar. Beneath its simple marble altar rest the relics of St. John Paul II, whose body was moved there after his beatification in 2011. It’s fitting that his remains lie in this chapel, for St. Sebastian—the Roman soldier martyred for his faith—mirrors John Paul’s own courage in suffering. The late pope—strong, athletic, full of life—faced illness and frailty with serene faith, becoming a living icon of redemptive suffering. Kneeling there, I prayed for strength to carry my own priesthood with that same fidelity.
Everyone in our group, it seems, loves John Paul II. He’s so many people's "favorite pope," the one who shaped our generation of faith. We love him because he was both mystic and man of action—pious, holy, profoundly Marian, deeply Eucharistic, and so very pastoral. He loved the poor and the young, defended truth with joy, and radiated peace even in pain. He used to slip quietly into the confessionals of St. Peter’s to hear confessions in secret, reminding us that holiness always finds expression in humility. To pray near his tomb felt like visiting an old friend.
Nearby, we saw the body of Pope John XXIII, affectionately called the “Good Pope.” He earned that name for his simplicity, warmth, and fatherly kindness. When he opened the Second Vatican Council, he famously said the Church’s task was not to condemn but to offer the “medicine of mercy.” His face, even in death, still seems to smile.
Not far away stands the magnificent statue of St. Longinus, the Roman centurion who pierced Christ’s side with his spear and was converted by the blood and water that flowed from it. Bernini’s sculpture captures him at that moment of faith—arms lifted, eyes opened, heart awakened. Longinus, once a soldier of empire, became a soldier of the Cross, a martyr who discovered that love is stronger than fear.
We descended into the Vatican Grottoes, those quiet, shadowed corridors where so many popes lie buried. I stopped to pray at the tomb of Pope Benedict XVI—a man of brilliance and humility, whose gentle wisdom and love for truth continue to enrich the Church. And then, finally, we stood before the tomb of St. Peter himself—the fisherman turned shepherd, the rock upon whom Christ built His Church. To stand in that place, so near to his bones, was to feel the living continuity of faith stretching back two millennia.
Before leaving, I paused before the great mosaic of the Sacred Heart, shimmering with gold and crimson, and the enormous relief of St. Leo the Great, the courageous pope who met Attila the Hun and turned back destruction with faith alone. His mosaic, full of motion and grace, captures the strength of truth standing against the powers of the world.
As we exited the basilica, our pilgrimage coordinator, Kathy, shared a powerful story. Years ago, she was in St. Peter’s Square when John Paul II came out after Mass in procession. Someone near her held a Medjugorje sign, and the pope stopped, looked at it, and asked, “Have you been to Medjugorje?” When Kathy said yes, he took her hands and simply said, “Good, good.” That one word spoke volumes.
Afterward, we boarded the bus for the four-hour journey to Loreto. The rolling hills of Italy slipped by, olive groves and cypress trees glowing in the afternoon sun. I was so thankful that Fr. Jack had chosen to include Loreto on our pilgrimage—it turned out to be one of the most moving sites of all.
The Basilica of the Holy House of Loreto is breathtaking. Inside its vast Gothic and Baroque structure sits something unlike anything else on earth: the Holy House of Nazareth, the home where Mary lived, where the Annunciation took place, and where the Word became flesh. Tradition holds that when the Crusaders lost the Holy Land, angels miraculously carried the house from Nazareth, first to Dalmatia and then across the Adriatic to Loreto, where it arrived in 1294. You can still see the markings of its journey—the brick walls bearing carvings of angels.
Fr. Jack told us how countless saints and popes have come here: St. Francis of Assisi, St. Maximilian Kolbe, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Padre Pio, and St. John Paul II--among others. St. Thérèse once wrote this about her pilgrimage to Loretto: "Our Lady had chosen an ideal spot in which to place her Holy House. Everything is poor, simple, and primitive....I was overwhelmed with emotion when I realized that I was under the very roof that had sheltered the Holy Family. I gazed on the same walls Our Lord had looked on. I trod the ground once moistened with the sweat of St. Joseph’s toil, and saw the little chamber of the Annunciation, where the Blessed Virgin Mary held Jesus in her arms after she had borne Him there in her virginal womb. I even put my Rosary into the little porringer used by the Divine Child. How sweet those memories!"
Padre Pio felt unworthy even to enter, so he bilocated to the Holy House to pray there—there’s a statue of him now, kneeling in wonder. Fr. Jack also shared that St. Francis, centuries earlier, had visited the Holy House when it was still in Nazareth, and later came to this region of Italy. Standing near here, before the house was moved, he said prophetically, “This will be the holiest place in the world.”
We celebrated Mass beneath the Holy House, an indescribable privilege. Fr. Jack preached beautifully on the Angelus, showing how its every line points to this very place: “The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary…”—that happened here. “Behold the handmaid of the Lord…”—that happened here. “And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us…”—that happened here. He added, “When we pray the rosary and say, "Hail Mary, full of grace..."—those words were spoken first here. When we profess the Creed—‘He was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary’—that all began here.
It struck me deeply: this humble house, these worn bricks, are the birthplace of the Incarnation. Everything—the Eucharist, the Cross, the Resurrection—began in this small home when Mary said her Fiat. Deacon Charlie blew us all away when he sang the Memorare to a tune he himself composed.
After Mass, we stayed to pray. I leaned against one of the ancient walls, fingers tracing the cool stone, and prayed the rosary slowly. A Mass was being celebrated nearby; when the priest raised the Host, the bells rang, and I thought—that’s what happened here, in these walls, two thousand years ago: heaven touched earth, and the Word became flesh.
Tomorrow we’ll return early to renew our Marian consecrations within the Holy House. For now, my heart is simply full of wonder and gratitude.
