February 20, 2012 - AT SINGAPORE AIRPORT
This is another article I found in the small Journal I used to carry along in my travels during the 1970's. I will print it "Verbatim"- word for word as written then.
9 June 1979, Saturday 8:28 PM - SINGAPORE AIRPORT
From the Singapore Airport Duty-Free Emporium, my gaze wondered on to the passport check area and thence to the wide departure lounge which was bustling with a remarkably large crowd of "jet-setters," real and otherwise, at that time of the night, of varied origins but which was predominantly Australians. There were three almost simultaneous flights scheduled for Sydney, Perth and Melbourne of Quantas Airways, British Airways and Singapore Airlines, respectively. Oops, made a "faux pax" there! Qantas is the only exception to the rule in spelling... so says the aadvertisement I heard or read somewhere! A swift scan of the diversified conglomerates, some overtly manifesting signs of the much-talked about airborne anxieties, others continuously gabbing about their pleasant and not too pleasant experiences in country so and so, a topic obviously to be repeated up to the nth time to the folks back home, so to speak, family, relations and friends alike. The degree of exasperations will, of course, vary to the kind of listeners, the highlights of the 'star's role,' and the desired impression to be conveyed to the open-mouthed acceptors of fact/or fiction.
The majority of teeming crowd to the ratio of seven to one, I presumed, were senior citizens who have responded to the call of "Swing It Asia," as boldly printed on their blue and white bags. I smiled, lightly amused at the enthusiastic response to the "travel itch" of the numerous elderly couples each partner overly concerned about the other's comfort as I delightfully relished hearing comments, "You sit here.",,,"Would you like a cup of coffe?"..."Is the bag heavy?" or see a bespectacled wife brush off some particles of dust or foreign elements from an equally bespectacled man's coat lapel, who unmistakably must be her husband. The endearing look as he straightens up for the wife's easy reach and the courteous "Thank you" completed the lovely tender scene. Confused whether the happenings before my very eyes were in accordance or not to what social scientists have written about married life in later years, I just savored the thought of being lavished such care and attention when my face would have become a network of wrinkles and saggy flesh.
The cycle of marriage darted through my mind as I recalled the sacred sacrament starting off with man and wife and later on to be active instruments of God's love through begetting children, only to be further enriched by the presence of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, perhaps, at a much later time. The embellishments of time and love notwithstanding, the togetherness or mavbe, the aloneness of man and wife culminates the matrimonial scenerio. The memory of the marriage pageant of which I was and still is, an ardent and exuberant dramatist gave me a light-hearted feeling of satisfaction and unrestrained pride! Such a feeling must have been occasioned by the fact, I truly and honestly believe, that I have lived fully all the days of my life..... complete with the travail and ecstasy of natural childbirth in all four counts,( a Readers' Digest article, " The Most Glorious Experience" impressed me so much); the joys and heartaches of motherhood; the sacrifices and confidence cum independence of a working mother and the well-placed pride and happiness of an international diplomat (haven't I represented the Philippines in more than fifty United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Asis and the Pacific- ESCAP and Association of Southeast Asian Nations - ASEAN meetings in the field of SHIPPING) and awardee of plaques of appreciation from President Ferdinand Marcos, the Chamber of Maritime Industries of the Philippines, Chamber of International Trade and three other business organizations. The highly coveted, at least from my point of view, was the Plaque of Leadership and Comradeship from my own Overseas Shipping Staff. Added to my life experiences were the times of helplessness and sorrow of one faced with monetary needs inevitably wrapped up with life's very existence or requirements of children's education suffered in silence and in private. But then, the spectacular jubilation and earth-shaking pride of a mother's heart over her children's self-developed skills, performances and academic successes and last but not least, the fantastic ten-feet-tall feeling of someone addressed to, figuratively and literally as "globetrotter" having had the enviable opportunity of visiting todate, June 1979, twenty-eight(28) countries of the world.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Feb.18, 2012 - 1977 VERBATIM ACCOUNT
Today is February 18, 2012, the third Saturday of the month when I usually attend our Simbang Gabi Prayer Group Meetings. Since our meeting was postponed, I had time to go through some of my things stored in the garage. And in one of the boxes, I found a small Journal where I wrote an experience way back in 1977 which I am transcribing "verbatim"- word for word as written and sharing with you.
