Being a Pilgrim

To be honest, I really dislike Sydney. It’s too large a city, too busy, too noisy, too smelly, too crowded and definitely, in my original opinion, too soul-less. So, knowing that my pilgrimage would be in Sydney, definitely struck me as being utterly ironic.

My first night there was ordinary. There was nothing special beyond planning the activities of the next day as quickly as I could. Our group has decided on the “free & easy” method, whereby everyone is not bound to each other’s plans. the only drawback to that plan is that the location of our accomodation necessitates that we all need to move in groups. That in itself isn’t too big a drawback, except for me.

I really didn’t want to have to hang around others while I had “ssoo many things planned”. Ah, the “grumpy old lady” in me was rising its ugly head again. Above all, I was desperately trying to get myself stuff that’s more material than God-related, and I didn’t want to be found out. To my selfish self, i didn’t think of the fact that people might worry about my whereabouts.

the thing is, God always has his own plans. I could lose myself from my own group, but I cannot escape from my own pilgrimage and my own path of self discovery, no matter how lonesome i intended it to be, or however far away i may choose to fly.

My little side trip away from my group showed me many things. From my ignorance of world affairs (There are Lebanese Catholics too! And their flag looks like a Christmas Flag), to the feeling of being so much a part of something big whether i like it or not. I may not have a “group” but I definitely “belonged”.

There were a thousand people inside of St. Mary’s, with yet another few hundreds more in queue to go in, and a few more hundreds just milling along in Hyde Park. There were many national flags, many singing, exchanges of pleasantries and introductions, there was so much love in the air: there was just pure ecstatic electricity there.

Most importantly, there was, as an old man would later insist to me, plenty of “blind faith”.

I grinned at it all, and started walking towards Barangaroo for the opening mass. Yet, i was surprised again by the sheer amount of ecstasy running through everyone.

“AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE!!” “OI, OI, OI!!!”

“AUSSIEE!!!!”

Cries rang out against buildings as roads were closed to traffic. Pilgrims walked from Pitt Street down towards Circular Quay and up towards the Rocks. Paths weren’t big enough for us, and so we all filled up the roads, flags awaving, chants rolling off the walls of high-end Business District buildings while their inhabitants, seemingly on their lunch breaks, stood at the entrance of their buildings just watching us wave past them all.

some people were discussing about all these festivities behind me. “Why would people come do this? I mean, i am a Catholic too, but i don’t even go church!”

“oh, you know, some people like to have a nice, free holiday here in Sydney.”

I am sorry, this was actually a paid trip for many people. Furthermore, the tickets for WYD doesn’t include actual TRANSPORT TO SYDNEY. The ignorant comments irked me quite abit. a pilgrimage is NOTHING like a holiday. Some of the pilgrims slept in the olympic park -.- we shower out in the cold fields, in a little makeshift plywood cabin. between 9am to 7pm, our accomodations are actually closed to us, so we can not rest even if we intend to unless we purchase local motel rooms or sit in a restaurant for a long time.

Many others though, were warm and welcoming. There were people who come and gave us high-fives. Others who came and pat us on our backs and wished us well. There were those who understood the pilgrimage and refused to let us pay taxi fares - but instead insisted we walk where we wanted to go (even though traffic were allowed to some points).

Crowds came to a bottleneck after the Rocks. at times we were all hip to hip, and at times there were people who just chose to sat down and sang praises in their own languages. Yet more people chose to dance as well, instead of worry about their lunches (which were provided at Barangaroo) or if they would be in time for the mass.

there were even Maori people doing the Ke Mate Haka! how awesome is that?!?! And everyone looked SO happy.

And then i walked into Barangaroo, and i inhaled.

There were people EVERYWHERE. Flags pronouncing their nationalities, their schools. The noise in the air wasn’t just people breathing, there were many languages floating around. From Vietnamese, to Thai, to Spanish, French, Italian, German and even Korean. I was absolutely floored.

And then suddenly, i felt this urgency to find my group. “they must be worried about me.” no shit, stupid. I ran towards our planned meeting place (planned just in case idiots get lost) and then i saw… a flood of relief and joy entering the faces of people i have only just met the day before. they WERE worried. I felt like a fool. “the prodigal chick returns!!! yay!!” Inwardly, i lol-ed but i also felt bad. Why am i running away from them?

sheesh.

and we went in and gathered together for the opening mass, where again and again, i was floored by the unity of the church infront of me. People reciting prayers together, kneeling together, attempting to sing songs together even if they speak no english.

and taking communion together.

That was so beautiful.

Better yet? Residents around Barangaroo stood there on their balconies through out the whole mass. One couple, in particular, hugged each other when the “peace be with you” came around. I think, and i hope, we gave them something memorable and beautiful for ages to come.