Report from Lourdes - [Knights of Malta (American branch) and the Jesuits] - 2008-05-08

[Quibus_Licet]

Report from Lourdes
Posted at: 2008-05-08 09:42:00.0
Author: James Martin, S.J.

The members of Order of Malta, or at least its American branches,
concluded their annual one-week pilgrimage to Lourdes yesterday, and
your intrepid Jesuit reporter was among them. As in the past few
years, I was as a guest of (and chaplain for) the "Federal
Association" of the Order, which makes its home in Washington, D.C.,
but which draws its membership from even farther afield. Accordingly I
shared Masses, Marian Processions and meals with a diverse and
accomplished group of men and women from Maryland and Virginia, to be
sure, but also from Texas, Georgia, and Florida.

This year is also a "Jubilee Year" in Lourdes, marking the 150th
anniversary of the apparitions of the Virgin Mary to Bernadette
Soubirous, a young girl living in squalor in the small town in
Southern France. Signs of the Jubilee were everywhere--mainly in the
gargantuan number of people. Yet despite the massive crowds, life in
Lourdes was, as always, cheerful, calm and well organized. (Compare
that to my first sight of Penn Station in New York yesterday
afternoon, where, despite far fewer numbers, people seemed much
grumpier, and your appreciation for what happens in Lourdes deepens
considerably.)

Lourdes is a marvelous mix of pomp and simplicity. For the former,
there are few places outside Rome that can match the pageantry of the
Pontifical Masses celebrated in the vast underground concrete church
(excuse me, The Basilica of St. Pius X). That worship space, the site
of the largest Masses in town, is saved from looking like a 1960s-era
parking lot only by the immense banners with pictures of saints from
around the world. (I seem to forever find myself seated under one of
St. Josemaria Escriva, founder of Opus Dei.) Besides 25,000 pilgrims
(yes, you read that number correctly) and hundreds of priests and
deacons, the assembled hierarchs included Cardinals Pio Laghi and
Roger Mahony, not to mention Archbishops George Niederauer of San
Francisco and Timothy Dolan of Milwaukee, and Bishops William Lori of
Bridgeport, Conn., William Murphy of Rockville Center, N.Y., and
Michael Cote of Norwich, Conn.

Other prelates, despite the long list of the episcopal personages on
the handy program remained somewhat mysterious to me. Where are John
Allen, Rocco Palmo and Dave Gibson when you need them? I could have
used one or all three of them after I walked up to a bishop and
complimented him on his lovely homily, only to find out later that he
hadn't spoken at the Mass at all! (Fortunately, he spoke little
English and so gleefully accepted my words of praise.) At Sunday's
Mass, Fra Matthew Festing, the Order's new Grand Master, offered the
prayer of the Order of Malta, in Latin, and though the good-natured
Englishman confessed that his command of the language was no better
than that of an "idle schoolboy," it sounded good to me.

Speaking of language proficiency, while my French miraculously returns
each year in Lourdes, my Latin did not, for the simple reason that I
don't know any. Nonetheless I celebrated (or rather, concelebrated) my
very first Latin Mass (the "Novus Ordo") last week in Lourdes, which
is a fine place to ring in the old. Another Jesuit, Brian Frain, and I
were pulling one of the "malades" into the underground basilica, got
stuck in the crowd, and ended up at the tail end of the procession.
Ironically, there were a few extra seats in the first row, and I was
politely pulled up front into the very first seat. (Yes, the last was
truly first.) The priest behind me laughed and muttered, "I hope you
know your Latin, because you'll probably be brought up onto the
altar."

Which I was. Fortunately, all the official liturigies in Lourdes in
Lourdes are astonishingly well organized, and the French m.c. silently
handed me a little Mass booklet, so that when Pio Laghi peered at me
over the stone altar, I could look like I knew what I was doing.

As in the rest of the Catholic church, in Lourdes the personal makes
its home alongside the public, and the powerful rubs up against the
powerless (though who is who is always a good question). At the center
are those whom Bishop William Curlin, retired bishop of Charlotte,
N.C. always calls "our beloved malades." (The term, which means the
"sick person" is not pejorative in Lourdes.) On our pilgrimage this
year I met dozens of faithful malades, their families and friends, as
well as the Knights and Dames of Malta, who were there to help
accompany the malades to the "baths," push their carts so that they
could get a good spot in the Grotto of the Apparitions for Mass, fetch
them a drink of water, make sure that they got their coffee and
croissants in the morning, and, most of all, pray with them.

To mark this year's Jubilee, Pope Benedict XVI issued the granting of
a "plenary indulgence" for those who, while in Lourdes, visited four
sites: first, the Grotto at Massabielle; second, Bernadette's home at
the time of the apparitions (called the "Cachot," after the French
word for "jail," which is what the place served as before the
Soubirous family took up residence); third, the church of her baptism;
and fourth, the "hospice" where she made her first Communion. This two-
hour-long pilgrimage (along with confession) seemed, while arduous,
more than worth the complete remission of punishment for my sins.

It was the object of some humor that the sole street that the town
seems to have chosen to repair this year is the one leading to the
Cachot, which meant not only that the helpful white line painted along
the streets to enable pilgrims to find their way simply stopped, but
also that wheelchairs and carts would find it hard to make their way
to one of the central spots of worship in the town. "Gee," said a
friend, "why didn't they repave the Grotto while they were at it?"

My own plenary pilgrimage was completed on a hot day, and I felt happy
when I finally received the last of four stickers to affix to the
little blue paper disk that I had been given an official in the
Sanctuary. (I imagined presenting my little disk to God when I got to
heaven, saying, "Does you accept these here?") The next day at Mass,
though, we all received an indulgence, courtesy of the Bishop of
Tarbes, Jacques Perrier. Which made many of us wonder what we would do
with two plenary indulgences. The answer from a Jesuit friend, Jim
Mattaliano: offer one to a deceased person. This I did, for my
father.)

The best part of the trip? That's easy: being with the generous
Knights and Dames, the volunteers and companions, and especially the
malades. Each of the malades comes to Lourdes for different reasons
and were at different places with their illnesses. (This year I heard
anger for the first time, which struck me as bracingly honest and
real). But all were hoping for some sort of healing---physical,
emotional or spiritual. With all the good humor and faith of the
malades, it's sometimes easy for me to forget the deep emotions that
lay just underneath the surface, but conversations can quickly turn
serious over breakfast, lunch or dinner, or while you're waiting in
line for a bath. Tears come quickly at Lourdes and flow as fast as the
Gave River, which flows silently past the Grotto.

Spiritual healings come frequently at Lourdes, but people always ask
me about any physical ones. So: any miracles? Yes, though maybe not as
dramatic as the 66 authenticated ones. For example: One man in our
group had suffered from the injuries that occurred during the first
Gulf War, and, as a guest of the Order of Malta, had come to Lourdes
seeking healing. His eyesight, never good, had deteriorated since
being injured. As he told me while we were waiting in line for the
baths, as soon as he landed in Lourdes his eyesight somehow got even
worse. Someone suggested he take off his eyeglasses to let his eyes
rest. A few minutes later, he told me, he could see perfectly well.
"Look," he said, "I can read your nametag from here." And he did. "I
haven't been able to see that well for 25 years!"

What do you make of that? Well, as one character says in "The Song of
Bernadette," for those without faith no explanation is possible; for
those with faith no explanation is necessary.

James Martin, SJ