A few posts ago, noted blog commentator Cal Roeker asked this writer if Medjugorje has affected me. This is my reply:
At Medjugorje one usually goes to church at least once a day, which, oddly enough, is not burdensome there. English mass is at 10 AM, and on this day we had just gotten out. With a bladder the size of a pea, my son Jeff had taken the long walk to the bathroom, and so Vicki and I were left standing near the small chapel where this mass takes place, doing nothing until one of the priests who had just presided over the mass came strolling by with a middle-aged woman in tow. Just as he was next to us, he stopped and exclaimed, “I forgot my cane (he was an old man, probably in his 80’s), and the woman with him – his niece, we were to find out – told him to wait there while she got it. Well...I suppose I thought I should say something, because there seemed to be an awkward pause before the priest himself began the conversation.
“I must have been stopped here for a reason,” he said, as he reached into a small briefcase he was carrying. “So, take a look at this picture.” With that, he showed us a postcard-like fuzzy picture of the Virgin, up very close, which would explain the fuzziness. “This picture was first taken by a friend of my niece. She and some friends were having a birthday party for the Virgin and after some festivities, went outside to let out a large cluster of balloons tied together to look like the Rosary. This friend then took a picture of the balloons from the second floor of the house, and handed the picture to my niece before even looking at it and this was the picture she got.”
We took notice, of course, as he was a priest. He continued: “It is a healing picture. Kiss the photo and pray for a healing and it will work for you.” (It has a website: www.tearofjoy.net).
He then gave us two of the pictures – and then a third when Jeff arrived, one for reach of us. He reached again into his briefcase: “Here, take this book. It is short and to the point.” He then looked at Jeff suspiciously and asked, “Is he a good kid?” I replied with a laugh that he was with us at church instead of on Spring Break in Florida or Mexico, but that only slightly mollified his suspicions. Then his niece came, and he gave us a blessing by signing the cross on our foreheads. As he turned to leave, he gave us his card, saying, “let me know what happens after you read the book. It will bring a miracle for you.” The name of the book was From Prison to Praise by Merlin Caruthers.
Several days later, it was time for us to leave. We were desperately trying to get some sleep that night because we had to wake up at 2:30 AM for our bus ride to the airport in Split, but of course something woke me up early at 2 AM. Because the room was overheated, we had left the window open, and now an odd singing was coming through from nearby Apparition Hill, the place where the Marian apparitions had first begun, and where Mirjana still had her visions to this day. It was exceptionally eerie (Vicki, I was to find, also heard it, so it was not a solitary audio hallucination), and clear as a bell. It was a chant that was also a song with a voice that was not trained, but one that hit each note with precision. As it went on, I drifted a little into a light sleep, to be woken with these words (not exact, unfortunately. They were beautiful in the original form): “It is hard for you now to believe me when I am here. How much more difficult will it be for you when I am gone?” I understood immediately – they were words that could have been spoken by Jesus before his crucifixion, or perhaps after, when he appeared to the Apostles as Risen, but to me, they meant Medjugorje. That is, if I struggled at times believing in Jesus – and the miracle presence of Mary - here, where all believe and there are miracles every day, then how hard will it be for me back in the profane world?
It will be – it is – hard. It is thus also hard to understand how far Medjugorje has changed me, or other people who go there. I do believe I had a metamorphosis while there, arriving both filled with hope and skepticism, and leaving with only a sense of grace. It had taken (naturally) three days for my sense of “scam” to leave, as a subtle sense of wonder and miracle and belief settled in. But the reader can see from this and the previous essays on Medjugorje that nearly everyone there believes. As it is an isolated area, this belief quickly forms the spirit of the area, and anyone susceptible to human influence – and that is most of us - would feel the change in thought, and in possibilities.
