Lourdes: The Language of Love

A blog post by Dan McNally,Spring 2011.

Please forgive the tardiness of this 10-day blog. Things have been quite busy at the Kartause, between Ultimate Frisbee season, writing philosophy papers, studying for finals, and just trying to get in time with friends when we can, but here we go.

The 10-day trip is one of the most awaited trips for students in Austria, as it has the most freedom for travel, giving us over a week to go wherever in Europe that our hearts so desire. Some people choose to visit the British Isles, some Greece; this semester, some students even went to the Holy Land! However, other students have the privilege to serve in mission trips. Some students went to Romania, I found myself in Lourdes, France, serving the many pilgrims who have come to seek healing there in the springs revealed to St. Bernadette. Of course, my group visited Paris beforehand, and some of the experience is definitely worth mentioning.

After multiple trains and eating Belgian waffles in Brussels, we found ourselves in Paris. Of course, we took advantage of the baguettes, three cheese quiche, fine wine, Eiffel Tower and other cultural opportunities, but the more significant events in our journey were at Notre Dame Cathedral and Sacre Cuore. There is a tradition at Notre Dame in Lent that every Friday, the Crown of Thorns is brought out for veneration. We had the wonderful opportunity to pray at the cathedral during this ceremony, and when our time came, we processed in line before the altar, and kissed the crown. It is hard to absorb something so powerful. The very crown that pierced the head of our Lord was now placed before me. The implement of pain and scorn was renewed by

Christ into a crown of eternal glory. This whole semester has been about making present the tradition of our faith. All of the saints, relics, churches, and holy places we have seen and experienced have brought us back in time, and connected us in a very real, tangible way with those who have gone before us in faith. It gives us something to hold onto, something to remember when we lose faith, when we doubt.

Seeing salvation history with your own eyes tends to have that effect.

We left Notre Dame to go to the Louvre, which while breathtaking in its art, wasn't quite the same thing (Although seeing the Mona Lisa and the Code of Hammurabi is incredible, and in a similar fashion, makes present our cultural history, which is not unimportant.) Finally, we rushed off to Sacre Cuore, a beautiful church in northern Paris. When we arrived, we were treated with much more hospitality than we could have expected. The boys and the girls each had entire large dormitory rooms allotted for our use. The sisters who work in the church allow pilgrims to stay there for the price of a holy hour and 5 euro.

Not a bad deal for staying the night in Paris. I must say, though, the Holy Hour at 11:00pm was indescribable. The Blessed Sacrament has been adored there constantly for over 100 years! Kneeling before God in that enormous place with nearly absolute silence through the whole church and in the dark which was only lit by the light upon the Blessed Sacrament, while I can't quite explain the experience, was something everyone should experience. I must thank Fr. Michael Scanlan for telling me that if I go anywhere in my Austrian semester, that it be Sacre Cuore in Paris. He was right.

After so much fun in Paris, we were off to Lourdes for the week. I don't know what my expectations were, but they could not prepare me for the peace and beauty of Lourdes. I don't even know how to concisely explain the experience-this is the curse of the blogger. Unfortunately, I know I will not explain everything adequately, but I will do my best to bring you there.

The town of Lourdes is located on a strong and rapid river, and the actual church, grotto, and springs, are located across the river and a short distance from the city. There are three churches, one built on top of the grotto, a crypt underneath it, and the main church which opens out into the esplanade-the main square. The baths are just past the grotto, along the river. The men were so blessed and privileged with the duties which we were assigned. We loaded and unloaded sick passengers from the train station, we assisted in the baths, altar served in the Eucharistic procession, and one of the greatest privileges was to carry the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in the Marian procession. A few things occurred to me as we went through the week. Looking at the platform on which we would carry Our Lady, you wouldn't think that it would be that heavy with eight strong young men carrying it on two separate beams. Well, you would be wrong. It was extremely heavy, and this wasn't a bad thing. The first night, halfway through the procession, my shoulder was throbbing, it was cold and rain was pouring down on us, and I was ready to be done with it. Then I realized two things. First of all, never had I been closer to really feeling the weight of the cross on my shoulders. Here we were in Lent with an enormous weight on one shoulder, cutting deep. It was the best opportunity I've ever had to unite sufferings to those of Christ's passion in such a real way. In addition, looking up at Our Lady's image, I realized that in a sense, we were carrying the ark of the new covenant, uniting the Old and New Testaments. After that, I carried her with joy and excitement.

