As a pilgrim from Thailand walking the cobbled streets of Rome during the Jubilee Year 2025, I am overwhelmed.
The Eternal City feels as though it’s breathing deeper these days—its ancient lungs filled with the prayers of millions who have come to celebrate this extraordinary Holy Week.
Rome is bursting at the seams. The city is crowded, yes—but not with tourists. These are pilgrims: men, women, children, entire families carrying nothing more than backpacks, rosaries, and hope.
From the piazzas to the basilicas, Rome is full to the brim, almost exploding with life and longing.
The queue to pass through the Holy Door at St. Peter’s Basilica stretches endlessly. One needs stamina and patience.
And yet, despite the long hours under the Roman sun with occasional rain, I saw no frustration—only faith.
People wait with quiet anticipation, some praying silently, others singing hymns in their native tongues.
The Holy Door stands not only as an architectural marvel but as a profound spiritual invitation—an entry into grace and forgiveness.
This morning of Holy Thursday, April 17, I was among the blessed few who managed to attend the Chrism Mass inside St. Peter’s Basilica.
The basilica, one of the largest Catholic churches in the world, somehow still could not hold the flood of pilgrims eager to enter.
Entry was limited to those with pre-booked tickets. Security was tight, movement carefully orchestrated—but nothing could diminish the awe of stepping into that sacred space.
During the liturgy, the Holy Door remained closed. And yet, in a deeper sense, every heart there was opening.
I brought a liturgy book in Thai with me so I wouldn’t miss a word, though the Mass was in Italian.
Around me were fellow pilgrims from all over the world, and I was struck to see several Asian faces nearby—each of us carrying silent intentions, stories, and dreams.
Somehow, without speaking, we understood one another. We were home.
Though I have visited Rome and attended Masses at the basilica many times before, this one felt different.
The gravity of this Jubilee moment—when the Church opens wide its arms to welcome all back to God—was almost tangible.
It felt as if the very stones of the basilica held their breath with us.
In his homily, read by Cardinal Domenico Calcagno, Pope Francis reminded us that this Jubilee year is a time for “beginning again.”
Speaking to priests, he said: “As pilgrims of hope, we are called to leave clericalism behind and to become heralds of hope.”
But I believe his words reach far beyond the ordained. All of us, wherever we are in the world, are invited to begin again—to reset our lives, to reconcile with God, and to walk forward renewed.
And this, I believe, is the heart of Holy Week in Jubilee Rome.
It’s not just about the majestic liturgies, the impressive processions, or the sacred art. It’s about the people.
It’s about the man kneeling in confession in a language not his own. It’s about the elderly woman slowly making her way toward the Holy Door, carried more by faith than by feet. It’s about the young people sleeping in hostels or walking all day just to be near St. Peter’s, their eyes shining not with weariness but with purpose.
This is a city transformed by mercy and hope. And I, too, am being transformed.
I came as a pilgrim from Asia, hoping to receive a blessing. But I leave with more—I leave with stories written in my heart.
I leave with a deepened sense of communion, of being part of something vast and beautiful and timeless.
To my brothers and sisters across Asia, I say: come if you can. Rome awaits, but more importantly, God awaits.
And if you cannot come in person, journey with us in spirit. This Jubilee is for everyone.
Let us all walk through the Holy Door—wherever we are—and begin again.
Chainarong Monthienvichienchai is the former president of Unda – International Catholic Association for Radio and Television – and Thailand’s first Knight Grand Cross of the Pontifical Equestrian Order of St. Gregory the Great.
