Portsmouth Oblates’ Day of Recollection

The following is excerpted from remarks given by Brother Sixtus Roslevich to the Portsmouth Oblates on their recent Day of Recollection.

Some of you have asked why I’m talking about the Ampleforth Pilgrimage today and not the Portsmouth Pilgrimage. Let me give you some background. Ampleforth Abbey and College, which in England actually equates to high school, is located near York and close to the North Yorkshire Dales. It was founded in 1802 and in turn the monks founded what is now St. Louis Abbey in Missouri, in 1955. For the past seventy years, the Ampleforth monks have organized their own trip to southwestern France in the foothills of the Pyrenees, taking with them a number of what are referred to as “assisted pilgrims,” meaning those persons unable to travel to Lourdes on their own. They live with a variety of levels of disabilities, some more mobile than others, indeed some are nonverbal, but they all have an understanding of why they make the long trip to Lourdes. Accompanying them are family members with whom they might live and who care for them day-to-day throughout the year; some are volunteers who proudly wear insignia denoting how many pilgrimages they have made; some are nurses or doctors or other medical personnel; some are current students or alums of Ampleforth. Portsmouth for many years has sent a contingent to join up with the larger Ampleforth group. This year we totaled 270 people.

In July, our group of five Portsmouth students traveled with students from the Sacred Heart Greenwich School in Greenwich CT, chaperoned by Mrs. Maureen Considine, their Head of Campus Ministry. We also had the pleasure of two other traveling companions, both of whom are here today. Mrs. Michele Rentschler of Pocono Pines PA, one of our two new Oblates, served as a volunteer, as did Mrs. Dottie Ward, a resident of Portsmouth. Dottie’s sons attended Portsmouth Abbey School and she departed on her first pilgrimage to Lourdes thirty-six years ago on Easter Sunday, 1987. Before our trip, Dottie shared with me that something “rather dramatic” happened to her on that first visit to Lourdes and I’ve asked her to tell you a little bit about it herself. She has also written several essays about her experiences and I’ve invited her to read one which is my favorite.

When the assorted Americans met up at JFK Airport in New York on July 12, many of us meeting for the first time before flying off to Paris that night, I discovered that the leader of the whole enterprise from this side of the Atlantic had his own Portsmouth connection. And you might say he helped us with our own French connection. Mr. Joseph Michaud of Denver graduated from Portsmouth in 1990 and told me that he is a Portsmouth Oblate. That is why I had a proxy in place to renew Joe’s promise after Mass today, since he couldn’t be here. Incidentally, we published an article about Lourdes in The Current in late April of this year, in case you’d like more details on the history of Lourdes and of Our Lady’s various appearances to the shepherd girl, Bernadette, beginning in 1858.

I’ve written before about growing up in a house filled with books. A slim booklet I remember from my childhood, and still have, was published in 1954 when I was only two years old. It is titled, Fire of Heaven: The Story of Lourdes. No one knows if my mother bought it or if it was a gift from one of the many religious sisters or brothers on her side of the family. As a little boy I paged through it even before I knew how to read. I’m sure what drew me to it were the simple pen-and-ink illustrations, as well as the compelling black-and-white photographs. The booklet ends with a postscript informing the reader that it was “Produced in Observance of the Marian Year” which was celebrated throughout the world from December, 1953, to December, 1954. The proclamation of the Marian Year was made by Pope Pius XII in an encyclical in which he suggested that the laity should not only increase their devotion to the Blessed Mother, but to try to pattern their lives after hers more than usual. Pope Pius also composed a special prayer for the Marian Year. In a sense, I felt that this was my own personal Marian Year, like the one 70 years ago in 1953, or maybe this was just my Marian Summer.

After flying back from France on July 22 and having only one day to recuperate, I was able to begin visits to see my family. This afforded me an opportunity for another Marian connection when I stopped at historic St. Mary’s City, Maryland’s First Capital, established in 1634, only four years before the Portsmouth Compact of 1638. The founding of both settlements, in present-day Rhode Island and Maryland, as you may know, was based on Christian principles. St. Mary’s City, near the Chesapeake Bay, is only 15 miles from the cemetery of the Xaverian Brothers where my great uncle is buried, the first Br. Sixtus in our family, so I also paid a visit there. Heading north to the District of Columbia after paying my respects gave me a chance to stop at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. A few days later I attended a vigil Mass with my family at their parish church of St. Mary’s in northern Maryland. A few days after that I was on I-95 back to Portsmouth and Our Lady, Queen of Peace. I felt as if Mary had been watching over my entire trip from beginning to end.

