Twenty pilgrims from the Diocese of Bathurst have just returned from Italy after completing the Jubilee Pilgrimage from Assisi to Rome. Walking in the footsteps of St Francis, the group made the journey over many days before joining hundreds of thousands of young people from around the world for the Jubilee of Youth in Rome.
Over the coming weeks, members of the pilgrimage will share a series of reflections on their experiences—stories of faith, challenge, and community that shaped their journey.
To worship God and to say, together, we belong
Fr Dong Nguyen
So many of you have heard beautiful stories from our pilgrims. Let me add two moments that were special for me as a priest on this journey.
1. On the first evening of the Jubilee Youth Week in Rome there was the opening Mass in St Peter’s Square. I hesitated. Should I try to concelebrate? The invitation was open to all priests, but I wasn’t sure how to get to the priests’ area.
I left the motel ahead of the group to go to St Peter’s Square because I had to check in early in order to get to the priest’s area. When I reached St Peter’s square, it was a sea of people still trying to find their way in. Every entrance looked impossible. I tried one way, then another. No chance. All the entrances were jammed. I thought it would take hours to finally get through those entrances. I don’t have that much time. Finally, I walked to the left side of the square and saw three priests walking in the same direction with purpose. “They look like they know where they’re going,” I thought, and I fell in step with them.
I introduced myself to one of them—Fr Alfred, a Spaniard. “Do you know the way in?” I asked. He smiled: “Not me, but these two young priests are Italian. They probably do”. “Great,” I said, “let’s follow them”.
When we reached the barrier, the police stopped us. We showed our Celebret. The barrier lifted. Just like that. Inside.
Right then it struck me: it matters whom you follow. Follow someone who knows the way, and above all, follow the Way (Jn 14:6).
The Mass that evening wasn’t celebrated by the Pope, but when it ended he arrived to greet the young people in the piazza. His vehicle stopped right in front of me in the concelebrating area near the altar. My first close look at the Holy Father—yes, a real and friendly person smiling at his flock. It was simple and deeply moving.
2. The second moment came at the outdoor closing Mass. My first time concelebrating with the Pope – together with thousands of priests and bishops, and surrounded by a million young people.
That night, all of us slept in a ‘thousand-star hotel’ (outdoor). The Mass the next morning began at 9a.m., but my day started at 2a.m. The unwelcomed rain woke me. I got ready and went to the concelebrants’ entrance. After an hour and a half of waiting we were let in and checked – 4a.m. Five hours to go. I found a corner, slept a little, ate the breakfast I’d packed, prayed Morning Prayer, and then – still two hours left – started chatting with the priests around me. Different languages, same faith.
As dawn broke, the Holy Father circled the area. The youth, many of them sprang to their feet. Tired? Of course. But their joy was larger than their tiredness.
Because I had entered early, I was close to the main altar. I could see the Pope quite clearly. For me, it was more than the thrill of concelebrating with the Pope. It was the grace of standing in the heart of the Church – one faith, one baptism, one Lord – with young people from every direction of the compass, all there for the same reason: to worship God and to say, together, we belong.
Where is My Attention? Reflections on a Pilgrimage of Hope
Amy Sullivan
As I sat contemplating what to write, an unrelated movie quote (from one of my favourites) came to mind:
“This one — a long time have I watched. All his life has he looked away, to the future, to the horizon… never his mind on where he was! Hmm? What he was doing!”
— Yoda, The Empire Strikes Back
Where is my attention?
One of the things I was most worried about on this pilgrimage was being thrown together with a group of (mostly) strangers. I would be sharing a room the whole time. People would expect me to join in conversations constantly. I wouldn’t have the easy escape into solitude that I rely on at home.
On the flight over, I enjoyed the movie selection. One choice was Inside Out 2. The depiction of Anxiety hit a little too close to home. Anxiety keeps Riley safe — it rehearses every possible bad outcome and devises strategies for each. But unchecked, it’s paralysing. It traps the mind in an imagined future, preventing decisions in the present. It stops me from feeling the joy, anger, fear, disgust, and sadness of now.
Where is my attention?
