Easter Sunday Mass at the Vatican | Auschwitz

"I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." (John 8:12)

This Easter, I witnessed two of the most unforgettable experiences of my life: attending Easter Sunday Mass at the Vatican, and visiting Auschwitz-Birkenau. These moments — filled with both immense hope and profound sorrow — strengthened my faith and my understanding of life, death, and God's love.

In light of Pope Francis’s passing, I want to reflect on his message of mercy and hope, sharing pieces from Happiness in This Life, a collection of his teachings.

Easter Sunday — April 21st

Before the sun even rose, my friends and I woke up at 5 a.m. to get ready for Mass at the Vatican. We packed snacks, books, and rosaries, ready to "camp" outside until the 10:30 a.m. service. We walked through the dark, early morning streets of Trastevere, buzzing with excitement in our Easter best.

As we crossed the Tiber River, we heard the patter of feet behind us — an army of college-aged girls carrying Bibles and rosaries. Determined to be at the front of the line, we quickened our pace... only for the girls to match us and then outpace us, sprinting toward St. Peter’s Square! I’ll never forget Emma racing one of them down the quiet cobblestone streets toward the Vatican.

When we finally reached the security line around 6 a.m., our spirits were high despite seeing that others had camped out even earlier. As we waited, the crowd around us grew and grew — a tapestry of faces, languages, and nations coming together to form the living body of Christ’s Church.

At 7:30 a.m., security opened, and we hurried (again) through the square — slowed only by the patient Swiss Guards — and found seats about 10 rows from the front.

The wait until Mass began was filled with rosary prayers, laughter, and conversations with new friends. Flags from around the world waved proudly. Different languages melted together. It felt like a glimpse of heaven.

Mass opened with the rosary and a beautiful procession of Swiss Guards and Church officials. In true Rome fashion, even PETA made an appearance with a peaceful protest about bullfighting. The sun broke through, and it was the most beautiful morning to celebrate Easter.

Cardinal Angelo Comastri led Mass, which switched between Italian, Latin, English, Spanish, Russian, Arabic, and Chinese. I loved how people from every corner of the world participated in the readings.

One moment that left me in awe was seeing the endless line of priests distributing the Eucharist to the thousands gathered — each accompanied by a bright yellow Vatican umbrella.

At the end of Mass, the crowd buzzed with anticipation as red curtains fluttered on the central balcony. Finally, Pope Francis appeared — frail but determined — and gave his special Easter blessing. Even from far away, you could feel the weight of his presence — humble, gentle, and deeply good. While Catholics believe the Pope is Christ’s representative on earth, I think anyone could feel that he was a leader rooted in peace, humility, and hope.

After his address, he rode through the crowds in the Popemobile, blessing the sick and cradling babies. Watching him tenderly greet each person reminded me of Jesus’s words: "Let the little children come to me."

That night, I boarded a plane for Krakow, Poland — a trip I booked after finding a cheap flight from Rome. I thought it would be a good opportunity to visit where Pope John Paul II once lived... and to see Auschwitz.

Monday — April 22nd

The next morning, as I packed for my day in Krakow, my phone lit up with messages from friends: Pope Francis had passed away.

Shock and sadness hit me all at once. It’s hard to describe grieving someone you've never personally met — but after seeing him speak, hearing his words, and witnessing his tenderness, it felt like losing a loved one. I dropped to my knees and prayed — for Pope Francis, for the Church, and for the world.

I thought about the symbolism of it all:

• Pope Francis mustering enough strength to bless the world on Easter Sunday

• His passing on April 22nd, the anniversary of Rome’s founding

• A reminder that God holds all of time and history in His hands.

Pope Francis’s life was a call to hope — and even in his death, it felt like a whisper of new beginnings.

Tuesday — April 23rd

At 4 a.m., running on little sleep and heavy emotions, I departed for Auschwitz.

After a long bus ride, we waited in line for six hours before our tour began. I think I waited longer in line than I slept the past two days.

Nothing could prepare me for what I would see.

The Entrance Gate of Auschwitz

Our guide, Chris, led us through Auschwitz I with quiet, somber respect. Above the gate, the infamous words loomed: "Arbeit macht frei" — "Work will set you free" — the first of many cruel lies.

The courtyard outside was lined with trees — not the original trees that once stood there, but ones carefully replanted decades later to restore the grounds to how they looked in the 1950s. In a place once scarred by unimaginable death, the trees now stood as a quiet symbol of resilience: that even in the darkest places, life can be planted again — and life can grow again.

We walked through long halls filled with framed photographs of prisoners: men, women, children. I looked into their hollowed eyes, their humanity frozen in time.

There were rooms stacked with eyeglasses, suitcases, children's shoes — and piles of hair, shorn from women to be sold for pennies.

One of the places we saw was the starvation cell that Saint Maximillian Kobe suffered in.

Maximilian Kolbe was a Polish Catholic priest who dedicated his life to spreading devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, founding the Militia Immaculata and establishing a monastery and publishing house in Niepokalanów, Poland.

When Nazi Germany invaded Poland, Kolbe’s monastery became a refuge for thousands, including Jews fleeing persecution. Eventually, Kolbe was arrested and sent to Auschwitz in 1941.

There, after a prisoner escaped, the camp’s SS guards randomly selected ten men to be starved to death in punishment. When one of the chosen men, Franciszek Gajowniczek, cried out for his wife and children, Kolbe stepped forward and volunteered to take his place — choosing to give his life for a stranger.

Locked in a starvation bunker with the other condemned men, Kolbe ministered to them, leading prayers and offering comfort. After two weeks without food or water, Kolbe was the last man still alive. He was finally killed by a lethal injection on August 14, 1941.

Kolbe was later canonized by Pope John Paul II in 1982 as a "martyr of charity," a powerful testament to the self-emptying love Christ calls us to live.

His sacrifice echoed Pope Francis’s words:

"You will find life by giving life, hope by giving hope, and love by loving."

After Auschwitz I, we visited Auschwitz II-Birkenau — the larger, deadlier camp. We stood on the train tracks that carried millions to their deaths. We saw the gas chambers, the stripped-down barracks, the hundreds of chimneys from blown-up prisoner housing.

Walking through Birkenau was walking through a graveyard of suffering.

• The dressing rooms where prisoners were stripped of dignity before death

• The fake train car used to lure people into false hope

• The gas chambers where bodies piled into pyramids, desperate for air

In a place so steeped in death, it was hard to feel anything but overwhelming sadness and confusion.

A Light in the Darkness

Coming back to Rome was difficult. My heart felt heavy, trying to process the beauty of Easter, the sorrow of Auschwitz, and the loss of Pope Francis — all in the span of three days.

But Pope Francis’s words lingered in my heart:

• Serve without counting the cost

• Live a life of simplicity

• Love with self-emptying love

Through life’s deepest sorrows and greatest joys, I know one thing remains:

Christ is risen. He is the light that shines in every darkness — even in the most broken places of the world.