Our blog was lost for a few weeks. Many apologies. I’ve had to repost all the entries, and unfortunately don’t have copies of the “comments”. Many thanks to my readers - those who posted, those who visit, those who continue to check out the site. We should be a little more stable now.
Home now and will post on Sundays, then late September we head for Venice, Florence, and Paris…
Pilgrims meet at the Grotto each day at 5 p.m. for the Eucharistic Procession.
Around 4:30 we walked toward the Grotto to say goodbye to Our Lady, the image poised on the ledge looking down upon the flaming candelabra, the pilgrims moving quietly (silence requested here) in a somber line along the cliff face, into the dark cavern where one can see Bernadette’s bubbling spring through a window in the floor. Nearby the candles in the sheds were flaming too, and we passed the baths next, closing for the day now, and crossed the rushing river to the other side. It was here groups were gathering, opposite the Grotto and the gothic basilica, its spires shooting into the afternoon sky.
The blue chairs carrying the sick and handicapped had their awnings pulled out to protect the patients from the sudden hot sun. Many were grouped under the shade trees. A gathering of clergy was forming near one of the modern halls on this side of the river. Perhaps as many as a hundred priests in white robes with stoles waited quietly or listened to assembly instructions. I guessed most were visitors, and each day a few leaders resident here in Lourdes would instruct their charges in the rituals of this procession. I wondered how they would proceed, how the procession would proceed.
A canopy was carried by four priests, and soon, the assempled clergy moved to a white tented pavilion nearby where a large monstrance holding the Eucharistic Host was on the altar. Many in the watching crowd genuflected, some kneeling on the hard pavement. I did both for a time, then rose, for I do believe that God is in the Host, a reality sometimes difficult to fathom. Once again I was glad for the help of ritual to deal with such a mystery, and I relied on custom to guide me.
They soon were singing a familiar Easter hymn, one from our Anglican hymnal, and I sighed my thanksgivings for the familiar tune, and joined in the Allelulia! The procession, the Host carried solemnly, left the altar pavilion toward the waiting crowds with their banners and chairs. The long swathe of white robed clergy followed the canopied Host, leading the congregation along the rushing river, across the stone bridge to the Esplanade.
It was a smaller group than the Marian procession, perhaps five hundred or so, and we filed toward Saint Michael’s Gate, then crossed the Esplanade to the other side. This was a different route, I thought, then saw that we were descending into a massive underground chapel. I had seen pictures of the Chapel of Pius X, but had not visited.
We walked into the earth, and I gasped. The space was huge, like a football stadium, with an altar in the center raised on a dais. Like theater in the round, the congregation was assembling everywhere, and I could see many had arrived before us. The space seats 10,000 and it was nearly full. I soon sensed my mouth had dropped open and my eyes were bulging. We found seats.
The clergy had taken their places to the side of the raised dais and a few gathered around the Host in the monstrance now on the central altar. Large video screens in the congregation gave us closeups of what was going on. There were readings and songs and finally Adoration, as we sang the wonderful Saint Anselm’s hymn, Now we before him bending… , a second familiar tune, one which I used in Offerings in the scene of Adoration at Sacre Coeur in Paris.
God is good, I thought, weaving together my loose ends, and Mother Mary has watched and loved and cared for me like a good mother. I was grateful.
We did indeed return with our candles and paper lanterns last night for the Marian procession. It was an evening I shall never forget. We joined a group forming behind banners bearing the name, Abbeyleix, an Irish group it seemed. We thought they would be singing in English and we could sort of follow along. The thousands that joined us on that windy evening were quiet folks, the chairs carrying the crippled pushed by attendants, families of all sorts, young and old. We began at the Basilica and moved up the Esplanade, singing our chorus triumphantly, Ave Maria. The Lourdes tune is lovely, Ave, Ave, Ave Ma-ri-a, with a final accent on the last a. With each Ave, the candle is thrust higher in the air.
Dark clouds were forming in the distance over St. Michael’s Gate, and the wind picked up, snuffing our candles. A neighbor relit mine, again and again and I wondered how she kept hers going. Finally, I held my candle up with the song, lit or not, my heart alight, my mind full of the moment. We followed the crowd, singing and stepping slowly, moving forward in time, and somehow moving in faith too, with all these brothers and sisters, a great family. We returned to the Basilica with all of its light and color, where final prayers were said. By 10 p.m. the crowds dispersed quietly to their beds for a good night’s rest.