To say that this pilgrimage, in fact the experience of this entire Marian summer, was awesome, doesn’t begin to do it justice. The pilgrimage was ten full days of hard work from morning until bedtime. Our five students stepped up to the plate admirably and received many compliments and accolades about how compassionately and gently they assisted those who needed assistance. I saw them myself first hand and I heard about it from others on the team. The three who are rising seniors this year have made it clear that they would like to return next summer, as well. I have told them that when it comes time to write their college essays, this experience of helping others in need, especially in the context of a place like Lourdes, is exactly the kind of thing that college admissions directors are looking for. We participated in Mass every single day, rarely in the same church or chapel twice. We processed, sometimes twice a day, sometimes carrying lighted candles while pushing wheelchairs. In that Mediterranean climate, we hydrated, we drank water, lots of water, lots of Lourdes water. And we made sure that those who didn’t have the strength to lift a cup to their own mouths were hydrated. We climbed a really high mountain to St. Pierre on a beautiful morning, to celebrate a special outdoor Mass which included a moving prayer encounter when almost everyone took turns waiting in line to huddle with us chaplains to remember all of the intentions which we each carried to Lourdes with us, from friends and families and students and parishioners who couldn’t be there with us. We interacted with groups from other countries who brought their own sick and disfigured and nonverbal loved ones to the healing waters that still trickle down the rock face. Every group and their unique identifying accessories told a story. We saw Belgians in work jackets and miners’ helmets; Nottingham kids in Robin Hood hats; a French group identified each other by their bright red berets; we heard Polish spoken in the hotel elevators; we saw beggars begging in the streets mistaking us for people with money. Three days in a row we ran into two beautiful Black priests from Burkina Faso who told about their school back in west Africa and who wanted to practice their English with us.

This last disjointed paragraph proves that I’m still processing the past month. And it will only be one month on this Tuesday that we will have landed back on American soil. This afternoon during lunch, if you sit at Michele or Dottie’s table, you might get to share some of their own personal memories and experiences of the pilgrimage. One memory which is surely at the top of everyone’s list was getting to hear a Sunday evening concert by the tenor, Andrea Bocelli in the plaza with the imposing façade of the Lourdes Rosary Basilica as a backdrop. He is making a tour of Marian sites around the world as his personal thanksgiving for her graces. Even our young students who had never heard of his name were taking videos for their parents back home. Mr. Bocelli had a 50-voice choir backing him up, along with a full symphony orchestra. The next morning, we were on the schedule to go into the bathing cubicles where they no longer allow full immersion. My five companions and I got our heads and hands washed, drank a glass of water and were led to benches outside our cubicle to rest and let the wheelchairs depart first. As we sat there, out of the next cubicle came Mr. Bocelli, his wife, his granddaughter, and of course a bodyguard. Their heads were as wet as ours and they simply walked away and disappeared into the unwitting crowd.

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At the Day of Recollection, Brother Sixtus invited Oblate Dottie Ward, a Lourdes pilgrim and past parent of the School, to join him in addressing the oblates gathered for the Day of Recollection. Dottie was enthusiastically received by the oblates, describing her experience of healing at Lourdes in 1987, sharing some of her vocal and guitar talents, and reading, at the request of Brother Sixtus, the following essay.

NOW!
An Essay by Dottie Ward

Now is the moment, the only moment we have. No matter where or when we are, the moment we experience is now. St. Peter writes, “… One day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. (2Pet.3). Time is a gift our God has given so that we may order things aright, a time for every season under Heaven. (Eccl.3:1-11) Infinity is like a blink of an eye, or like a grain of sand. Time slips through our fingers like sands through the hourglass. Such are the days of our lives. Ironic that the glass is made from grains of sand, heated to 3090 degrees F. That is a lot of heat! At times our lives can feel the fire of storms and struggles. Then we can chill, be cool and rejoice with joy unspeakable. The secret to serenity in all is to stay centered on Our Lord Who fills us with the Holy Spirit.

Dottie Ward, Br. Benedict, and Michele Rentschler discuss Lourdes

Jesus prayed that our Joy be full. Why did He not say Love? I believe it is because love lifts our hearts to joy. Science can now measure our emotions in frequencies which actually affect our wellbeing. True are the expressions ‘down in the dumps’ or ‘high as a kite’ - or as my sister says, ‘over the moon’ with joy. We can measure frequencies which fill every muscle. Needing hand surgery many years ago, my doctor used a machine called an electromyograph.* When he turned a dial, I heard musical notes! He confirmed that muscles have a full range of notes from the fine notes of tiny finger muscles sounding like a violin to the bass notes we sit upon. Being a musician, I was elated. We are living symphonies! No wonder the Good Shepherd always knows where we are! I asked the Lord what was my heart, in relation to an instrument. In singing prayer one day, I realized it is like my guitar which leans against my heart. Do each of us have a unique musical signature? When together, do we sound like a cacophony, or a Divine Symphony?

Now, we have never been as old as we are today.
We will never again be as young as we are today.
Today is the tomorrow we dreamed about yesterday.
Today is the yesterday we will remember tomorrow.
Our experience is NOW. Enter into Joyful gratitude for how
wonderfully we are made in God’s image. We are here. NOW.

* Electromyography: the procedure is called an EMG.
https://www.hackster.io/news/muscle-music-with-emg sensing-5ba098df025d

Addendum: Plants do not only swap their oxygen for our carbon dioxide, they are very attuned to us, our emotions, our intent. A study of plants that began in the 1960s reported that a polygraph instrument attached to a plant leaf registered a change in electrical resistance when the plant was harmed or even threatened with harm.
https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2022/06/23/the-plants-are-watching/

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