Days 14 & 15 Plus Epilogue: Assisi to Turin to Home: Crying in the rain; eating in a gas station (twice!); the surprise of the real Shroud of Turin; reading Scientific American; Living Love at Home

This is part of an ongoing story; if you are just joining the journey, you may want to start at the beginning.  
 

Day 14 - Leaving Assisi

I wake up at 3am with a stuffed up nose and sore throat. Maybe it had something to do with the three glasses of wine my fellow pilgrims poured for me at dinner – then again, maybe I’m just a cooked pumpkin, overwhelmed from several weeks of intense travel. When I finally get out of bed two hours later, I mope in the shower with a heavy kind of melancholy. Leaving Italy is heart breaking, and we fly out bright and early tomorrow.

For the most part, we have had miraculously beautiful weather. Of course it is this morning that the wind turns bitter cold. When the first drops of rain hit the windows on the bus, I wish I could cry too. 

The bus parks a few blocks away from St. Mary of the Angels, and I am too tired to remember to bring my camera, and too tired to really care.  I bravely walk against the cold wind and into the giant Cathedral.  We are directed into a tiny chapel down a side hall for our mass.  I sit in the very last pew, under the loving gaze of a long icon of St. Clare.  Realizing it is my last mass in Italy, my last moment in Assisi, my last everything (for now) in Italy, I start to cry.  Grateful for the moments when the group is singing or chanting loudly enough so I can blow my nose without making a loud fuss, I just let myself sit quietly through mass and shed cleansing tears.  I am much more sad to leave Italy than I was to leave Medjugorje.  I’m sure part of it is just a release of all the intensity of the last few weeks.  There’s another peculiar quality to the heartbreak; it can best be compared to the grief of leaving a lover.  It’s a strange feeling. 

After mass, we walk quickly through the museum.  On the way, we see a statue of St. Francis with a live dove perched in his arms.  I’m sorry I missed taking a photo of that one! 

***

Seven long hours later on the bus, I have just eaten my second meal of the day at a gas station. There's an entire country full of amazing food and I am eating at a gas station for the third time this trip. I will concede that Italian gas station food is nothing like the scary burritos and hot dogs in US convenience stores. My lunch was spinach and ricotta wrapped and baked in whole grain dough covered in seeds, and it was surprisingly memorable. Dinner included a radicchio and escarole salad with tuna and olives with half a ham (Italian parma – no Oscar Meyer here) and cheese (yes, real cheese, not simulated-cheese-product) sandwich on baguette with tomato. It was surprisingly good. This should cheer me up. It does not.

The reason we are eating at a gas station for the second time today is that we have a hot date with a live viewing of the Shroud of Turin. It had better be worth it.

***

We are driving through Torino, and so far I feel lukewarm about this city - in fact I feel like the gray sky.   There is a line to get into see the shroud - it is 3-4 people wide and several blocks long leading up to the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, the shroud’s permanent home. So even though we already have tickets, we stand in the cold drizzle for a long time. (Here's a photo of a small portion of the line!)

I am at first cranky, then I simply find it hilarious. I learn that Gus has had many logistical challenges on this day, including the hotel canceling our reservations, so I get beyond my own fatigue to thank him for all he is doing to take care of us.

Fortunately, seeing the Shroud of Turin is beyond my expectations. We are extraordinarily privileged to see the real shroud live - not a replica or digital image. They make the shroud available inconsistently every 10-25 years. I did a research report on the shroud when I was 11 years old. It is a fascinating mystery that still eludes scientists. I knew it would be cool, but what I did not expect was the emotional and energetic response that I have never had from image reproductions. 

After being ushered through winding hallways and a little section of a neat museum, we are pushed into the cathedral.  As if all of a sudden, I am standing in front of the real live shroud, and I am stunned into silence. Then a deep emotion rises in me that I can't quite categorize, to be honest, but it brings tears to my eyes. When we are ushered out of the viewing area, I notice many of my fellow pilgrims look as awed as I feel. Despite being tired and sick, I feel that two gas station meals and a long wait in the chilly gray weather was worth it. I am grateful.

Our last night in Italy is otherwise unremarkable once we leave the shroud - although the city is beautiful at night!

We rush to our newly booked hotel, just in time to repack for the long flight to the States, clean up, and squeeze in about 6 hours of sleep. Hotel Record is nice and I finally sleep deeply so I am oddly spritely the next morning at 5am.  I even forget to be sad that we are leaving until we board the plane.

Beginning the journey home
During the flight, I read Scientific American magazine. I don't see any synchronicity or irony in this until I'm deep into an article about theoretical physics. I realize that the same thing I have been contemplating this whole trip - how our human filters and imagination affect our conclusions and beliefs - is evident in science too. This is certainly not a new thought for me, but it is definitely fun to see this same mechanism in action across apparently conflicting parts of life (science vs. religion).  We tend to think of science as "cold, hard, indisputable facts," but that's not the whole story. The questions we ask, the way we gather data, and how we interpret that data are all heavily influenced by our filters and beliefs. The fascinating thing about science is that even though we know so much, there is so much more that we do not know and do not understand. Part of the fun is that we don't know what we don't know. How we explore new frontiers is limited and opened to us by the audacity of human imagination. Science begs faith and creativity too, in its own way.


***

Epilogue

You never know how a deep internal shift will change the life around you.  When I first arrived at home it began to slowly dawn on me that the Sonya who left for this trip was not the same one who returned home.  Though the changes might be subtle internally, they are unmistakable.  Because of the new spaciousness and vibrancy within, everything I do in my life has had to change a bit – some things in a subtle way, other things in a more dramatic way.  It’s touching my work, where I want to live, my marriage, everything; it’s an effect of even greater love, ease, and inspiration than I had before.