APRIL, 26, 1977 - LOURDES
Two things occupied my mind on the morning of my departure from Lourdes to Paris - to attend Mass at the grotto or to see the wax museum reportedly the only in the world on religion. As I lackadaisically went about through breakfast and toothbrushing, it dawned on me that my attendance of Mass at the grotto would be a fitting way to end my pilgrimage than a cursory visit there to say, "Goodbye" after the trip to the wax museum. It was not actually a tug-of-war decision but, somehow, the choices left open for me caused some uneasiness to make. Beguiled by optimism, I reserved the museum stint for next time. Planning a next visit??? Ha..ha..ha.
I hurried down the steps of the Residence St. Thomas d' Aquin, a five-storey building run by the Sisters of Charity, to catch the 9:30 A.M. Mass at the grotto. As I made a right turn to the Boulevard St. Bernadette Soubirous, the street directly leading to the grotto grounds, I took an endearing look at my hotel, er, dormitory with the brick chimney and a quintet of gables surrounding it. Consoled with childish excitement over the thought of staying in a room, a gabled room at that, overlooking the basilica, I sauntered on humming the "Ave Maria" on the way. By the way, if one sings off-key, does one hum off-key, too? Not particularly anxious to know the answer to the question that crossed my mind and afraid that such a reply would be in the affirmative, I shrugged my shoulders and sang the tune instead. Brave enough to sing, yes, because the person following and before me were about fifty yards away.
The vast expanse of mountains green with dense forests and rolling plains, nourished by the rippling, sometimes gushing, waters of the River Gave and the white Byzantine steeples of the basilica all presented an atmosphere of love and serenity unequalled by any I have so far seen. I surveyed the scenery and my eyes feasted on it while my heart and soul gave way to a sense of suspended animation where it was easy to fall back to one's Dreamland- forever. The towering basilica glistened in the sunlight on this bright Tuesday morning while birds kept chirping among the trees which lined the plaza of the Church of the Most Holy Rosary. Yes, the basilica is dedicated to the Rosary of which the Blessed Lady talked so much about in Her apparitions.
The winding esplanade, multi-tiered church with its ornately-carved doors and richly-mosaic walls, delicately textured arches and marble statuetts all give proof to an era of aesthetic finesse and architectural excellence, multiplied and amplified. Deep in my heart I knew it would be extremely difficult to duplicate such an age. But suddenly, I remembered the trite and hackneyed expression, "History repeats itself." When? How? The Golden Age of Pericles and ancient history's Renaissance flashed back in my thoughts and with it, a query- "Is it possible to have a Modern Renaissance? When? How?" If, as others claim, the work of Impressionists herald the coming of a Renaissance, then, brother, give me back the age of Rome and the gods of Mount Olympus!
The chant of the assemblage before the Grotto snapped me back to the Twentieth Century and as I made the turn towards the place which is on the left side of the church if one is standing infront of it, I saw a sweltering crowd with even some people on the other side of the river attending the services. You see, the River Gave which St. Bernadette tried to cross by foot runs right infront of the Grotto with only some 20 or so yards between them. The action of flowing water for a score and a hundred years must have deepened its depth and widened its borders. For now, Gave seem to be around thirty to fifty meters from one side to the other and for its depth, I would not venture a guess. It would be safe to surmise that the river must be several fathoms deep since the placid points between swirling, gushing waters as in a maelstrom were few and far between. I noted how seemingly still the river was infront of the Grotto! It is, however, better to recall that when St. Bernadette witnessed the first apparition on February 11, 1858, she was preparing to cross the river on foot to gather wood and dry bones on the opposite bank. How shallow it must have been! And now, a multitude of humanity lined its opposite bank following the rituals of the concelebrated Mass.
