Ignatian Pilgrimage 2026: Where the Hand of God is Present

To write or not to write, that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to share the experience through my lens or to remain silent and rather act according to expectations. To feel or not to feel, that is another question; and after revising my annotations, temperance and faith were victorious by the end of my pilgrimage. I feel in Spanish, but I write in English.

A pilgrimage is a journey that turns into a story. The resolution of my story was intended to inspire change: Only when we experience solitude and silence, we can truly connect with God and discern His voice.

The first place we visited was Castle Loyola, home of Iñigo López (aka Saint Ignatius of Loyola). It was in this castle where Iñigo reflected on what really made him happy and decided to abandon his life as a knight to become a pilgrim: from wealth to precarity; from comfort to uncertainty. Iñigo saw a new road before him, a life of service that seemed deeply attractive to him.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Bilbao, Loyola, Pamplona, and Arántzazu were some of the places we visited in search of the many lessons that Ignatius passed on to others. Churches, temples, and monasteries were all included in the itinerary, and I frequently found myself wondering about God’s plan for me. Naturally, history comes intrinsically with religion and enriches the pilgrimage experience, but my intention was purely transcendental. I had thoughts that came from God, and I welcomed them. These thoughts were gentle and liberating.

But the turning point was the amazing Montserrat Abbey, a symbol of Catalan nationalism. This is the place where Iñigo exchanged his elegant clothes for a beggar’s rags. In a metaphorical sense, we take away masks or costumes that fancy recognition and learn to understand that God wants to see us as noble and genuine as a child. Attending mass every day made me soften the stone wall of stubbornness, and letting go of my ego made me give up control -which is really an illusion.

The Virgin of Montserrat or Black Madonna felt deeply special, not because of the statue itself, but because of the energy in the room. Right away, without any expectations, a sudden wave of happiness washed over me: My cup runneth over. I smiled, then prayed for my students —the main characters in the story of my pilgrimage.

In Montserrat, I woke up each morning to the sound of church bells and suddenly felt like Prince Akeem in Coming to America. The hand of God (and I’m not referencing Maradona) is evidently present at the Montserrat mountain range. Think of our beautiful Puerto Rico mountains, exponentially elevated to the second power. The view conveys spirituality, and the mountain becomes a teacher. Lucky for me, I used my free time to hike Sant Jeroni, the highest peak of Montserrat at 4,055 feet above sea level. Solitude and Silence, just what I needed.

Our next stop was Barcelona. The food, the coast, and the World Cup were healthy distractions, but I promised myself to remain focused on my intention: A pilgrim’s life is a simple life. In Barcelona, as with all the holy sites I have seen, we followed an agenda with a mission. The first objective was to pray for our ancestors, and the second objective was to pray for the mysterious unity between God and our true selves. God is love. God lives in you. God never abandons you. We also had the opportunity to visit the Sagrada Familia Basilica, architecturally designed by Antoni Gaudí.

Not that I loved Caesar less,

but that I loved Rome more.

My first time in Italy marked the conclusion of this journey, and I loved the experience because Rome is full of life. To be honest, on the night of June 22, I decided to go by myself to a place where I could enjoy the football match between Argentina and Austria. The place was full of Argentinians, and I -of course- was wearing my Messi jersey. These people welcomed me by singing chants, but the problem was that they never stopped singing. And because I was so happy after the game, that night, I went to sleep early. “Olé, Olé, Olé, cada día te quiero más.”

The Catacombs, where the early Christians prayed and buried their dead, made me think of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado.” Moreover, I learned that Ignatius studied Philosophy and Theology at the University of Paris, and his roommates were Peter Faber and Francis Xavier. Eventually, this group of friends formed a new religious order, better known as the Company of Jesus. Their mission was to share with the world the Good News they had learned in prayer.

The Gesu Church in the heart of Rome, where Ignatius’ magnificent tomb and shrine are located, helped me reflect about how fortunate I am for working as an educator in Colegio San Ignacio. Francis Xavier, the courageous explorer and gifted athlete, made me think of my classroom -a safe place where students read to know more about the world.

God will plant our feet on the path that’s best for us,

but it’s up to us to do the walking. 

Thank you, Father Tim Howe, for giving me this opportunity for growth and professional development. Thank you, Father Gary Menard, for nourishing us with your history knowledge and spiritual wisdom. Thank you, Ron Rebore, for guiding and taking good care of us. Thank you, Laura Rosado, for being my amiable roommate. And finally, thank you to my fellow pilgrims, educators from the USA Central and Southern Province of the Society of Jesus, for your companionship and camaraderie. There is strength in unity.