One of the first things that happened when I returned was I began dreaming about my next trip to Italy.  I am promising myself that next time I will not stop for any meals in any gas stations – and no pilgrim is going to stop me!  This next trip just may have to be a culinary and art tour.  ;-)

I find myself returning to the Christian prayers, just because I love them.  Because they work as an immediate clarifying factor in my life - as I mentioned before, it’s like shaking an etch-a-sketch clean.  As I recognized in Medjugorje, I have not stopped feeling Mary’s peace and compassion, though the intensity of the Medjugorje experience definitely quiets down over time. 

A while after I arrived home I received the gift of a different representation of Catholic rules and practices. One of my in-laws is a Franciscan priest, and he came to stay with us for a few days.  Without knowing about my experience with religious conservatives on this trip, one evening he began talking about, as he called it, the black and white duality and conservatism that is gaining hold in the church again.  I immediately told him about my experience with the judgmental conservative elements on my pilgrimage.  It opened a truly beautiful conversation about how God is love, not about judgment; how Jesus came to us to help us know that Love here in the world and in our lives; and how God can be experienced through nature and all around us. I told him repeatedly over our time together that his parishioners are very lucky to have him as their priest.  Our conversations drove home for me yet again how we can all read the same materials, hear the same homilies, pray the same prayers, meditate in the same way – but it’s all about our perspective, our filters, and how we choose to act on what we perceive.

I realize as I write this that this ending is completely arbitrary in one sense, because the journey is not over.  The plane may have landed, I might be back at work, but the realizations, openness, and love continue to deepen.  I hope these stories have offered you a mirror reflection of your own truth and love.  Thank you for reading this, for taking the time.  I would love to hear from you.  Blessings on every aspect of your journey – wherever it may take you.

Day 13 Assisi : Breakthrough! How a Zealot Is Born; The Grace of St. Clare; St. Francis’ Love in the Stones; The Canticle of the Sun.

 This is part of an ongoing story; if you are just joining the journey, you may want to start at the beginning. 


Day 13 – Assisi

I am making up for my produce deprivation of the night before with muesli (it has some amazing dried fruit, including dried orange), apricot yogurt (ah European dairy products… mmm), and an orange. Oh, and dark, thick espresso mixed with hot chocolate (that has nothing to do with produce, just ecstasy inducing.) Even though I rarely drink coffee at home, I love drinking coffee in Europe.

After breakfast, our first journey is a relatively short walk to St. Peter’s Basilica. This is one of the first churches St. Francis restored after hearing the call from God, “"Go, Francis, and repair my house, which as you see is falling into ruin," which he at first took literally.  In front of this beautiful ancient church, our tour guide gives yet another rah-rah Catholic speech, so heavy with dogma that it becomes depressing.  I discreetly walk to the back of the group where I will not disturb the other pilgrims’ concentration on the lecture, and occupy myself by stretching and taking photos of gorgeous Assisi. 

Throughout our trip I have been enjoying how the altars are decorated for Easter.  I love the spring flowers!  The inside of the church is quite dark and austere in a way, and the bright sunny flowers offer an interesting contrast. It echoes for me St. Francis’ focus on the beauty of nature and the de-emphasis of human wealth.  It’s quite a contrast compared to the other basilicas we’ve seen.

Next, we hike up a long hill to the main attraction –

St. Francis Basilica
I’m so bummed we can’t take photos in here. It’s the absolute opposite of St. Peter’s; there’s not a surface that isn’t covered with some form of artistic majesty. I am enjoying the beauty without losing sight of the irony that the church collected an enormous amount of money to build a basilica in honor of a man devoted to “Lady Poverty.” There is some confusion with our mass time, and with our schedule all changed around we get an unexpected bonus – a tour with an English-speaking art historian.  He takes us through the upper basilica, where he shows us how the architects were inviting us to look up, to gaze up into heaven.  Then we descend down into the lower basilica which houses St. Francis’ tomb, and he explains how the architecture and icons focus on the energy of death and deeper contemplation.  I love that he points out how the artists who painted the basilica inserted St. Francis at different events of Jesus’ life in order to convey St. Francis’ devotion to living like Christ.  His teachings are fascinating and I would like to put him in my pocket and take him to all the other places we’ve been so he can teach me to look at art in new ways.

Later, we get some quiet time to sit and pray in front of St. Francis' tomb. Quite suddenly, through St. Francis’ experience and presence, I begin to understand something about zealotry.  I realize that if someone feels God through the structure and container of the church, as St. Francis’ did, he/she may only be able to associate God with the tradition and rituals, rather than seeing the essence that is independent of religious practices. From what I’m learning about St. Francis’ life, it seems that the Catholic practices were intricately woven together with his experience of God in everything; perhaps he did not separate them. I am feeling greater sympathy for how some people simply cannot dissociate the Divine Essence from the structure that took them to it. From that perspective, it’s easy for me to understand how something with a beautiful and pure intent can transform over time into the rigid ideology that causes conflicts and wars. I feel something settle inside me; some small but significant piece of confusion around the darkness and lightness in the Church has just been answered. 

*** 
Walking out of the basilica, we are greeted with beautiful gardens and a view of Assisi. 

We dreamily wander up the hill from St. Francis’ Basilica, towards St. Clare’s Basilica.  Of course, on the way we must have lunch.  I continue to satisfy my produce craving with a green mixed salad, a bit of cooked spinach and zucchini, cannoli with spinach, and some of my favorite cerignola green olives (which may have been worth the whole meal).

