­This morning we travelled from Barcelona into the foothills of the Pyrenees to Manresa and Monserrat.  The traffic was terrible as the trip to Manresa took nearly three hours instead of one.  Our guide was once again surprised by our equanimity with traffic and delays. 

Manresa is where St Ignatius of Loyola spent nearly a year in service and reflection. He had recently had a spiritual awakening.  It was in Manresa where he developed his spiritual exercises.  Having come from a military background he knew that physical exercises were key to being a fit soldier.  He then applied this thinking to the spiritual life fully intending to be a fit Catholic.  The exercises he developed stood the Jesuits well over the centuries.  We celebrated the last Mass of our pilgrimage in the very grotto where Ignatius did much of his writing. 

Following Mass and a brief lunch we headed further into the mountains to Monserrat.  At one point a large monastic community existed here.  Today the monks number about 60.  Monserrat, I am told, is a beautiful location with sweeping views of Barcelona and the Mediterranean Sea. We arrived in a deep fog which obscured the sweeping views but also highlighted the sense of seclusion.  While others in the group toured the church and museums, I wandered the plazas and streets steeping myself in the moist air and the quiet.  As we were leaving the clouds parted a bit and we saw a bit of the view and witnessed the steep cliffs we traversed in our bus. 

This seems to me to be a metaphor to life.  How often I feel, not in a fog so much, but as if I understand everything going on around me.  I feel so comfortable thinking I see and understand myself, my world, my God.  And then, the fog clears, I catch a glimpse of the grand sweep of God’s plan.  I am awed by God’s love for us.  I am frightened by how close I came to a perilous step but was protected.  Perhaps this is a bit of what happened that morning in Lourdes; the fogs parted and I caught a glimpse.

This was the last full day of the pilgrimage.  I felt both relieved to have it come to a close and disappointed that it could not continue.  I was relieved as the consistent travel was a trial.  Reluctant as the sense of peace and calm was soon to break up.  Even as we were traveling into the mountains I learned of more water problems at Immaculate and liturgical hiccups at St Therese.  Joan and I will delay our return a couple of days, but Fr Maurice will soon be back in the thick of things. 

As I process things a bit more, I might add one more entry in this pilgrimage blog.  We will see what the days bring.

On Tuesday morning we had a walking tour of Lourdes, visiting Bernadette’s childhood home, her parish church, her room when she and her family were destitute and the visions began.  The afternoon was free so I wandered about the town and the large area devoted to the grotto and the millions of people who visit each year. 

In most of my previous posts I have chosen photos of windows, doors, buildings, etc.  This place has impressed me not with their buildings (though they are wondrous) but with the sheer number of people who come here.  Lourdes is not on a main route yet it has six million visitors each year.  It has 250 hotels in town yet it is essentially a small town.  

I am still in awe/shock from the Mass in the Grotto experience.  I have taken many photos of the churches here in Lourdes, but they really don’t seem to have the impact for me as the other churches have.  Instead, I am overwhelmed by the people who are here.  There is no sense that this is a tourist site.  I have the strong sense that people are here carrying hope and peace and good will.  There are smiles everywhere.  Those in wheeled devices no less than those walking or caring for others.  There is a phalanx of volunteers here helping people get around. 

The lines of people waiting to touch the rock of the grotto or to wash themselves in the waters here or to light candles marking their intentions or the pray the rosary or to walk the Stations of the Cross are all amazing to me.  As one of the other pilgrims reflected, “the whole world is gathered here and they are all at peace.”  So instead, of places of worship today, here are the people at worship.

On Tuesday morning we had a walking tour of Lourdes, visiting Bernadette’s childhood home, her parish church, her room when she and her family were destitute and the visions began.  The afternoon was free so I wandered about the town and the large area devoted to the grotto and the millions of people who visit each year. 

In most of my previous posts I have chosen photos of windows, doors, buildings, etc.  This place has impressed me not with their buildings (though they are wondrous) but with the sheer number of people who come here.  Lourdes is not on a main route yet it has six million visitors each year.  It has 250 hotels in town yet it is essentially a small town.  

I am still in awe/shock from the Mass in the Grotto experience.  I have taken many photos of the churches here in Lourdes, but they really don’t seem to have the impact for me as the other churches have.  Instead, I am overwhelmed by the people who are here.  There is no sense that this is a tourist site.  I have the strong sense that people are here carrying hope and peace and good will.  There are smiles everywhere.  Those in wheeled devices no less than those walking or caring for others.  There is a phalanx of volunteers here helping people get around. 

