By , bottles of Lourdes water were being sent around the world and a million people were coming to the shrine every year. But the force of her testimony had the opposite effect.
Belief blossomed like fields of wild roses. They were of all ages and types, but they had one thing in common: their Roman Catholic faith.
A young man behind me in line had been to Lourdes twice; a fragile older woman nearby was on her eighth trip to the shrine. Also among the group -- and impossible to ignore -- was a corpulent, heavy-breathing, pink-faced man who complained loudly and brandished his cane in the direction of anyone who happened to be standing nearby.
Once checked in, we were given yellow ORP money pouches and scarves, which our guide told us to wear so we could recognize one another among the crowds. The town of about 15, is set in a valley underneath a 14th century castle and Pic du Jer, a 3,foot Pyrenean peak with a lighted cross at the summit.
Because of the terrain, Lourdes has an upper and a lower district, connected by winding streets and elevators. The grotto where she is said to have seen the Virgin Mary is below, together with hotels, shops and restaurants that pilgrims favor because of their easy access to the sanctuary. We stayed in the lower town at La Solitude, a well-oiled package-tour hotel that was anything but solitary.
The lobby was usually stacked with luggage and pilgrims waiting for buses or flights. As soon as we arrived, we had lunch in the basement dining room.
I was seated at a round table with a couple and three other solo travelers, including the rotund, complaining man who, thus far, had been given a wide berth by everyone. The Roman matron next to me, a loving middle-aged couple at my other side and the South American missionary across the table were delightful companions.
But we all kept our heads down when our irascible table mate started to eat before everyone else was served and talked with his mouth full. Granted, the pasta was bad.
It shows a lack of an internal life. After lunch, in a drizzling rain, I walked to St. A line of pilgrims carrying flowers and candles waited near the altar at the base of the cliff to touch the rock, while others filled plastic jugs with water from the holy spring that pours from a row of spigots nearby. I found a place on the esplanade by the river, so I could see over the heads of the people clustered around the grotto, a crevice about 20 feet above ground level. In , a statue of the Virgin Mary was placed there, dressed in white with a blue sash, just as the little visionary described her to Abbe Marie-Dominique Peyramale, her parish priest.
Still, it moved me. Sequestered in its simple, natural setting, it is the precious heart of a sanctuary that is now home to two dozen other places of worship. The neo-Gothic Basilica of the Immaculate Conception is the most conspicuous. Perched, Oz-like, atop Massabielle rock, it is reached by two long, curving stone ramps that embrace Rosary Square like the wide open arms of the Madonna.
The high basilica is fronted by a huge, glittering gold crown that sits on the dome of the crypt, another place of worship built into the rock. Below it is the Rosary Basilica, lined with mosaics and tablets commemorating Lourdes healings, like that of John B. He adds that volunteers and students learn much about both of those virtues from the sick pilgrims.
It is a wonderful part of being a Christian. For a century and a half, all have come to Lourdes for different reasons, but all come hoping for some kind of physical, emotional, or spiritual healing. Walter T. Tags: Lourdes. Learn More. What's New. The diversity of people was striking: nuns in long habits, elderly couples, young people traveling in groups, elegant Italian women in fur coats, and groups of men holding large banners aloft bearing the names of their cities and churches. After several more blocks, the commercial district ended and I reached the entrance to the shrine.
Just inside St. A few more steps and a huge basilica came into view, an imposing structure with a gilded crown set atop its lower level.
Two ramps extended like arms from each side, ending in a huge square and esplanade capable of holding many thousands of people. Once I wandered around to the side of the basilica, I was relieved to see that the heart of the grotto remained essentially the same as it had been all those years before.
The large outcropping of stone known as Massabiele was still there, and in the niche where the lady had appeared to Bernadette stood a statue of the Virgin Mary, her hands joined in prayer as her eyes gazed heavenward. Below, a long line of people slowly wound into the area beneath the stone, where they reverently touched the rock and left photographs, flowers, and other tokens near the spring that had been uncovered by Bernadette.
A rack of candles burned brightly in front of the grotto, and nearby was a line of spigots where people collected water from the spring. While the grotto was the heart of the sanctuary, I found the rest of the complex intriguing as well. Several huge churches welcome the hordes of pilgrims that throng here, each with many services throughout the day and evening. Scenes from my time there stand out sharp and clear in my memory.
I remember a young woman, her face open and vulnerable, kneeling on the cement before the grotto in the falling rain, and a friar wearing a brown cape who looked like he had stepped out of a tapestry from the Middle Ages. When I recall my trip to Lourdes I remember the grand drama of my experiences there, the processions and masses and the exultant feeling of being surrounded by so many pilgrims.
But I recall with special fondness something that may seem small and trivial in comparison—all those shops selling Virgin Mary souvenirs. I imagine the places where those trinkets are likely to end up, how they will find their way into nursing homes, hospital rooms and bedside tables, into the pockets of chemotherapy patients and the hands of soldiers going off to war.
I recall with special fondness something that may seem small and trivial in comparison—all those shops selling Virgin Mary souvenirs. Though small and inexpensive, those tokens carry a powerful message: they are a reminder that the broken and wounded will be the first to enter the Kingdom of God, that miracles are possible even when the darkness seems overwhelming, and that the most unlikely among us can receive a life-changing vision of light.
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