La Mistica

In Rome, I learned again that life itself is mystical.

Not only in the great basilicas or marble corridors, but in the hidden corners: a side chapel before dawn, a security guard after 9am Mass, a quiet altar of St. Joseph where silence feels like strength.

Again and again, I found the same truth: Jesus is around every corner and in every encounter.

In a conversation that lasts longer than planned. In a small conflict that reveals my heart. In a priest's question, a sister's joy, a stranger who appears exactly when needed. Literally during consecration at Santa Maria Annunziata in Borgo, the oratory on Lungotevere Vaticano known as the Nunziatina.

Hinc humilibus venia

Hinc retributio superbis

Mary's question at the Annunciation still shapes my prayer: "How can this be?"

Before the Fiat comes wonder. Comes discernment.

Before surrender comes the openness to be surprised. That is where the mystical life begins.

Rome taught me that grace moves quietly: through friendships forming without effort, through ideas shared over wine and coffee and grappa and amaro, through saints who feel suddenly near: St. Monica, St. Nicholas, Nicholas of Tolentino, Sts. Simon and Thaddeus, St. Joseph, St. Carlo Acutis guiding the way.

And it moves through the Church itself: in relics entrusted, in archives opened, in the baptism of a child, in the steady love that carries a vocation one step at a time.

I don't understand all that God is doing.
I don't need to.
I ask only for the grace to recognize Him
in the person before me,
in the work handed to me,
in the path unfolding beneath my feet.

Life is mystical. God is faithful. May we never miss a grace He sends.

Come, Holy Spirit.