Day's Program
Morning
Pilgrims will celebrate the Eucharist grouped by country (times and locations to be announced by community leaders).
Afternoon
2:00 PM Festival—On the Esplanade
A great moment of celebration and joy, followed by procession and adoration of the Blessed Sacrament at 4:30 PM.
Evening
8:30 PM Candlelit procession—with singing and the rosary
9:45 PM Young people's vigil at the Basilica of Saint Pius X
"It is true,
the Lord is truly risen,
He has appeared to Simon"
Luke
Easter Has Come
We spent that magnificent morning at the Upper Basilica, where Mass was finally celebrated in Italian—and only for us Italians.
(from the diary of Paolo BRAGA, a friend from Milan)
A Gentle Presence
Bishop Ragonesi, one of four bishops of Rome, concelebrated the Mass for Italians in the Upper Basilica on Easter Sunday, alongside eight priests from various parts of Italy. It was an unforgettable Mass. The church was full. Wheelchairs were arranged around the altar; each young person with difficulty had a friend at their side to help them receive Communion—some with the host, others with the wine, depending on their particular needs.
Throughout the church, people asked: "Who is this bishop?" In fact, his presence surprised many of us. A presence that made us say from our hearts: "Thank you." A presence that carries, behind the scenes, its own story.
When someone suggested inviting Bishop Ragonesi to join us on the pilgrimage to Lourdes, I replied: "It's unlikely he'll come. Think of how busy a bishop must be, especially during Holy Week."
At first, it seemed this would indeed be the case. We were to leave Rome by special train on the morning of April 17, and when we told the bishop of our plans, he answered: "What a shame! On Thursday, precisely when you'll already be in Lourdes, I have a celebration with the Pope and the other bishops of Rome. I simply cannot miss it. I would have loved to come with you."
It looked as though that would be the end of it. But it wasn't. Bishop Ragonesi truly wanted to come to Lourdes and be with us. After several phone calls, a solution was found. His Excellency left Thursday afternoon by plane and arrived at our hotel in Lourdes Thursday evening.
We spent four wonderful days together. I sat at the bishop's table, and as we ate with our other friends, we were able to speak about Faith and Light and the various difficult situations we parents of handicapped children find ourselves in. Bishop Ragonesi is a very gentle man, and as he listened to us, he showed great sensitivity to our struggles.
On Good Friday morning, the bishop led our group through the Stations of the Cross. At each station, Monsignor would pause, and we would pray, reflect, or simply sit in silence. Now and then the bishop offered a brief explanation or observation that helped us understand how much suffering and humiliation Jesus had to bear, and with what patience, on that distant day so long ago.
The bishop returned to Rome with us by train, and during the long journey, he moved from car to car, managing to speak with each of us. There were 650 people on the special train.
When we arrived at Rome's station, many young people kissed Bishop Ragonesi with that simplicity and warmth only they are capable of—making a gesture of love that their parents, out of shyness, had not made but wished they could have.
We all hope to see our new friend again very soon.
Olga GAMMARELLI
And Finally, Celebration
And finally came Easter Sunday, which everyone had awaited and for which we had all tried to prepare ourselves together.
The ever-fresh wonder with which we relived such an incredible manifestation of faithfulness and love—the Easter event itself—burst forth as an explosion of joy. It expressed itself first in the Eucharist, lived by each of us individually, and then in the shared moment of celebration.
In the afternoon we gathered on the basilica esplanade. We were truly countless, and other groups continued to arrive; the challenges of being so many seemed, nonetheless, overcome by the joy of being together.
During the celebration, many countries presented performances on specially prepared stages—shows that had been rehearsed beforehand. Among them was the performance of the Milan group, who mimed the Genesis story.
On the Esplanade we sang, applauded, laughed, listened, played, and danced together. But the most important thing was that we met because we wanted to meet. You could see it on everyone's face. Each of us felt, in perhaps different ways, that we could not help ourselves—that only by living together could we truly experience the joy that was everyone's, truly celebrate Easter.
Walking across the meadows, you saw people and groups moving toward one another, smiling at each other, embracing, shaking hands, and engaging in long conversations that often turned into a jumble of words and gestures.
Genuinely comic situations arose. But we ended up laughing together, exchanging badges and other gifts as signs of friendship. Perhaps it was a way of expressing the desire to be with others and, at the same time, the wish that they would be with us.
Sometimes it was truly difficult to understand each other with words: there were so many languages, and a common one was not always to be found. Yet none of this really stopped anyone. As Brian's mother, an Irish boy who does not speak, rightly told me, there is a language of gesture made of smiles, tenderness, and attentiveness. It lets us communicate with anyone. And what matters most—and seems almost miraculous—is that it lets us say the things that count most.
As time passed, it became harder to recognize people from your own country, since you could no longer identify them by their scarves or badges: everyone seemed to be a strange mixture of nationalities.
You felt that the celebration was not the exclusive moment of certain groups, a way of expressing togetherness peculiar to this or that nation, but held within itself something far stronger—something that belonged to all, felt and lived by every nation with the same spirit, the same simplicity, and the same serene joy.
I climbed toward the top of the steps beneath the basilica. I could see all the meadows—or rather, I could not see the meadows at all. My eyes were full of color: banners, scarves, ribbons.
It was strange, but even from up there you could feel the joy being lived below—perhaps because color has a way of expressing the spirit of celebration so well.
Antonia TAGLIABUE (Milan)