Scottish Catholic Observer

THE shaven-headed, heavily tattooed punk approached the sanctuary at St Paul’s Basilica in Rome and began to speak. Pierre Favre, former singer with French band Les Garçons Bouchers (The Butcher Boys), spoke of his life before his conversion; a life lived in squats, a life of marginality, drugs and nihilism. “Since no one loved me, why should I be alive?”

Falling in love with his wife Geraldine changed all that. Both Pierre and Geraldine had contracted HIV before they married, and Pierre cared for Geraldine before her death at the age of 32. She said he was good, and that was the mirror in which he saw his own goodness reflected. Today, he works as a volunteer for a Catholic relief service, living and working with the homeless.

Like Pierre, we visited Rome for the Jubilee for Socially Excluded Persons, the concluding event of the extraordinary Jubilee Year of Mercy. 19 pilgrims from Scotland and Leeds—some of us struggling against poverty, addiction and inequality, some of us volunteers and workers in solidarity.

For many, it’s their first time abroad. We are joining 3,000 others from across Europe in responding to Pope Francis’ call to join him, as the Holy Doors of Mercy are closing in all the cathedrals and shrines across the world, for a special festival of joy and mercy, a gathering that reaffirms the central role of the poor at the heart of the Church.

My roommate John is two and a half years sober. He is not Catholic, but is grateful for the role that faith, as he understands it, has played in his recovery, and spends his time volunteering with a Gorbals-based charity working with local families.

We are listened to Sr Faustina, a New-York based nun, speak of her work with young men involved in gang violence, including those in prison for violent crime. She is an apostle of the streets, gaining enough respect from those whose lives she touches to earn the handle ‘OG’: not ‘original gangster,’ as it commonly stands for, but ‘of God.’

We shared our own stories of simple humanity and service: the small gestures that daily make up the Kingdom of God. Ian, when he found himself homeless, struggled to survive until he was offered accommodation by the council. Not long after, he himself offered shelter to a man he found freezing on the pavement in a Glasgow winter, his couch being a lifesaving alternative to the street.

Through these stories, shared with new friends from France, Spain, Italy, and England, we gave courage and strength to each other. In a time of hardening hearts and darkening horizons, we bear witness to each other’s hope.

On the way to the Vatican for our audience with Pope Francis, Tricia—a ball of light disguised as a wee woman from Castlemilk—sparked off a friendly rivalry with our new Spanish friends, and they soon learned that you can’t out-sing Glaswegians on a bus.

We assembled in the Paul VI Audience Hall, beneath the vast Fazzini sculpture depicting the risen Christ emerging from a nuclear bomb crater.

Here, Pope Francis spoke to us. “I thank you all for coming to visit me,” he said. “I thank you for your testimonies. And I ask your forgiveness if I have at times offended you with my words, or if I have not said the things that I needed to say.

“I apologize on behalf of the Christians who do not read the Gospel and do not find poverty at the centre. I ask your forgiveness for all the times that we Christians, standing before a person who is poor or in a situation of poverty, have looked the other way. I am sorry.

“Your forgiveness of the men and women of the Church who do not want to look at you, or who have not wanted to look at you, is Holy Water for us; it is cleansing for us.”

Our tears are this Holy Water. Pope Francis prayed, and asked for prayers, and he received them, taking strength from the laying on of hands from his brothers and sisters surrounding him, survivors of poverty who are participating in this teaching together. It’s an unforgettable moment.

We took a few hours to explore the cultural side of Rome: some visited the Colosseum, some gathered on the Spanish Steps and attempted to find a decent cup of tea. Martin, a Church of Scotland minister, had the unenviable task of gathering us together again with one of many headcounts. Fortunately his laughter was detectable at a distance.

Soon it was time to assemble for a torchlight procession and vigil of mercy that lasted into late evening, with opportunities for confession in half a dozen languages. On our final morning we entered St Peter’s Basilica for a special Mass with Pope Francis to conclude the Year of Mercy. It was remarkable to be there, in the sublimely beautiful ornament of the world, with a gathering of so many of the dispossessed and excluded, being made at home.

One of our group, Mary from Leeds Poverty Challenge, was invited to offer a prayer: “Imbue with your presence, O Lord, your holy Church. May her splendour as the bride of the Lord Jesus shine forth before the world.”

The journey home was buzzing with energy. Conversations sparked up on the train, sharings, testimonies with strangers. A commitment to make this act of communion last.

The Year of Mercy may have come to an end, but the spirit of Mercy never will. We returned from our pilgrimage renewed, encouraged, and determined.

‘A poor Church, for the poor’ is not just an aspiration, but a way of being in the world that is lived out daily in our communities, homes and families. Let’s dedicate ourselves to that this Advent season, and remember it’s cold outside.