Written by Rookie, AllHabs.net

It’s often been said that the Canadiens are like a religion in Montreal. Ironically, it’s because of my real religion that I got my first Habs jersey.

I was raised Catholic and I still practice, which I know seems rare among twentysomethings these days. My faith is part of who I am – more so than my writing, my hometown, or hockey. (Yes, even hockey, believe it or not.) The Youth Ministry team at the diocese of Montreal organizes, among other things, trips to the international World Youth Day pilgrimages every two to three years. On paper, World Youth Day (or WYD for short) is a religious gathering of teens and young adults, founded in 1985 by Pope John Paul II. In real life, it’s so much more than that. It’s a chance to see the world, to meet people from other cultures, to learn, and to pray in a way that most of us can’t in real life. It’s being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people, reciting the same prayers in countless other languages but feeling the exact same joy as you. Imagine the feeling you’d get, being at the Bell Centre for the first home game of the playoffs – then multiply it by a million. That’s what World Youth Day is like.

After a fantastic (words can’t describe it) experience at WYD in Cologne, Germany, in 2005, I knew I had no choice but to become a two-time pilgrim – and decided to attend the next WYD in Sydney, Australia.

Cut to spring, 2008. I had just started watching hockey and the Canadiens were on their way to the top of the Eastern Conference. Imagine my surprise when I found out that I’d be the proud owner of my very first Canadiens jersey to wear in Australia that summer. Most of the 300-plus pilgrims from Montreal were just as excited as me. Thanks to the generosity of a connection in the Canadiens’ front office (no, I don’t know who or how, so don’t ask), Youth Ministry got a great deal on the old CCM jerseys, so I didn’t have to pay as much for my jersey as I would have in the stores. Instead of being customized with a player’s name and number, we had the Youth Ministry logo printed on the back. It was like we were our own team.

I received my jersey just a few days before leaving. I was told not to expect the size I had requested, since there weren’t very many jerseys in smaller sizes, but I didn’t care what size the jersey was (it was large). It was, after all, a Canadiens jersey, and it was all mine. Like everyone else, I wore it to the airport upon my departure for Australia. A friendly security guard asked me if I was a Carey Price fan – that’s when I realized that I’d be away from the Montreal hockey bubble for three weeks.

My WYD experience was incredible. Australia was beautiful. I felt spiritually fulfilled and thankful for everything God had given me. But I was a little homesick nonetheless. I missed Montreal and all the people I had left at home. I had started to grow tired of sleeping on floors and of the friction that inevitably occurred within my group of friends. My Habs jersey, along with my Canadian flag, became my security blanket. I wore it when I was cold. I rolled it up and used it as a pillow. I tied it to my backpack on hot days, as a reminder of my hometown. I was fully concentrated on my spiritual experience, but my jersey almost never left my sight. (Talk about la sainte-flanelle!)

I approached as many hockey fans as I could find – it made me feel closer to home. I myself was also approached a few times, often by Habs fans from other countries. I was also approached by lots of people who just loved the look of the jersey. Suddenly we Montreal pilgrims and our bleu-blanc-rouge were in high demand among other pilgrims, who offered us sweaters, flags, and sometimes other jerseys in exchange for them. During those weeks, I traded away pins, T-shirts, and a scarf, but there was no way I could go back home without my jersey.

So, obviously, my jersey came back home with me. Every time I wear it to the Bell Centre, I can’t help but think of the cold night that I wore it to sleep, trying desperately to keep warm and fight off a sore throat. I think of how I had to explain ice hockey (and winter in general) to a few Australians. I think of crossing the Sydney Harbour Bridge as part of a walking pilgrimage, surrounded by my fellow Montrealers, alternating prayers and olé-olés. Sometimes, when I watch a game, I see other WYD pilgrims in their jerseys. And I’ve been told that a picture of my friends and I with a bishop, taken right after a Mass celebrated by the Pope, has shown up in the occasional pre-game photo montage. It couldn’t make me happier.

There’s another World Youth Day going on right now, and while I may not be there, I’m happy to know that hundreds of my fellow Montrealers are singing and praying and olé-oléing, and I can’t wait to hear their stories when they come home.