Despite my deep and abiding faith, something in me prickled when I tried to convince myself that this could be the real deal. I couldn’t bring myself to go, that is until my most recent — and fifth — visit to the Eternal City. The Holy Stairs were on the itinerary of the pilgrimage I was leading through Italy. When we arrived at the site, I fully intended to stand by and let the other pilgrims proceed, and then my husband, Dennis, volunteered to go first when no one else stepped forward. I immediately joined him, as did our son, Noah.

It is customary to climb the 28 steps on your knees while praying, which is what we did. As the three of us began, all on the same step as we inched our way up, I prayed for all those intentions I had brought with me from people back home and for my family and friends. As we continued, sometimes waiting for those ahead who were having more difficulty navigating the ascent, I began expanding my prayers to include all those who were before and behind me on the stairs, and finally, as my knees started to ache and I felt a twinge in my back, my prayers seemed to encompass the whole world, and there was a feeling of incredible love for all those on the stairs with me. It was for me a version of what Trappist monk Tho­mas Merton described in his “Fourth and Walnut moment,” when he stood on a street corner in Kentucky and saw those around him shining like the sun.

I was deeply moved, not because I suddenly believed without a doubt in the veracity of the claim that the stairs are the stairs, but because none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that we climbed those stairs out of faith, bound together by a common purpose with our interior prayers swirling around the silence.

That night, as our pilgrimage group gathered for dinner, we began talking about our favorite parts of the day, which, as you might expect on a pilgrimage through Italy, was jam-packed with important spiritual sites. I was so happy to hear numerous people say that the Holy Stairs were the highlight. And that is the blessing and beauty of pilgrimage.

We often think we understand the meaning of the word “pilgrimage,” until we find ourselves in the midst of an actual pilgrim journey with things not going exactly as planned, or on a staircase we had no intention of climbing and discover transcendence and transformation where we least expect it. That is often the case when we are willing to embrace the journey before us rather than the image we’ve created in our minds. To be a pilgrim is not to sit in a café and sip espresso, although that’s lovely; it is to walk the path of those who came before us in hopes that as we do so we will be changed.

Author Mark Nepo writes: “To journey without being changed is to be a nomad. To change without journeying is to be a chameleon. To journey and to be transformed by the journey is to be a pilgrim.”

We do not have to travel far to take up the pilgrim journey. Our very lives can become a pilgrimage, if we can, as St. Catherine of Siena said, recognize that “all the way to heaven is heaven.” God is in our every breath, our every step. All that’s required is our attention and intention.

Mary DeTurris Poust is leading two September retreats in the region: Stillpoint at Pyramid Life Center on Sept. 5-7, and The Journey Is the Goal at Graymoor Retreat Center on Sept. 19-21. For more information, click HERE.

This column originally appeared in the July 24, 2025 issue of The Evangelist.

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We will visit the most spectacular and sacred sites these Italian cities have to offer while leaving plenty of time for sipping a cappuccino in a piazza, shopping in an open-air market, or just wandering down a narrow cobblestone street toward a hidden-but-magnificent gem you didn’t even know you needed to see. Throughout we’ll have our own chaplain with us every step of the way. Father Matthew Duclos of the Albany Diocese will say daily Mass for our group and offer insights gained from his years of study in Rome. That’s a benefit that can’t be calculated!

We’ll stay four nights in Rome, giving us plenty of time to get our fill of the Eternal City and all its glories, including a papal audience with Pope Francis. From there we’ll take our comfortable motor coach to the small-but-spectacular city of Orvieto en route to Assisi, where we will spend two nights soaking up the mystical, magical energy that seeps up from the streets of this city of St. Francis. We head to Siena next, another not-to-be-missed medieval city, on our way to fabulous Florence, where we will spend another two days and nights. We head north to the quaint and walkable city of Padua, which will be our base for Venice and our last two days of the pilgrimage. We’ll depart from Venice on another non-stop flight back to Newark on Friday, Oct. 11, 2024.

I have traveled to Italy four times — as a pilgrimage leader, a pilgrim, a student, and with my family — and I can tell you that this particular pilgrimage offers a wonderful and much-needed balance, giving us plenty of time in key cities to see all that needs to be seen while also providing ample time to experience Italian life and not simply check off a list of tourist attractions. You don’t want to race through Italy; you want to experience, at least now and then, dolce far niente — the sweetness of doing nothing, for which Italians are so famous. Join me, and find out for yourself why I continue to return to Italy again and again. You will discover that you cannot get enough.

