Why are you still searching...as if I'm not enough? -Tenth Avenue North
I came to Lourdes for many reasons. The selfish part of me of course had signed up for the trip so I could be back in France for the culture, the food, and to experience a place where peace and tranquility supposedly reigned. But the other half of me felt driven to go for others who couldn’t make the journey, for friends and loved ones who are fighting some battle with illness—the visible and the invisible—or for those who live every day with the pain of past tragedy, seeking to somehow be whole again. Others in my group came for these same reasons, each seeking some kind of healing our own right. And truly, God did not disappoint. But to understand why one would travel halfway around the world to a little town in the French boonies to ‘get healed,’ one must first be a bit acquainted with the significance of the place.
Although we gathered with military from across the world for this particular week, Lourdes originally became known for reasons far removed from the Soldiers who originally met there during World War II. In fact, it was almost 100 years prior that Mary, the Mother of God reportedly appeared to a young and sickly peasant girl named Bernadette Soubrious at a rocky outcropping by the river. The townspeople of course assumed Bernadette was mad when the story of her ‘meetings’ with Mary surfaced, especially as they witnessed her strange antics at the grotto (or cave-like rock) near the river where she would run to meet with the ‘beautiful lady,’ praying and interacting with what appeared to be an imaginary character that no one else saw. But there were still some unexplained events that caused quite a stir: during one of the meetings, Bernadette reported that the beautiful lady had instructed her to ‘go wash and drink from the spring.’ Confused, Bernadette looked around, seeing only the river far behind her. She eventually began to dig under the grotto where the beautiful lady appeared, and within moments a spring began to trickle out of the ground. This same spring now produces over thousands of gallons of water a day, which you can see immediately upon arriving at the grotto. While it’s not unbelievably remarkable that a spring could be present in such a location so close to the river, the completely pure water coming from the spring, (submitted constantly to water quality tests with no explanation for its purity or acclaimed healing properties), is what has scientists shaking their heads as the years pass.
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| The Grotto |
Equally remarkable are the unexplained healings, incredibly well-documented by doctors and scientists alike, which tend to occur at Lourdes. The first was a woman with a withered and paralyzed arm who had watched Bernadette dig to find the spring. After the crowds of townspeople left, she went with her family to dip her arm in the water. Immediately upon touching the water, her arm straightened out and she regained full use of it. Since then, there have been over 65 approved ‘unexplained cures’ (of the hundreds of thousands claimed), all scrutinized by the most skeptical and impartial board of medical and scientific professionals that can be found, who question and test every plausible theory for a person’s healing to prove that it was not ‘miraculous’. And only physically quantifiable injuries or diseases are even considered to go before the board—others reported cures, such as stress and anxiety disorders and mental health diseases are dismissed as simply too subjective. The commission jokes that they must keep replacing the atheist that is required to sit on the board because he or she keeps converting after attempting to disprove the unexplainable.
At any rate, believe what you like, but it’s impossible to deny the fact that with or without explanation, things just seem to
happen at Lourdes. Of course, I don’t necessarily believe that God only makes miracles happen at a place called Lourdes. I think that such miraculous healings, cures, or conversions can happen anywhere and anytime that God wills. But I believe that He uses opportunities (like our trip to Lourdes) to reach us when we decide to step out in faith and be open to His will, His love, and His peace in our harried lives.
I think this is why those soldiers—plagued by the terror of war—flocked to Lourdes in 1945, seeking refuge in a place where love and peace reigned above hatred. And I think this is why people today, plagued with whatever demons control their lives, continue to flock to an otherwise unimpressive French village: some small part of them knows that in searching for God—in the form of love, healing, and peace—He will not let them down.
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The lovely convent where the nuns
who pray for us live--it looks out
over the Grotto |
So with this confidence I did the best I could for those people who couldn’t be there, for the prayer requests I brought with me. You’ll be happy to know that I was able to deposit each one in a little box at the grotto, and each day they’re collected by sweet little nuns whose only mission in life is to pray for us. I spent every moment I could muster asking God to send help or comfort in some form or another to all those on my ‘list,’ and asked others to pray as well. In return, God granted me my own little moment when I least expected it, that left me with no questions as to His power to answer our prayers according to His will.