After lunch we briefly stop in for prayers at the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva that was once a temple to the Roman Goddess Minerva (known as Athena in Ancient Greece).  I am awed by the history of the church.  I always have a deep appreciation for the pagan symbols and mythologies that have been incorporated into the Christian Church.  Our next stop is to see St. Francis’ friend from childhood, St. Clare.

St. Clare’s Basilica.  When St. Francis made his declaration to devote his life to God, St. Clare followed him, also against her parents’ wishes.  She abandoned her fine clothing for sackcloth and cut off her beautiful hair. She started a new order of nuns which came to be known as the Poor Clares. She was known for her incredible selflessness, humility, and devotion.  As soon as I step foot into her sunlit square, I realize you can feel these qualities of her through the stones and trees of the palazzo around St. Clare’s Basilica.  It’s like experiencing the feminine side of the sweetness and peace of Assisi.  Compared to St. Francis’ Basilica, this Basilica is more appropriately simple but still beautiful.

San Damiano – the original convent of the Poor Clares.   From St. Clare’s, we descend through the high city of Assissi, through the lush silvery-green olive groves, to San Damiano.  St. Francis built a chapel here and gave it to St. Clare for her order of nuns.  It exudes even more of the sweetness that seems to be everywhere in Assisi, and I am particularly touched by the strong energy of the Poor Clares who lived a pure life of hard work and devotion. I feel St. Francis’ love in the stones that he placed there with his own hands.  As with many things in Assisi, the quality of sincerity and love creates an effect of magic.  Here's just a taste - a photo of the courtyard.

We recite together St. Francis’ prayer Canticle of the Sun, which I love.  This is my greatest resonance with St. Francis; he recognized and celebrated God in nature.  I’ll quote a small section here:

Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures,
especially through my lord Brother Sun,
who brings the day; and you give light through him.
And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor!
Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.


Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars;
in the heavens you have made them bright, precious and beautiful.




Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
and clouds and storms, and all the weather,
through which you give your creatures sustenance.


Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water;
she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.


Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire,
through whom you brighten the night.
He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.

Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth,
who feeds us and rules us,
and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

***

We make the long hike back up hill to do some shopping.  I feel rushed to buy our last souvenirs, and overwhelmed by the accumulated intensity of this trip.  I desperately wish I had more time in Assisi.  By the time we get back to our hotel, I melt into a puddle on the couch in the lobby.  Getting up for dinner seems like an extraordinary feat.  Maybe I’d better pray for a miracle.

Fortunately, the miracle is my stomach, which always loves more food.  I’m happy to report that dinner on this evening actually had cooked vegetables with the bean and barley soup and turkey with mashed potatoes. Extra bonus – it was followed by a salad and fruit for dessert!  Delicioso.  Not only is the food good, but I enjoy the company at my table.  We sit with the “tour-guide-in-training,” Laura, and her cousin, Wendy.  We have a surprisingly honest conversation about this pilgrimage.  Laura loves humor and she and Wendy agree that Gus’ (our main tour guide) very serious religious style can be oppressive.  They are very compassionate towards Gus and speak to his strengths also.  I respect their balanced and honest view.  Laura then shares that she is questioning whether or not she’s a “good fit” for the tour company because her style is so opposite of Gus.  I jumped on the opportunity to support her to not only follow her true calling but also to affirm what an incredible relief her humor has been for many of us. She has been a bright light of levity throughout the trip. 

At that point, some other pilgrims (some of my favorites) join us (with another bottle of wine, Lord help me).  We begin a rousing discussion about prayer.  Wendy reflects about her discomfort with Gus’ way of praying; she feels like she is forced to pray his way when she prefers her own authentic conversations with God.  Everyone agrees that there has been too much prayer on this trip (it’s pretty much constant on the bus).  Two others counter their complaint by saying how much they have learned from the intensity. The conversation turns to concerns about the driving pace of the trip; everyone agreed there was not enough time to reflect and integrate.  I absolutely love hearing all of these different, honest reflections. Though I’ve had some very sweet interactions one-on-one with some pilgrims, this is the first time I’ve been with a group of them and experienced this kind of honesty and authentic meeting, and it is feeding me.

As I walk up the four flights of stairs to our room, I feel lighter and happier, and I don’t think it was just the wine. 

I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights! Post a comment here or email Sonya@illuminatedwisdom.com.

Coming Monday: Day 14  Assisi to Turin: Crying in the Rain; Eating in a Gas Station -- twice; Surprise! -- The Real Shroud of Turin. Plus Day 15  Turin to Milan to the US: Reading Scientific American; The Church and Science and Our Filters; Coming Home.

Day 12 Osimo, Loreto, Assisi: Feeling Alive in Italy; A visit with Flying Friar; The House of Mary & Joseph.

This is part of an ongoing story; if you are just joining the journey, you may want to start at the beginning.  

 

Part 4: Italy love affair part 2

Day 12 – Several towns on the way to Assisi

We have arrived in Ancona in the early morning after a sleepless night on the ferry. We take the bus to the charming town to Osimo. Everywhere in Medjugorje, people complain about the “pushy” Italian tourists.  Having protected a small, half-blind woman from a literal stampede of Italians coming into St. James Church, I understand what they are saying.  Being here, I don’t care about the pushiness and the faults of Italy because I am in love. Walking down a cobblestone path in Osimo, I feel Happy. In  Medjugorje I felt deep peace and joy. Here I just feel naturally happy, my body feels like it's sparkling. Already, after just a few minutes here, I can feel that the surrender and spaciousness I have been experiencing is integrating and deepening just by having my body and soul feel so alive on this land.  It feels like the aliveness of Life, very sensuous and free. 