"It must be a special Mass for the sick," I whispered to myself as I slowed down my steps approaching the Grotto. The whole area was a sight to behold - so touching and impressive that I could not hold back my tears. Rows and rows of the sick, aged and infirm on stretchers and wheelchairs with their blue parasol-like awnings as protection from the spring sun were participating in the solemn offering of the Mass. The white flowing caps and distinctive Red Cross pins of immaculately attired attendants behind each patient further dramatized the aura of sadness and hope intertwined in that tableau which has made an indelible imprint in my mind. Only courage forged on the anvil of faith, unwavering faith, could have sustained these unfortunate brethren through all the difficulties encountered via train or airplane rides. I recalled how much of a test it was for me, one who is fortunately endowed with both limbs and adequate strength, to survive a ten-hour train trip from Paris to Lourdes. How difficult I experienced it to be so as to vow never to take the railway trip again despite the enticing savings of at least half the plane ticket. And to think that most of these mained patients and those afflicted with debilitating diseases came on a pilgrimage by train and from all indications would of necessity be homeward bound through the same means. I felt miserable and ashamed inside me! My heart sank at the thought of how disconcertingly aggrieved and selfish I had been and like a thunderbolt, I realized the gravity of the train situation to these helpless ones! Whereas at the train terminal I only took a quick look at the disembarking patients and the clusters of Red Cross volunteers who met them with stretchers and wheelchairs for I was totally preoccupied with pulling my two pieces of luggage, now a deep sense of empathy enveloped me. I prayed hard, prayed as I have never prayed before not for me nor for my family but for the hundreds of sick and handicapped pilgrims before the Grotto.
My intentions of the sung Mass poured out directly for them ... for the elderly man minus both limbs on my right who was singing with immense "Alleluia" in French, ... for the pixie-faced girl of twelve or thirteen years who was grappling with the straps that bound the iron rods of a deformed left leg, ... for the cute blond boy of about three years whose expressionless face revealed him to be a "retardate" and the couple probably his parents holding on to his wheelchair with bowed heads in fervent prayer, ... for the young man of about 20 summers whose epileptic fits caused him to lose muscular control and the sound of his voice who sits infront of me at the dinner table, ... for the two middle-aged Italian ladies on wheelchairs who with their solicitous husbands obligingly, with all smiles, posed with me after the procession of the Blessed Sacrament one afternoon, ... for the many senior citizens of diverse origins who either lying prostrate on stretchers or sitting complacent on wheelchairs continually clasped their rosary beads throughout the Mass, ... for them and for the hundreds of disabled and infirm my heart bled with sympathy and love. And for the teeming group of volunteer workers almost equitably numbered from both Adam and Eve's species, I offered a special prayer to the Blessed Virgin - to shower upon them immense blessings and a reservoir of stamina and patience from which they can draw enough sustenance during their daily solace-giving chores.
The Mass has ended. I looked at my watch and felt relieved that I had ample time to linger infront of the Grotto where inner peace of inexplicable state and intensity permeated my whole being to the deepest marrow of my bones. Finding no adequate word to conceptualize the undefinable feeling within me, I hereby attempt to communicate such exalted state by saying that ... it is the magic blend of a mother's happiness the warmth a new-born baby generates as it lay on her for the momentous umbilical cord cutting, ... the fathomless abyss of sorrow a daughter plunges into upon the death of a loving mother, ... the air of expectancy a contestant feels before the announcement of winners, ... the excitement of a wide-eyed seven-year old celebrant as he listens to the "Happy Birthday Song" being sang for him and his big puff to blow out the candles, ... and to a large measure the peace of mind and body that comes to one who sits alone in the woods on a lazy autumn morning whilst golden brown leaves of a hundred shades drift ... s-l-o-w-l-y by!
