By Guy Ciarrocchi • Posted August 28, 2025

Worshiping in a Catholic church in Lisbon, sitting shoulder to shoulder with people from across the globe, I was inspired to write about our vacation.

My wife and I arrived on Friday, Aug. 15, having been up nonstop since 6 a.m. Thursday in Paoli. (When you travel with my wife, know two things: if you want to rest, stay home. And her itinerary has precision admired at the Army War College. There is a third thing: you’ll visit a lot of churches.)

Chris had outdone herself for day one—the Feast of the Assumption. She planned a two-for-one: we would visit the Lisbon Cathedral; and literally standing in its shadows is St. Anthony’s Church, built where he was born. They were celebrating Mass at 5 p.m. for the Holy Day, and celebrating his feast.

By 4:30, it was crystal clear that we should take our seats—now!

It was remarkable. People kept coming and coming—and coming. Sitting on 19th century wooden pews, people kept squeezing in until it was physically impossible to fit any more. The side aisles filled up. Then people began standing in the center aisle. It was like the subway after an Eagles playoff game.

That was the first thing that overwhelmed me. I’ve read so many articles about Catholicism fading in Europe; about the rise of secularism, even atheism. Nonetheless, I can happily report that our faith was alive and well that day in August in a church with no air conditioning or fans.

The second thing that struck me was that I had never heard Portuguese spoken before. It sounds nothing like Spanish, let alone Italian, Latin or anything we could recognize. But we followed along in English on my phone, and enjoyed the music played by a Portuguese “fado” choir and musicians.

The experience reminded me that we are all members of the Catholic Church—the universal Church. One can attend Mass in Portugal and know what’s being said and prayed and why. The readings. The Gospel. The profession of faith. The Consecration. Holy Communion.

We did sing along with the prayers in Greek thanks to our faith — and my four years at St. Joe’s Prep.

We didn’t know the language, but we knew what they were saying. And yes, we exchanged a sign of peace with fellow Catholics from Portugal, the Philippines and France.

It was a powerful day for us — the overwhelming commitment to our faith; the universality and order, tradition and timeless structure of our faith.

Two days later, we attended Sunday Mass at the Jerónimos Monastery in Belem. Another moving experience, attending Mass in the ancient church. The septuagenarian altar server wore a sacred cape, common in Portugal. Due to renovations, there was a temporary altar sitting about 50 yards in front of the permanent altar and Blessed Sacrament. There was utter silence after Holy Communion as he processed back to the tabernacle carrying the hosts.

Two days later we went to Fatima. After Mass, visiting the chapels and receiving the sacrament of reconciliation, we returned that night for the traditional candlelight procession. Without recognizing it when we planned the visit, because it was Aug. 19–the anniversary of one of the apparitions of Mary to three children–the typical 30-minute procession across the campus was instead a 1.5-mile procession from the shrine to the location of that appearance of the Blessed Mother. A universal Church: we prayed the rosary and heard songs in Portuguese, Italian, Spanish, French, English and Polish— the latter perhaps was the majority of the pilgrims. (If Pope Leo’s papacy can do for America what Pope St. John Paul II’s did in Poland, it would be a blessing indeed.)

Our final day was to be a tour of the Monastery in Alcobaça, around the corner from the hotel my wife selected for that reason. Because it was their town’s holiday and festival, the monastery was closed. Chris was crushed. But, I had found a pamphlet for another monastery, about 20 minutes away. We pushed on.

We arrived to find an empty parking lot, a closed very old church and a mere skeleton of what was the monastery for the Cistercian Sisters, dating to the 1100s. However, the local shopkeeper wandered over and explained that he had the key and would let us in. Here was a magnificent, very old church with an interior wooden ceiling, carved statues—and altar.

The shopkeeper/tour-guide eventually opened the locked door to the sacristy. Another wood painted ceiling; but here the walls were covered in Portuguese blue and white tiles—every wall depicting the works of St. Bernard, to whom the church had been rededicated.

Our unexpected, unplanned, accidental visit occurred on Aug. 20–the feast of St. Bernard, author of The Memorare.

As the saying goes, “Chris plans, and God laughs.”

Our timeless, reviving, universal Church was displayed before our eyes. And I was moved to write about it.

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Guy Ciarrocchi is Senior Fellow with the Commonwealth Foundation. He and his family are members of St. Norbert Parish in Paoli. Follow Guy on social media at @PaSuburbsGuy. Read his other commentaries here.