Being able to work in the train stations, delicately carrying the sick pilgrims off the train, and the turning around the next day to welcome them into the baths of healing water instilled a feeling of reverence and awe for the dignity with which God created the human person, no matter their size, color, language, illness, or anything else. So many of the pilgrims and volunteers spoke different languages, but a universal language revealed itself to us, and that was the LANGUAGE OF LOVE. The brotherhood that we had with the Italian and French men with whom we worked all week, some of whom with whom I never spoke a single word, was powerful, despite the lack of words. Words were not necessary: smiles, nods, gestures, laughter says everything the heart needs to communicate when one is serving God in that way. Thinking of those men with whom I worked of different nationalities, ages, and walks of life almost brings tears to my eyes, because our week working together meant so much to all of us and brought us so close. The same is to be said for the pilgrims. They entered the baths, and perhaps they did not speak a language you knew, but gestures, smiles, prayer, brought your hearts together in a way that escapes language. You could feel love in that place, and it came out of our very own hearts because it had to. God brought each and every one of us to Lourdes because he wanted us to serve his children, and learn to grow in His love. In order to do that, we had to let him work through us. Indeed, you could feel God's love surging through you for each of these, His children, who made themselves vulnerable, and brought themselves before their loving Father that they might be healed. Whether he heals in mind, body, or soul, the Lord does not disappoint those who come to Him in faith. If you ever have the chance to go to Lourdes, and you're unsure, it is a place of healing and a place of beauty and peace. I pray that you could share in the graces I experienced there.

With just a few weeks left, we will be coming home to you all very soon. Please keep us in your prayers as our final trips are underway, and as we prepare for the emotional exhaustion that comes with both studying for exams, and having to say goodbye to our home here in Gaming. We will need prayers, but also please be assured of our prayers for you. We cannot wait to see you all again, and look forward to seeing you again soon. God be with you!

What’s with all the dead guys?

A blog post by Maria Rocha, Spring 2011

“What’s with all the dead guys?”

I’ve thought those very words about a hundred times this semester. It started in Vienna and Salzburg and continued to plague me all the way to Rome and Assisi.

You’d think that out of ten days of pure splendor I would dwell on anything but dead guys. However, how can I sum up ten days of glorious art, pasta, and prayer into a single blog post? I dwell on this grave subject (pun totally intended) because the calories from the pasta will leave me and the facts I stored up about the art will pass from my recollection. However, the impact of these so-called “dead guys” upon my life will not.

Such a close proximity to the dead, especially the very long dead made me really uncomfortable. I couldn’t figure out why they would want to celebrate the Eucharist so close to a dead, though holy, person.

I’ll never forget praying at the Infant Jesus of Prague Shrine. There I knelt, hands clasped, eyes shut, praying earnestly. I crossed myself when I was done and peacefully opened my eyes. I immediately noticed the corpse I had previously overlooked. The black skeleton covered in jewels looked, quite frankly, like something out of the Pirates of the Caribbean. Naturally, I gasped and stood up quickly.

This was my mistake. I didn’t take time to think about or even wonder whose skeleton it was or why they were given eternal rest in a shrine. I didn’t question. I only dismissed.

Months later, as we church hopped in Rome like Americans at closing sales in a mall, the presence of the “dead guys” did not leave me. There were dead guys in every single church. However, the more I reflected on just who these dead were to our faith, I realized that their continuing presence enriched the Church.

At the Papal audience, I was overjoyed to be in such close proximity to the Pope as he spoke to each of us in our own language. Later, at the tomb of John Paul II it dawned on me. I can’t just be excited about the living. Things like martyrdom, holiness, self-sacrifice and love do not become any less significant with death. These extraordinary people are kept so that common people like me will one day continue to believe and strive for that same holiness. These dead are concrete examples of the transforming power of Christ, who is the ultimate “dead guy” because He’s not dead anymore.

Though it seemed that we were running from one basilica to another in search of the next holy spectacle, it became clear to me that we weren’t just hunting relics or racing from place to place aimlessly. We were chasing the opportunity to be closer to the tangible, the closest remains of the reason we call ourselves Catholic and Franciscan. We were searching for bits of ourselves.

However, in the midst of a whirlwind of activity, I felt overwhelmed. By the end of Rome, I was on overload and could not process anymore.

When we arrived in Assisi, I lost myself and wandered aimlessly alone for hours. I withdrew. Now my frantic search was not in the streets of a city but within myself. I sat on a wall overlooking Assisi and wrote for hours. I wrote searching for the reason that such incredible experiences hollowed me out. I was not in ecstasy after climbing the same steps Jesus climbed to Pilate. I didn’t think I was any different after being in the same places that so many saints walked. It all seemed so complicated. The art in St. Peters and the mountains of marble sculpture seemed too complex to really reach me.

Then, as I sat alone in quaint Assisi, a city that could be defined by its simplicity and is remembered by a simple man, I came to understand what all the dead guys, marble, elaborate art, and overall ruckus we make over our faith. So, I continued to write:

“It seems that the sun itself gets joy from looking at Assisi. It’s not like the Texas sun that is so intense you boil in seconds or like the Steubenville sun that is non-existent at this time of year. No, it’s a soft warmth that kisses you hello and holds you as long as you’ll stay. It holds you without smothering you but never leaves you, never loses touch. I’ve found Him and I don’t want to move. I want to sit here, rooted until the sun goes down. But I won’t wither in this sun like grapes. No, I will bask.”

God is as simple as the sun. It’s really not that complicated. It shouldn’t be, for us. It wasn’t for all the “dead guys” and it certainly wasn’t for Christ. They had one goal, one focus, and it had nothing to do with where they would be laid post mortem. They lived. They focused on life and how to really be alive. They focused on the only person who does not pass. They lived simply and they lived for love.