APRIL, 26, 1977 - LOURDES
Two things occupied my mind on the morning of my departure from Lourdes to Paris - to attend Mass at the grotto or to see the wax museum reportedly the only in the world on religion. As I lackadaisically went about through breakfast and toothbrushing, it dawned on me that my attendance of Mass at the grotto would be a fitting way to end my pilgrimage than a cursory visit there to say, "Goodbye" after the trip to the wax museum. It was not actually a tug-of-war decision but, somehow, the choices left open for me caused some uneasiness to make. Beguiled by optimism, I reserved the museum stint for next time. Planning a next visit??? Ha..ha..ha.
I hurried down the steps of the Residence St. Thomas d' Aquin, a five-storey building run by the Sisters of Charity, to catch the 9:30 A.M. Mass at the grotto. As I made a right turn to the Boulevard St. Bernadette Soubirous, the street directly leading to the grotto grounds, I took an endearing look at my hotel, er, dormitory with the brick chimney and a quintet of gables surrounding it. Consoled with childish excitement over the thought of staying in a room, a gabled room at that, overlooking the basilica, I sauntered on humming the "Ave Maria" on the way. By the way, if one sings off-key, does one hum off-key, too? Not particularly anxious to know the answer to the question that crossed my mind and afraid that such a reply would be in the affirmative, I shrugged my shoulders and sang the tune instead. Brave enough to sing, yes, because the person following and before me were about fifty yards away.
The vast expanse of mountains green with dense forests and rolling plains, nourished by the rippling, sometimes gushing, waters of the River Gave and the white Byzantine steeples of the basilica all presented an atmosphere of love and serenity unequalled by any I have so far seen. I surveyed the scenery and my eyes feasted on it while my heart and soul gave way to a sense of suspended animation where it was easy to fall back to one's Dreamland- forever. The towering basilica glistened in the sunlight on this bright Tuesday morning while birds kept chirping among the trees which lined the plaza of the Church of the Most Holy Rosary. Yes, the basilica is dedicated to the Rosary of which the Blessed Lady talked so much about in Her apparitions.
The winding esplanade, multi-tiered church with its ornately-carved doors and richly-mosaic walls, delicately textured arches and marble statuetts all give proof to an era of aesthetic finesse and architectural excellence, multiplied and amplified. Deep in my heart I knew it would be extremely difficult to duplicate such an age. But suddenly, I remembered the trite and hackneyed expression, "History repeats itself." When? How? The Golden Age of Pericles and ancient history's Renaissance flashed back in my thoughts and with it, a query- "Is it possible to have a Modern Renaissance? When? How?" If, as others claim, the work of Impressionists herald the coming of a Renaissance, then, brother, give me back the age of Rome and the gods of Mount Olympus!
The chant of the assemblage before the Grotto snapped me back to the Twentieth Century and as I made the turn towards the place which is on the left side of the church if one is standing infront of it, I saw a sweltering crowd with even some people on the other side of the river attending the services. You see, the River Gave which St. Bernadette tried to cross by foot runs right infront of the Grotto with only some 20 or so yards between them. The action of flowing water for a score and a hundred years must have deepened its depth and widened its borders. For now, Gave seem to be around thirty to fifty meters from one side to the other and for its depth, I would not venture a guess. It would be safe to surmise that the river must be several fathoms deep since the placid points between swirling, gushing waters as in a maelstrom were few and far between. I noted how seemingly still the river was infront of the Grotto! It is, however, better to recall that when St. Bernadette witnessed the first apparition on February 11, 1858, she was preparing to cross the river on foot to gather wood and dry bones on the opposite bank. How shallow it must have been! And now, a multitude of humanity lined its opposite bank following the rituals of the concelebrated Mass.
