It has been a few months since I joined with thirty or so of Msgr. Lorenzo Albacete’s friends in a “pilgrimage” of sorts to San Juan, Puerto Rico where he was born and grew up. The pilgrimage was organized by the Albacete Forum which, for nine years, has worked to maintain and extend the legacy of Msgr. Albacete’s thought as a gift to the Church, especially here in the United States.
While I have little doubt that Lorenzo is enjoying his time immersed in the beatific vision of the Mystery that he spoke of so frequently, the pilgrimage was not so much about visiting the “holy sites” of a saint as it was an experience of friendship among some of us that knew Lorenzo and continue to be fascinated by the impact he had on us. Our little trip to his island was, in a way, an opportunity to share in his love for the home that nurtured him and for which he never lost an ounce of affection.

Camil, a fellow Puertoriqueña, shared with us the history of San Juan on a tour through viejo San Juan. The deep pride and celebratory spirit steeped in the uniquely Catholic history of the island permeates the culture and it is little wonder why Lorenzo grew up with such an imaginative affection for Christ and the Church.

That night we enjoyed the comida criolla which Lorenzo loved and were treated to a cultural presentation of Puerto Rican music. It made sense why Lorenzo always insisted that “when we celebrate, we sing and we dance and when we mourn, we sing and we dance. A wedding or a funeral, it doesn’t matter.”

On Saturday we travelled to his family’s cemetery plot where he is buried with his beloved mother, Conchita. The cemetery spot was completely typical. A small gravestone marks his resting place and the whole place lies in the middle of a neighborhood near a school. The site is as nondescript as the manger in Bethlehem, hiding the wonder of a man whose profundity astonished even popes and dictators.

A visit to his childhood home in the afternoon afforded the group an opportunity for a little breaking and entering (which I’m sure Lorenzo would have delighted in) and then we travelled to Sagrado Corazon, the parish and school where Lorenzo spent much of his childhood.

The principal of the school dug up his high school transcript and showed us the “state of the art” science classrooms where his love for aviation and physics was surely born. I could picture him standing in the school’s courtyard wrapped in a white sheet for the Feast of the Ascension looking up to heaven and shouting, “I’m ready Father, take me up.” After mass and dinner, we capped the evening off in true Lorenzo style with overpriced nightcaps at the historic Belvedere hotel overlooking the Pacific ocean.

While the pilgrimage was held in honor of the 10th Anniversary of Msgr. Albacete’s passing, something else became quite clear: we were celebrating 10 years of our own continued friendship, surprise, and wonder at the affection we all still bore for him. Whether it was Sal who only met him for 15 minutes in Orlando or Mary and Olivetta who were by his side (sometimes pushing him from behind) for 20 years, we were his friends. It is an impossible friendship, completely inconceivable and unsustainable after so many years and such geographic distance. And yet, mysteriously, a friendship nonetheless. A friendship sustained by the Mystery that so fascinated our friend Lorenzo.

Stephen, South Bend, IN