You can find many more details in the full itinerary and brochure HERE. For New York Capital Region folks, Father Matt and I will be hosting an informational gathering on Sunday, Jan,. 14, at 10 a.m. at St. Matthew’s Church in Voorheesville, following the 9 a.m. Mass. Join us for a slide show, Q&A, and some Italian cookies!

Follow my travel page on Facebook for regular updates: Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul.
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Join me for a fabulous 2024 pilgrimage to Italy that will begin in Rome and take you to Orvieto, Assisi, Siena, Florence, Padua, and Venice. The trip of a lifetime in a country that is nothing short of spectacular. From the awe of St. Peter’s Basilica and the Colosseum to the quaintness of ancient narrow streets and open-air markets, you will get to experience the very best of what Italy has to offer. We will leave New York on Monday, September 30, and return Friday, October 11, The tour will be organized and operated by Select International Tours & Cruises. I will serve as your tour leader, and Father Matt Duclos of the Albany Diocese will serve as our priest chaplain. Cost: $3,995 land only. Airfare options will be offered as soon as group pricing is available. If you want to sign up right away to reserve your spot, you’ll be given an option to get the airfare pricing as well as soon as it becomes available.

For fun updates related to Italy and the cities we’ll be visiting, follow my travel page on Facebook: Italy: A Feast for Body & Soul
You can find my page on the Select International website HERE. Or click on the PDF of the brochure below for details.

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Was it seeing our son, Noah, for the first time since he had left months before to study abroad?

Was it bringing our entire family to the pope’s Easter Mass?

Was it taking Olivia and Chiara to view Michelangelo’s masterpiece in the Sistine Chapel?

Surprisingly enough, although each of those moments was special for different reasons, the things we will remember most, the real monumental moments, were the smaller, unplanned twists and turns, as is so often the case on this journey called life.

I can tell you for certain that one experience that will stay with all of us for years to come was the day we started at the Colosseum and trekked our way across Rome; nine miles to be exact. As we left behind the quaint, twinkling lights of Trastevere—Rome’s version of Greenwich Village—we turned to Google Maps to get us back to our hotel. Already tired from hours of walking, we found ourselves staring up at a steep hill, followed by a steeper staircase. We trudged along, finding moments of joy in the unexpected overlooks, lapping water from a gurgling street fountain, our adventure spirit still intact. But, as we walked along the edge of a winding road with fast-moving traffic only an arm’s length away, we began to question ourselves, and Google Maps. We finally reached our destination, exhausted and sore, but with an experience that, in hindsight, made us laugh. It’s a far cry from standing under St. Peter’s dome, but there was something even more magical and memorable about that day because of our unexpected detour.

From the little restaurants we discovered down narrow cobblestone alleys, to the afternoon spent in a park where we were mistaken for native Italians, to the crazy traffic jam on the way back from Pompeii, we created memories out of mundane moments that ended up surpassing the spectacular scenery. It can be difficult to find those same kinds of everyday miracles in the midst of the daily grind back home.

We’re usually busy just trying to get things done—work, family responsibilities, chores and more. It can feel like nothing particularly special is going on. We need a vacation to do that, some gorgeous destination where the memory-making is obvious and abundant. Stop and think for a minute about the things that have left lasting impressions on your heart and soul. Not only are many of those things probably right there in plain sight, but some of them may even be not-so-happy memories that linger with a bittersweet force you wouldn’t trade.

My mother’s death is one of those memories for me. Sitting at her bedside and holding her hand as she took her last breath is the single most powerful moment I’ve ever experienced. In that moment, when my mother exited her earthly life, I felt as though I was touching the other side. It’s a monumental memory that will never leave me, and yet it happened on the saddest day of my life.

Look around and notice the amazing events playing out right now before your eyes. The flowers blooming, the baby crying, the grown children spreading their wings, the co-worker making you laugh just when you need it most, the unexpected card that arrives in the mail, even the sorrow that weighs on your heart. They are all single strokes that make up the masterpiece that is your life. You don’t need to stand before a Michelangelo, as fabulous as that might be, to appreciate the wonders of this world. Sometimes you just need to step back and breathe in the glory of now in all its messy and sometimes-painful beauty.

This column originally appeared in the May 10, 2018, issue of Catholic New York.

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This is, of course, just a sampling of what we had. Multiply what you see here by 13, the number of days were were traveling. Even on the plane (Alitalia), wine is free and free-flowing. It’s a beautiful thing. So many beverages, so little time.

Vino rosso in Florence with my sweetie.

Siena wine, straight from the source.

Such a pretty cappuccino…in Assisi.

