The Sacred That Stirs Us Awake

A pilgrimage through love, longing, and the heart of a young saint

Pilgrimage is more than travel — it is a journey into the hidden chambers of the heart and soul. It begins with a quiet stirring, an inner nudge to step beyond the familiar and move toward something deeper. Pilgrimage is sparked by a longing to touch the sacred, to encounter life in ways that ground, heal, and transform. It is an invitation to walk not only through landscapes hallowed by centuries of devotion, but also through the unseen terrain within — where love, longing, and the sacred we ache to touch reside.

On a recent pilgrimage through Italy, I experienced that invitation firsthand. I wandered sacred hillsides, lit candles in centuries-old cathedrals and tiny chapels, and eventually found myself standing in front of a gilded glass jar in Assisi — one that held the preserved heart of a 15-year-old boy named Carlo Acutis.

There is a moment in every pilgrimage — often quiet, almost imperceptible — when something breaks you open.

For me, it happened in that quiet chapel in Assisi, facing a clear, gilded jar containing the heart of Carlo Acutis — a boy who lived joyfully, loved deeply, and died young. His compassion and devotion touched so many that he’s now on the path to sainthood. He will be canonized by the Catholic Church (officially declared a saint) on September 7, 2025.

I found myself both intrigued and haunted by the heart in the jar. I watched as people walked past — some lingering, some kneeling, some lighting candles, others folding their hands in prayer. I stayed, quietly waiting to see what, if anything, this heart might stir in me.

I sat — transfixed, mesmerized — unable to turn away.

Part of me was drawn in by the beauty, the reverence of it all — and part of me was unsettled, even jarred, by the sight of a boy’s heart in a glass reliquary. That tension — awe entwined with disturbance — is often how the sacred breaks us open.

I wrestled with the idea that those preserving his memory had removed his heart and placed it on display.

Was I moved by the relic itself — this tender heart to which many miracles have been attributed? Did it carry some magical, transformative power to stir us toward kindness, to deepen our gratitude, to remind us how fleeting and holy life is?

But the longer I sat with it, the more I realized: what struck me wasn’t simply the relic itself — It was what it represents — our deep human longing to capture love. To preserve it as sacred. To hold on to what matters, even when we can’t quite explain why.

Perhaps too, it was the prayers that seemed to hang in the air — the collective devotion of those who had knelt, wept, or whispered their hopes into this chapel. Pilgrimage places are like that: saturated with longing, alive with presence. They carry the prayers of all who came before us and those who will come after us.

We long to bottle precious moments. We take photos we rarely revisit. We memorize someone’s laugh. We hold grief as tightly as we hold love. We put hearts in jars — others’ as well as our own. We ache to hold onto love itself — and to touch that which is sacred, that which we consider holy.

And yet — love doesn’t need to be encased to be held, to be felt. It needs to be Embodied. Felt. Lived. Shared. To fly free.

Perhaps what moved me the most as I sat before that jar was not simply the relic of Carlo’s heart — but the invitation it offers. The questions it stirred in me — and this invitation I share with you — is for each of us to consider our own hearts, and to ask:

— Where am I loving — and where am I holding back?
— What might I be clinging to, or holding too tightly?
— What am I deeply yearning for — and where do I touch the sacred?
— What could living and loving courageously look like for me now?

I invite you to let these words serve as a quiet offering — not to judge or fix, but to notice gently where you are in your own unfolding journey.
And perhaps, to inspire you to lean into your deepest longings, and to embrace your life with tenderness, with reverence, and with courage.

For love, like pilgrimage, is not meant to be preserved in a jar.
It is meant to move through us — Lived, Walked, Embodied, Felt, Shared.
It is every step, every breath, every offering of the heart.

And in the end, what remains is not what we can hold onto, but the sacred we ache to touch — the sacred that stirs us awake.

Dr. Jeanne Michele is a writer, teacher, and relationship guide who explores love, healing, and the sacred in our everyday lives. She invites others to walk courageously into the journeys that awaken the heart.