Jubilee pilgrimage and final farewell

May 09, 2025

By Joseph Tek Choon Yee
My family and I made a Jubilee Year pilgrimage, walking together through the Holy Doors of Rome. More than a physical journey, it was a sacred encounter — one that stirred the soul.

As a family, we stepped into a moment that comes only once every 25 years, drawn by a shared longing for renewal, mercy and deeper faith. The next Holy Year will be in 2050. I may not have the health or strength to do it then — or may not even be around. That thought isn't sad — just a quiet call to be fully present, to walk these doors not only for myself but for those I love and for generations to come.

We journeyed through the Eternal City, hearts humbled among fellow pilgrims from across the world, from St Paul Outside the Walls, to St John Lateran and the Marian beauty of Santa Maria Maggiore. Each Holy Door felt like a threshold into deeper communion with God, and with one another. We participated in prayers, Mass and the sacrament of Reconciliation. We had planned to enter the final Holy Door (St Peter’s Basilica) on Easter Monday, after celebrating the joyous Easter Mass in the presence of Pope Francis. But Heaven had its own plans.

That Easter Sunday, bells rang and Alleluias echoed across Rome but the next morning, the world received the saddest news that Pope Francis had passed away. The Easter Mass we attended became his final Mass. A bittersweet liturgy, now etched in our hearts forever.

When we finally stepped through our last Holy Door of St Peter’s, it was no longer just a moment of completion, it became a farewell. A deeply moving and unforgettable act of love and gratitude to a shepherd who had led the flock with humility, simplicity, full of love and courage.

Just catching our flight, we were blessed to witness a solemn moment in sacred history, Pope Francis’ simple wooden coffin carried from his humble residence at Casa Santa Marta to St Peter’s Basilica. Later, among tens of thousands, we joined pilgrims, clergy, and mourners from around the world to pay our final respects — united in love and gratitude for a shepherd who gave so much of himself. Now, he lies in state, awaiting his funeral on Saturday

In keeping with the simplicity that defined his life and ministry, Pope Francis chose not to be buried within the grand halls of the Vatican, but at the Santa Maria Maggiore, a smaller, beloved basilica he often visited in quiet prayer, located beyond the Vatican walls. It is a tender, telling gesture. He will be the first pope to be laid to rest there since the 1600s, and the first in over a century to be buried outside the Vatican grounds.

True to form, he asked for nothing elaborate. Just a simple tomb in the earth, marked only by a plain gravestone bearing a single word: Francis. No titles. No grandeur. Just the name he carried as a humble servant of God.

Even in death, Pope Francis sought to teach — stripping down the funeral rites to offer one final lesson to the Church he loved so deeply. A lesson in humility. In returning to the essence of faith. His final resting place is not just a burial — it is a symbol, a prayer and his quiet call for the Church to keep walking the path of compassion, simplicity and mercy.

Jubilee Year and Holy Doors
For Catholics all over the world, the Jubilee Year holds deep meaning. One of the most cherished traditions during this sacred time is making a pilgrimage to the Holy Doors. At first glance, it might just look like a doorway, but to Catholics, it’s a powerful symbol. Walking through it represents crossing from darkness into light, from sin into grace, from weariness into renewed hope. It’s a spiritual homecoming.

For my family, this journey wasn’t just about ticking a box or seeing famous places, although all pilgrims will be awed with the beauty of the basilicas. It’s about pausing our busy lives, grounding ourselves in faith, being one with family and saying: God, we still believe. Help our unbelief.

We’re not making this pilgrimage because we’re perfect. Far from it. We go because we’re human - in need of mercy, of healing, of God’s gentle touch. We go to give thanks for all we’ve received, and to carry in prayers of those family members and our many friends who can’t be there.

Crossing the Holy Door doesn’t change everything overnight. But it marks a step. A choice. A reminder that even at any age and whoever we are, we are still journeying, still growing, still being drawn deeper into God’s love. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the whole point.

What was meant to be a pilgrimage of renewal and jubilation also became a time of sacred mourning for us. Yet in that blend of joy and sorrow, we discovered something timeless — the strength of faith, the power of family, and the quiet grace found even in farewell. Along the way, we met fellow pilgrims and encountered “human angels” who appeared in moments of difficulty, reminding us that grace often walks beside us in human form.

Remembering Pope Francis: He Waited for Easter
During our pilgrimage to Rome, as we journeyed through the sacred days of the Easter Triduum, one single liturgy from Holy Thursday, Good Friday to the glory of Easter Sunday, we had no idea that we would also become witnesses to a moment of profound historical and spiritual significance: the passing of Pope Francis.

My family and I stood in St Peter’s Square that Easter morning, part of the crowd of 35,000 faithful gathered beneath the Roman sky for the Easter Mass. As the curtains parted on the balcony of St Peter’s Basilica, a hush fell over the crowd. The roar of anticipation gave way to reverent silence as the Holy Father surprisingly appeared. He raised his hand in blessing, a gesture now as tender as it was powerful. His voice, though strained, carried across the square: “Dear brothers and sisters, I wish you a happy Easter.” Those seven words, spoken with great effort, would become his final public message.

Personally, I think many people could feel something. As if they knew, it was the last time they’d see him. There was no booming chant of “Viva il Papa!” like in past years. Instead, the square was filled with something deeper — an unspoken reverence. It was much quieter than usual. Little did we know, he was giving us his last goodbye. Not with fanfare or speeches, but with his presence. With breath. With one final blessing from the heart of a shepherd who, even in suffering, chose to show up for his flock.

But that was not all. As the celebration drew to a close, Pope Francis made an unannounced appearance in his popemobile. Slowly, gently, he was driven among the faithful, waving, blessing, kissing babies, touching hearts. My family were so close, close enough to meet his gaze and return his wave. The air was filled with sacred joy — radiant, communal, unforgettable. It felt like a gift wrapped in grace; one we didn’t yet know was a farewell.

Our hearts were heavy the next day. We didn’t realise, at that moment, that we were witnessing his final hours of public ministry. That his gentle wave, his serene smile, and his quiet strength that Easter morning would be his last. Looking back, it’s as if Pope Francis waited — held on through the holiest days of the Church’s year — just long enough to proclaim with us all: “Jesus Christ is Risen!” Then, in the peace of Easter Monday at 7.35am, he whispered his own final Amen, and returned to the Father. He had carried out his duty as shepherd for his flock till his last breath.

A Journey of Grace
As for my family, we were deeply blessed to make our Jubilee pilgrimage during Holy Week—walking through the Holy Doors, receiving the Jubilee Indulgence, joining Easter Mass and receiving Pope Francis’ final Urbi et Orbi blessing. And unexpectedly the next day, we mourned his passing and were granted the grace to pay our last respects.

Yes. It was as though he waited for Easter — because he believed in the promise of resurrection. Now, that promise is his. Light has found him. And Love has brought him home. To witness these sacred moments together — as a family — was a gift beyond words. A journey of faith, love and hope we will never forget. May Pope Francis rest in the peace he so often wished upon others. Happy Easter.