The lines of people waiting to touch the rock of the grotto or to wash themselves in the waters here or to light candles marking their intentions or the pray the rosary or to walk the Stations of the Cross are all amazing to me.  As one of the other pilgrims reflected, “the whole world is gathered here and they are all at peace.”  So instead, of places of worship today, here are the people at worship.

O my God, what was that? 

We arrived in Lourdes late yesterday afternoon.  We checked into the hotel and then progressed to a chapel off the upper church at Lourdes.  It was my rotation for assisting Father and everything went as usual.  We came back for dinner and afterwards I went upstairs to blog while others went out to participate or watch the candlelight procession. 

This morning was Mass in the Grotto.  We had bumped into Fr Thumbi from Blaine and knew he and his group would be there.  It was to be a concelebrated Mass.  Deacon Dale and I agreed to both assist as neither of us could pass up the opportunity to worship in the Grotto.

As the four priests and two deacons prepared for Mass there were snippets of conversation; Mass of the Day or the Feast of St Mark, who would preside, who would preach, would Dale proclaim the Gospel or I?  Nothing seemed all that firm.  I went off to locate a lector (thanks John) and hurried back so Mass would start on time.  A fifth priest showed up with rumors of a sixth on his way.  Dale’s throat was still sore (we all have been fighting something) so he asked me to proclaim the word.  Fine.  A priest acting as MC got us out and Mass started. 

I was daring enough when it was time to proclaim the gospel to get us singing the Alleluia.  You should have seen Joan’s face when I started singing!  Slow and steady proclamations work well.  Done.  I turned around to see who was to preach and everyone else was sitting down.  Oh well. 

I have preached without much prep before but never without any.  Never in one of the great places of faith in the world.  Even thinking about it hours later makes me tear up.  I hope it always does.

Thank you, Holy Spirit. 

After I finished and had sat down for the preparation of the table, I noticed the sound of water tumbling.  I glanced behind me and there was the spring of Lourdes. I am in the Grotto.  Oh my. 

The sound of the water is still echoing in my soul. 

Thank you God for bringing me here. 

Sunday began with Mass at the Basilica of Notre Dame in Lyons.  A building the locals call the upside down elephant. It seems to me that I have been way too serious this trip, so for a break for all of us I will feature some of the humorous side of the trip. Maybe I will apply for an internship at the Institute of Clavic Sciences in Lyon which appears to be a school of jokesters. 

The stained glass artisans at St Steven’s in Paris might be graduate students for this piece of historical glass work.  One of these things doesn't belong.

During the French revolution, there was a strong reaction against the church which seemed to the revolutionaries to have sided with the King. So in church after church we saw many headless statues.  They could be striving to imitate St Denis who had his head cut off in the 5 ^th century.  This didn’t stop this man of faith, however, as he picked up his head and walked several miles before dying.  His statue didn’t lose it’s head like so many other statues have.

We toured the Papal Palace at Avignon today and they had similar problems with heads.  There were, however, many gargoyles who seemed to have made it through both the revolution and the occupation of the Palace by the French Army for 130 or so years.

Even Jesus doesn't escape unscathed, though he tries.  Jesus is in the center top of this photo.

He probably would have preferred to forget this childhood memory:

We are spending the night about two miles east of the palace at a hotel where our bus driver had to back the bus into its parking space about 600 yards weaving its way past two shipping containers, a construction style dumpster, around a corner and past several parked cars. He's number one in our book.

At dinner tonight we were discussing the highpoints of the day when someone mentioned that each of the three saints we had seen honored since Paris were young, not veryeducated, and yet were called and chosen to reveal God’s mercy to those around them.  Once again God chose not the wise but the simple to bring the Good News. 

We had ended Friday with Mass in the chapel in Nevers, where St Bernadette of Lourdes had spent the last 13 years of her life.  We left early on Saturday and headed for Paray le Monial where we celebrated a late morning mass in the Chapel of the Visitation.  Here a young novice, Margaret Mary Alacoque had several visions of Jesus where he revealed hissacred heart.  Like St Bernadette her words were not accepted at first and only over time did her visions gain credibility.  After our lunch we travelled to Ars where St John Vianney served as pastor to the parish there.  St John, despairing at the lack of faith in Ars began to build his community through prayer, sacrifice, and service.  He became well known for his holiness and his compassion in the confessional.  He is the patron saint of parish priests. 

Several of the last few stops dealt with a person’s heart; Mary’s, Jesus’, St Vincent de Paul’s, Sacra Coeur.  What is it about this muscle that is so important to our bodies and so important to our relationship with God?  Could it be that it is not our heart but our relationship that is key?  Could it be that our life is sustained by our hearts and by God? 