Cappuccino in Assisi, take two. This time with an accidental heart in the foam.

Switching things up. Birra Chiara in Assisi. We HAD to order it; it’s named after our child, for goodness sake.

The look of pure pouring concentration.

It was a warm fall day in Assisi. Beer with a view.

Okay, this one didn’t even make the blog headline. After days and days of wine, we decided to go a totally different route on our last night in Rome at La Botticella, a little Canadian-owned bar in an alley off Piazza Navona. Amaretto and Jack Daniels on the rocks. And, no, that is not our ashtray. Just comes with the territory in Italy.

Truck stop espresso on our way to Pompeii. Real glass cups. So civilized.

Espresso in Naples, as we wait for the boat to Capri. With a side of sfogliatelle. Yum.

White wine in Massa Lubrense to go with our delicious antipasto and seafood main course and glorious view. Perfect.

Assisi posts will go up on Monday and Tuesday, so be sure to come back.

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It’s interesting how, even when we’re far from our loved ones and friends, we often find ways to create family right where we are, without blood connections, without a shared history. Whether we’re students living in a college dormitory, workers temporarily assigned to a far-off location, or pilgrims traveling in a strange land, we tend to seek out community, a place where we feel accepted and protected, or at least a little less alone.

When I led a 13-day pilgrimage to Italy recently, our group of 37 pilgrims, one full-time English-speaking Italian tour guide and one Italian-speaking fearless bus driver became a family of sorts. Although we started as strangers – with only a few personal connections among the group – as the days and weeks progressed, you could see signs of family emerging.

As group leader, I was in a parent role of sorts, separated a bit from the rest of the group but at a perfect distance to watch relationships as they developed. I remember the quiet joy I felt one night, about halfway through our pilgrimage, when we sat in a restaurant in a remote part of Rome. We almost didn’t make it to dinner that night since our driver could barely fit our bus through the narrow roads, and then a brief rainstorm scrapped plans to eat dinner outside under a vine-covered portico. I worried about the group’s mood, but a few minutes later, I watched these former strangers gathered around their tables (photo at top), heads bent together, glasses raised in a toast, laughter echoing throughout the rustic Italian dining room. We had become a family.

Of course, family isn’t all sunshine and happiness. There were moments of frustration, like when yours truly was exasperated over another inopportune bathroom break. (I told you I was like a parent. And a sometimes-impatient parent at that!) There were moments of worry, like when a man in our group fell on the cobblestone street just beyond St. Peter’s Basilica and when a few others had to remain back at the hotel because of leg problems or sheer exhaustion. But as with our families back at home, joy and love overcame everything else. By the end of our journey, we knew these new friends would watch out for us, care for us, and make sure no one was left behind or lost.

And that’s really at the heart of the pilgrim journey: community, family. Yes, we go on these journeys – whether overseas or closer to home – to grow in faith, but we also go to meet others who share that faith, people who will walk with us, both literally and figuratively, as we travel our spiritual path.

As we prayed together in Siena, Assisi, Rome, and Salerno, our faith forged a bond, one that will tie us to each other forever because of the powerful experiences we shared — being only a few feet from Pope Francis when he rode by in the popemobile at the papal audience, attending Mass celebrated by Cardinal Dolan at St. Peter’s Basilica early one morning, kneeling before the tomb of St. Clare in Assisi, standing in the tiny cave where St. Francis once prayed.

As we broke bread on our last afternoon in Massa Lubrense, the town where my grandfather was born more than 100 years ago, the sun beat down with a summer-like intensity, the Isle of Capri was so close it seemed as if we might touch it, and the long tables were piled with family style platters of southern Italian specialties. Just before leaving, our tour group witnessed my “reunion” with Pietro DeTurris, a man who may or may not be a long-lost relative. The family tree seems to point to a connection, but the line of ancestry really didn’t matter at that point. There, under a Sorrentine sky, my real family, my pilgrim family, and my ancestral family merged, and I felt whole and at home.

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But the reality is that true pilgrimage doesn’t require a passport. In fact, it doesn’t really require any travel at all. True pilgrimage is as much an interior journey as a geographical one. If we approach our entire lives with a pilgrim mindset, we can find places that will feed our hearts and spirits just about everywhere we turn – from the little shrine in the next town to the cathedral in our diocese to that historic church near our favorite vacation spot.

