Two million young pilgrims unite in prayer in a Europe still reeling from attacks by terrorists
The B.C. Catholic
Two million young people stood, completely silent, in a field in Krakow, Poland.
That’s what I will say when people ask me about my experience at World Youth Day this summer: 2 million people in complete silence.
When millions of people gather anywhere for any reason, it’s a unique occasion. It becomes even more noteworthy when that vast crowd is made of millennials mostly under the age of 35, completely sober, and gathered from every continent to pray.
“Dear friends, I ask that we join in prayer for the sufferings of all the victims of war,” Pope Francis said July 30, just before asking for that moment of silence.
“Once and for all, may we realize that nothing justifies shedding the blood of a brother or sister, that nothing is more precious than the person next to us.”
Then 2 million Catholics held hands with strangers next to them and silently pleaded with their Father. I could hear nothing but a baby crying and the buzzing of police radios.
“Our response to a world at war has a name,” Pope Francis said. “Its name is fraternity. Its name is brotherhood. Its name is communion. Its name is family.”
Many pilgrims in that sea of faces knew very well what the Pope was talking about. One of them, a young Syrian named Rand, had given her testimony earlier that Saturday evening.
Rand, 26, was from Aleppo. She has personally grieved the deaths of at least four loved ones, including a close friend and a 13-year-old boy, in the war at home.
Her prayer at the end of her speech shocked me into tears: “Jesus, I trust in You.”
Want to see what real faith looks like? Glance into the faces of the dozens of young pilgrims proudly and boldly waving flags from Syria, Iraq, or Lebanon. Of all the people in the crowd, some really knew what they were talking about when they talked about mercy and prayed for peace.
Flags from France were also flying during World Youth Day, as pilgrims from that country milled about, usually in large and boisterous groups.
Those French pilgrims had, less than two weeks earlier, heard of or perhaps watched as a terrorist drove a truck into a crowd of people watching fireworks in Nice, killing 85 people and injuring hundreds more.
Last year’s shooting at Charlie Hebdo magazine headquarters was still in their memories. There were international alerts that World Youth Day could be the next target for a major terrorist attack. Still they came.
(They would later hear that while they were away, an 84-year-old priest had had his throat slit by two terrorists in the French town of Saint-tienne-du-Rouvray.)
German pilgrims were still packing when they found out a teenager in Munich had pulled out a gun at a busy shopping centre and killed nine people. Did that change their travel plans?
The Brussels airport, tragically bombed in March, still smelled of fresh paint as pilgrims stopped over on their way to Krakow. Did that stop them?
A threat is lurking in Europe, so serious that a Polish policeman or military man stood every 10 metres at every World Youth Day event and every major street nearby. There were bag checks, sniper towers, and an ever-circling military helicopter.
Clearly there was something important going on in Krakow. Something precious. Something worth protecting.
For me, nothing explained it better than a song I heard during a concert in the city square July 29. Polish composer Piotr Rubik was on stage, conducting a full orchestra, choir, and five world-class vocalists.
The square was packed. The sun was setting. The music tugged at my heartstrings.
After Pope John Paul II’s death, Rubik composed a musical biography of the saint, a passionate narration of his childhood, priesthood, life, and death. I can’t listen to it without feeling proud to be Catholic.
This concert featured new music: an album about persecuted Christians and martyrs, especially Father Jerzy Popieluszko, a young charismatic priest who was tortured and killed by communists in Poland in 1984.
The heart-wrenching music came with lyrics that I’ve translated here for you:
“Over the armed detachments and armour, over the world that the world is trying to destroy, over the shields, swords, and knights, over the books as old as the universe: Faith! I say faith! Faith! I say faith!”
“If faith would no longer be faith, but just knowledge and science, man would be striving to survive and not have something to live for.”
That is why, despite heat, exhaustion, and threats, 2 million people prayed with the Pope in a field in Krakow.