My pilgrimage had a rough start. On the second day, gastro struck — and I wasn’t alone. It meant missing much of Assisi, including the pilgrims’ Mass in the Basilica, and being unable to walk on the first day. Getting sick wasn’t part of my plan! Oddly enough, I was grateful for those who were unwell alongside me, sharing both support and misery.
Worse still were the next two days. With little food in me, my first walking day (21km) in the heat was brutal. Stubbornness almost stopped me from admitting I was struggling, but without the physical and emotional support of the group, I wouldn’t have made it. Arriving in Trevi to be greeted by Anna with drinks and fruit was wonderful — but the bed was even better. That’s when I broke. Not a polite tear, but big, loud, uncontrollable sobs. Vulnerability laid bare — yet that breakdown allowed me to accept care: socks removed, forehead wiped, comfort given.
The next day, I chose not to walk. I wasn’t as sick, but climbing stairs made my legs feel “dizzy”. Alone in Spoleto, I could have spent the day in prayer or reflection. Instead, I wasted it scrolling on my phone — avoiding the feelings of the pilgrimage God had given me, not the one I wanted.
Where is my attention?
Training for a summer pilgrimage in winter doesn’t prepare you for the heat. Walking in 30+ degrees makes you appreciate small things: shade, cold water, taking off your shoes, a shared packet of gummy bears, a gentle downhill slope, a beautiful view, a splash in a stream.
We sang constantly — hymns during Mass, while walking, waiting in line, or joining other pilgrim groups. No embarrassment, no judgement — just joy in “praying twice” through song.
One evening, we sat outside a church listening to a man playing handpan, didgeridoo, and percussion. Repetitive yet beautiful, his music reflected countless hours of practice. It was a privilege to listen.
Appreciating beauty and the small things: that deserves my attention.
Italian churches hit differently. Even small-town churches were adorned with mosaics, frescos, and sculptures. In Poggio San Lorenzo, the beauty rivalled any major basilica. Seeing St Peter’s through the wonder of first-time visitors gave me fresh eyes.
Climbing the dome at St Peter’s revealed details invisible from below: massive mosaic letters taller than a person, statues that seemed modest from the ground but were huge up close. From the top, the “crowds” looked tiny.
I noticed the Italian fondness for hilltop towns — a stark contrast to Australia’s flat, accessible layouts. It reminded me how easy we have it, without the need for stone walls or steep climbs.
Appreciating perspectives other than my own: that deserves my attention.
One of Italy’s delights is unexpected encounters with saints and relics — some planned, others stumbled upon. I prayed at the resting places of my Confirmation saint (Saint Helen), Blessed Carlo Acutis, Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, Saints Catherine of Siena, Francis of Assisi, Peter, Paul, James the Lesser, Philip, and more. Each saint reflected a unique aspect of God, reminding me that holiness isn’t “one size fits all.”
Fourteen years ago, a talk by Christopher West on Theology of the Body changed my life. This time, I saw him in a small church with just 40 people. Afterward, he spoke personally with each attendee, prayed with them, and signed books with heartfelt messages — not rushed or superficial.
One gelato-filled afternoon, we shared affirmations — prayerful, thoughtful, enthusiastic, funny, inclusive — deliberately choosing to focus on the good in each other. Another day, we “workshopped” a pretend film, Barbie and the Nineteen Pilgrims. It was silly, but inclusive and joyful, opening the door to deeper conversations about vocation, ministry, prayer, and faith.
Taking the time to see and celebrate the best in people: that deserves my attention.
Receiving Communion in Italy was different — no orderly lines, just an eager rush to receive Jesus. At first it felt irreverent. But if impatience comes from a longing for the Eucharist, is that so bad?
At the vigil in Tor Vergata, hundreds of thousands prayed silently in Adoration — a rarity in our noisy world. Whether at a small parish Mass, a huge papal celebration, or our group’s own liturgies, the constant was this: Jesus was there, and it was a privilege to share Him with my closest 19 or closest one million friends.
Worshipping Jesus in the Eucharist: that deserves my attention.
So — how do I rate this pilgrimage?
A solid 26 out of 26.
Pilgrim
Rebecca Bennett
There are many ways to find yourself on a religious pilgrimage.
