Holy Mother of God...

There are two basilicas behind me.  Not one...two.

     I'm in Lourdes!  Honestly, I had no idea what I was getting into when I came here, I just knew that it was one of the biggest Catholic pilgrimages in the world and that it was too close to my route to pass up.  So I boarded a train from Pau and rode the 30 minutes to Lourdes thinking I would spend 24 hours here and then head back to Pau to continue my pilgrimage.  Wrong.  So first of all a little geography:  Lourdes is large, there are something like 5 million pilgrims a year, so there are lots of hotels and shops and whatnot.  And then there's the Sanctuary, or as I call it, The Complex.  Within a surrounding wall is the Grotto, where our Blessed Mother appeared, 3 basilicas, a church, and at least a dozen chapels, plus a bookshop and all that stuff.  It's Catholic Disneyland, except without all the commercialism.  It's amazing.

The Grotto where Our Lady appeared;
 with the Basilica of the
Immaculate Conception built on top of it.

     So my first stop inside The Complex was the Grotto (I mean really, where else?).  I didn't know what to expect there.  Honestly, I felt a little bit like a fake.  I don't have a great devotion to Our Lady, though I'd like to, I don't know a lot about Lourdes or St. Bernadette, I didn't even know what I was looking for on this pilgrimage yet!  If I descended into the waters that flow from the miraculous spring, what healing, what miracle would I be seeking?  I didn't know.  And then I arrived.  I looked up and saw the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes sitting in the very place where she appeared.  And I began to cry, I didn't even know why. I sat on a bench to pray and I looked down and saw a tile in the ground that marks the place St. Bernadette stood and prayed during the apparitions.  And I began to cry again, and I didn't know why.  I watched person after person file through the grotto, passing the spring; touching the walls, kissing the walls, rubbing the moisture from the walls on their hands and faces.  And I began to cry, and I didn't know why.  (At this point you may be noticing a pattern.  I cried a lot yesterday.)
     I prayed a few decades of my rosary there and then went to visit the Basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary. It's amazing, go to Lourdes and visit it.   They have 15 large murals around the perimeter, one for each of the original mysteries of the rosary.  After praying and visiting for a bit I got lunch so I could get some change to purchase a candle for the grotto.  So I went back to the grotto, and this time I was one of the people filing through the lines.  I touched the walls, I saw the spring, I blessed myself with the water that dripped down.  I went outside the grotto to where the candles burn.  To the place where a lot of candles burn... a lot of candles (get the picture?).  I prayed for Our Lady to show me what I'm looking for, to break through my blindness and help me see what it is that I really want from all this; and I placed my candle with all the others, lifting our petitions up to the Lord in the hands of our Blessed Mother.

The view from my window.  Ridiculous.

     After placing my candle I went to the baths, where pilgrims come to wade into the waters of the blessed spring, seeking healing of one kind or another.  I waited.  I waited with the broken in body and soul, with the old and the young.  I waited and I prayed for Mary to show me what I'm looking for.  And she did.  I want to pray.  I want to feel the Holy Spirit inside me, living in me in a new way, in a life giving way.  I've been desiring this for over a year but had given up on it, believing that I wasn't holy enough, or that it just wasn't God's will for some reason.  I gave up on believing that God wanted to bless me with the very best of gifts.  And I cried, and I knew why.  I cried and I realized that I had been seeking the Holy Spirit in the wrong way.  I wanted to perform great miracles, to do great deeds of faith, to be a canonized saint... I wanted the gifts of the Spirit to make me great.  Pride is a cunning enemy.  For we absolutely should desire great holiness, we are all called to radical holiness; but I wanted to gain glory for myself, and not for God.  Why the desire for canonization?  To give me honor.  And so I prayed: I brought my pride before God and Our Blessed Mother and asked them to smash it.  Let someone else do the miracles, they would only increase my pride.  Let someone else do the great deeds, just teach me how to pray, just teach me how to love.  And I cried.  And I entered the waters... which were absolutely freezing!  I had trouble breathing, that's how cold they were.  So much for praying while I was in the waters, but God's grace was accomplished nonetheless.
    After the baths I prayed for a bit in the Adoration chapel before mass.  After mass I went to the Reconciliation Chapel and received the sacrament of Confession from a young priest from Denver (he's the one that gave me that bit about radical holiness, he gave me great advice).
   Lourdes is a powerful place.  You feel the power as soon as you enter the Sanctuary, it's everywhere, but especially at the Grotto.  You get a sense of awe, a sense that something special is happening here; a sense of power and of grace flowing freely; and for me, at least at first, a sense of something like sadness, an emptiness, a poverty of spirit that I couldn't yet recognize but could feel.  It's an amazing place, go there, see it, experience it.  Let God heal your broken heart, by drawing you further into His, through the gentle and powerful arms of the Father's most Beautiful Daughter, the Holy Spirit's most Worthy Spouse, and the Son's most Blessed Mother, given to us as our Mother, and loving each of us as her most cherished child.