"It must be a special Mass for the sick," I whispered to myself as I slowed down my steps approaching the Grotto. The whole area was a sight to behold - so touching and impressive that I could not hold back my tears. Rows and rows of the sick, aged and infirm on stretchers and wheelchairs with their blue parasol-like awnings as protection from the spring sun were participating in the solemn offering of the Mass. The white flowing caps and distinctive Red Cross pins of immaculately attired attendants behind each patient further dramatized the aura of sadness and hope intertwined in that tableau which has made an indelible imprint in my mind. Only courage forged on the anvil of faith, unwavering faith, could have sustained these unfortunate brethren through all the difficulties encountered via train or airplane rides. I recalled how much of a test it was for me, one who is fortunately endowed with both limbs and adequate strength, to survive a ten-hour train trip from Paris to Lourdes. How difficult I experienced it to be so as to vow never to take the railway trip again despite the enticing savings of at least half the plane ticket. And to think that most of these mained patients and those afflicted with debilitating diseases came on a pilgrimage by train and from all indications would of necessity be homeward bound through the same means. I felt miserable and ashamed inside me! My heart sank at the thought of how disconcertingly aggrieved and selfish I had been and like a thunderbolt, I realized the gravity of the train situation to these helpless ones! Whereas at the train terminal I only took a quick look at the disembarking patients and the clusters of Red Cross volunteers who met them with stretchers and wheelchairs for I was totally preoccupied with pulling my two pieces of luggage, now a deep sense of empathy enveloped me. I prayed hard, prayed as I have never prayed before not for me nor for my family but for the hundreds of sick and handicapped pilgrims before the Grotto.
My intentions of the sung Mass poured out directly for them ... for the elderly man minus both limbs on my right who was singing with immense "Alleluia" in French, ... for the pixie-faced girl of twelve or thirteen years who was grappling with the straps that bound the iron rods of a deformed left leg, ... for the cute blond boy of about three years whose expressionless face revealed him to be a "retardate" and the couple probably his parents holding on to his wheelchair with bowed heads in fervent prayer, ... for the young man of about 20 summers whose epileptic fits caused him to lose muscular control and the sound of his voice who sits infront of me at the dinner table, ... for the two middle-aged Italian ladies on wheelchairs who with their solicitous husbands obligingly, with all smiles, posed with me after the procession of the Blessed Sacrament one afternoon, ... for the many senior citizens of diverse origins who either lying prostrate on stretchers or sitting complacent on wheelchairs continually clasped their rosary beads throughout the Mass, ... for them and for the hundreds of disabled and infirm my heart bled with sympathy and love. And for the teeming group of volunteer workers almost equitably numbered from both Adam and Eve's species, I offered a special prayer to the Blessed Virgin - to shower upon them immense blessings and a reservoir of stamina and patience from which they can draw enough sustenance during their daily solace-giving chores.
The Mass has ended. I looked at my watch and felt relieved that I had ample time to linger infront of the Grotto where inner peace of inexplicable state and intensity permeated my whole being to the deepest marrow of my bones. Finding no adequate word to conceptualize the undefinable feeling within me, I hereby attempt to communicate such exalted state by saying that ... it is the magic blend of a mother's happiness the warmth a new-born baby generates as it lay on her for the momentous umbilical cord cutting, ... the fathomless abyss of sorrow a daughter plunges into upon the death of a loving mother, ... the air of expectancy a contestant feels before the announcement of winners, ... the excitement of a wide-eyed seven-year old celebrant as he listens to the "Happy Birthday Song" being sang for him and his big puff to blow out the candles, ... and to a large measure the peace of mind and body that comes to one who sits alone in the woods on a lazy autumn morning whilst golden brown leaves of a hundred shades drift ... s-l-o-w-l-y by!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Feb. 14, 2012 - LOVE ON "CUPID'S" DAY
Today is February 14, 2012, Valentine's Day or as some would call it, "Cupid's Day." It is a day set aside for all of us to enjoy the company of those closest to our hearts.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Feb. 12, 2012 - JESUS HEALS A LEPER
The Gospel today, February 12, 2012, is the account of Jesus healing a leper.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Feb. 11, 2012 - FIRST VISIT TO LOURDES
February 11, 2012 - FIRST VISIT TO LOURDES
Today, February 11, 2012, is the 154th anniversary of the our Blessed Mother's apparition to St. Bernadette at Lourdes, France in 1858. Since then many healings of the body have been documented and followed through in the annals of the Lourdes Medical Bureau. But a greater majority of physcal healings as well as emotional and spiritual renewals remain recorded only in the hearts and minds of those who have had the opportunity of visiting there. One of the most, if not the most beloved pilgrim sites of Catholic Christians, Lourdes is visited by almost seven million people every year.
