These are my real experiences, not sugar coated and without bubble gum. To understand why I am in Fatima in the first place, you need the backstory. The sisters suggested I take a month off before entering the novitiate, and I have always wanted to do the Camino de Santiago, but couldn't picture exactly how. Eventually, I want to do it the real pilgrim way from France to Spain, carrying my bag with me, unplanned and arriving in a different auberge without a reservation (gasp!!). But before I could do this, I needed a trial run, (and I didn't have 6 weeks). So I have hotels booked in cities along the way to help me learn to pace (instead of pushing too hard and trying to go too far each day), my bag will be transported for me (but I still packed light as I am going through cities for the first 5 days and I want to see if these are the right things I need), and I am calling this 'Camino lite'. In regards to which path, Fatima popped into my head one day in prayer. This was before I knew it was the 100th anniversary or that it was close to the Portuguese Camino path. Basically, it all came together with a little research as it turns out the Portuguese Camino goes right by Fatima! It was odd because I have never felt particularly drawn to Fatima before, but two birds... one stone... Then the next morning after making this grand decision, I walked downstairs and nearly jumped out of my skin! A giant statue of Mary was there on the dining room table, startling me (though apparently placed there to help the sports team for the previous night's game). She was on the move from one chapel to another and it turns out she was Our Lady of Fatima, clearly there as a sign to solidify my plans... Crazy! I had never thought twice about Fatima, but guess it was a sign. So here I am.
There is a huge fireplace of candles and wax shapes of limbs and bodies, though it is almost grotesque watching people throw wax bodies in and watching them melt, until you look at the people's faces as they do it and see tears, or long embraces between loved ones. Clearly it is a meaningful experience for them to travel so far as pilgrims and make their prayer. I went to this spot as I needed to physically feel something since I was empty inside. The warmth of the candles helped, and the people helped more, but my heart was still cold and withered like the grinch's.
I have been to the holy lands, Lourdes, and Medgagoria, so I was prepared for the tourist industry that seems to build around holy sites. The shop keepers and peddlers in Fatima wasn't as gag-worthy as I found Medgagoria to be, where the commercialism was so distracting, in your face, with pushy shop keepers, expensive silver, crappy plastic Mary's and every type of rosary you could imagine. There are some aspects of these massive holy sites that are closer to the frustrating crowds and hassle of Disneyworld than the solemn mystical experience you imagine, as if on a mountain top. But this time - I was prepared for this. (I don't mean to be a downer for anyone who hasn't been. There is definitely something amazing and palpably different about the holy sites, but I find I get easily distracted by the capitalism often surrounding the sites).
I arrived in Fatima on Friday evening and walked through the grounds on my way to the hotel. There were: A basilica on each end with confession chambers and chapels in between. A few bonus art structures for the 100th year anniversary - a 4-story rosary and steel apostles gate reminiscent of the wooden structure originally put over the site where Mary appeared. Pope Paul VI and Saint JP2 statues (the first and second popes to visit the site in 1967 and 1980's) sit on top of the hill overlooking the site. A large bronze (nearly abstract) crucifix nearby, showing how Mary always points to her son, drawing you closer to him. There is an outdoor alter for mass and a small open chapel on the side that surrounds the spot where Mary appeared 5 times and asked for a chapel to be built.
There was an immediate vibe of calmness. Not quite peace but definitely solemn, something special for sure. I walked the 1/2 mile from one end to the other, noticing the different pieces that made up this sanctuary. I was excited to arrive, and immediately calmed, aware I was on holy ground. I was feasting in this feeling, went across the street, checked into my hotel, did a happy dance to see black-out curtains for late mornings, and a tub to rest my weary bones. I was impressed by the art all over the hotel. Feasting for sure!
I returned to the sanctuary for the rosary followed by a candlelight procession. That night I went to sleep with the glow of a thousand candles dancing in my head.
Saturday morning came much too quickly. Jet lag wasn't hitting me too hard, but it felt as if the mornings bodyslammed me awake like Hulk Hogan would, trying to jerk me into alertness. I went down for breakfast and was met with an even nicer spread than the first day. This one included a machine that gives you dark hot chocolate .... con leche!!! Not the powdered milk either. This rich dark chocolate and milk concoction was heavenly! I feasted much too much and grabbed a loaf of bread, salted butter, and a muffin for a light lunch later.
In the lobby, I met the guide I had hired through the getyourguide app 'the magnetism of fatima'. He is a polite, kind man who was really knowledgeable and interested in Fatima. He didn't have much of a sense of humor, so I kept my bad puns and jokes at bay. We started at the shepherd children's houses, built long ago and preserved nicely. There were olive oil lamps in each room for light (and sometimes shown in paintings of the kids), a stone fire stove for cooking and heat, and noticeably absent were the indoor bathrooms. In 1917, there were a total of 5 families in the village, each with 6-9 kids.
