It was a predictably hot August day. We stood, tightly packed and shoulder-to-shoulder, in the blazing afternoon sun in the square outside the Basilica of St. Peter in Vatican City. It was the Great Jubilee year 2000, and I had helped lead a group of young people to World Youth Day. It was the largest gathering ever in St. Peter’s Square, which meant that we had to arrive many hours before Pope St. John Paul II was to arrive. The sun beat down mercilessly.

Several hours before the pope was to arrive, from our position far to the back, we could detect something happening up front. Vatican planners had anticipated the heat and its effects, and, to wild cheers, they were setting up what appeared to be a firehose. They began shooting the water high up into the air so that it would rain down cool relief on the crowd. They moved the hose closer and closer to the front, and the contrived rainstorm got closer and closer to our group. When we were finally in range, we reached forward with arms outstretched to the sky as deliciously refreshing water rained down upon us. I surprised myself when I noticed tears had come to my eyes. I wasn’t only grateful for the reprieve from the heat—I was moved by the compelling imagery of several hundred thousand young people, deeply conscious of their need for God, receiving the gift of water (seemingly from the heavens) right there in the heart of Christendom. It was a moment of the Jubilee that I have never forgotten. Water from the heavens. Relief and consolation. The presence of Jesus. The joy and exuberance of the young crowd.