The Grotto of Lourdes has had a distinct place in my repertoire of dreams since my childhood days. It was sown by the stories my mother told us about our Blessed Virgin Mary to whom she had a very special devotion. She instilled in her children a strong veneration and love for our Lady through the Bible account of her role in the salvific history of the Church. In addition, she often related anecdotes in the life of our Blessed Mother which were handed down through generations of her Catholic heritage.
One of such stories which captivated me so much since it illustrated the extent of Mother Mary's love was about a cat. It was said that Mary was sitting on the floor doing some sewing. In the course of her patching some of Jesus' old clothes, their cat slept on the train of her long loose dress. After a long while, she needed to stand to do other chores. She was puzzled, " What should I do? " Do you know what she did? She got a pair of scissors and cut her dress so as not to disturb the cat in its sleep!
It was on November 1973 when I had the opportunity to visit Europe for the first time. As Director, Overseas Shipping, of the Maritime Industry Authority of the Philippines, I was asked to represent the country in the UNCTAD (United Nations Commission on Trade and Development) Conference in Geneva, Switzerland. It offered me the unique privilege of realizing my lifelong dream - Lourdes! However, financial concerns presented a problem. Because total trust in God had been ingrained in the fabric of my being, I lifted the problem up to the Almighty, as Psalm 55 says, "Cast your care upon the Lord and He will support you." I also asked the Blessed Mother to help me. On my part, I promised to be as frugal as possible in Geneva even deciding on staying in a budget hotel instead of the five-star one usually assigned for delegates. I vowed to take public transportation to and from the conference site which I did despite some days when snow would be ankle-deep in the sidewalks.
Upon arrival in the Geneva Airport, I was pleased to see among the reception group which met me, the Philippine Commercial Attache and his wife who were former co-employees at the Department of Trade. They invited me to stay with them during the conference weeks. I could not refuse the offer! I bought the bed for their extra, unused room and gave them some money for my board and lodging which was a huge savings from my per diem compared to the hotel bills I would have incurred. God answered my prayer! I prayed Psalm 108, "I will give thanks to you among the peoples, O Lord, for your kindness towers to the heavens and your faithfulness to the skies."
The farewell ceremonies of the conference ended at high noon. I immediately dashed to the airport for Paris and then to my epoch-making flight to Lourdes. The realization that after all the years I was finally setting foot on the place where our Mother Mary appeared to Bernadette made my heart beat with wild excitement and my stomach churn with "flitting butterflies." My prayer of praise and thanksgiving was as endless as the blue sky through which the plane soared. By the time the plane landed in Tarbes (there is no airport at Lourdes) dark cumulus clouds covered the late afternoon hours. I took a shuttle bus for the hour's drive to my destination with only another passenger, an Irishman, I learned later.
I ventured to travel to Lourdes in such haste without any hotel reservations believing that since November was out-of-season time, tourists would be a lot fewer and lodging readily available. Isn't it reported that there are around 400 hotels in that tiny village? But when we arrived at Lourdes, the crowd of people I was expecting to find in the streets were not there. Many stores were locked up and there were few shoppers in those that were open.What surprised me was that many of the hotels were closed. Even their neon signs were not at all illuminated. The prospect of not finding a room for the night and for the rest of my three-day stay completely filled me with anxiety. I called on Psalm 91 as I always did! The bus driver informed us that most hotels operate during spring and summer only because owners reside in Paris. He added that only small owner-operated hotels were open. With his help, he brought us, since the Irishman was also in the same predicament as I was, to the Hotel Aquitaine which was walking distance to the Grotto. It was funny because the concierge mistook us as a couple until I vehemently denied it and claimed a room only for myself. As soon as I deposited my luggage inside the room, I rushed down to the lobby for instructions to reach the sacred place of the apparition.