It happened in a crowd of thousands of people during a combined military event called the Eucharistic Procession. In Catholic speak, it means “face to face” time with Jesus in the form of a consecrated host placed on the altar that everyone can see. We were all decked out in uniform and walked or wheeled together in a parade-like formation to an enormous underground church. Once inside, multiple color guards marched past, and prayers and hymns were offered in multiple languages. A priest then placed the host—Jesus in bread form—on the altar. And then it was still, quiet. An amazing feat considering the thousands of people present. And at that moment it hit me. An absolute overwhelming feeling of love, acceptance, peace, contentment, all rolled in to one. It was as if I was completely safe, wrapped in a love so powerful that I could have stayed there forever. I didn’t want to leave, I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t even know what it was for, why it happened, what exactly I was supposed to do with it. All I knew was that it wasn’t something produced by this world. It was divine.
I slowly realized that it was for me to share, for others to experience. It was for everyone in our group who came to Lourdes with the heaviness of their own tragedies and brokenness; some of their burdens more visible than others. And the manifestation of this divine love shared by others became so incredibly evident as the week went on, revealing itself in life-changing ways.
On a daily basis, we attempt to survive in a world that is driven by competition, image, judgment, grudges, and revenge, a world where people are quick to belittle others and slow to give praise, where they avoid eye contact and encounters with those who are visibly handicapped or have experienced some personal tragedy. Some assume that when the life of another is not perfect, when it has been filled with pain or loss, that person has in some way lost the capacity to carry on a normal conversation or be treated like a normal person. But in Lourdes—in our broken, suffering group—this was not the case. Even in a wheelchair, with a cane, during moments of stress and anxiety, people were regarded as fully human. Others did not shy away from them. They did not look to someone else to push the wheelchair. They didn’t glance with skepticism out of the corner of their eye when the person in uniform with the cane hobbled through the military procession. They listened lovingly when the stories surfaced—stories of assault, violence, the terror of war, the loss of a precious loved one—and asked questions, offered support, and acknowledged the hurt that so many others are afraid to confront. And at the end of it all, the broken were still regarded as human…human with newfound friends who would treat them as such. Who refused to be annoyed by personality traits or discount their struggles. Friends who offered to push the wheelchair in to town for a shopping trip, to the hotel rooftop for a view, or up the enormous hill to the top of the cathedral. Friends who checked in on each other when there was a migraine, or an anxiety attack in the morning, then invited each other to dinner that night. It was clear that no one was avoided or considered less of a person simply because of their disabilities or circumstances. Like the parable in the Bible of the body and its many parts, each member of the group recognized the dignity and purpose of every other person. As Paul said in 1 Corinthians 12:
The eye cannot say to the hand, “I don’t need you!” And the head cannot say to the feet, “I don’t need you!” On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has put the body together, giving greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.
And what a beautiful thing that was to witness first-hand.
I know that this kind of love and charity absolutely exists in other parts of the world. But it takes so much time and effort and sacrifice to constantly put someone else before your own wants and desires. It’s the sacrificial kind of love that Christ spoke of so often, the sacrificial kind of love that the group shared so willingly; the love that literally dies unto itself to give life to another, that our broken world so desperately needs. And I truly believe it was this love—tangible, divine love that touched me so powerfully—that drastically changed the lives of so many people there in the space of a week. On the last evening, we met as a group to go over travel logistics, but also had the opportunity to share the ways the trip had impacted us. Two and a half hours (and many tears) later, it was clear that such fabled healing was real. I can’t claim any physical proof of the miraculous. But I heard the stories, I saw the bond of God’s love give those with no hope a family, a purpose, and a life worth living. And simply bearing witness to the peace and joy on the faces of so many wounded souls, not quite as shattered as they were the week prior, is enough evidence for me to forever thank God for His incredible, life-changing love.
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"I'm So Blue" - Our mascot who reminded us wherever we went
to pray for all deployed Soldiers |
So we set out Friday for the two-day whirlwind trip to the family reunion of the century. On my mom’s side, the family members we consider my close relatives still include many second, third and fourth cousins, some twice removed (or whatever you call it). My grandmother was the youngest of nine kids so it gets pretty complicated. (My wonderful mother-in-law, the genealogist, could probably have it mapped out in ten minutes). We usually spend at least a small portion of any given family gathering trying to figure out what the official terms are, then give up and swear that one day we’ll write it all down. 
