The three hour vigil at the Circus Maximus ends at 11pm. Soon the pilgrims in their hundreds begin to drift towards the first of our eight prayer stations, the ancient church of Sant’Anastasia. Situated at the end of the Palatine Hill, this is one of the 25 original parish churches of third century Rome. Our candles glow in many colours as we make our way up the sloping courtyard. In front of the floodlit façade a youth group performs a presentation of drama, dance and mime. Inside the church a wide, open sanctuary is thronged with young people, many prostrate in silent adoration of the Sacrament. I pray again John Paul’s Mysteries of Light.

Little oil lamps adorn the parapet of the Ponte Fabricio, guiding me to the island monastery of San Bartolomeo. Inside the apostle’s burial place, an address is being given by the Sant’Egidio Community, the movement for conflict resolution based across the river in Trastevere. This week they have been defending the gypsies, whose settlements have been demolished by the city authorities. Four-part singing from a choir of young adults enlivens the service. In the loggia, teenagers queue to have their confessions heard by the church’s Franciscan friars. It is difficult to pray in the crowded church, so I take the steps down to the broad walkway along the Tiber and gaze at the timeless profile of the convent. I pray for those I know who are not well, I think of John Paul’s final journey to Lourdes, and those last unforgettable days of his life.

I get completely lost on my way from the Isola Tiberina and almost miss the mighty Alberti frontage of San Marco as it rises above a screen of trees. A white electric light seems to bounce off the vast Vittorio Emmanuele monument. Shining through the trees, it picks out the forms of hundreds of young people, who are bedded down for the night on the grassy bank and in the covered portico of the church. It is 1am. The church is filled with people watching a film of the life of John Paul II. I am humbled to think that the evangelist might have lodged on this very site. I leave with the familiar voice of the evangelist John Paul reaching out into the Roman night.
The Gesu is impossible to miss, its famous face an icon of counter reformation culture. On the steps of St Ignatius’ church, in the cool night air, a huge group of teenagers is listening intently to a lengthy catechesis. Inside, the words ‘Jesus, You are my Life’ ring out from the parish choir. The lively music is interspersed with talks by young women. Heart seems to speak to heart, in a simple, natural way. Both John Paul and Ignatius himself would be proud to see what is happening here tonight. I say the Joyful Mysteries and leave to commence my downhill route towards the Tiber.

The Corso Vittorio Emmanuele takes me to Sant’Andrea della Valle, Bernini’s favourite church, completed by Carlo Moderna in 1650. The unprepossessing exterior sits somewhat grimly right on the main road. Inside, the scale is breathtaking. I feel that I am standing in a slightly smaller version of St Peter’s. Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament here is beautifully presented and deeply reverent, but at 2am it draws to a close and we are gently asked to leave.

I cross the road and make my way down the Corso del Rinascimento, which will take me to Emperor Domitian’s Circus Agonalis and the Church of Sant’Agnese in Agone. The church is dedicated to the memory of a 13 year old girl, who was reputedly held captive in a brothel beneath the arches of the stadium, before being paraded naked before the crowd. I think of the many beatifications and canonisations of John Paul’s reign and his insistence that ever since the time of the evangelist Mark, the Church has grown strong on the blood of the martyrs. The Navona tonight has become a vast open air dormitory for weary pilgrims. Within Borromini’s beautiful interior, a group of young charismatics present a service of spontaneous prayer, charismatic songs and Taizé chants. There is hardly any room to sit or stand. In this place of persecution, I pray the Sorrowful Mysteries; I am filled with hope for the future of the church.

I leave the circus-shaped piazza and enter the winding Via del Governo Vecchio. I am all alone, with only the Roman cats for company. Lanterns light up the cobbled streets and the crumbling ochre walls of the tenements. I am making my way to the Chiesa Nuova, home of St Philip Neri and his final resting place. I arrive at 3am to find a huge party is taking place. Thousands of young pilgrims have gathered on the concourse between the church and the street, waving their flags and singing. The mood of the vigil is beginning to change, from penitence and prayer to joyful anticipation of the dawn and the great day of celebration ahead.

My final stop is the Church of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, just a stone’s throw from the Tiber and within sight of the dome of St Peter’s. The organisers have provided pen and paper, on which prayers can be written. These are deposited in baskets on the floor beneath the altar, amid a sea of votive candles. Sleeping pilgrims fill every alcove and bay. Countless others kneel in silent prayer, as they place their petitions before the Blessed Sacrament. A young priest reverently takes the monstrance from the altar and brings it to every corner of the church. As I pray the Glorious Mysteries, I give thanks to the young people of Rome, who have structured this vigil before the Real Presence of the Lord. It is 4am. My white night of prayer is over now. I make my way to Castel Sant’Angelo to join the beatification queue. Dawn will soon break. Untold millions of lives around the world were touched by John Paul’s witness to faith. Today I will be one of over a million people drawn to Rome to celebrate his life, confident that once again he will be looking down upon us from the window of his Father’s house.