Introducing...

Isabelle: the guardian angel of American Pilgrims!

Isabelle and I after ice cream and a sight-seeing in Toulouse

     The last two days in Toulouse have been extremely relaxing, and I count myself very blessed to have had the opportunity to stay here (for free) and catch my breath for a bit before hitting the trail tomorrow.  Isabelle has been great, she absolutely bends over backwards to make sure I'm comfortable and that I have what I need.  She's always thinking of friends that she can call that could give me a ride out of the city (which I decided against) or people that speak English so that I wouldn't get lonely while she was at work (which I also turned down: sleeping is as good as conversation in my opinion).  She even connected me with her friends Marc and Claudia (an American) the day I came back to Toulouse so I'd have somewhere to go until she got off work.  She took some time off work today to make sure I saw all the important things in the city (read: churches) and I tell you I was not dissapointed! There are some marvelous churches in this city, even if many of them need some repairs.  The high point today was the Cathedral of St. Stephen (St. Etienne in French).  It's a very strange building, which is kind of made up of two juxtaposed buildings because the church which was meant to replace the original was never finished.  Regardless, it's beautiful, and the high altar is about a billion feet tall (okay, probably 60) and made of almost solid marble, with a huge sculpture of the stoning of St. Stephen front and center.  Very, very cool.

Me with Isabelle's friends Marc, Claudia, and Jean-Claude

     But when I first blogged about all the struggles of my first few days on pilgrimage I promised a reflection on the blessings to go with it.  So, a bit overdue, here is the reflection straight out of my journal, written two days after I left Toulouse and began walking from Arles:

*****

     I've already written about all the trials of my first few days traveling to Santiago.  But about the graces and consolations, I don't think I can fully express them in words.  In the afternoon of the day I reached Toulouse I went numb.  I had already mentally accepted that my pilgrimage was over and that I was going home a failed pilgrim.  I took the bus to meet Isabellem; exhausted and despairing I waiting for her outside a laundromat.  As soon as I met her I felt a little better; just to have someone to talk to and a place to stay, a place of safety, was a comfort.  At her aparment Isabelle arranged for me to meet an English speaking priest, Fr. John Christopher, the next morning.  While she ran errands I was able to shower (which always makes a traveler feel more human) and email Mom and Dad and Fr. Rick to update them on my situation.  Afterward Isabelle took me out to dinner.  Since I don't speak French and we were having "menus" (a three course meal with options for each course) I told her to get me the fish option.  My first taste of French cuisine!  It wasn't great.  The first course was raw salmon, which lost it's exoticness pretty quickly.  Second course was some unidentified kind of fish which also didn't taste very good.  But dessert was grand!  Strawberries and cream with an extremely good strawberry ice cream, so good! 

