Our family pilgrimage to Rome: Finale
- Aimee Boudreaux MacIver
- May 1
- 4 min read
During the finale of our family pilgrimage to Rome, the overwhelming words that surged through my mind and heart were one and universal. Lines for the pope’s wake fanned out from every alley connected to St Peter’s Square like the spokes on a giant wheel. In them stood so many, many kinds of people: Young, middle, old. I noticed a woman with a punk shaved hairstyle and motorcycle boots standing near a woman wearing a mantilla and a long dress. I heard Italian, Spanish, German, French, English in all accents, African and Arab languages. Priests and nuns dressed in a rainbow of habits, from white and black to bright blue and yellow. One, holy, Catholic, apostolic. One. Universal. One. Universal.
We started Day 5, another beautiful day that defied the original gloomy forecast, at the mind-blowing Capuchin Crypt Chapel—known also as The Bone Chapel. Below the original monastery, the crypt with a dirt floor contains thousands of human skeletons broken down and used as elaborate decorations across the walls and ceilings. The chandeliers are made of bones, the sacred symbols set in the ceiling are made of bones, the walls are lined with neat stacks of human skulls. Some full skeletons are dressed and posed in various scenes.
Y’all: nobody does weird like the Catholics. And you know you love it.
With all those real skulls (some still bearing hair and mummified flesh), the crypt could have been scary, I guess. But it actually felt reverent, a strangely beautiful moment of elevating the body’s goodness and holiness and sacramentality. The simple marker read, “What you are now, we once were. What we are now, you soon will be,” and I was reminded of St Francis’ “Sister Death” paradigm. It was the ultimate tip 5 (plus, the gift shop was super goth in a memento mori way).
Next we toured the Vatican Museums. If you’re planning a visit, absolutely book at least a month in advance—the regular entry lines seemed to wrap around the entire Vatican walls, but the prebook line zipped along. The paid tour is also well worth the cost (museums aren’t exactly our kids’ favorite pastime, but the tech-y headsets and charming guide helped keep their attention. And… I’ll be honest… so did all the marble butts).
We saw myriad treasures of art and sculpture, then entered the sublime Sistine Chapel. Workers were already prepping for the conclave, covering the chapel windows and bringing in seating—such a blend of earthy practicality with divine events.
Then on our way out, I walked right past a humble display until Colin called me back: the tunics of St Peter and St John. Something about seeing their ancient, stained clothes stopped me in my tracks. Peter was really here, wearing these very clothes. John was really here, maybe wearing this same tunic when he sat down to write, “In the beginning was the Word…” For me, this moment captured the whole point of pilgrimage: an experience of integration of body and soul. We move our bodies through a tangible course of sacred places, and our hearts and souls open in new and profound ways.
On Day 6, we woke up around 5:30 a.m. to join the line at St Peter’s for Pope Francis’s wake. I’ll never forget how the rising sun bathed the Tiber bridge like orange-gold plating. Even though we arrived so early, the lines had already wrapped around the cobblestone streets. Again, the words rang: One. Universal.
The line into St Peter’s moved slowly, slowly, slowly, yet the tens of thousands pushed so closely together remained prayerful, patient. It felt like a true community, and it was: everyone there in one united purpose. I’m sure many in the crowd were not Catholic, maybe not even believers, but those giant stone colonnades of St Peter’s were built to be immovable open arms. An unyielding embrace. One truth, one hope, one salvation for all: Jesus.
We prayed as we moved through the Jubilee holy doors and closer to Pope Francis’ body, the breathtaking weight of the basilica apt for the moment. In line, I looked over at the Pieta: what else can we do, in the end, except join her in holding onto Him?
We spent the rest of the day exploring Rome without a particular agenda. Pasta. Shops. Flea markets. Laughter. Gelato. Wine. More sacred places and more saints—the Church of the Gesú with St Francis Xavier’s hand relic (!), the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore with another pair of Jubilee holy doors and baby Jesus’ crib relics, an incorrupt pope encased in silver. We had the pure joy of unexpectedly meeting several friends along the way: one who’s now a priest teaching in Rome, one beloved former student who’s now a missionary, and my college roommate and her family. Our family pilgrimage to Rome also included a day in Assisi, which I’ll share in its own post.
When our son asked last fall if we could go to Rome, could we have planned so many gifts and graces? No. But we could be open to them. We could receive them. We could bring our bodies into these places, look upon this beauty, touch these doors, and listen for His voice.
And the truth is, we can do this anywhere we are, because He is always there, too.
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Thank you for sharing the highlights of your family trip. What a memorable time together. Your writing brought me there even though I've never been to Rome (yes tho to Assisi!)