Pilgrimage during the week

At the height of Gran Via, I cross the teachers' demonstration, which recharge me with a type of faith in the collective that I'm not sure rhymes with the faith that's the protagonist of the day or if it chatters. I head towards the cathedral, the temperature is as it should be for the time of year, and Barcelona's Gothic Quarter is as full as ever with tourists and absurd shops.

The most reliable clue to know you're approaching Leo XIV is a compression of colors in the pedestrians' clothing: when I arrive at the square, the absolute triumph of white, sky blue, and beige is confirmed, an angelic Pantone typical of people who value fitting in with the group and a certain idea of harmony. The Vatican flag is the dominant cloak, and those present are aware that no direct contact with the Holy Father is planned and that they will barely see an official car pass by, but, despite everything, it's worth it for them to be physically close to Leo XIV.

The first thing the disbeliever who only knows of massive expressions of a political, football, or musical nature should understand is that the congregation of faithful to the Pope emanates a very intense and at the same time very respectful collective joy. The emotional bubble has the absolutely unusual quality of those who are willing to give without expecting anything in return.

I speak with attendees of all kinds, in search of a unified theory of the Pope. Belén and Fernando, mother and teenage son, tell me they are very excited to see him even if it's just a glimpse, that for Catholics like them (from the parish of Santa Agnès, in Sant Gervasi) "the Pope is like the father of the family," and that what they like about Leo XIV is that "he is very approachable and says things clearly." This celebration of normality will be the common thread of my survey, in which, after "approachable," the absolute winner, adjectives such as "diplomatic," "open," and a reminder that "he rolled up his sleeves and acted as a missionary" are repeated.

Quique, who belongs to a group from Cordoba demanding the sainthood of a fellow citizen who died in 2005 and claimed to communicate directly with God, explains to me that they come from Madrid and will follow the pontiff to the Canary Islands with the aim of conveying the words and deeds of the not-yet-recognized prophet to him. Mariel is visiting Barcelona with her family; they are all from Venezuela. They are very happy to have encountered the Pope, and they give thanks for the coincidence, naturally, to God.

When Leo XIV arrives there is uncertainty, squeals, applause, and those who find themselves on the shoulders of a loved one make sure to return the favor by recording it well with their mobile phone. The car passes and the square empties with great diligence and no resignation: in the afternoon I will see on social media that the Pope has broken protocol and spoken with those who remained waiting in the square, which is perhaps a parable about the reward of sacrifice.

In the afternoon I head to Plaça Espanya for the big event: a great vigil of prayer with live music, testimonies, and an Eucharistic adoration, intended mainly for young people. A constant and orderly stream rises towards Montjuïc, and resonances are activated with a theme as important for Catholics as the ascension to the mountain. Again, the atmosphere is exceptionally happy and clean at the same time.

Since there has been controversy over the use of Catalan, I refine my national observation skills and note that, indeed, the most numerous flag after the Vatican one is the Spanish one, and the few cheers that are attempted are always in Spanish: “¡Viva el Papa!” and “Esta es la juventud del Papa”.

However, if I lend an ear, I hear a lot of Catalan. And as soon as I detect a group of young people wearing the senyera on their backs, I approach them. Pau and Mar, from Salesians de Navas, tell me that Catalan identity is an essential factor of their religiosity, and that they have come with great eagerness to listen to the Pope's speech calmly, but that they also want to “contribute to counteracting the Spanish nationalism” that tends to take over Christian events in Catalonia. They are very happy that the language has been vindicated, and at the same time they come to enjoy a spiritual experience with the minimum possible interference: more than indignation, they convey the fatigue of having to fight for what should be perfectly normal.

At the stadium entrance everything is very orderly, and even those who have come from far away without knowing that an entrance ticket was required take it with philosophy. I notice the volunteers' t-shirt. The slogan is “Look up”, and it contains the following instructions: 1) Turn off the screen; 2) Think for a few seconds; 3) Tilt your head 45º; 4) Look up.

True to a past in which I participated in other forms of faith, when a crowd of genuinely enthusiastic people in colorful t-shirts asks me for something, I cannot help but believe. From Montjuïc, I look up at the sky.