A wakeful night of wonder

"In your everyday life you don't run into these people. Here it's
OK to believe in God. On the streets, it's not" … a candlelit
crowd at the vigil at Randwick.

"In your everyday life you don't run into these people. Here it's OK to believe in God. On the streets, it's not" … a candlelit crowd at the vigil at Randwick.
Photo: Steven Siewert

July 21, 2008

Sleeping did not come easily to pilgrims gathered at the Saturday evening vigil, writes Erik Jensen.

Midnight comes and goes unnoticed. Candles burn out. The singing continues.

"Not so loud. This is the church," says a man in uniform, trying to quiet the World Youth Day vigil at Randwick.

A Mexican girl stops to explain the chants. She has freckles and a sign offering free hugs. "Benedicto is one. It goes 'Ben-e-dict-o'," she says. "This one is about the Pope."

The chant is the vigil - the sound of worship as it becomes a sports final. The church is a team, the Pope its star, the pilgrims his cheer squad.

"It's really great to be around people my age who actually believe in the thing I do," says Ana-Marie Feuerbacher, a pilgrim from Florida, foil blanket around her shoulders.


South America is loud. And Spain. The Pacific is there but more tuneful. Each group dances in circles, moves in and out like roundabouts between the few who sleep.

"I actually had tears when I saw the Pope," says Martin Au, a pilgrim from Papua New Guinea. "Seeing the Pope, you're seeing Jesus Christ. You really feel the presence of Christ."

During his speech, the crowd is quiet. Pools of candlelight catch young faces that, by tomorrow, will be drawn. Pilgrims dam the veins of wax as they run down candles. A Japanese couple gather around a radio and listen to the crackled translation. Beside them, a group of Italians hear theirs. A woman interprets for deaf pilgrims. They watch as her fingers enliven the Pope's monotone.

At times, the Pope sounds like Peter Lorre on a stretched cassette - his accent thick, his sentences held up in odd places. Some in the crowd find him difficult to follow but are still grateful to be in his presence.

"I might start paying attention when they start speaking English again," says one Australian, lying in his sleeping bag, eating tuna from a can.

"When it's in a different language I guess you pay attention," his friend adds, also ensconced with bedding and tinned fish. "But it's kind of just about being in the presence of it."

It was a quick sunset: a brief smudge of orange, then night. Sunrise was the same but in mauve. Between was a fog that shrouded the moon and ate the city.

"Being a pilgrim, it's all about roughing it," says Joseph Stahlhut, from Queensland. "It's a bit pansy to use a tent."

The thought is echoed across the track. Some sleep in plastic bags, some in the boxes that delivered their meals. Others simply lie on the ground, huddled in the fake warmth of event screens.

Cristina No Calvo made the pilgrimage from Spain in a wheelchair. Lame in one leg, her muscles wasted, she dragged herself with a crutch to the spot where she would sleep.

"I'm here to feel the good things I stopped feeling," she says. "It's helping me - not in what I thought it would help me but I'm one of those people who don't like other people to help them."

By sunrise, believers are arriving for the final Mass. Slavka Franic, 70, is among the first to reach the barrier in front of the altar. "I hope I get from [the Pope] peace in my soul and thank him for coming here and bringing all these young people seeking what I already feel," she says. "As much as the young people, us oldies need the Holy Spirit to travel to wherever we have to go."

At 7.30, concelebrating priests and performers are called to a holding area.

Half an hour earlier, the screens had played the first music of the morning - an advertisement for a Christian networking site, XT3.

The vigil is over.

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