Fatima for Lourdes

My sisters and I are all "Marias", in reference to the Blessed Virgin Mary, and two of us even carry second names that are sites of the Marian Apparitions. But never did I think that this Maria Fatima would ever be blessed with the opportunity to visit a Marian pilgrimage site.  Not Fatima, Portugal, but Lourdes, France.

Lourdes is a town in southwestern France, which has become a place of pilgrimage for Roman Catholics after a young peasant girl, Bernadette Soubirous, had visions of the Virgin Mary in 1858. I am familiar with the story, although I am more familiar with the Fatima message, understandably having taken a personal interest given that I am named after our Blessed Virgin Mary as she became known after having appeared to three children in Fatima, Portugal.

Our trip to Lourdes was a last-minute insertion by my sister-in-law Ellen, who had lovingly and painstakingly put together a 14-day itinerary in France. Ellen had been to Lourdes many years ago, and she rightly thought that her Catholic companions would appreciate a visit to the popular Marian site.

It is still light by the time we arrive
at the Lourdes train station.

We take the five-hour train ride from the Paris Montparnasse station to Lourdes. The sun is still out when we arrive by almost 7 p.m. at the town, where we immediately catch a taxi (van) to Hotel Roissy, where Ellen had made reservations. The reason for her choice immediately becomes apparent as the hotel is located just some 100 meters away from the Sanctuaire Notre-Dame de Lourdes (Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes) to our delight, and even nearer the Filipino restaurant Asian Delices, to the unbound happiness of our daughter.

Someone is very happy to be eating
Pork Sinigang again.

Adequately full, the three older members of the group set out to join the torchlight procession, scheduled every 9 p.m. at the sanctuary. We leave our daughter at the hotel, walk along avenue Monseigneur Schoepfer, where we buy candles from the souvenir shops that line the street, and cross the Place Monseigneur Laurence before going down a curved driveway leading to the sanctuary.

Cesar, Ellen and I at the square
before the Basilica.

Nothing prepares me for the sight of the sanctuary. I had not even thought of looking it up on the Web, having been more concerned about practical info that had to do with flights, terminals, routes, mobile data plans, and even cuisine and language. The only reference I had to it in my mind were the baths that a friend of my mom had once mentioned, and which had evoked images of people lining up by a riverbank, waiting to be doused with healing water from the spring that Saint Bernadette had dug up by the grotto upon the instruction of Our Mother.

A view of the Basilica from the side
of the river Gave de Pau.

We come upon a vast, sprawling complex dominated by a castle-like church, parts of which glint in the setting sun. A self-avowed fan of architecture, I am overwhelmed.

My eyes dart here and there, not quite knowing where to look. I want to, but cannot, capture everything at once. To say everything is beautiful is right, but inadequate.

It is hard to describe the feeling that comes over me. I immediately think of Mommy, and I wish she was with me. She would have loved being at the Sanctuary in Lourdes. 

I somehow feel at one with all the other faithful inside the complex, and I am moved by the palpable presence of God and Mama Mary. Cesar and I thank Ellen, bless her, for bringing us there.

After praying at the Grotto of Massabielle,
where Our Lady appeared
to Saint Bernadette in Lourdes, France.

We are so tempted to dawdle and gape and feel, but Ellen hurries us to the grotto, built at the side of the Basilica by the river so we can pay homage to the love that Our Lady had shown us by appearing 18 times to Saint Bernadette so that we would believe that in prayer lies salvation and healing.

We join a short and fast-moving line of people, feeling the dampness and in places, water, that emerges from the rock that forms the Grotto of Massabielle, where Our Lady appeared to Saint Bernadette. I feel right about touching the water to my face and my hands, and I see the others doing the same.

A closer look reveals that I carry
a Lourdes Rosary, a wedding gift
in 2002.

We hurry back to the rows of people now forming behind a replica of the white marble statue of the Blessed Virgin of the Apparition, by M. Cabuchet, of Paris. Soon enough, the loudspeaker crackles and we begin moving. Voices speak in several languages, but it is easy to recognize the Rosary being recited, and I take out the blue beads that are a wedding gift from Nanay’s friend, Tita Ason, in 2002.

I look at the centerpiece medal and realize that I carry a Lourdes Rosary with water relic. One side shows St. Bernadette kneeling before Mother Mary at the Grotto, while the other side shows a small encasement in a small opening marked EAU DE LOURDES. 

I am filled with love and gratitude, and I pray with all my heart. I follow the singing, waving my candle during the chorus of Ave Maria, and the Laudate Mariam. Not once does my tireless candle go out, not even when I try to warm my fingers over its flame.

Our fingers are near freezing
at this point. 

It is cold. The temperature reads 13 degrees Celsius, and while a sweatshirt, two jackets, a wooly cap and a hood protect me adequately, my fingers are near freezing. I had not thought to bring gloves.

But we plod on, and when the people way ahead of us reach the end of the esplanade and go round the curve to head back for the Basilica, we come abreast with them and see how the candles light up the darkness. 

More so, when we also do the same and face the Basilica, framed by a string of candles held by pilgrims standing on two great ascents in the shape of a horseshoe overlooking the square. I do not know when it was projected on the main spire, but an image of Our Lady appears, hovering above all of us gathered at the square.

We all end up at the square in front of the Basilica for the final blessing.

Too soon, it is over. There is a final blessing in Latin, and we leave the square, forever changed. 

Note: Photos by Ellen, Cesar and the author