     The best part of the meal however was talking to Isabelle.  She told me her conversion story and that she is searching for her vocation, possibly to the Carmelites!  It was amazing.  She is a woman filled with the supernatural joy that only comes from grace.  When I told her I was a seminarian I thought she was going to pop she was so excited!  Simply being with her and seeing that grace flowing through her refreshed my soul greatly.  Granted that I was in an extremely stressful and vulnerable situation, still, the grace was powerful.

     The next morning I met Fr. John Christopher and he offered me a room in the rectory for a few nights.  Around 10am he took me to the airport to ask about my bag and lo and behold, they found them!  I couldn't believe it!  By 11am I had my bag and was headed back to the rectory.  I emptied it, made sure everything was there, and laughed like a fool the whole time.  Then I slept.  Like a rock.  I slept from 1-5 with a short break for lunch and afterward I felt great!  Oh to be well rested!  When I woke up I went to vespers at a nearby monastery; the chanting was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes.

     The graces given to me in Toulouse, from the time I met Isabelle on, were overwhelming.  The encouragement from friends and family to persevere gave me strength when I had none and the consolations from God gave me comfort in a time of darkness.  So my pilgrimage began.  

"Don't be disheartened.  I have seen you struggle.  Today's defeat is training for the final victory." - St. Jose Maria Escriva, The Way #263

*****

How easily disheartened I am.  How quickly I lose faith.   How quickly I give in and cry out "I can't do it!"  And how overwhelming is God's grace is to those who suffer through adversity, those who have just a little bit of patience.  Praise to the God who always watches over His children, and provides abundantly for their every need.

Practical Matters

Not comforting.

     Hey Michael, where are you? What does your average day look like? What are you eating? Where are you? Have you met any other pilgrims? Where are you now? Well I'm glad you asked!  Three weeks into my pilgrimage I suppose it's about time for an update on all the practical things.

Mountains!

Far over the Misty Mountains cold...

One of the bridges near St. Guilhem le Desert.

 






   






     So far I've come just over 400 kilometers or 250 miles from Arles to Toulouse.  I'm staying with Isabelle again for a day or two to rest and let my body recover a bit before heading back out.  My progress has been a little slower than I expected for two reasons: first, I didn't have time to train before starting out so these first few weeks have served as my training; second, since this route isn't as popular it isn't built up as much as the Le Puy route so I often don't have a choice of what town to stay in (or, more accurately, my choice is to walk 20km or 45km in a day...my max so far is 36).  Plus I spent a week crossing the southern tip of the Massif Central mountain range, it's difficult to cover much horizontal distance when you're climbing 3000 feet in the morning and descending the same altitude in the afternoon.  But the landscapes were breathtaking!  Anyway, now that I'm out of the mountains and my body's stronger than it was my speed should pick up a bit.

     So far my average day has started at 6:30, though I've gotten up at 5:30 on a few of the longer days. First thing when I wake up I pray the first two offices of the Liturgy of the Hours (the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer).  After prayer I eat breakfast, which always consists of bread and jam, sometimes orange juice, and some fruit if I'm lucky. (Side note: I have yet to meet a french person who isn't overly suprised that I don't drink tea or coffee.  It's kind of like that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding when the they tell the family that the guy doesn't eat meat.)  After breakfast I pack up and get on the road by about 8:30.  As soon as I'm out of the town and not worried about missing trail markers and getting lost I pray a rosary.  I try to find a good scenic spot around noon to stop for about 30 minutes for lunch, Midday Prayer, and to stretch my back and legs.  At 3:00 I pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet, usually I'm still hiking, but sometimes I'm already at the gite (pilgrim's shelter) or (even better) have come across a church at the right time to pray the chaplet there (that's only happened once).  Whenever I pass a church I check to see if it's open (usually not unfortunately) and if so I take the opportunity to set my pack down and sit before the Blessed Sacrament for a few minutes.  I get to the gite between 2:30 and 4:30, pay, get my credencial stamped, shower, and wash my clothes.  All of that takes about an hour and half.  Once I'm settled in I go out to find a baker and a grocer to get stuff for dinner and the next day's lunch.  Sometime between 5 and 6 I'll pray Evening Prayer, and if mass is available (usually around 6:30) I'll go to that.  I eat dinner around 7 (pasta, sauce, meat if I can find it; it's easy, quick, and keeps your body moving), either alone or with other pilgrims if they're around.  After dinner I'll journal for a bit and figure out where I'm going the next day, maybe read a little if I have the time.  then it's Night Prayer and bed by 9:00.