Night had fallen. It had started raining and the kind owner lent me an umbrella. So after carefully noting directions to the Grotto, I sauntered off the hotel door as fast as my legs could carry me. I was enveloped with feverish excitement! As soon as I entered the iron gates of the St. Michel entrance, I was almost running as I crossed infront of the Basilica of the Holy Rosary and under the Esplanade on to the Grotto. I made a slight left turn and immediately stopped in my tracks. There was the Grotto with the beautiful image of our Lady with the huge circular, multi-tiered candelabra holding more than a hundred big candles aflame! It was a magnificent, electrifying sight! I knelt down right at that spot about a hundred or more feet away and said a litany of thanks to our Lord and Blessed Mother. I knelt there in the rain totally mesmerized! After a long while, I joined a few others right infront of the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes where my prayer of praise and thanksgiving thundered in the silence of my heart. I prayed for all my loved ones - family, relations and friends including their needs and aspirations. Right at that sacred space, I was oblivious of time! I was enveloped with an inexplicable feeling of peace I never felt before! I savored the joy of being "in the palm of His hand." With some regrets, I joined the last couple when they left the place but happy in the realization of a dream and on a significant day- November 27th, the Feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal.
It was my wish to have the well-known "bath" of Lourdes. I wanted to experience it and verify the truth of the widely -spread story that after the bath no towel is ever used to dry oneself. But I learned bath sessions were only done during spring and summer usually till the middle of October when more sick people visit and volunteers come to help. It did not bother me a bit because I had already planned, even then, for my next visit in my heart. My trust in God was and still so great! I knew I would come to Lourdes again! And do you know that God and the Blessed Mother made it so that my pilgrimage to Lourdes has been eighteen times to date?
On a crispy morning but with the sun shining brightly, I walked up the hill for the Stations of the Cross for the first time It was also an awe-inspiring event in my life!Unlike Geneva where winter was already on the way, Lourdes was still aglow with autumn leaves in almost every tree in the lower grounds and most especially in those that covered the hills. I remembered the beautiful painting of "An Autumn Morn" with several streams of sunlight "cascading" through the forest trees with the lovely display of autumn leaves adorned with the combination of yellow-gold-red-amber colors in varying shades. When I saw the painting then, I admired the perfect scenery produced by gifted hands. It was uplifting! But when I saw the same scene in living color, I somehow felt that the artist failed to do justice to it. Then I recalled the Arbor Day song with lyrics, "...poems are made by fools like me but only God can make a tree..." True, only Divine Hands can make golden-amber leaves and let them frolick in the soft breeze. I was enraptured by the moment!
When I started the first station which required going up the steps, there were two women ahead of me. but since I prayed so slowly at each stop, I was alone, yes, alone on the hill from the fourth station until the Ressurrection scene. I relished the thought that God made that day especial for His walk with me! My meditations and prayers achieved an aura of height and depth of unimaginable ecstasy! Mother Nature orchestrated everything to make it, so especially at the 14th Station when Jesus was buried in the sepulchre. At the hill of Lourdes, the sepulchre was in the cleft of two great rock formations with water dripping from its sides and the bronze life-sized figure of Jesus being carried in right at its opening. And to top it all, I could hear the drip-drip-drip of the water inside the cleft of the cave. It was awesome! It was breathtaking, in the real sense of the word!
The Basilica of the Holy Rosary was almost empty during my visit. I remembered praying the beads in the Crypt which served as the Adoration Chapel. There were two nuns as "guardians" at that hour. During that visit I missed seeing the Church of the Immaculate Conception which is part of the gigantic basilica. To think that there are actually three places of worship in the basilica at Lourdes!
