And after all that… I made it…
Ha!
..in time for the first reading I’ll have you know! So attending Mass counted!
When I pulled into Lisbon, there was a train leaving for Fatima in 10 minutes. I got on and then had a new problem. The actual town of Fatima is really 20 km away from the train station that has the name “Fatima.” I had to wait 40 minutes for a cab to arrive to take me to the shrine.
But I made it, Mr. “I-can’t-go-to-Fatima!” Take that!
While standing in Fatima, at Mass, I realize that my taunting is just a little bit childish. I’ve already missed the penitential rite of Mass, but I can’t understand the reading in Portuguese, so I’ll just spend the time asking God to forgive me for my immaturity and thank him for getting me here safely.
Fatima is known for the three children Francisco Marco, Jacinta Marco, and Lucy Dos Santos, who saw apparitions of Mary between May 13, and October 13, of 1917. In Mary’s message was the urging for everyone to pray. If her request was met, there would be an end to the errors of war that would plague the twentieth century. Around these apparitions there became a great devotion and pilgrimage site in the village of Fatima, Portugal. (A small side note… Fatima is actually the name of the prophet Mohammad’s favorite daughter, who is also said to be the mother of all Shi’a Muslims. Portugal was once occupied by Arab invaders, and the town was given the name Fatima at that time)
I’m at Sunday Mass here at Fatima. The place is huge, and though not full, there are thousands of people here. I’m getting more used to some of the characteristics of the Catholic shrines that I’ve seen around the world now. There is usually an area set aside for placing prayer candles, and a long line of people who place candles there. The difference in Fatima is that some of the candles people are bringing are six feet tall! They also cut to the quick in Fatima. Instead of pretending to burn the candles, before the staff of volunteers throw the candles away, (or possibly resell them,) at Fatima there is a big fire pit into which people just throw the candles. This creates an enormous blaze with all the melting wax.
There is also the feature that I am starting to see all the time in these pilgrim shrines that is a bit freaky. Usually, there is an area set a side for pilgrims who wish to walk on their knees the entire length of the shrine to the sanctuary. Now I’ve always thought these people a little crazy. “Why walk on your knees through a shrine?” I mean, usually it is only a couple dozen meters/yards. If you’re going to do penance for your sins, you should at least have to walk on your knees the length of three football fields, in the pounding of the direct sunlight. None of this “in the shade” penance. I mean, Please! We’re talking about the atonement of sins here!
Hopefully my sins are now forgiven, because to walk on your knees the length of three football fields hurt.
A lot.
Religious practices are interesting things. What is it about praying the rosary, meditating, receiving communion, going on pilgrimage, singing, crawling, praying in tongues, laying prostrate, confessing sins, or any number of practices that generates holiness? I don’t really know. I do know that many people advocate for certain practices that seem unfair. They demand of other people “You have to do this to enjoy the favor of God.” When I hear people say that, I feel it is more a statement about the person’s own spiritual insecurities rather than some ecstatic union with God they have achieved.
To any religious practice, I would encourage people to be respectful of those who are different than you. I, for many weeks now, have been very skeptical of what I have seen from these people walking on their knees the length of a (much-shorter-than-Fatima) shrine, holding babies, holding rosaries, or holding pictures of loved ones. It is easy to dismiss them as fanatics, but their dedication to seek God and to express that journey outwardly deserves respect.
Besides respect, the practices are worth our own exploration. If it works to bring a person into greater unity with God and others, then it should be continued; if not, it should be respectfully put away, and left for others who do find God through such practices.
I would not recommend walking on your knees as a pilgrim to everyone, especially to those with bad knees. But I will say that the experience of doing it is remarkable. Since I am currently a pilgrim, I found the experience a tangible manifestation of what it is like to be on pilgrimage. When walking on your knees, your knees only move you so far, and the steps you take are very, very small. It seems like you will never reach your destination, and at times the pain doesn’t seem worth it. Slowly though, you can feel how the constant repetition of small steps leads you in the right direction, until you reach your goal, in the sanctuary, where you can have a moment of quiet and peace with God. It is a very humbling, and spiritually uplifting, to know you have come to that sanctuary on your knees. It doesn’t have to be some kind of freakish-superstitious-cult thing that manic Catholics do. Just know that it, as any religious practice, is done to humble the heart, and put one’s self in right relationship with God (and it also does a quite number on your knees, which reminds you what you did this morning every time you bump into something in the afternoon.)
If you have downloaded Google Earth onto your computer, you can see my pictorial of the people making the long pilgrimage on their knees, and the many blessed sites of the Fatima shrine, by clicking here. I forgot all about it till the end of Mass, but there is also a tradition in Fatima of waiving a white handkerchief before the image of the Blessed Mother as she is processed out of the shrine grounds and returned to the small chapel where the three children once had the visions of Mary.
I got to Fatima when the man from the ticket counter in Salamanca told me I couldn’t. I did so because the trains worked in my favor. After visiting Fatima, the trains did not work in my favor, and the train that would bring me Vigo, Spain by tonight was an hour late. Instead, I made it as far north in Portugal as I could, to Porto. On the train ride to Porto, I could watch the sun as it set over the Atlantic Ocean. I sat and realized, “I’ve never seen the sun set on the Atlantic Ocean. I’ve always seen the sun rise on the Atlantic.”
On the other side of that ocean is home. I’ve made little steps, day by day, to make it this far. Some steps are quite taxing, and have felt like I wasn’t making it very far, just like I felt walking on my knees in Fatima. But now, now I can see the other side of an ocean that I left when I drove by the New Jersey Turnpike, three and a half months ago. The journey is still long, and of course it is so tempting to go across that ocean and go home, but other sanctuaries await me, and what makes a journey a journey, is the path you take.