Our Lady of Lourdes: As I Come to You

I’m still unsure how I convinced my parents to let me roam Europe for almost two months as a nineteen-year-old. My semblance of a plan was written in a Google Doc, but it focused mostly on color coordination and curating fonts rather than a concrete agenda. But somehow they believed I would survive the trip. So, the day after my sophomore year of college ended, off I went.

The Adventure Begins

At 8:14 a.m., I boarded the first of four connecting flights to that oh-so-dreamed-about continent. With my cousin, I traveled through Ireland, Poland, Prague, and the northeastern coast of Spain. It was almost all that I had wanted—so much culture, human creativity, and beauty—to see. I felt as if I was accomplishing something great as I walked those cobblestones. And yet, simultaneously I was plagued by two feelings: loneliness and the feeling something was missing.

Lonely? Listen

The first feeling was a severe loneliness that I started to battle nearly as soon as I arrived overseas. Because I left right after my school year ended, I had not seen my family or slept in my own bed at home in more than six months. I missed everyone I loved in the States painfully.

The second feeling was different and increased more gradually. I felt like I was missing something as I made my way through cities and countries. That I was seeing the wrong things and doing the wrong things and not doing enough things either way. I chalked it up to poor planning and tried to cure the sense by cramming. I saw sight after sight, had experience after experience. Cramming made the Sacraments less of a priority, and I ignored my faith in favor of the next museum.

In Spain, the two senses became nearly unbearable. I spent hundreds of hours enjoying beaches, music festivals, and foreign foods. But I was itching to move, itching to be gone, itching for something else. At the same time, I felt stuck. I was traveling with someone else, and leaving would mean traveling alone. So many things could go wrong. What if I got lost, or was followed, or worse?

The thoughts raced in my head for days. Talking on the phone one night with a friend back home, I mentioned these recurring feelings. And he responded, “Go to Lourdes. When you first started talking about this trip, you wanted to go to Lourdes.”

Coming to Mary

I had forgotten.

Lourdes seemed out of the way, and my traveling companion did not want to go. Disappointed, I put it out of my mind. It would be an adventure for another day.

But now . . .

“I’d have to go alone,” I told my friend on the phone.

“You’ll be okay,” he assured me.

I took the night to think about it. And when I woke up the next morning, I knew I was going.

I was terribly nervous for the solitary trip, but I was overcome by a sense of peace and direction. I felt called.

“Mary,” I prayed, “protect me as I come to you.” I followed this with my Daily Offering, reciting, “O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary . . .”

A day later, I boarded a 4 a.m. bus bound for Bordeaux, France. From there, I would travel to Lourdes.

The trip was smooth: buses came when they needed to, English speakers were around when I needed them, food was cheap, and help always came.

“Mary, thank you!”

Exploring Lourdes

Riding the train into Lourdes, I could easily see why our Lady chose it. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen: the river, the mountains, and the green and gray rock. I arrived, along with pouring rain, and immediately located coffee, as caffeine is a top priority for me while traveling. From my little Best Western Cafe, I moved through the city, blindly following the Bernadette Soubirous sidewalk medals and my half-working Google Maps app. I hid from the rain in souvenir shops.

Finally, I made my way towards the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes, which is something out of a storybook. It is fantastic, sleek, and noble—everything you could want of a church built into the Pyrenees. The arches and peaks and twists of the place all build to a sky-high splendor.

The Pilgrimage That is the Mass

I found myself walking into a French vigil Mass. I understood nothing but the hand movements and the smiles, but I immediately felt at home again. The Mass is different when on a pilgrimage, knowing everyone has made a long journey to partake in a mystery we don’t fully understand but know by faith.

From the moment I walked into that Church and got on my knees, something inside of me changed. I felt Mary’s hand on my shoulder, comforting me, holding me up.

I realized this was my first Mass in weeks.

I cried softly, tears hiding themselves among the raindrops already staining my face. After so much time feeling absolutely alone, I felt Jesus with me again. After so much time feeling like I was missing some great, crucial experience on this trip, the hole was filled by the One Whom I was really missing.

I resolved then and there that my trip was no longer just a trip; it was a pilgrimage. And more than that, after my trip I wanted my life to continue being a pilgrimage, a pilgrimage to Heaven!

God, my Father, Mary, my mother! Guide me and hold me as I come to you! Amen.

Mary Nuñez is a junior at Benedictine College studying marketing and theology. She enjoys spontaneous traveling, spending quality time with her dairy goats, and going for long walks with friends to discuss the secrets of the universe.