We saw the well behind Lucia's house where an angel appeared for the second time to the 3 shepherd children in 1916, teaching them how to pray. They kept this a secret from everyone. The angel appeared 3 times. The other two times were near a collection of rocks not far away. It wasn't until Lucia's memoires in the 40's that anyone even heard about the angel. In the third visit, the angel gave them communion.
The story (as I really didn't know much of it and thiugh I am normally iver-prepared hadn't read a thing): On May 13, 1917, while a war is raging in other parts of Europe, 3 children (12, 10, 9) were watching their sheep, the youngest two a brother and sister and the eldest their cousin. A lady in white appeared to them over a small holm oak tree, told them to pray the rosary, and return on the 13th of the following month. They had already seen 'a young boy with light hair'/angel three times but this woman gave them so much joy, that despite trying to keep this too a secret, Jacinta's (9) joy was palpable and she told her mom.
On the 13th of June, the children returned to the same spot with a few hundred others, and Mary appeared again. Each time with a message to sacrifice for sinners who had no one to pray for them and to fervently pray the rosary. Each month continued like this with the crowds growing, amidst civil strife between religion and state. The children were questioned many times, few believed them, adults threw rocks at them. It got so bad that Lucia asked the lady in white who she was and for a sign for the disbelievers. Neat note: Francisco could only see Mary, Jacinta could see and hear, and Lucia could do both and respond. Mary appeared the 13th of each month until August, when an official pressured by the government to stop the foolish religious-ness detained the shepherd children for a number of days. Mary appeared to them a few days later (August 18 I believe) in a spot between their house and the rocks where the angel appeared.
On Sept 13 she instructed them to have as many people as possible at the final vision, as she would give then a sign. Each time the crowds increased. On Oct 13, there amassed a crowd of 70,000 people! It had been raining for days and most people walked, so everyone was soaking wet. Mary appeared, told the shepherd children she was 'Our Lady of the Rosary', and then gave a sign. The sun danced across the sky for 10 minutes. It swirled, jumped, changed colors, got bigger then smaller. People screamed and feared for their lives. They shouted 'I believe!!' Also - everyone's clothes were miraculously dried. The miracle of the sun confirmed that the children's visions of our lady were real, and that it was in fact Mary.
More of the story and the text that Mary revealed (secrets, the JP2 devotion, Russia - it all sounds like spies and intrigue!!) is here: http://www.divinemysteries.info/our-lady-of-fatima-portugal-1916-1917/
There is a stations of the cross that connects the sanctuary and the area Mary and the Angel appeared near the kids' houses, called the 'Hungarian Calvary' due to the benefactors who fled Europe during WWII. The statues are so alive and vibrant, and the last few stations involve an intense climb. I decided my walking days were ahead of me, so I skipped the stations and covered a mere 16,000 steps (6 mi/10km) on Saturday.
We went to the local parish they attended and saw their baptismal font. Apparently Jacinta and Francisco could be found regularly in the church praying to the 'hidden Jesus' in the tabernacle. They would often be disturbed with questions so Jacinta would hide up in the pulpit where she could see the tabernacle but be hidden from view. Wise but still cute little kids.
We saw where the little shepherds are buried within the Bacilica of the Holy Rosary. Saint Fransisco and Saint Jacinta died of spanish influenza in 1919 and 1920, some say they were easy targets because of the regular fasting. Lucia only died recently and was buried next to Jacinta because they were so fond of each other.
After the tour, I went to confession (obviously... as you realize just how much you need to cleanse when you are in a place like this), and was astounded by the electronic 'find-a-priest' system (my words not theirs). There was a tv over each of the 4 hallways that looked like dressing rooms, with 8 doors down each hallway for priests and penitents. The tv listed the priests' names, the languages they speak, and green for available or red for busy. It was updated as a person left and another entered, or as the priest left through a secret back door. It took me 20 min to figure the system out, and by then, there was only 1 priest left that spoke English. That was necessary to give me time to really get a good list going, to really cleanse the pallet for the rest of the day. I don't know if it was what I said, or that the priest was ending his 4 hour shift of confessions (I am guessing - it was lunch time), but he was mean! The kind of mean you see in movies that make fun of catholic priests, and it was the first time I remember being so negatively affected. I went back to my hotel after (as planned) for an afternoon rest - my first break during the trip, and came back to the sanctuary for mass in a total funk.
People were using selfie sticks during mass - and not teenagers - 40 year olds! The 50+ year old man with thick black hair in front of me in the line for communion took a video the entire way. In front of him was a very tanned woman with a huge Nikon clicking the whole walk. It was really distracting. I was trying hard not to judge - I know when I am on my phone with the readings it can look like I am texting or something, plus I heard that God delights in his children. He giggles and smiles broadly when they act, but even parents give their kids the evil eye when acting up or being 'smart'... right? This is the disney-esque theme park feel that makes me wonder if massive holy sites are for me. I was totally pulled away from the beauty of the church and sacrifice of the mass, with the ugliness of people (and I was the American in the crowd!!). My feast had turned to fast.
