life in the darkness

Today, as I write to you after midnight, I will again recount my own memories of Lourdes. This is because today, in Liverpool, a very special celebration is going to be held. There was a man back in 1923 who was completely cured of his illnesses. Article with this information will be posted here.

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c878d2eeepzo

For me, this is beautiful! Lourdes is a place I had grown up having been told about. I was lower church of England back then, or anglocan as it is known. My Nan had been given a little statue on a cushion of st. Bernadette, from a friend who had gone to Lourdes, but I wasn’t to feel this until I was about 15. By then, I had started to think about becoming catholic, due to conversations I had been having with my then vocal teachers from Italy. We would do my vocal lesson, then afterwards, have a conversation about God, our Lady and catholicism. With each conversation, my faith started growing. Back then though, I forced the conversion to Catholicism back to the back of my mind, as my family would have probably not approved.

I continued using the rosary beads I had been given to calm my anxieties I had at school. I held them and with every time I held the beads, which were from Rome, my anxiety eased further. Yes, I was frightened of my support worker. What mood would she be in that day? What would the bullies do that day? What shouting at was I going to get? There was also the homework I had not done either! My rosary would sit in the inside pocket of my blazer, and every now and then, I would squeeze the beads tightly. I then progressed to wearing the rosary around my neck, with the crucifix close to my skin. Touching it infact.

Fast forward a few years later, I was going through RCIA. My journey to becoming a catholic had begun. Nervously, I was sitting in the church, waiting for the mass to start. By then, I’d started to memorise some of the responses. The confetior, the gloria, some of the other responses in the mass and the various other parts that came with it. One person in the congrigation had persisted in asking me: “Are you going to Lourdes this year? No, Alan, I said. I have told you, I’m not able too. It’s going to cost about £1000. So his persistance continued. It grew ever stronger. ‘until one day, he announced very proudly, You’re going! Oh no! I thought. Latin masses that I don’t understand. Chanting which I’ve not learned yet! I’m going to be very bad at this! How on earth can I get out of this one! Should I fain having a cold or something? What can I do? There was no getting out of it. I had to go! Nervously I got on the plane, after being put in my place at Liverpool airport. I was with people I knew. I’ll be okay. I thought.

Upon arrival in Lourdes, in 2019, I was guided into a wheelchair. It had 2 wheels. The French customs officer asked: You going hospital? What? No! I was told the saint frai! Help! Rescue me! I’m going to the wrong place! Where is everyone? I can’t hear them! I was on my own, in a wheelchair, and being taken to the wrong place! Or so I thought. The coach drove off. The tiredness getting the better of me, I fell into a somewhat deep sleep. The engine making its monotonous noise, it wended its way through the narrow streets of Lourdes and pulled up at the Saint Frai. A huge facade with an arched roof and very high canopy. A modern building inside though, with lifts going to the upper floors, with a huge circular atrium on each one. By now, I was in the lift and being taken upstairs. The familiar hospital smell all around me. A ward came into focus as my ears told me I’d been brought to a very large, but rectangular room just like a hospital ward. Beds on both sides, a shower cubicle, or room on both sides too and toilet rooms next to them. The beds were as I expected, like hospital ones. The table with wheels next to it spanning the bottom of the bed, with a cabenet and dresser with a wardrobe next to the pillow end. I was helped to unpack and my stuff put away, I sat on the familiar matress. Waiting for the meal time, I ended up falling asleep. Later, I’d begun to realise, this place had no rules. It wasn’t a hospital, but a hotel, designed for disabled and assisted pilgrims. I started to come out of my shell then, mixing with people, but burst into tears a few times. The next morning, we were up bright and early. Heading off to mass, then later, the blessed sacrament procession, which was to be one of the highlights of the whole week. The procession begun and we were wheeled by the youth pilgrims, down to the basilica, which was underground. Feeling the air changing, the music growing louder, but the expanse becoming wider, I was wheeled down the tunnel and into the huge vast basilica. Seating just over 25,000 people, it was a huge vast room. Though it seemed never ending. The echos punctuated with the organ and choir, brought me to tears. I could hardly speak. The slight anxieties I had felt that day, because of trolling on social media, vanished. I was lifted out of my chair, and brought upwards to the ceiling above! I felt warm, calm, serene. I could feel the tears flowing from my eyes. I struggled to breathe, beginning to cough, but only able to utter the words: This is beautiful. Just beautiful. Again, during the torch light procession I was the same. The lights from the candles I could not see, but I could imagine them. The warmth in my heart, strong as it was before.

The heat on the morning of the water gesture was immense. 43 degrees Celsius. Okay, I thought. The water will be quite warm then… How very wrong I was! I was brought into a cubicle, where I stripped to the waste. A nun put a warm towel around me and I was lead out into the main area, where the water was. Suddenly, the towel was taken, only to be replaced by a freezing one. I gasped. Struggling to breathe, I regained my composure and was lead down the steps, into the fridgid water below! I began to hyperventilate. Trying to hold my breath, I walked down to the statue of our Lady. Every step fridgid cold! I continued, still gasping for air. Eventually, I got there and we said a few prayers. Alan had been right! The water was cold after all! I did not let that stop me though. Worrying about my breathing, they quickly got me out and into the warmth. But where was the water? I was dry. A miracle of Lourdes! My week in Lourdes that year was spectacular. One I will never forget. I’ve met lovely people since then in 2023, as well as last year. Hopefully this year I’m able to go too! In 2019 though, when leaving Lourdes, I felt a kind of grief. I was leaving my happy place. The place I could let go. I could find peace. A place that had touched my soul in a way I can’t even explain! It does every year! Something happens that even I can’t explain why it does. It just does. I grow stronger in my faith, but I also meet new people. Make new friends, but strenthen my friendships I have already made! It’s a shame I can’t be there to celebrate the 71st miracle of Lourdes, John Traynor’s cure back in 1923 of his epilepsy and paralysis. But I will be listening online and attempting to sing along to all the Lourdes favourite hymns. I will, for an hour or so, be taken to my happy place! Until July of this year, that is. God willing I get there this year! Back to my happy place! The beautiful sanctuary of Lourdes!