 |
| Basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary, at the Sanctuary of Fatima |
After making
the trip to Spain as a World Youth Day pilgrim, and a trek to Lourdes one
Easter, I thought I knew just how valuable the experience of a pilgrimage can
be. Fatima, though, was a pilgrimage of a different nature.
I started the
spiritual preparation for my trip several months before, bringing my petitions
to Our Lady through a series of rosary novenas, in the tradition of Fortuna
Agrelli and Our Lady of Pompeii: three novenas in petition, three in
thanksgiving. 54 days in all.
Even this
commitment to praying the rosary daily—something seemingly so simple—was not
always easy. So many things can distract us from our prayer life. This practice
in itself, however, brought me a tremendous amount of peace and I found myself
looking forward to it each day.
My trip to
Portugal was a solo venture, affording me many opportunities for reflection and
taking in my surroundings. As I took the bus from Lisbon to Fatima, rolling
through the surrounding countryside, I could just imagine the shepherd children
(Jacinta, Lucia, and Francisco) tending to their chores, their lives bound to
change forever once they received Mary’s message for the world.
There was a
mix of people on this journey, from nuns to older couples, families, and solo
travellers like myself. I wondered what had called them to make this journey as
I was. Though we may have had different reasons, it was the same God who called
us all to this holy place.
Not knowing
much Portuguese beyond the basics of hello, please, and thank you (olá, por favor, and obrigada), I smiled as the middle-age man beside me struggled to
find his seatbelt, pointing to the right side of the seat cushion, swiftly
pulling my own seatbelt, and making a firm click. He smiled back, grateful.
We sat in
contented silence during our route, until he noticed me rapidly applying
sunscreen to my neck, starting to feel a burn from the hot sun through my window.
He laughed and motioned that I could close the curtain if I needed to.
“Do you want
it closed?” I asked, forgetting he probably wouldn’t understand me.
He pointed to
his arm, leathered from the sun, with a perfectly golden tan. “I’m used to
sun!”
I pointed to
my pale face. “I’m not!” We both laughed.
It was a
short walk from the bus station to the Sanctuary. I expected to feel some
magnetic pull or indescribable force when I got there, like the wave of
peacefulness that hit me as I took in the grotto at Lourdes, the trickling of
the river, the stillness in spite of the crowds. Or the overwhelming sense of
joy when I saw Pope Benedict wave my way as he went along in the pope mobile in
Madrid. But all I felt was the beating of the sun, remembering I should drink
more water, and seeking shade along the fringes of the large open space.
What is wrong with me? I wondered to myself. I’m in such a holy place, that I’ve wanted
to visit for so long! Our Lady appeared in this very spot! Yet my spiritual
dryness continued.
I spent a few
hours on the grounds, getting as close to the chapel and Our Lady’s statue as
the crowds would allow. Seeing Francisco’s tomb. Participating in the prayers
of Mass. Praying the rosary. Visiting the statue of John Paul II.
 |
| Statue of Our Lady, at the Chapel of the Apparitions at Fatima |
It wasn’t
until I began to leave the grounds that I felt an inkling of why my response to
Fatima was so different than I’d been expecting: perhaps the place itself and
the journey to get here were not the whole story. Perhaps they were more like a
seed, the fruits of which may not be seen immediately.
I was struck
by a posting along the path, part of a series of reflections for pilgrims:
“Perseverance
in prayer, path finding when walking, feeds the 'pedagogy of holiness' (St.
John Paul II), of your holiness, dear pilgrim, and, through you, of the
holiness of mankind. [...] Continue praying ... even knowing that through this
path many obstacles arise.”
Just as with
prayer itself, a pilgrimage is continual. We are all on a journey, serving God
along the path of our daily life.
For me, the
holiness of Fatima lies not in the place itself—though it is most sacred, but
rather in its message: Our Lady’s call to continual prayer and sacrifice. More
than anything, Fatima is a call to holiness and faith above all else.
God cares,
listens, and tends to his children, just as a shepherd to his sheep. The task
for the pilgrim—for each one of us—is to remain faithful in spite of difficulty
and to trust.