My first “real” pilgrim journey was to the National Shrine of the North American Martyrs in Auriesville, New York, where St. Kateri Tekakwitha was born and where Jesuit missionaries St. Isaac Jogues and St. Rene Goupil and lay missioner St. John Lalande were martyred. Although this beautiful and sacred place overlooking the Mohawk Valley is only 45 minutes from my home, it took me eight years to “discover” it, and even then it was only because I was joining my son’s Boy Scout troop for their annual retreat.

Walking on holy ground, praying with other pilgrims, sleeping in a tent not far from the ravine where Rene Goupil died for the faith gave me my first taste of just how powerful the pilgrim journey can be. I felt a sense of oneness with everyone around me, with all those who came before me and all those would come after me.

Pilgrimage has the power to take our spiritual journey to a new level, but without careful and prayerful planning, a pilgrimage can quickly go from spiritual bliss to tourist nightmare.

I was fortunate to go on a 10-day trip to Rome in 2010. It was not arranged as a pilgrimage, and yet I hoped that’s what it would become. It didn’t take long for me to realize that without a willingness to step outside the tourist box, my “pilgrimage” was going to turn into a parade of indistinguishable ancient churches. Even my first trip to St. Peter’s Basilica at noon on a Tuesday left me somewhat disappointed. I was crammed against thousands of other tourists, unable to get near Michelangelo’s Pieta or the main altar. I vowed to come back and experience the basilica as church rather than museum.

The next morning at 7 a.m., I returned to St. Peter’s with a friend. In each of the more than 40 chapels lining the sides of the basilica, priests, many of them tourists themselves, were celebrating Mass in their native languages. We became a congregation of two in one chapel where a Nigerian priest was offering Mass in Italian. This was the St. Peter’s I had longed to experience, one where the heart of the Catholic faith could be felt beating powerfully in the familiar refrains of the Mass, even if the languages were unfamiliar to my ears.

So sometimes it takes a little creative thinking on our part to get a true pilgrim experience. Talk to locals and find out when the church or shrine is less crowded. Ask when Masses or other special services will be celebrated. Try to enter into the local community’s celebrations rather than watching from the outside. It can make the difference between going home with nothing more than a few nice photos and going home with a sense of spiritual renewal.

If you don’t have any plans to travel to a pilgrim site in the near future, look for opportunities closer to home. There are so many wonderful Catholic shrines, churches, monasteries, and chapels to explore, some probably right in your own backyard. That church in the photo on the right is just across the Hudson River from us. Dennis and I spotted it one evening after a dinner out. As I stared off at its spire in the distance from our spot along the Corning Preserve, I wondered aloud what church it might be. Dennis suggested we just get in the car and find out. So we did. A pilgrim moment right at home.

If all else fails, become an armchair pilgrim. Read pilgrim accounts of places you’d like to visit one day and begin to plan. That’s what I did with Assisi. I read and I dreamed and I hoped — for years. And now I am packing my bag and heading back to Italy in two days. God willing, my Assisi dream will become a reality later this week, when I visit the sacred city of Francis and Clare. But my pilgrimage to Assisi really began long ago, long before I ever purchased a plane ticket, because pilgrimage is not just about physically traveling to a different place. It’s an interior journey that requires no passport.

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Although our itinerary is jam packed with lots a great sites — duomos and art, monasteries and agriturismos, wine tastings and cooking class — there’s also plenty of time for wandering around on our own. I have yet to sit down with some guide books for Florence or Capri to see what I might want to do when I have a few free hours. Rome is no problem. Having spent 11 days there four years ago, I’m eager to get back to some of my favorite spots when the walking tours, Masses and museums are done.

I know some of the pilgrims — those who may not have been to Italy before — may be a little nervous as our departure date approaches. To them I can say only one thing, based on my own Italy experience: Let it go. (And if you need to sing that to the tune of the “Frozen” mega-hit, be my guest. In fact, I encourage it.)

Seriously, do not go to Italy and expect United States. It is vastly, wonderfully different, and that’s a good thing. You wouldn’t want to travel all that way for more of the same. The food will be different (and fabulous, every meal). The hotels will be different. The schedules will be different (meaning a shop’s posted hours are totally useless because they will open when they feel like opening). Let go of all your pre-conceived notions. Let go of all your worries about food and clothes and jet lag and throw yourself into Italian life. It could make the difference between a totally glorious and never-to-be-forgotten adventure and a tense, worry-filled trip. You’ve got “only” 13 days. Revel in every single one of them.

When I went to Rome alone four years ago, I couldn’t speak the language, had never been to Italy before, hadn’t traveled out of the country since college, had no one there to meet me at the airport or even share a cab to my hotel, and had 10 days to see everything I wanted to see and still get to my daily (all-day) sessions and lectures at Santa Croce University. I quickly realized I could either stress the entire time or let it all go and take a chance. I opted for the latter, and what a wonderful experience it was. I left a piece of my heart in Roma.