After a few precious, peaceful moments in the sun gazing out over the hills and valleys of this part of Italy, we embark on a wild race through several towns and cathedrals on our way to Assisi.  Our first stop is just a short walk away, the Osimo Cathedral.  (photo) We don’t spend much time there, because we have a scheduled visit with a levitating monk.

Basilica of St. Joseph of Copertino Yes, St. Joseph of Copertino is known as the Flying Friar!  No joke, St. Joseph supposedly went into such ecstasy that he could levitate, and even managed to “fly” several miles.  Someone in our group said that he is the basis for the Flying Nun TV series as well as the Smallville/Superman series. 

For some reason, the sanctuary and crypt are just not drawing me, so when we have some free time, I slip out of the cathedral and explore more of the town.  Osimo’s ancient stone architecture and cobblestone streets, lined with colorful spring flowers, are charming.

We slip into a pasticceria and order the most dreamy puffy pastry wrapped around cheese and a slice of some kind of parma (Italian ham).  We run into several other clever pilgrims who already had the same idea, and I think the pasticceria is making a decent income today.  I get a photo of the butcher next door.

Holy House of Loreto, Housed in Basilica

When I walk into the basilica, I feel the wonderful presence of peace, resonant with what I felt of the Mary energy in Medjugorje.  This is a special Basilica that houses three walls of what is supposed to be Mary’s home from Nazareth – magically transported to Loreto by angels.  Yes, I’m skeptical.  But I’m open, so I walk into the Holy House itself, within the large Basilica.  Oddly enough, that sweet peace I felt in the rest of the basilica is gone.  I touch the stones to see if I can “feel” any other energies.  Zero.  Now I’m very skeptical – not that my antennae are the final answer, but gosh, you’d think I’d feel something. I watch others pray in devotion, they are very moved.  I can’t share that with them, so in respect for their reverence I exit the house and take photos of the rest of the basilica.  I run into one confused Italian tourist who thinks I am Italian – it was very sweet, but pretty much all I can say in Italian is a bunch of food words (of course), “I don’t understand Italian,” and “I am an American” (translation - sorry, dude).

A little while later my mother found a brochure explaining that the Vatican lost some documents which verified that someone (a human!) collected all the stones from Mary’s house and transported them to Loreto and reconstructed the house.  That sounds much more likely, but I also find it humorously convenient that the Vatican “lost” this documentation.

We have mass downstairs in a cozy little stone chapel. I quickly notice that the grace that held me captive in mass in Medjugorje has gone. I have a new respect for mass, but it has its limitations. As I disco dance in my head while the priest reads from the Bible, I realize that I have reached my limitation.

During mass we begin to hear a magical chorus of voices from above singing hymns in Latin.  When we walk upstairs through the main sanctuary, all the seats are filled with a gigantic chorus.  They are rehearsing!  I learn that they are part of a Festival of Sacred Music.  I record a tiny section of their rehearsal with my iphone. 

St. Nicholas of Tolentino Basilica  This houses the remains of St. Nicholas (1246 – 1305), a friar who was known for his piety, his visions of Mary and other saints, his ability to heal, and, amazingly, to resurrect the dead.  Of course the basilica is gorgeous as they all are, but there are two unique things I really love here.  One is the courtyard – the aged mural paintings around the circumference of the square captivate me, making me regret that I have to rush through it to catch up with the group.

My second favorite part is the museum.  There is a showcase of miniature scenes of St. Nicholas’ life; incredible detail of the most significant parts of his life. I also discover a painting that stops me in my tracks, bringing me right into my heart: “The Ecstasy of St Nicholas of Tolentino.”

 

***

In preparation for our trip to Assisi, on the bus we get to watch another Catholic cartoon!  This one is about the life of St. Francis.  (I would later joke that St. Francis’ father in the cartoons is a lot fatter than the statue of him in Assisi.)  This one isn’t quite as funny as the one about Fatima, and I actually learn a few things about Francis I didn’t know. 

One of my favorite stories of St. Francis is about his transformation from son of a wealthy merchant to pious friar.  He had a life of privilege, rich with friends and a talent for selling the fabrics of his father’s business.  When he began to have his turn around to God, it culminated in a scene in the town square where his father disowned him publicly for his love for God and his lack of “responsibility” to the family business.  Francis removed all his fine clothing right there in the middle of the square, symbolically and physically removing his ties with his wealthy upbringing, his family, and his inheritance.  He declared that his true father was Jesus and his true mother Mary.  The bishop who was present removed his own robe and placed it on St. Francis.  What inspires me most about this is that he had the courage not to follow the path laid out before him.  He listened to something deeper and more true for him, and then had the courage to follow it.  His life was very difficult after that, but he persevered in complete devotion to God.

***
We finally arrive in Assisi and collapse in our hotel. I am looking forward to a good meal like we had in San Giovanni Rotondo: nice wine, delicious pasta, some kind of main course…and gelato! Beware of expectations. We eat very chewy rigatoni (I bite my lip in an effort to chew it - beyond al dente) with arrabiata sauce, chicken, fries, and eggnog gelato which is extraordinarily unappealing to me (so my mom dutifully eats my dessert).  Not a fruit or vegetable in sight. This might make some folks quite happy; I feel heavy and I am craving something fresh. My mom and I joke about whether or not this is the hotel’s idea of what Americans like to eat.  This is one of those moments I would prefer to be treated like an Italian!

I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights! Post a comment here or email Sonya@illuminatedwisdom.com.

Coming Thursday: Day 13 Assisi : Breakthrough! How a Zealot Is Born; The Grace of St. Clare; St. Francis’ Love in the Stones; The Canticle of the Sun.