A skeptical friend of mine put it this way, when I left the door a little bit ajar as to the depth of my belief: “It’s as if, if enough people believe, they change reality.” That in itself is a miracle - that we can change reality by group thought - and I do believe that is true to an extent. What is it that Jesus said? That wherever two or more pray in my name, there I will be – and there you will be answered? But that is not always the case, by a long shot. The change in thought has to be total, beyond even rational thought, and in that, I believe that the change must be based on something that is “real” in that other realm that I call the spiritual. The trick, then, is believing in both the spiritual realm, as well as in a legitimate representation from that realm.
Really, the latter part should be easy: after two thousand years, one would think that the spiritual athletes of the West (the saints) would have determined if Christianity and Catholicism were genuine or not – and they have long decided that they decidedly are. But the former part, believing in the spiritual realm itself, should be easy as well. It is not really even a matter of “belief,” because evidence of a deeper reality is all about us and inescapable for anyone who thinks about it. Therefore the two coming together in our minds should be easy. The trouble is, many refuse to really think about this whole religious/spiritual thing. It is too scary because it is not under our control. There is also that whiff of sulfur that we get from Catholicism – that is, the notion that we pay a penalty for wrong thought and behavior. Who wants that?
For those who want to believe, then, the greatest obstacle is the group - think element. This is a secular society. I may go to church and read scripture and pray every day, but that will not be on the nightly news, nor what people are talking about at the supermarket or the gym. And that is the real miracle of Medjugorje – not a vision from the Mother of God, but rather that the visions have brought so many together to believe that they DO believe – so much so that miracles can, and do, happen. Our old priest knew; whoever or whatever was singing on the hill knew; and then I knew.
But few here know, and soon, I fear, I will not either. I will question, I will reformulate, I will speculate – in short, I will desecrate. I will try not to. But how much harder is it when “I am not here?” The one who speaks this is always here, of course, – the Bible tells us so. But only in spirit. Already these ideas are becoming so remote…perhaps they are only allegories, or worse, tales from a fantasy world made by and for a defeated people?
It has all become so easy to be normal again. Yes, I have been changed by Medjugorje, my faith strengthened, my sense of awe and hope increased, but for how long? Time will tell – not of the truth of Medjugorje, but of my own character. And this world, this place apart from the land of miracles, is the test, as it always has been for me and for all of us.
At Medjugorje one usually goes to church at least once a day, which, oddly enough, is not burdensome there. English mass is at 10 AM, and on this day we had just gotten out. With a bladder the size of a pea, my son Jeff had taken the long walk to the bathroom, and so Vicki and I were left standing near the small chapel where this mass takes place, doing nothing until one of the priests who had just presided over the mass came strolling by with a middle-aged woman in tow. Just as he was next to us, he stopped and exclaimed, “I forgot my cane (he was an old man, probably in his 80’s), and the woman with him – his niece, we were to find out – told him to wait there while she got it. Well...I suppose I thought I should say something, because there seemed to be an awkward pause before the priest himself began the conversation.
“I must have been stopped here for a reason,” he said, as he reached into a small briefcase he was carrying. “So, take a look at this picture.” With that, he showed us a postcard-like fuzzy picture of the Virgin, up very close, which would explain the fuzziness. “This picture was first taken by a friend of my niece. She and some friends were having a birthday party for the Virgin and after some festivities, went outside to let out a large cluster of balloons tied together to look like the Rosary. This friend then took a picture of the balloons from the second floor of the house, and handed the picture to my niece before even looking at it and this was the picture she got.”
We took notice, of course, as he was a priest. He continued: “It is a healing picture. Kiss the photo and pray for a healing and it will work for you.” (It has a website: www.tearofjoy.net).
He then gave us two of the pictures – and then a third when Jeff arrived, one for reach of us. He reached again into his briefcase: “Here, take this book. It is short and to the point.” He then looked at Jeff suspiciously and asked, “Is he a good kid?” I replied with a laugh that he was with us at church instead of on Spring Break in Florida or Mexico, but that only slightly mollified his suspicions. Then his niece came, and he gave us a blessing by signing the cross on our foreheads. As he turned to leave, he gave us his card, saying, “let me know what happens after you read the book. It will bring a miracle for you.” The name of the book was From Prison to Praise by Merlin Caruthers.