Here’s a story I wrote about that experience, in case you want a taste of what’s ahead. (Read all the way through to the third page on the website for travel tips.) And, if you’re not joining us on the pilgrimage, be sure to follow this blog and our Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul Facebook page (by clicking HERE) to see photos and hear about our adventures — spiritual and otherwise.

Ciao, for now.

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With a breathtaking valley stretching out below and an ancient monastery clinging to the cliffs above, Subiaco, Italy, feels as though it is a world away from the chaotic streets of Rome, only 40 miles to its west. And, in a sense, it is.

Steeped in history that stretches back to the Roman Empire and the earliest centuries of the Roman Catholic Church, Subiaco is a place out of time, giving visitors a chance to step into the very same cloisters, caves and gardens that were once home to ancient saints and medieval monks.

During the hour ride by tour bus, past fields lined with cypress trees and tiny villages dotted with red-tiled roofs, the hustle and bustle of Roman life seemed to fade with each passing mile. Finally, in what can best be described as the white-knuckle portion of the trip, the bus wound its way up a narrow mountain road to what has become a spiritual pilgrimage spot for Christians and a treasure trove of artifacts for history buffs and art lovers.

Although today Subiaco is known as the birthplace of Western monasticism, thanks to St. Benedict of Nursia — who spent three years living in a cave there before starting 13 monasteries — it was first home to the Aequi people, who were defeated by the Romans in 304 B.C. The Roman Empire took advantage of the nearby Anio River and built aqueducts to bring water to Rome, but it was the Emperor Nero

who left his mark on the place. He built a villa there and created three artificial lakes, giving the area its name Subiacus, “below the lakes,” which became Subiaco.

Tour guides like to point out the ruins of Nero’s villa and the irony that the one-time home of this brutal persecutor of Christians would become the fertile ground in which the seeds of the great monastic orders of the Christian faith would be planted. Regardless of why you visit — for the history or the spirituality — Subiaco is a place of mystery and silence, natural beauty and artistic significance.

Monastic life certainly seems to have a pull on modern men and women. You can see it in the increasing interest in the simpler life, the quest for silence amid life’s daily insanity, and, even, on the big screen. No fewer than three recent movies have tried to capture the essence of monasticism: “Into Great Silence,” about the Carthusian monks of the French Alps; “Vision,” about the 12th-century mystic Hildegard of Bingen, and, most recently, “Of Gods and Men,” about a group of Trappist monks who were martyred in Algeria.

Something about the solitude and silence intrigues people today, offering a glimpse of a different, albeit extreme way of life. For visitors to Subiaco, the sparseness, simplicity and spirituality of life as a monk is palpable, as if it’s in the very air you breathe. As you walk from cave to chapel to cloister, you begin to imagine the rigorous life that is easy to romanticize from the outside.

In Subiaco, two monasteries are available for touring: the Monastery of St. Benedict, at the top of the mountain and built over the cave where St. Benedict lived as a hermit, and the Monastery of St. Scholastica, halfway up the mountain and named after St. Benedict’s sister, who was herself a monastic.

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To give you a taste of what I mean, yesterday around dinner time in New York, I was taking a late night stroll with Dennis across Ponte Sant’Angelo (my favorite bridge in Rome, maybe the world), through dark and narrow alleyways that had me nervous, through Piazza Navona (my favorite place in Rome), around the Pantheon and back to his hotel.

At 3 a.m. New York time, I was having breakfast with Dennis at his hotel’s rooftop restaurant with a view of St. Ignatius Church on a  gorgeous sunny day in Rome. By the time I was getting the kids ready for school this morning, I was walking with him through Campo di Fiori, checking out all the Italian goodies in the various stalls and sitting down for a delicious lunch of pasta with eggplant and tomatoes and, of course, a glass of red wine.

Every day has been like that. From start to finish I have traveled with him all over Rome, and Dennis has made a point of visiting all the places he knows I love, sometimes more than once. It takes me back to my trip almost five years ago, and makes me long to go back there with Dennis for real so we can finally experience all these wonderful things together. Maybe someday. 

I’m a lucky girl to have a husband who would interrupt his own Roman holiday again and again to make sure he’s including me at every turn. Thank you, Dennis. Ciao, bello.

Here are a few more shots that will make you want to book a flight to Rome today. (All but the top photo can be enlarged by clicking on them.)

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