Destination: Lourdes! (Part I - The Physical)

Well I’m back…and better than ever! (No really!). It was a whirlwind trip, but amidst the crazy schedule and festivities, I was blessed with a bit of peace, a lot of love, and the kind of renewal that so often escapes us in our daily lives. I loved that I was able to experience this refreshment both physically and spiritually, and as such, I’ve decided to break up my account of the trip into two installments: fittingly, the Physical and the Spiritual. (It’s also my attempt to avoid the novel that would otherwise ensue, while still hitting the highlights of the pilgrimage. Please take note of the word ‘attempt’). Enjoy!

Part I - The Physical
To see, smell, taste, hear, or touch the beauty of this world…this, this is Life! -Anonymous

To say that Lourdes is beautiful is an understatement of great proportion. The moment I stepped off of the bus after 18 wearying hours of travel, I was met by the graceful green river, the snow-capped Pyrenees mountains rising up majestically over the quaint village, the grand and arching granite arms of the cathedral reaching out to welcome visitors, the serene peace of the candlelit grotto serving as the bedrock of the church. As we settled in, the serenity was punctuated by the pomp of military processions, formations from around the world drawing crowds and cheers as they paraded through the streets in colorful dress uniforms with their lively bands, or bagpipes in the case of the Scots. The air of jubilant celebration mixed with quiet reverence was striking, almost a paradox, but both seemed to instantly pull me in. At every turn there were volunteers catering to us—who had paid out of pocket to do so—serving our meals, cleaning our rooms, playing tour guide upon request. They promptly served a much-needed lunch beginning with baguette, glorious baguette, and then sent us off to rest and enjoy the sanctuary. That night, and every night thereafter, we fell asleep to the lullaby of hymns from the late evening service at the grotto, and awoke to the same hymns floating across the river from the sunrise services. Though I never sacrificed enough sleep to make it to those services, we had ample opportunity to join the rest of the nations in a slew of other events designed to celebrate our unity. We stood together as soldiers from the first morning service at the grotto (with the English-speaking military crowd) to multiple military processions during the day and at night to the International Military Mass on Sunday, where literally thousands filled an underground chapel that could easily fit more than one football field in it. It was incredible to watch each color guard march by, proudly representing their own country but lining up side by side with other nations, exuding a tangible sense of dignity and respect for those around them. During the services we had the pleasure of listening to prayers and readings offered in multiple languages, and translated on the mega-screens in still more languages. When ‘off duty,’ we traded patches and coins with other soldiers, and one night the Spaniards crashed our dinner, invading our dining room and taking the liberty of streaking the colors of the Spanish flag on everyone’s faces. They taught us traditional Spanish dance and cheer (ole!), followed by a rowdy dance party in the courtyard, of course. And yes, even the nuns joined in! We also got to know the crazy Irish (who could be heard celebrating, regardless of the hour, on the floor above us) and the slightly more reserved Brits, and many spent a few evenings on the town together building rapport as only soldiers can.

And oh, to go out on the town! During the first brief interval with nothing on the schedule, I was able to escape for a quick visit to some souvenir shops with my roommates, complete with a detour to the patisserie for a croissant au chocolat (okay two). The second trip to town involved a local café that looked over the river, where I was able to watch the lazy water gliding by and the people scurrying about, and listen to the music from the bandstand below while savoring my lunch of salad with hollandaise dressing and a croquei-monsieur with tomato. There I met two French chaplains who jovially called out “mon Fis!” (my son!) to the French soldiers wandering in and out of the café, and the soldiers would respond good-naturedly with “mon Pere!” (my father!) and chat happily in return. During the next venture I encountered a local family sitting on a bench near the river with their Great Pyrenees, the same beautiful dog breed that we fell in love with when we discovered our own Great Pyr, Samson. I had been hoping to at least see one from a distance since the breed is native to the area (being at the foot of the Pyrenees mountains and all), but couldn’t believe my luck when there was another gentle giant, as they’re called, sitting right in front of me. So as any dog lover would, I stopped and chatted them up about their Pyr, and told them about ours, and had a lovely conversation—all in French—about how much we adored our pets. I followed my discovery with a celebratory crepe au nutella and a stop at a bistro, where any number of soldiers (from any number of countries) sang and danced the night away with a few guitars.

And if treating my taste buds weren’t enough, all week long I feasted my eyes on the indescribable sights surrounding me. In the lower chapel of the Lourdes sanctuary grounds, meticulously placed tiles told the stories of Christ’s life in some of the most beautiful mosaics I have ever encountered.
In the crypt and upper chapel, I saw stunning chandeliers that at one time held real candles, and must have been incredible to behold when lit. And when leaving the chapels, I was met with that view that continued to take my breath away—the graceful arches below me with flags from each nation represented, soldiers of every nationality, creed and color along the banks of the gentle river, the skyline of the town and castle (belonging to King Henry the IV) and mountains above me, and above those, blue sky that seemed to stretch forever toward the heavens.

And in the midst of it all, it didn’t matter that my feet ached at the end of the day, my body yelled at me to sleep more, that my stomach gnawed at me for more baguette. Because at the end of each day, I could say with certainty that it was worth it, and the rest of my senses agreed. For the most part. I did sleep through the group picture (but the baby needed it!) and—woe is me—missed out on my quest for French wine on the last day because the Italian food I’d eaten the night before decided to attack me. (Lesson learned: never trust ‘real’ Italian food in France). But bed-ridden moments aside, the physical renewal of the trip was exactly what I needed…and all that beauty and goodness I was able to experience through my senses unlocked a hidden door to my soul, paving the way for a spiritual renewal like no other!

Stay tuned for Part II—The Spiritual!