Disheartened after mass, I wanted to go back to the hotel instead of journaling on the steps like I planned, but thought better of it. I knew I had to do something, perhaps I was tired from the pace, and I thought "look you have 2 hours until the rosary - go to the adoration chapel and pray. You are in Fatima!! What will you do in the hotel? Netflix something ridiculous? But when I was in the chapel, cell phones seemed to ring constantly.... and people are watching. Grmph!!" I sat there with thoughts like these while the sunset was dazzling those around me, and begrudgingly saw the glory of the architecture. In that haze, though I felt like it was pointless and dumb, I asked God to pull me out of the funk. Immediately I got up as if on a mission (though I didn't know where).
There is a huge fireplace of candles and wax shapes of limbs and bodies, though it is almost grotesque watching people throw wax bodies in and watching them melt, until you look at the people's faces as they do it and see tears, or long embraces between loved ones. Clearly it is a meaningful experience for them to travel so far as pilgrims and make their prayer. I went to this spot as I needed to physically feel something since I was empty inside. The warmth of the candles helped, and the people helped more, but my heart was still cold and withered like the grinch's.
Then I walked across the yard to get a picture in the evening glow of the Mary-tree that some people noticed in the moss. Better than Jesus toast, but just as irreverant. This did make me smile though.
Finally I decided to try the sacrifice path. I was still feeling despondent, marvelling at how quickly that changed from this morning, but figured "what do I have to lose?" The initial prayer was in Portuguese (annoying...), so I prayed the prayer Mary added to the rosary "Oh my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls to heaven, especially those most in need of thy mercy".
Though I didn't particularly want to go 184m on my knees towards the sanctuary, I knelt down on the marble path. Earlier in the day, I saw others doing it and immediately thought of the self-flagellating bad guy in the Da Vinci code... something in me insisted though, as Mary called us to sacrifice for the people that we don't know, who are sinning but see no way out. The least I could do was help someone else, as my mood wasn't helping anyone in that moment, and I was in Fatima with nothing elae to do. (Great reasons, right?) So I started. Luckily it was downhill. Earlier, I saw people wearing kneepads and I was super judge-y, figuring that was counter productive. If the point is for it to hurt, shouldn't it hurt? Why the pads? Well 4 'steps' in I got it. This is not a normal way to walk and it really did hurt. Pushing through it, I immediately experienced the image of the piercing heart image of Mary that she showed to the children, how her heart is pierced with swords when someone sins. In that moment, I linked the two and felt it intensely. Though my knees haven't hurt since I stood up, as I now write this, they are hot and throbbing at the memory of Mary's heart. In that moment only a few 'steps' in (sans knee pads), I was immediately sorry, for every sin, every wrong, in a way that I have never felt so strongly during or before confession. I thought of Jesus and Calvary, if he looked up to see how much further it was or dreaded the end instead of longing for it to be iver as I did.
The penitence was likely only 15 minutes, I really don't know, but my heart was cleansed and I felt rejuvenated as if I had just woken up. This was a brand new day! I saw families together, babies toddling towards the sanctuary, kids giggling. Things I couldn't see before. I was again feasting on the glory of God, with Mary pointing the way!!
(Not my photo - labelled for reuse and taken from here: https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4100/4751700114_e0b8809838_b.jpg)
I wonder: Our Lady of Medgagoria calls for us to fast on Wed and Friday, Our Lady of Fatima says to sacrifice, and I have to say I don't get it. How (physically) does me being uncomfortable help someone else I can't even see? While on the path I contemplated this. I think perhaps, in addition to the reason that God will one day share with me (I have faith and trust it's true, I just don't understand), maybe it's that if I turn my thoughts towards others, while learning self-control, I might learn empathy for the people who go without. Or perhaps, if people in purgatory (a place people go to prepare for heaven.... which I am pretty sure I believe in)... if people in purgatory see someone fasting for them, they might be touched and their grinch-like heart can soften a little. Like when a kid gives their toy to another who is crying, to comfort them. Perhaps the 'only bread' thing is to help others in a way we can't understand or know, but should have faith because so many people we honor have told us to sacrifice. I dunno.
That night I stayed for the rosary and candlelight procession, watching thousands of people follow the cross. I was again able to journal pages and pages, and truly experienced what I know but don't like to practice. When in despair and empty, fall to your knees and pray. It's so simple but so true. I experienced a crazy cycle of feasting and fasting, and felt God's grace. I don't know why Mary called me to Fatima, but I am glad she did.
(Note: Lucia was present when this statue of Mary was formed, and helped design it. So - it is the most Fatima-real statue there is - the hand placement, Mary's face, and how the heart was ouside her body)
Beautiful reflection, Libby:-)
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