Understanding Italy’s Jubilee Year Without Getting a Theology Degree
When I first heard someone mention il Giubileo, I nodded like I understood. “Ah, sì, certo… il Giubileo,” I repeated. Was it a festival? A parade? Some saint's birthday I hadn’t studied?
Spoiler: it’s none of those things.
The Giubileo—or Jubilee Year—is a massive, historic, deeply spiritual event rooted in Catholic tradition. And when it happens in Rome, the entire city transforms. But if you're not devout, or if you're just trying to figure out what all the scaffolding and ceremonies are about, let me help you decode it.
Because honestly? I was confused too.
A Quick-and-Dirty History
The idea of a jubilee dates back to the Book of Leviticus, where every 50 years debts were forgiven, prisoners freed, and land returned. It was a kind of cosmic reset button. The Catholic Church took that ancient tradition and, in 1300, turned it into a formal event in Rome. Pope Boniface VIII declared the first Giubileo that year, offering pilgrims a plenary indulgence if they visited the Eternal City.
Translation: come to Rome, walk through a special holy door, and have your spiritual slate wiped clean.
Over the centuries, popes have called Jubilee Years at irregular intervals—every 25 years by tradition, but sometimes more often during times of crisis. The next official one is coming in 2025, and trust me, Italy is already bracing itself.
What Actually Happens During a Jubilee Year?
Here’s the simple version:
The Pope opens the Holy Door at St. Peter’s Basilica and declares the Jubilee Year begun. Similar doors are opened in Rome’s other major basilicas:
San Giovanni in Laterano (Archbasilica of Saint John Lateran)
Santa Maria Maggiore (Basilica of Saint Mary Major)
San Paolo Fuori le Mura (Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls)
These doors are normally sealed. Literally bricked shut. Opening them is a big deal. Symbolically, it means welcoming the faithful into a time of mercy, renewal, and reflection.
Then? The pilgrims come. By the millions.
Rome becomes a sea of groups wearing matching backpacks, prayer books in hand, walking the Jubilee paths that connect the four basilicas. Hotels book up. Public transport groans. But so does the city’s heart—beating with something ancient and alive.
But... Why Should I Care?
You might be wondering: if I’m not Catholic, or if my connection to Italy is more pasta than Pope, what does this have to do with me?
Everything.
Because the Jubilee is about legacy. It’s about the rituals that outlast us. It’s about the way Italians—even the secular ones—understand time, tradition, and community. Whether or not you walk through the Holy Door, you’ll feel the shift in Rome. The city slows down in a strangely reverent way. There’s a hush that settles beneath the traffic and the chaos.
As someone reconnecting with Italian roots, watching a Jubilee unfold is like seeing a piece of your ancestral DNA glow under a microscope. These aren’t just rituals. They’re part of the cultural code passed down through generations, even if you weren’t raised to notice it.
The Logistics No One Tells You
Let’s get real: the Jubilee Year brings both magic and madness. If you’re planning to visit Rome in 2025, know this:
Crowds will be massive, especially around major churches
Hotels will surge in price, so book early if you’re thinking about a trip
The city will be under construction—Rome is rushing to repair streets, restore facades, and prepare for millions of extra visitors. Expect dust, scaffolding, and orange mesh fencing
There will be events—concerts, liturgies, and exhibitions open to the public, not just the pious
So yes, it may feel overwhelming. But it’s also a rare moment to witness Rome in a state of pilgrimage, to see faith and history swirl together in something bigger than any one person.
My Take?
You don’t need to be a believer to walk the Jubilee path. Maybe your pilgrimage isn’t spiritual but ancestral. Maybe you're not praying for salvation, but simply trying to understand where you come from.
That counts, too.
Walk the route. Step through the door. Or just stand in St. Peter’s Square and feel the ancient weight of it all pressing gently against your ribs. Because whether you believe in indulgences or not, there’s something healing about remembering you’re part of a story much older than yourself.