Day 11 Last Day in Medjugorje: One Last Trip up Crucifix Mountain; The Medjugorje Effect.

This is part of an ongoing story; if you are just joining the journey, you may want to start at the beginning.  


Day 11 – Medjugorje, Last Day

It is my last opportunity to hike Crucifix Mountain, and given our tight schedule today before we depart, and the fact that I would love a nice shower afterwards, I opt to skip breakfast.  I figure I’ve had enough bread anyway – I’m discovering that my otherwise mild gluten intolerance has reached its limit.  My body doth protest.  That’s what fruit and protein bars are for.

This hike is not quite as intensely spiritual as my last one, partially because I am all about business; I have two hours to do this hike (that normally takes three) and get back in time for a shower.  However, it’s another beautiful day, I am loving the hike, and the prayer and spiritual clarity and devotion hiking up is still absolutely wonderful.  I make it up to the top to the 360 degree view of the mountains from the big white crucifix.  I say a prayer of gratitude, bow deeply, and head back down.  I make the journey, prayers and all, in 90 minutes.  I feel absolutely exhilarated.  I am so glad I got to have this experience before I get back on that ferry. 

I feel a bit of sadness on my way back to our pension.  Then a very calming feeling rises within me, and a sense that this is not goodbye to Medjugorje – I will return.  When someone asked me yesterday if I plan to come back, I could not say.  Truly, who knows – I guess I won’t know if I will come again until I arrive again.  What I am feeling now is that remarkable Mary of Medjugorje peace, and the circle of welcome that draws me in.  I can live this spirit and transmission anytime – it breathes in me now, so there is no departure. 

I enjoy my last shower in Medjugorje as much as I can because I figure the shower on the ferry will not be so great!  I still make it in time for my last English mass in Medjugorje.  I sit inside this time.  A very young Irish priest is doing the mass, and during his homily he reveals his story of conversion, his call to priesthood, and his innocence before God.  I have respect for his journey and his sincerity.  I have enjoyed the Irish priests here this week (there’s a large contingent of Irish pilgrims who arrived on Monday); they tell the best jokes and the best stories (I laugh out loud throughout the homilies). Yesterday, a different priest expressed that that he and his English speaking colleagues (I think there were 20 priests on the altar) feel renewed here.  He said they experience the best confessions, the best mass.  He said, "Thank you for making us feel like priests again." That really touched me.  I was happy for him and all the priests that they could experience that renewal not only with God, Mary, and Jesus, but with humanity.

***

After a quick lunch at Alf’s and some last minute shopping, we return to our pension with just enough time to haul our luggage down the stairs and board the bus. This is the first time I’ve been in an enclosed space with my fellow pilgrims since we arrived in Medjugorje.  There were always other pension guests at the meals, so we weren’t all alone.  I notice immediately that the energy of the group has changed.  It seems we’ve been “Medjugorjied” – we are all lighter, sweeter, more peaceful.  I appreciate the shift, and am happy for them that they had their own, private, beautiful experiences in Medjugorje .  I gaze out the window lovingly on our way to Split.

During the ride, Gus invites us to share any stories of our time in Medjugorje.  My folks share their story of the miracle of the sun.  Just minutes later, one of the pilgrims points out the window and cries out that the miracle of the sun is happening again.  This time, most of the people on the bus see it too.  Some are touched, some respond with a kind of mellow “oh, yeah, that’s kind of cool.”  I do not see it, but I feel full enough with my own experiences that I don’t feel left out.

***

In the overnight ferry back to Italy, we have the same room (oh joy) but with cleaner sheets this time. We are well trained and make sure to remove the toilet paper before showering.  Dinner is fairly uneventful – no mystery seafood and no puppet fish heads.  After dinner, I notice that I’m glad that the ferry is less crowded.  It means less cigarette smoke and more quiet time on the decks without running into anybody. 

One of the best things about being in the middle of the Adriatic Sea is the absolute darkness of night.  Aside from the lights on the deck, the only thing that lets me know that there is water that meets the sky is the sound of waves lapping up onto the ferry.  I feel comfort and magic in this darkness and the stars that dot the sky.  The chilly wind and sea air is refreshing, especially compared to our stuffy tiny rooms. 

I walk around the deck several times, praying the rosary.  I notice how it evokes the energy of Mary. I had been feeling restless and uneasy; the prayer calms me.  It feels like shaking an Etch-a-Sketch clean. There are many different things I do to shake my Etch-A-Sketch; prayer is the perfect method tonight.

Coming next week: Day 12 Osimo, Loreto, Assisi: Falling in love (again) with  Italy; Voices of Angels; The House of Mary & Joseph.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights! Post a comment here or email Sonya@illuminatedwisdom.com.

Day 10 in Medjugorje: Meeting with a Visionary, Catholic Rehabilitation Center (85% Healing Rate!); A Field of Love at Adoration Service.

This is part of an ongoing story; if you are just joining the journey, you may want to start at the beginning. 

Day 10 – Medjugorje

Gus announces at breakfast that he has arranged a surprise for us this morning – a private meeting, just for our group, with one of the visionaries, Ivanka.  I can feel the twitter of excitement cascade through the room like a wave.  Shortly after breakfast, we pile into a series of cabs and go to the other side of town to Ivanka’s house.