Several days later, it was time for us to leave. We were desperately trying to get some sleep that night because we had to wake up at 2:30 AM for our bus ride to the airport in Split, but of course something woke me up early at 2 AM. Because the room was overheated, we had left the window open, and now an odd singing was coming through from nearby Apparition Hill, the place where the Marian apparitions had first begun, and where Mirjana still had her visions to this day. It was exceptionally eerie (Vicki, I was to find, also heard it, so it was not a solitary audio hallucination), and clear as a bell. It was a chant that was also a song with a voice that was not trained, but one that hit each note with precision. As it went on, I drifted a little into a light sleep, to be woken with these words (not exact, unfortunately. They were beautiful in the original form): “It is hard for you now to believe me when I am here. How much more difficult will it be for you when I am gone?” I understood immediately – they were words that could have been spoken by Jesus before his crucifixion, or perhaps after, when he appeared to the Apostles as Risen, but to me, they meant Medjugorje. That is, if I struggled at times believing in Jesus – and the miracle presence of Mary - here, where all believe and there are miracles every day, then how hard will it be for me back in the profane world?
It will be – it is – hard. It is thus also hard to understand how far Medjugorje has changed me, or other people who go there. I do believe I had a metamorphosis while there, arriving both filled with hope and skepticism, and leaving with only a sense of grace. It had taken (naturally) three days for my sense of “scam” to leave, as a subtle sense of wonder and miracle and belief settled in. But the reader can see from this and the previous essays on Medjugorje that nearly everyone there believes. As it is an isolated area, this belief quickly forms the spirit of the area, and anyone susceptible to human influence – and that is most of us - would feel the change in thought, and in possibilities.
A skeptical friend of mine put it this way, when I left the door a little bit ajar as to the depth of my belief: “It’s as if, if enough people believe, they change reality.” That in itself is a miracle - that we can change reality by group thought - and I do believe that is true to an extent. What is it that Jesus said? That wherever two or more pray in my name, there I will be – and there you will be answered? But that is not always the case, by a long shot. The change in thought has to be total, beyond even rational thought, and in that, I believe that the change must be based on something that is “real” in that other realm that I call the spiritual. The trick, then, is believing in both the spiritual realm, as well as in a legitimate representation from that realm.
Really, the latter part should be easy: after two thousand years, one would think that the spiritual athletes of the West (the saints) would have determined if Christianity and Catholicism were genuine or not – and they have long decided that they decidedly are. But the former part, believing in the spiritual realm itself, should be easy as well. It is not really even a matter of “belief,” because evidence of a deeper reality is all about us and inescapable for anyone who thinks about it. Therefore the two coming together in our minds should be easy. The trouble is, many refuse to really think about this whole religious/spiritual thing. It is too scary because it is not under our control. There is also that whiff of sulfur that we get from Catholicism – that is, the notion that we pay a penalty for wrong thought and behavior. Who wants that?
For those who want to believe, then, the greatest obstacle is the group - think element. This is a secular society. I may go to church and read scripture and pray every day, but that will not be on the nightly news, nor what people are talking about at the supermarket or the gym. And that is the real miracle of Medjugorje – not a vision from the Mother of God, but rather that the visions have brought so many together to believe that they DO believe – so much so that miracles can, and do, happen. Our old priest knew; whoever or whatever was singing on the hill knew; and then I knew.
But few here know, and soon, I fear, I will not either. I will question, I will reformulate, I will speculate – in short, I will desecrate. I will try not to. But how much harder is it when “I am not here?” The one who speaks this is always here, of course, – the Bible tells us so. But only in spirit. Already these ideas are becoming so remote…perhaps they are only allegories, or worse, tales from a fantasy world made by and for a defeated people?
It has all become so easy to be normal again. Yes, I have been changed by Medjugorje, my faith strengthened, my sense of awe and hope increased, but for how long? Time will tell – not of the truth of Medjugorje, but of my own character. And this world, this place apart from the land of miracles, is the test, as it always has been for me and for all of us.
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