As a child I had issues with my physical heart (I still do).  One of my earliest memories is of laying on a hospital bed at Sacred Heart Hospital in Spokane with a green scapular safety pinned to my pillow.  The green scapular includes an image of Mary’s heart.  Is this another link in my pilgrimage?  I long for some quiet time in a secluded area like a park for some contemplation and discernment.  Maybe in Lourdes.

Escaping Parisian traffic we headed for Chartres Cathedralwhich is most famous for its stained glass windows. Joan and I didn’t know about the windows but we knew about the labyrinth.  We were lucky in that on Fridays the labyrinth is uncovered.  Most of the week, the area is covered in chairs for Mass.

The windows were beautiful with deep blues and bright colors. Stained glass windows were often the way Catholics passed down the stories of our faith.  Windows, as our guide told us, were like the modern day comic books.  At Chartres you could read the story of the birth of Jesus, the last supper, the feeding of the 5,000 and more, all without words.  I had difficulty getting good shots with my camera as the angles and the distances (they were quite tall) so you may need to go on line to see better ones.  Chartres Cathedral is also quite ancient with various portions stretching back to Roman times. 

Labyrinths go back to ancient Greece. For Christians they became a tool for contemplation andreflection modeling at various times the spiritual life, a spiritual journey or even our corporal life.  Labyrinths come in various styles and patterns.  The paths general weave back and forth, in and out, until it ends in the center.  They often quickly move toward the center, a conversion experience, but then pull away twisting tediously back and forth, we have to rely on our memory of our goal it is out of sight.  We pull close again a flash of heaven and then pull away again. 

Labyrinths can even serve as a model of pilgrimage. I, perhaps, am on one of the outward bound loops, pulling away from the center of my pilgrimage.  After the serendipity of yesterday there have been no new insights or clues to refine my intentions nor a discernment of a fuller response.

Take a pencil or your finger and trace the labyrinth.  How has your life of faith moved?

There is an aspect of a life of faith best described as serendipity.  The formal definition of serendipity is the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.  The spiritual aspect would say not by chance but by the hand of God.  We were walking from the church of the Miraculous Medal to the chapel where St Vincent de Paul is interred when I happened to notice the name of a cross street: Rue de L’Abbe Gregoire.  Two of my names?  McNabb is celtic for son of the abbot.  Abbe is French for priest.  Still – it was my street.  Between the two chapels.

The Miraculous Medal was created through the efforts of a young novice at the direction of Mary.  The Medal shows an image of Mary with beams of light extending out from her hands.  The beams represent the graces that Mary offers those who believe.  The presence of the Medal has often been linked to miraculous cures and conversions.

St Vincent de Paul was a French priest with a deep love of the poor, the orphans, the widows, those on the edge of society.  His work inspired Frederick Ozanam to found the St Vincent de Paul Society at a time when many young Parisians felt the church lacked relevancy.  The Society functions worldwide to bring Catholic into contact with their neighbors in need.  While St Vincent’s body is interred at the Vincentian Chapel, his heart is displayed in the church of the Miraculous Medal. 

Abbe Gregoire was a revolutionary leader, an ardent abolitionist, and supporter of universal sufferage.

Was finding a street named after Abbe Gregoire chance or the hand of God?  Is God pointing me to deepen my faith through service to the poor? Or is God addressing my concern for the health of my parents through the intervention of Mary?  Do I have enough confidence to have Mary intercede for me?

Our next substantive visit was to St Steven Parish.  This church honors one of the first deacons.  Stephen appears in the book of Acts.  Soon after being ordained, he was preaching in the streets when he was stoned to death. Among the crowd who stoned him was young Saul who soon after became Paul the Apostle.

We ended the day at Sacré Cœur de Montmartre , where, of all the stained glass and statuary, the image that stood out most clearly for me was that of the sacred heart.

What does this all mean?  Where is god leading me?

It was a mixture of modern and ancient.  The use of modern materials and ancient stood in stark contrast.  The sanctuary used metal to back the altar with a cross of light.  It echoes the Easter Vigil's proclamation:Christ is our Light.  The walls are covered with marble markersthanking Therese for her intercessions for healing. The highly polished wood floors are rounded from the countless shuffling of feet markeing the ages even more than the plaques. What drew all those people to a little chapel in a small church near the palace of kings?

We spent the rest of the day in this same mixture; riding a modern bus in modern traffic admiring ancient buildings. We had a brief stop at the Louvre, not to see the museum, but to see the ancient walls, castles built before our country was founded.  Then we proceeded on to Notre Dame Cathedral.