When we arrive, we stand around in her driveway her driveway for a few minutes, and then she comes outside and gives us a talk. I am immediately struck by how she is glowing; her love for God and Mary radiates from her like a beam. Though her English is pretty good, she gives her formal address to us in Croatian with an English translator. She gives us a history of how the visions started, and it strikes me that she’s probably given this particular speech hundreds of times but it’s still a fresh and beautiful account. Then she emphasizes that she is not special; that she does not know why Mary chose her and the other visionaries to be messengers; and she wants us all to know that we are equals.  She focuses on the teachings of Mary and not on herself. One of my favorite quotes from her: “There is only one God and you can call him whatever you like. God is Love. God is Happiness. And the only thing is that we humans have divided ourselves.” 

Despite her humility and clarity about not wanting to be put on a pedestal, several pilgrims are treating her like she’s a rock-star from heaven and that even being around her will heal them. One pilgrim asks: “Can you heal me?” Ivanka’s response is: “My hands are just like yours…”  I have two reactions: one is eye rolling, the other is compassion for their innocence.  They sooo desperately want her to be their savior so that they can be saved.  Some are crying, others try to touch her to get some sort of energy jolt, and after the talk a few are pushing others around to make sure they get a picture with her.  Their demonstrative worship makes me want to balance things out by giving Ivanka some extra room to breathe.  I’m moved to just stand in the back quietly and let others have their experience with Ivanka.

In the cab on the way back to the pension, my mother tells me stories about how Ivanka and many of the visionaries have been physically hurt by pilgrims’ obsession: broken arms, torn rotator cuffs, lots of bruises, etc.  Who knew that you need a bodyguard to be a visionary? (Yes, literally, they need bodyguards now.)

***

On tap for this afternoon is a group trip to a Catholic rehabilitation center.  Our tour guide explains to us that Cenacolo has the highest rate of healing – 85%.  It was started by a nun whose philosophy of rehabilitation is simple – fix how you live your life and that will fix the addiction.  She teaches hard work, prayer, simple living, and the support of community.

 

My parents and I decide to do a little shopping – off the beaten commercial path -  before meeting up with the group.  We arrive at Cenacolo early, and a handsome young Italian man greets us at the gate. He shakes my parents’ hands, and when he turns to shake my hand, his expression changes; he gives me a smile as bright as the sun, and I feel like his gaze penetrates right to my core.  Still reeling (is it warm out here?), at his instruction we walk into their little chapel and I am brought back to earth with the beautiful icons and the simple humility of the sanctuary.  It’s a very sweet place, all built by the hands of the Cenacolo community. This is a photo of their main altar. 

Eventually our group finds us and we are ushered into a community room where two of the members give us their stories.  One of them is recovering from drug addiction and he is Catholic; the other is a lost young man who needed some guidance, and he isn’t Catholic. The nun who started Cenacolo felt the call to support “disillusioned young men and women who live in desperation and hopelessness, convinced that life has no meaning or value.” I understand that men and women with all kinds of struggles come here. I enjoy hearing their courageously honest reflections, which include the challenges of living in the community.  Both of them have come to a similar conclusion; despite the challenges and difficulties of living here, it has made them better, more solid, men.  They are grateful for the experience, and I feel truly happy for them.  I would recommend this community for anyone who is lost in addiction or just in life in general.  There are several centers in the Southeastern US, South America, Italy, and this one in Medjugorje.  Men and women live separately.  The centers survive on donations and the labor of the community members – no one pays anything to live there.  Remarkable.

***

After dinner we have multi-cultural mass, and then tonight there is a special service called “Adoration.”  My mom explains the way St. James does Adoration is not like anything else she’s experienced.  I am moved to go.  During the break between mass and Adoration my parents save our seats in the church and pray the rosary while I try to find an open internet café with an open computer to talk to my husband.  When I return, the church is completely full and in a sweet silence.  I find my folks, sit down next to them, and promptly get embraced with the sweetest, most loving hugs.  I don’t question why, or what happened – I just sit in their arms for a long time, deeply touched. 

I confess that I’ve never been much into devotional singing.  I’ve had a few moments of ecstatic states with ancient Greek or Sufi chants, but outside of those occasions, I find “Kumbaya” so cliché it’s a bit embarrassing.  It could be because my association with sacred music is that it’s in some ancient language I don’t understand and it’s somber (as it is in the Orthodox Churches).  It’s all about perspective! Adoration in Medjugorje is a mix of devotional songs, reading from the Bible, and silent contemplation and prayer.  We sing in Croatian, English, German, Italian, and French.  The choir uses an overhead projector to display the words so everyone can sing along in every language.  To my surprise, I am touched.  I am loving these songs, even when I don’t sing along.  At one moment I look across the aisle to see the light touching a woman’s blissful face in such a way it looks like she’s glowing – she closes her eyes and sings with her true heart.  I am so happy for her.  I am so happy for all of us.  The feeling of love and devotion in the room is palpable and I am absolutely carried along with it. 

And, yes, they do sing Kumbaya.  I can’t resist an eye roll, so I give into it, but the rest of Adoration is true adoration for me. We all walk home in a sweet state of bliss and sleep deeply.

Coming Thursday: Day 11 Last Day in Medjugorje: One Last Trip up Crucifix Mountain; The Medjugorje Effect.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights! Post a comment here or email Sonya@illuminatedwisdom.com.

Day 9 in Medjugorje: Conversation with Father David; Best Bourek Ever; The Miracle of the Sun.

This is part of an ongoing story; if you are just joining the journey, you may want to start at the beginning. 


Day 9 – Medjugorje

I didn’t sleep well last night.  I’m still feeling frustrated.  I wake up before dawn and walk out into the country for some sunrise shots. 

Three adorable dogs discover me on the road and proceed to escort me through the countryside.  On our way, they stir up as much trouble as they possibly can, barking at all the other dogs tied up in the neighborhood – which of course makes the other dogs bark and soon there’s a symphony happening. I’m sure the humans trying to sleep are just thrilled. I wonder if my pals are bragging about being free and not tied-up. They make me laugh!  They are angels in furry form, thanks, guys. 