This morning we woke to heavy mist, nearly a rain, and umbrellas in hand walked through the old town of Lourdes, pausing at the sights of Bernadette’s life – the house where she was born, the cachot, former jail, where the family lived in poverty at the time of the apparitions. The cachot was just like the pictures, and you can walk right in, see the fire place, the two windows, the white walls, the smallness of the space for a family of six. I recalled she had asthma, and her mother worried, but I also recall theirs was a loving family, and the first years of Bernadette’s life, until this year of misfortunes when her father lost his job and they moved to the cachot, were happy ones. Her father had been a miller and they lived in the mill, alongside the rushing River Gave.
We walked farther up into town to the parish church with its triple nave and stained glass depicting Bernadette’s life. A woman was singing before the Reserved Sacrament in the north aisle, another group was reciting the rosary.
The Tourist Office across the street was helpful with maps and information. Folks spoke English.
We headed back for lunch, the sun breaking through the wetness and scorching the air, and later ventured out again, the rain clearing, the skies brightening. This time I carried my last two copies of Offerings, thinking to leave them with the Information Center, addressed to the English Chaplain of Lourdes, a Father Martin Moran.
But first we had one more offering of thanksgiving: placing flowers at the feet of Our Lady of Lourdes, who faces the basilica, anchoring one end of the Esplanade, the giant crucifix standing tall at the other end, Saint Michael’s gate, facing the crowds coming in. We bought two pink roses outside the gate and placed them in the wrought iron fence surrounding Our Lady. I said a Hail Mary and a prayer of thanksgiving. We continued to the banks of burning candles, and placed our candles, purchased nearby, in the iron stands and prayed for our Church, our clergy, and our people in these difficult times. Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
We then went to the Information Office in search of Father Martin. A lovely lady behind the desk, Christina, came to my aid and phoned Father, and he soon arrived, greeting us with a smile and a handshake. Father Martin Moran is a tall man, gracious and friendly. He was most encouraging, taking my novel with thanks and chatting with us about Lourdes and the many ways folks are healed here. “Everyone leaves changed,” he said, smiling. And I could see that.
Father Martin suggested I take my second copy back into town to the English bookshop, run by the Griffins. Which we did.
We walked back up the hill, crossing the river into town, up the rue de la Grotte, turning on the rue du Bourg. There were several book shops on this quiet street, and we spotted the one with the folding sign outside that read “English Book Shop.”
The Griffins were most welcoming and accepted my little book. I hope to send them a few more copies, and wish them blessings with their store in these difficult economic times. The shop is lovely, with icons and an excellent selection of books in English. Wish I had spent more time there, although I tend to load my suitcase too readily when it comes to books and icons. http://www.lourdes-books.com/
I thought my day was nearly perfect, and our last event in Lourdes was yet to come.
Last night we joined the 9 p.m. procession, as the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary were sung in six languages, the “lanugages of Lourdes.”
The crowd moved slowly, some ten abreast, with handicapped in wheelchairs, children stepping solemnly, elderly with knowing faces, most carrying candles protected by small paper lanterns purchased in town. Each mystery - each scene from the sorrowful period of Christ’s life, his Way of the Cross - was read in six languages, broadcasted through loudspeakers along the oval esplanade route that would lead back to the Basilica. We said an Our Father and sang the Ave Maria chorus, candles lifted into the air.
It was still light when we began, but by the end of the route, about an hour later, the flames began to light up the dark. As we walked I looked at the faces of my neighbors. They held purpose and devotion to be sure, but there was also a sense of amazement that they were there with so many like-minded Christians. Many of us live in this world as strangers, sojourners, and to have this sense of “solidarity,” of union with our fellow believers, outside in the balmy air, processing and taking part in praise, strengthens us. To be together like this, to sing toether, to walk together, to pray together en masse, uplifts us, gives us courage and joy.
The first night we watched the procession from the sidelines, dazzled. Last night we took part in the procession as individuals, and thus joined the group at the end of the line, an Italian group, I believe. We hadn’t located our lanterns yet, so we raised our hands to God.
Tonight we shall return after our supper, this time candles and lanterns in hand and join the throng of praise, song, and lanterns lifted high.
Will we recite the Glorious Mysteries? I do not know.
Ave Maria, Gratia Deos.