Transport wheelchairs at the St. Frai Hospital

The beginning of a new month often heralds the arrival of many things, for instance the latest Magnificat which appears in my mail slot. The pocket-size publication helps many of us keep track of the Mass readings and meditations, as well as articles highlighting works of Christian art around the world. One such art-history essay this month, the month of the Nativity of Our Lady celebrated on September 8, introduces readers to a repurposed limewood sculpture from the 15th century St. Anne chapel of the St. Lawrence Church in Bavaria. Part of the original reredos screen behind the chapel’s altar, the anonymous c. 1480 sculpture, Nativity of the Virgin, was removed in 1703 and may now be seen in the collection at the Cloisters of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. It portrays a sleeping recumbent St. Anne with the swaddled newborn Mary at her side.

Almost two months will have passed since our return on July 22 from the 2023 Ampleforth Lourdes Pilgrimage by the time most people will have read this account. Yet, the impact that the Marian experience had on us, many as first-time pilgrims to Lourdes, continues to stir up intense feelings and emotions. And so it should be, and will continue to be. With our devotions early this month focusing on the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, it seems appropriate at this point to share some final words about the trip to France and, what was for me, just the beginning of a Marian summer. Like any good art history lecture, or even a well-written essay like the one in Magnificat, it’s hard not to compare or contrast two things, two works of art, as I used to do in college in a darkened lecture hall with the soporific sound of two side-by-side slide projectors trying to stay synchronized.

Portsmouth student-pilgrim Jonny Miller participating in liturgy

The tininess and fragility of the infant Mary as portrayed in Nativity of the Virgin is in sharp contrast to the strong representation in Carrara marble of the Mary who was high above our heads as we walked by the Grotto every day as part of our ora et labora at Lourdes. Now seen as a fully-grown woman, the Lourdes statue was carved by Joseph Fabisch, the third such Marian sculpture which he created. (Others are in the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviere in Lyon and in the Sanctuary of La Salette-Fallavaux.) Fabisch, who based his creation on the eye-witness description from Bernadette, portrays the Virgin with her head slightly raised towards the heavens. In another era, the simple shepherd girl might have enjoyed a career as an art critic herself because an official Lourdes publication says that, upon seeing the finished sculpture, “Bernadette could not hide her disappointment, as she cried, ‘But she lifted her eyes, not her head!’” The sculpture in the Lourdes Grotto at Portsmouth, also of Carrara marble and inspired by the French original, also shows Our Lady with a slightly uplifted head.

Covered “voitures” at Lourdes

In looking back over what started out to be my Lourdes journal kept for the purposes of these reflections, articles, and conferences, it’s clear that on many nights before bedtime, the spirit was willing but the flesh was exhausted. My notes are sparse. I made a reference to one admonition from Our Lady to Bernadette during one of the appearances: “Go, tell the priests – to build a chapel – and come here in procession.” That’s what Bernadette did, that’s what the priests did, that’s what we pilgrims did. That quote became the Pastoral theme for the 2023 pilgrimages: “Build a Church.”

During our ten days spent between both the town and the Sanctuary, we participated in the Holy Mass every day, almost. The easy part was that there were six English monk-priests from Ampleforth Abbey on the trip. The tricky part was the logistical scheduling of where our Mass would be celebrated on any given day. Many of those details had been worked out by an advance team months before our arrival. And keep in mind that our group of 270 participants was only one of many international pilgrimage groups in town at the same time. Suffice it to say that there are a lot of church spaces in the Sanctuary to accommodate everyone, some hidden underground and accessed by gentle ramps, all designed for easy ingress and egress on foot, in wheelchairs, and in voitures, a sort of transport wagon.

The Rosary Basilica at Lourdes

On the 15th Sunday of Ordinary Time, July 16, which fell in the middle, more or less, of our 10-day visit, we attended the 9:30 a.m. International Mass in the lower basilica. Known as the St. Pius X Basilica and consecrated in 1958 by the future Pope John XXIII, it is said to be one of the largest churches in the world, able to hold 25,000 worshippers. 9:30 a.m. may sound like a generous starting time for a Sunday Mass, but remember that we had a large number of assisted pilgrims among us who needed to be awakened, bathed and dressed, and given their medications and breakfast early enough so as to not break the Eucharistic fast before Communion. Fair enough. But then all 270 of us had to  take the elevators from our upper floor of the hospital-like Marie-Saint-Frai Centre to the staging area at street level and begin our slow procession through the town, entering the Sanctuary through the St. Joseph’s Gate.

Nativity of the Virgin (The Cloisters)

The Mass was indeed international, voiced in multiple languages with projected subtitles when necessary. I made note of the English translation of a line towards the end of the homily by the bishop celebrant: “Jesus Christ is the saviour of the world, not us!” I repeated that quote throughout the ensuing days to myself, quietly of course, but also aloud to an occasional friend or student as we may have found ourselves entertaining selfish and self-serving thoughts about just how much good we were doing for others by suiting up and showing up. Besides the International Mass, we took part in The Welcome Mass on Bastille Day, The Opening Mass with the Blessing of Hands, a special Mass for Groups 1 & 3, The Mass of Anointing, The Grotto Mass, and The Mass for the Deceased. Earlier I mentioned that we went to a Mass every single day, almost. The one final Mass, which had to be canceled on the day that the English contingent departed, was to have been The Adieu Mass. I haven’t a clue as to the reason; I was too exhausted that night to note it in my journal.