     I've been fortunate to meet several other pilgrims along the way; though there aren't nearly as many as there will be when I join the main route through Spain.  I've met a couple German guys and several French pilgrims who have spoken English and been able to help me along the way.  Even just having familiar faces when I arrive at the gite at night is extremely comforting; and the probability of sharing a meal with each other is higher when you've been seeing each other for a few nights.  I've only had 2 or 3 communal meals but they've all been great experiences.  Finding out where people are from, what they do, etc.; getting adfvice on what's coming up... asking them what the heck is on my plate and why everyone is eating cheese that any civilized person would clearly say has gone bad. (I'm trying, but I don't think I'm going to leave France with a taste for it's cheeses.)  The fraternity has really been fantastic, and several times the Lord has brought another pilgrim into my life just in time to guide me through something I couldn't have figured out on my own.  Pilgrims come into and go out of each other's ways often, staying at the same places for a few nights, and then parting ways, maybe to meet again, maybe not.  It's often a little sad to say goodbye to a pilgrim whom you don't think you'll see again, but you never know... perhaps at Santiago.

Felix, Aurelian, and I in Montpelier.

Two French pilgrims that I traveled with for about 2 weeks.

Abandonment

     Well, my pilgrimage has been under way for about a week and a half now (or 2 weeks if you consider the day I left the States) and I must say...pilgrimage s hard!  You know, there is a big difference between theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge.  Theoretical knowledge is how I know that parenting is hard; practical knowledge is how my parents know exactly how hard parenting is.  While I obviously knew beforehand that this journey would be difficult, there was no way for me to know on a real level how hard it would be. So after 12 days I can tell you: my body hurts, my pack is too darn heavy, I'm always tired (and I'm tired of being tired), I'm always hungry (and the French don't eat dinner until 7...at the earliest!), and traveling to a new place every day while carrying everything on my back gets old pretty quick.  I must say that the worst part is not having mass in my own tongue.  I can figure out the key parts of the mass, but forget about the homily!  It is much more difficult than I had anticipated not to have acces to a full participation in the Eucharist.  I think that this will be a long summer.
     All that being said, it has been an amazing 12 days.  I've been traveling through the mountains for the last 4 or 5 days and the landscape has been absolutely breathtaking.  Even yesterday when it rained I got to see the clouds rolling in over the mountain tops.  I've encountered new plants and animals, eaten new foods (duck in wine sauce, be jealous Nick) and been constantly surrounded by God's glorious creation.  And God's providence has gone before me every step of the way; from the gite operator who told me about the trail markings (imagine that: they mark this trail that hundreds of people walk every year...who woulda thought?) to the two English speaking companions (French and German) that I had for a couple days last week on my way into and out of Monpelier.  Every time I've encountered a difficulty, God has provided for my needs.  So the first lesson of my pilgrimage? Abandonment.  It's a scary concept.  How do we abandon ourselves completely to God's providence?  Well I don't know yet.  But I'm going to keep trying.  Because one thing is certain: even though I don't always like God's plans right away, and even though they sometimes involve hardships, they always, always, always bring abundant graces into my life.  His love is unfathomable; His mercy inexhaustible; His grace unbeatable.  I might not perfect it, but I'm going to keep trying to let go, to abandon myself to God's will.