I assure you, the memory of my first visit to Lourdes on November 27, 1973 will remain indelible in my heart and mind forever!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Feb. 5, 2012 - ST. AGATHA, CANCER SAINT
ST. AGATHA, CANCER SAINT
Today is the Feast of St. Agatha in the Catholic liturgical calendar. She is the saint invoked especially for/by patients who have and those who have survived breast cancer. Many healings have been attributed through the help of this saint who lived in the 3rd Century.
Born in Catania, Sicily, Agatha was a young, beautiful and wealthy Christian girl. Her beauty caught the eye of Quintianus, a Roman magistrate who actively and brutally persecuted the Christians. Knowing she was a Christian, he had her arrested and brought to him who also was a judge. When she refused his advances, she was tortured severely which included the amputation of her breasts. It is said that St. Peter appeared to Agatha in a vision, dressed her wounds and helped her to survive. When all attempts to break her spirits failed, she was burned at the stake. During this torture of fire, there was a mysterious earthquake. Her torturers took it as a sign from God and they ran away. Surviving even this torture, she was returned to her prison cell where she finally died with a prayer on her lips, "Lord, my Creator, you have always protected me from the cradle, you have taken me from the love of the world and have given me patience and strength to suffer. Receive my soul."
Because one of the tortures St. Agatha suffered was to have her breasts cut off, she is shown in pictures carrying her breasts on a plate. She is also the patroness of Malta since her intercession is reported to have saved Malta from Turkish invasion in 1551. A church of great historical importance to Spain is Santa Gadea (St. Agatha) in Burgos, Spain.
She is the patron saint of Sicily, Italy. She is one of the seven women excluding the Blessed Virgin Mary, commemorated by name in the Canon of the Mass.
Prayer to St. Agatha
St. Agatha, you suffered assault and indignity because of your faith. Help heal all those who are survivors of sexual assault and protect those women who are in danger. Pray for those women who are suffering from malignancey or have survived it so that they may have the strength to offer their affliction and pain to God, our Divine Healer. Through your prayers, St. Agatha, may they feel and enjoy the healing power of our Lord! Through Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.
Today is the Feast of St. Agatha in the Catholic liturgical calendar. She is the saint invoked especially for/by patients who have and those who have survived breast cancer. Many healings have been attributed through the help of this saint who lived in the 3rd Century.
Born in Catania, Sicily, Agatha was a young, beautiful and wealthy Christian girl. Her beauty caught the eye of Quintianus, a Roman magistrate who actively and brutally persecuted the Christians. Knowing she was a Christian, he had her arrested and brought to him who also was a judge. When she refused his advances, she was tortured severely which included the amputation of her breasts. It is said that St. Peter appeared to Agatha in a vision, dressed her wounds and helped her to survive. When all attempts to break her spirits failed, she was burned at the stake. During this torture of fire, there was a mysterious earthquake. Her torturers took it as a sign from God and they ran away. Surviving even this torture, she was returned to her prison cell where she finally died with a prayer on her lips, "Lord, my Creator, you have always protected me from the cradle, you have taken me from the love of the world and have given me patience and strength to suffer. Receive my soul."
Because one of the tortures St. Agatha suffered was to have her breasts cut off, she is shown in pictures carrying her breasts on a plate. She is also the patroness of Malta since her intercession is reported to have saved Malta from Turkish invasion in 1551. A church of great historical importance to Spain is Santa Gadea (St. Agatha) in Burgos, Spain.
She is the patron saint of Sicily, Italy. She is one of the seven women excluding the Blessed Virgin Mary, commemorated by name in the Canon of the Mass.
Prayer to St. Agatha
St. Agatha, you suffered assault and indignity because of your faith. Help heal all those who are survivors of sexual assault and protect those women who are in danger. Pray for those women who are suffering from malignancey or have survived it so that they may have the strength to offer their affliction and pain to God, our Divine Healer. Through your prayers, St. Agatha, may they feel and enjoy the healing power of our Lord! Through Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.
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