The sun rises, dressed in gold, over the sea. The pilgrim’s day begins in the silence of the morning prayer. It’s October 1, the feast of St. Thérèse of Lisieux. I like to imagine the enthusiasm of our dear little Thérèse if she had seen the fervor of the Maltese. Her heart would have leapt with joy and wonder at this saintly, beautiful land. Of course, as a religious, she never left the convent, but her joy crossed all fences and borders and spread throughout the world.
We set off for Rabat. The streets are lined with colorful English arched windows, a revival of the Arab moucharabiehs of the 19th century. Marian niches adorn the corners of the houses. Statues of saints are everywhere, carved in the honey and apricot stone that makes Malta so irresistibly warm.
We follow in the footsteps of St. Paul. His arrival in Malta is surrounded by no less than three miracles. Not only did the storm almost kill the entire crew of the ship that was taking him to Rome, but the captain, seeing the danger, wanted to kill all the prisoners (including Paul) to prevent them from escaping. Rescued by the centurion Julius, Paul arrived on dry land and, according to the Acts of the Apostles, was bitten by a viper (Acts 28:3). When the Maltese saw that the poison had no effect on him, they understood that this man was out of the ordinary.
The eternal life Paul told them about
In Rabat, the grotto where the apostle lived for three months awaits. Paul preached the Word of God to the Maltese, baptized them, celebrated the first Eucharist in these lands and healed the sick. His presence is engraved in the gray stone of the cave. He surely walked on this very ground. Suddenly his great figure becomes more human, more present. One can almost feel his silhouette.
And that’s what a pilgrimage is: an encounter across time. In Malta, St. Paul is truly present. In the catacombs that bear his name, the fruits of his apostolate are overwhelming. The tombs of entire Christian families. Parents lying beside their children. The age of the occupants is easy to guess from the size of their graves: not very wide for slender mothers, not very high for teenagers, even very small for those who died in infancy. It is a true labyrinth of caves and rooms used for Christian worship ... among 500 tombs of souls united by faith and the hope of the eternal life that Paul had shared with them.
The catacombs and hypogea in Malta, including St. Paul’s, date back to the 3rd/4th century AD, and were used until the 8th century. A few may go back to the 2nd century, for instance the St. Cataldus hypogea. However, even though these burial systems and places of Christian worship probably are not contemporary with St. Paul, as in the case of the Grotto, they are still tangible proof that the Good News and teachings of the Apostle of the Gentiles was preserved in the following centuries, and it thrives until today
This moving place is also a page of contemporary history. During the Second World War, Malta’s strategic location in the Mediterranean made it a key battleground between the Axis and Allied forces. As a result, it was the target of an unprecedented bombardment. The courage of the Maltese people shone through during this cruel period. Centuries later, they echoed the courage of the besieged knights of 1565 and hid in the catacombs where the early Christians protected their young faith.
Mass is celebrated in St. Paul’s Basilica. From the first steps of a castaway on the sandy beach to this majestic building, a whole journey of faith has blossomed here. We return. In the amber light, I talk to my fellow pilgrims about religious art in Malta – every single detail in these churches has been carefully tended to. What is surprising is that there are so many churches in Malta, that you could attend Mass in a different one every day of the year! Religious art and liturgical objects are to churches what the spine is to the human body. And it’s good to be reminded of the very powerful and essential symbols that are right in front of our eyes in the churches we love.