When I return back to our room, my mother and I are alone and we have a great talk about Catholicism, zealotry, etc.  Her perspective is that some people are literally incapable of empathy.  They can’t imagine, let alone recognize, that other humans are different and benefit from different ways and paths.  She said that being able to empathize, allowing others the freedom to follow their own way, is a true gift.  Our conversation calms me some.  She suggests that I speak with our resident priest, Father David, to get his perspective. I’m not certain that it will help, but I am curious, and it feels right.

After breakfast, I pull Father David aside for a chat.  He takes me into a little store room on the side of the dining hall where we sit down.  I explain to him my perspective and experience on this trip.  He listens very carefully, very patiently.  After a pause, he offers his feedback.  First he expresses that he wishes we had told everyone earlier that I was raised Orthodox and not Catholic – he feels that others might have been more sensitive around me.  He agrees that the two churches share the same sacraments, they share many things theologically.  He acknowledges that this is a very “orthodox” group of Catholics (ironic choice of words, I think) and they tend to go overboard.

Then he says that he doesn’t agree with my statement that “everyone has their own path to God.”  He explains that in Uganda, many different faiths coexist peacefully – Muslim, Buddhist, and Christian.  We can express our beliefs and opinions with love, he says – it does not have to be in conflict.  At the same time, he has an integrity to what he believes is the truth about God, which is that the sacraments of the Church are the true way to God.  He says that it is ok that others aren’t Catholic, they can still go to heaven because they don’t know any better; they are innocent in their ignorance and cannot be blamed. God will forgive them. I feel the line in him about this.  I do not push my point because it’s clear that there’s no negotiation for him in this. I do as he recommends – respectfully disagree with love. 

I appreciate the strength of Father David’s conviction, and I’m glad I spoke with him.  I find it impossible to believe that God lacks so much creativity that “He” created only one path back to him. Many, many times in my past I have zealously shared my beliefs and ideals with others.  It’s been a painful lesson in humility for me to realize that my journey is my journey – I can share it with others, but ultimately, each individual is carried on her own way – good, bad, indifferent, transcendent, whatever.  So I humbly bow to Father David on his journey, and realize that his conviction is as much a part of his journey as anything else. 

***

In the afternoon, the group is planning on climbing Crucifix Mountain together. My folks are planning to go. I simply cannot. Not only do I treasure my quiet time alone, but I don’t want my open, loving experience of Crucifix Mountain to be seasoned with religious dogma.  I decide to keep to myself and head out for another hike up Apparition Hill.

On the way, I run into a fellow pilgrim who, giggling, points out a German bus parked on the side of the road.  The word on it may be totally normal in German but it is irreverent in English.  I’m feeling irreverent so I take a photo of it, laughing.  (Warning – close your eyes if you are easily offended…) (photo of bus)

I find that the quiet time on the mountain is very calming for me.  I head home afterwards, have a little bit of time to write, and then I walk over to meet my parents at the base of Crucifix Mountain. I find it beautiful that some of the pilgrims who can barely make it up the stairs of our pension managed to make it all the way to the top of the Mountain.  I have to call that a miracle.  I rejoice with them when I greet them.

We decide not to have a heavy meal tonight – we’ve been eating awfully well.  We’ve been passing by an aromatic bakery every day on our way to and from various places, so tonight we stop there for our dinner-snack.  I order bourek, a cheese filled delicacy made in different ways all over Eastern Europe. This version was baked like a torte and filled with a perfect thin layer of mild, soft, creamy cheese. The bread is buttery and rich and I am not only in flavor heaven but taste memory heaven – this is another food from my childhood. We go down the street to Viktor's restaurant for salad and gelato to round out the meal.

We head to mass and once again I sit on the benches in the back of the church. The conflict I felt last night and this morning has eased; I have returned to accepting the duality of Christianity, with all the good and the negativity, just as it is. I am able to feel the presence of love and peace in this place that runs like a river underneath everything, even the darkness.

I deeply enjoy the international mass, sitting in the setting sun.  There’s something magical about this mass, this sunlight.  When we leave mass to go back to the church, I am suddenly compelled to take a photo. 

I find my parents so we can walk back to the pension together. They whisper, in awe, that they saw the miracle of the sun. They had been sitting in the gazebo, facing the sunset. Both of them saw a darker circle, almost like an eclipse, appear in front of the sun, so that they could look straight at the sun without their eyes hurting or being damaged. The sun around it was spinning.  The “miracle of the sun” is one of the most common reports of miracles here in Medjugorje, but this was my parents’ first time seeing it. I could not see it, but I must have felt something magical happening. 

Walking home, I reflect…I am finding it remarkable, despite running into dogmatic walls and prejudices, that I am attending mass here twice a day – by choice! These Church services are not like anything I have experienced in other places. They feel real. People have their eyes closed in total spiritual bliss. They truly Believe, and they are in devotion and humility before God.  I mentioned earlier that my usual experience of mass is that people are drinking the ocean through a straw; here they are drinking cupfuls in big gulps (some of them are drinking buckets!), hungrily and with love.  Not everyone, of course, but there are enough that the energy in the church is something special. 

As a little girl, hearing the Orthodox liturgy in the mysterious language of Ancient Greek, I got carried into the deep mystery (which I think most children still have access to anyway), and my analytical mind didn’t get involved.  I got to stay in my heart.  I’m finding that church in Medjugorje is the closest experience to that beauty I experienced as a child. I even feel grace every time I take communion. I begin to wonder if I am going to turn into a real Catholic…and then I laugh.