A long line of travelers snaked across the plaze in front of this great Cathedral.  I had little sense of their awareness of the holiness of the place. They acted as if this was just another building crafted of old.  I heard a tour guide interpreting the scene of the Last Judgement sculpted over the front doors to people who seemed to be hearing the story for the first time.  As if it was a moral lesson no more significant than Aesop’s Fables.  I sensed a be difference from the little church marked with the prayers of the faithful and time.

Father asked us during Mass to consider our hope, our intention for the Pilgrimage.  Would this trip be a tour of ancient buildings or a journey of faith?  I began this pilgrimage asking for something for myself – a deeper understanding of the faith of my ancestors.  Today I added an intention for my parents.

This first day persistently reminded me to slow down.  After landing at the Paris airport we spent about an hour and a half in line waiting to have our passports stamped: a twenty second process.  Actually, I spent the whole day decompressing.  From the late morning stop and go Paris perimeter freeways to the walks through small town streets, I could feel myself rushing.  I kept telling myself, “Breathe.  Slow down.  Appreciate where you are.” 

Today was Lisieux: St Therese’ home town.  Half exhausted from lack of sleep, we wandered herchildhood home’s gardens full of flowers of all kinds. We climbed the stairs she climbed, looked at her toys, her bed, even her hair her father collected as she entered the Carmelites.  The rooms are so small compared to modern homes’.  How many people have preceded me, trying to get a glimpse of her life?  Outside her home is the standard statue of St Therese. At its base are hundreds of plaques left by other seekers marking their visit, thanking her for her intercessions, leaving something of themselves behind.

We visited The Carmelite convent where she spent her final years, still functioning even in these modern days.  We prayed in the convent church.  We gazed at her reliquary adorned by a statuedepicting her lying abed. It was surrounded by candles marking the prayers of others.  I listened as a teacher explained to elementary students the story of St Therese.

Fr Maurice celebrated Mass with us in the crypt below the Basilicabuilt to honor St Therese (on right).  This large concrete building constructed on the hill overseeing Lisieux is filled with beautiful mosaics.  Here we found another shrine for the Little Flower, surrounded by candles, overseen by a beautiful crucifix with Jesus almost leapingoff the cross: resurrected.  This basilica symbolizes for me St Therese herself.  On the outside she is rather plain colored.  On the inside there is such richness, beauty, a true temple of God. I pray that someday I, too, will look like this.  For now, I sense I am under construction. 

We are a group of 18 mostly from Immaculate and St Therese, but also a few others who join us from Gig Harbor and Charlotte.  I appreciate this day those who don’t move as quickly as others.  They have encouraged me by their very presence, their peacefulness, their attentiveness to where their footing, to slow down, to relax, to breathe.

May the presence of beauty in your day encourage you to breathe in in awe.

We are on the flight from Seattle to Paris as I write.  I have been thinking a lot about pilgrimages and how they are different from vacations or tours.   A pilgrimage is a spiritual journey.  A pilgrim is looking for something.  It could be as simple as a renewed relationship with God.  It could be an answer to a desire, a prayer, or a question.  The history of Christianity is filled with stories of people making  spiritual journeys.  The Desert Fathers journeyed into the deserts of Egypt desiring to leave city life behind and focus on God.  Helen, an Empress of Rome, journeyed to Jerusalem seeking the True Cross.  Among other treasures, she brought back a barge load of dirt so she could pray every day in (on?) the Holy Land.  St Francis journeyed to the Middle East to follow a call to make peace between the Islamic people and Christians battling for possession of the Holy Land.  Thousands of people made a similar trip after the Crusaders “liberated” the area.  Protestant believers striving to find a land where they could worship in peace sailed across the Atlantic and settled in Massachusetts Bay Colony.  We know them as the Pilgrims. 

Matthew's Gospel ends with Jesus’ resurrection and the instruction for the disciples to return to Galilee where they will meet Jesus in person.  As we begin our Pilgrimage to France and Spain I encourage you to define a Spiritual Blessing you desire. 

For me, there is something wonderful about getting to know my predecessors in faith better by being where they lived, breathing the same air, walking the same roads, seeing the same vistas.  It makes the stories more real for me.  By experiencing the places they loved, I become part of their stories. 

Romantic?  Maybe.  But it is the same reason many people are travelling to New Zealand to visit Hobiton or the beaches of Normandy or the fields of Gettysburg.  Being there helps us humans to make ourselves part of the great stories of time.