Mine was simple.
My eldest son Flynn asked me if I was interested to go with him, and Deacon Josh was organising it. In a heartbeat I said yes.
To walk with God in the footsteps of St Francis of Assisi was a blessing, and to walk in the company of the other 19 pilgrims from our diocese was truly special.
Witnessing the faith journeys of our youth filled me with so much hope for the future of our church, and being the Jubilee Year of Hope is so fitting. I believe the Church is growing in strength with a deep burning love of our youth.
For me, having the support from my family to switch off from the day to day so I could travel in faith and prayer to Italy was a great gift and I love them for this.
I experienced the joy of shared prayer and masses celebrated by Fr Dong in a different chapel or church everyday as we travelled through the countryside and villages.
The time I had alone on the path, while I walked to my own rhythm was as important to me as my moments of shared stories and companionship of the other pilgrims on the road. No matter the age gap, each one of these companions gave me a gift and I am blessed to know them deeply.
And my own son, his gentleness, his strength, and his love of his faith was wondrous to witness.
Blisters, God and Community – Walking the Jubilee Pilgrimage
Deacon Josh Clayton
We arrived in Italy full of enthusiasm and energy, our hearts set on the Jubilee pilgrimage from Assisi to Rome. Even before we began walking, we experienced the assistance and hope that comes from being welcomed in a new place. Rev Tara Curlewis, from the Uniting Church and currently ministering in Rome, met us, helped us store our bags, and guided us on a gentle walk through the city to see some of its main sights. That evening, we settled in for our first night in Rome before catching the train to Assisi to begin our walk back.
This pilgrimage was never meant to be a checklist of locations visited. It was not just about the Cathedrals, streets, or piazzas we passed. The deeper story was about the spiritual, physical, and communal journey we were each called into. Pilgrimage is about change—the change we undergo in body, heart, and soul.
For me personally, the physical demands of walking from Assisi to Rome had always worried me. The first few days confirmed my concern: I hadn’t slept enough, I hadn’t found a rhythm, and I wasn’t at my best. But those physical challenges experienced in the group—blisters, illness, fatigue, sore knees, a couple of badly sprained ankles—became important teachers. They reminded us that we can plan every detail, but there will always be moments beyond our control.
One of the most repeated lines of the pilgrimage was, “Each of us will have the pilgrimage that God wants us to have”. It’s not about a God who punishes, but about recognising that the literal path each of us walks will not always be the one we imagined. Some in our group were unable to walk when they wanted to, relying on lifts or help from others. That is not easy for Australians—we like to be independent, in control, and self-sufficient. But pilgrimage breaks that illusion.
There were times when it was hard to take even one more step. I was tired, unsure if I could keep going. But then I thought of St Francis, whose desire to reach Rome was not for his own glory, but to renew the Church. That task is not just his—it is entrusted to each of us, in our own unique way.
This awareness shaped our spiritual journey. We celebrated Mass, prayed the Rosary, and spent time in personal prayer. We joined local parishes for worship, shared meals with parish priests, and exchanged stories of faith. We saw first-hand that faith is not contained in buildings—it is lived out by a pilgrim people walking towards God, making radical choices to draw closer to Jesus.
On the road, we passed other pilgrims: scouts, parish groups, and individuals from all over the world. The greeting, “Buon Camino, Pellegrino”—“Have a good walk, pilgrim”—was more than a pleasantry. It was an acknowledgment: may you walk the Camino God has set before you.
The community we experienced was unlike anything I’ve known. We cared for each other when times were tough—carrying bags, tending to wounds, offering encouragement. We slept in shared dormitories, learning to live with snores louder than perhaps necessary. We didn’t all walk every single step, but together, we walked the whole way. We lifted each other in prayer, in companionship, and, at times, physically.
This Camino has changed me. It has given me perspective—not just on what I can do, but on when I must step aside and let God act. Pilgrimage strips away the illusion of control and teaches you to trust the One who walks with you.
I hope I can continue to have a “good Camino” here at home, stepping out in faith, and living as a pilgrim here in this time and this place.
Buon Camino, Pellegrino. God works—and He did.
St Francis: Pray for us.