Coming Thursday: Day 10 in Medjugorje: Meeting with a Visionary, Catholic Rehabilitation Center (85% Healing Rate!); A Field of Love at Adoration Service.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights! Post a comment here or email Sonya@illuminatedwisdom.com.

Day 8 Medjugorje: Visiting the Statue of the Risen Christ (it’s oozing fluid); Patrick and Nancy’s Castle; Sonya’s meltdown.

This is part of an ongoing story; if you are just joining the journey, you may want to start at the beginning. 


Day 8 – Medjugorje.  Easter Monday (4/5)

We walk to the statue of the Risen Christ this morning before breakfast.  It’s a large bronze statue rising out of a large white cross, a bit of a ways behind St. James Church.  As we walk toward it I see and feel a strange energy emanating from this statue.  I ask if it is human projection energy or the statue itself, and it feels like the statue is generating the energy.  When we are close, I notice the liquid coming out of the side of the knee, and how the color of the statue is changing where it is oozing out.  This is considered to be one of the miracles here, some holy nectar with healing powers.  My step-dad wipes two napkins on it for me.  I press my hand to the side of the statue’s leg and immediately feel that sweet grace that I associate with Jesus.  I can feel my hand vibrating as we walk away.

 

***

Our pilgrimage schedule has us up most mornings around 5:30am, and I am enjoying waking up early and walking before breakfast.  I feel refreshed as I sit down to our usual morning meal of dark Eastern European bread, cheese, and sliced meat. I am making three wonderful food discoveries at breakfast. One is the coffee; though I don’t normally drink it at home, the thick and rich black coffee mixed with warm milk is dreamy. The others are rosehip jam (wow! Fruity and fragrant!) and Eurocrem, which is chocolate Nutella-type spread and a vanilla spread swirled together.  They are both indulgently wonderful on the dark bread.  This is a far cry from my breakfasts at home of raw green smoothies!

***

After mass, we have another wonderful lunch at the pension (batter fried fish with potatoes and onions and a fresh green salad), and then we meet at what’s known as “Patrick and Nancy’s Castle.”  Two Canadians resettled here and built a beautiful complex that looks like a medieval castle.  They use it as a retreat center for priests, nuns, and monks, and they charge nothing.  I take some photos to try to capture the beauty (here’s just a taste), and then we all file into a room where Patrick is giving us a presentation. 

Patrick is totally open about his life story and his challenges.  It’s a classic conversion story – a man who was ruled by his own selfishness and greed one day finds God (and in this case God through Mary), and has a 180 degree turn around.  He ends up moving to Medjugorje, becomes a completely devoted Catholic, and uses all the money he made to make this gorgeous retreat center.  He heals many of his relationships, discovers new depth and meaning in his marriage, and is now offering his story to others for inspiration. 

Patrick’s a great storyteller and he highlights some compelling details as he tells his tale. For example, one day before his call back to God, when one of his sons asked him “What is God, Dad?” Patrick took a $20 bill out of his wallet and said, “See this, son?  This is God.”  His conversion began because one day he cracked open a book of Mary’s messages from Medjugorje and he read one and only one: “I have come to call the world to conversion for the last time…”  Somehow, that little sentence got to him, and it began a domino effect of events, leading him to sell his businesses and start a new life in the church.  There are some beautiful themes of rebirth and reconciliation in his story.  As I listen to him, I think of a few people who would be fed by hearing his story. 

Simultaneously, I am frustrated by parts of his talk.  As I find is true in many conversion stories, he is zealous about his faith.  He talks in absolutes, because of course he thinks in absolutes and absolutes are what saved him.  When he talks about how awful it is that his son baptizes himself as an Anglican instead of a Catholic, my immediate thought is – now, wait a minute – what’s wrong with being Anglican?  But the crowd is eating it up.  At one moment he points to a mother in the crowd and asks her, “How would you feel if your girls came home Anglican?”  The woman just shakes her head.  I’m thinking – oh yeah, what a sin that would be.  Give me a break.

On the way home, I hear more anti-choice, pro-life rhetoric – not, unfortunately, speaking about the beauty and value of life, but speaking in anger about all those “non-Catholics” who are going against God by not being against abortion.  At this point, my tolerance for intolerance has broken.  I don’t feel moved to go to mass, so after my parents leave, my frustration finally peaks and I begin to cry and do not stop.  After feeling so wide open here in Medjugorje, present in peace and love, and specifically receiving Mary’s message to support people to find their own, individual, and unique way to God, I feel pain for all the Moslems, Methodists, Anglicans, Pagans - basically everyone some Catholics believe are going to hell (i.e., everyone who isn’t Catholic).  What I’ve been hearing on this trip is, for me, simply outright discrimination.  As beautiful as this place is, it seems to also bring out darkness. 

When my parents come home, they try to convince me that Patrick did not mean his statement to be anti-Anglican, he was just emphasizing how he failed as a father to be a spiritual guide.  Not being a parent, I hadn’t considered that.  I see their point.  Simultaneously, I’m extraordinarily skeptical that there is zero judgment in Patrick for others who aren’t Catholic. Given the trend of the zealotry I’ve observed so far, you can imagine my skepticism.  My parents then point out that Mary told one of the visionaries that the most holy person in Medjugorje is a young Moslem woman because she has true faith.  Well, that’s a relief – at least Mary isn’t an overly zealous Catholic.  But how many of her Catholic children are listening?

Coming Monday: Day 9 in Medjugorje: Conversation with Father David; Best Bourek Ever; The Miracle of the Sun.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights! Post a comment here or email Sonya@illuminatedwisdom.com.