Day 9: St. John Lateran, the Holy Stairs, Santa Croce, St. Mary Major, and ST PHILIP NERI!!!!!!

Today began early, before the little town of Loretto had even stirred. The Basilica of the Holy House of Loreto opens at 6:45 a.m., and we were among the first to arrive. The walk from our lodging was about 15 minutes—a steep hill down into the town, then a steep hill up on the way back. Inside that sacred church, in the hush of early morning, some of us renewed our consecration to Our Lady while others made their consecration for the first time. We did it right in her own house; in the very home where she gave her Fiat, we gave ours. Afterwards, we stopped for coffee in a little café near the square. The owner smiled proudly and told us that Pope Francis once ordered coffee there, and we saw his picture on the wall. Then it was time to drive back to Rome.

Our first stop was St. John Lateran, the cathedral of Rome and the official church of the Pope, even more ancient in authority than St. Peter’s. The inscription above its doors (which are 2000 years old, the oldest doors in Rome!) proclaims it “Mother and Head of all Churches in the City and in the World.” Beneath its towering baldachin rest relics of the skulls of St. Peter and St. Paul, symbols of the Church’s two great pillars united in faith and martyrdom. I also made a point to stop at the tomb of Pope Leo XIII, the great intellectual and spiritual pope of the late 19th century. His prayerful wisdom helped the Church enter the modern world without losing its soul—a reminder that holiness and reason can walk hand in hand.

 

From there, we crossed the street to the Holy Stairs. These are the very steps that Jesus climbed on His way to stand before Pontius Pilate, brought to Rome by St. Helena, the mother of Constantine, in the 4th century. She had traveled to the Holy Land and, with loving determination, preserved the sacred relics of Christ’s Passion. The stairs are streaked with drops of Christ’s blood, visible under glass in three places. Tradition holds that St. Helena built the first chapel here in honor of St. Lawrence, the Roman deacon and martyr who gave his life caring for the poor—and so the place bears his name. We ascended the 28 marble steps on our knees, praying silently.  To see the devotion of our pilgrims, to feel it, there are no words!

Our next stop was the Basilica of Santa Croce. St. Helena had filled the floor of this church with soil from Jerusalem, making it a living extension of the Holy Land itself. Inside are some of Christianity’s most extraordinary relics: a fragment of the Crown of Thorns, one of the nails that pierced Christ’s hands, a piece of the True Cross, the title board from the crucifixion, and even the finger of St. Thomas the Apostle—the same finger that touched the risen Lord’s wounds. Somehow I missed but was later told that there are also relics of St. Thérèse of Lisieux and her parents, Louis and Zélie Martin, placed there.

Next was St. Mary Major, the largest church in the world dedicated to Our Lady and one of the four papal basilicas. The energy inside was chaotic—pilgrims, tourists, voices in every language—but even amid the noise, grace was present. I paused to pray for Pope Francis, whose modest resting place is already marked within the basilica. His simple marble plaque—so humble compared to the ornate papal tombs surrounding it—seems perfectly fitting for a man who chose simplicity as his path to holiness. For me personally, this visit was moving, because Pope Francis was the only pope I had known as a priest, until his recent passing. I prayed for his soul with gratitude for his humility and witness.

 

We also stopped at the Church of St. Alphonsus Liguori, home of the original icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. The Redemptorists were entrusted by Pope Pius IX in 1866 to be the official guardians and promoters of this beloved image, which has become one of the most recognized Marian icons in the world. Cardinal Joseph Tobin, who ordained me, is himself a Redemptorist, and he once lived and served in this very community—so it felt especially meaningful to pray there for him. A Mass was underway, so we couldn’t stay long, but I looked upon the icon a minute and asked Our Lady of Perpetual Help to watch over him, and to keep me faithful to my vocation, too.

Then came the most joyful part of the day: Mass at the Church of Santa Maria in Vallicella, the resting place of St. Philip Neri—my own patron and one of my best friends! This was a dream come true. The church itself is magnificent, filled with light and joy, like the saint himself. Beneath the side altar rests his incorrupt body, peaceful and radiant even in death.

 

In my homily, I told our group that when I was a dumb high school kid, I thought I was choosing St. Philip Neri as my confirmation saint—but now I know that he chose me. I said how fitting it was that on this pilgrimage we have visited Mary’s childhood home in Loreto, where she grew up and gave her “yes”; we have spent time in Medjugorje, which so many call her “home” today; and now, through St. Philip, we see what it means to make a home for Mary and the Holy Spirit inside our own hearts.

I told them that Mary gives us three things—all of which St. Philip embodied perfectly:

1. FIRE: In the catacombs of Rome, while praying to the Holy Spirit through Our Lady, Philip felt a literal flame enter his chest and expand his heart, causing a swelling so real that his ribs broke. This was the fire of divine love, which burned in him the rest of his life.

2. INTERIOR JOY: Philip’s joy was contagious. The Magnificat was his song ("My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my savior..."—he lived with the same jubilant humility that filled Mary’s heart. His humor, gentleness, and laughter drew thousands to Christ. He taught that holiness and happiness belong together.

3. MISSION: With Mary and the Holy Spirit as his companions, Philip went everywhere—to hospitals, to the streets, to the forgotten corners of Rome—bringing joy and faith. Some days, he just set out and made a vow to stop whenever he ran into anyone. 

Here is the song we sang:

(To the tune of “Creator of the Stars of Night”)

To Neri, saint of joy and grace,

We lift our hearts, our songs of praise;

Whose virtue raised him, pure and high,

Beyond the stars that fill the sky.

Beside the tombs of martyrs bright,

He kept his watch through silent night;

And from the dead he learned to live,

The rule true charity must give.

By night he bore the poor their bread,

While angels shone above his head;

And through that sign the Heavens told,

Love’s fervent flame grows never cold.

In prayer his heart was set aflame,

The Spirit from the Highest came;

And, rushing in with holy breath,

Made room for Love that conquers death.

When at the altar he would pray,

His soul would soar from earth away;

To meet the Lord whom he adored,

And rest forever in his word.

When near to death, his joy was deep,

The Lord beneath the veil did keep;

He went to heaven’s radiant door,

And rests with Our Lord forever more.

The church where St Philip Neri is buried itself overflows with beauty and meaning. The main altarpiece, a masterpiece by Peter Paul Rubens, shows Our Lady holding the Child Jesus, with angels lifting the image heavenward—a perfect reflection of Philip’s spirituality, always directed to Mary and Jesus together. All around are side chapels dedicated to the Adoration of the Magi, each depicting the nations coming to adore the Christ Child—reminders that the joy of Bethlehem belongs to all peoples and that we have Bethlehem in every tabernacle. 

A few other beautiful details stood out: the oratory rooms where Philip and his disciples prayed still remain, as does the miraculous painting of the Madonna, which once came alive before the saint’s eyes, smiling at him during prayer. In the sacristy, his personal items are kept—his cloak, his chalice, and even the small room where he used to sleep sitting up so as not to grow lazy in prayer. Everywhere in that church, you feel his warmth, his humor, and his love for souls.

On the bus, I made a plug for the wonderful film “I Prefer Heaven,” a beautiful Italian movie about St. Philip Neri. It captures his joy, his humanity, and his spiritual fire better than any biography. 

That evening we had our final dinner together. The tables were full of laughter and stories, but also moments of quiet gratitude. We shared the graces of the pilgrimage—the confessions, the prayers, the tears, the joy. It’s beautiful what God has done in just these few days!