“Hail Mary, holy queen of heaven,” shouted a voice through the tunnel.
The lights of the candles shone on the walls like the memories of a distant past. One of the highlights of a pilgrimage occurred when the astral body moved into the ethereal body. Lights flooded the tunnel. It was as if Mary was walking through light with open arms embracing the pilgrims before they entered the temple of her son. Her statue was surrounded by candles burning like the stars in the night. The statue was crowded by women holding crosses in their hands and praying. Praying and meditating and waiting to hear from God, seeking a path showing the way to the resolution of a problem, asking the healing of a sick person. Some pilgrims closed their eyes trying to catch the visions.
The shrine of Mary marked the end of the pilgrimage. The spiritual experience emerging in the heart was flowing in the memory of the soul carrying all the prayers to heaven like angels. The shrine was a sea of wisdom.
The sunshine was shining in Steve’s eyes when he left the grotto. A statue of Mary stood in the park outside of the church. The statue was decorated with flowers wearing a garment made by the women in the villages. Her dress was changed every day. She wore a dress of blue satin with stars and the moon at night.
The Weeping Madonna
The smell of herbs and leather followed Steve on the way to the market. It reminded him of the monastery of Saint Peter and Brother Leo’s herb garden. Steve closed his eyes, indulging in the scent of all the different herbs. The savour of rosemary reminded him of the bread of the monastery. His eyes were all over the place and he was not watching where he was going. He bumped into a young man about his age.
“Sorry,” said Steve to the pilgrim looking briefly at the young man he had never seen before.
“What is your name?”
“I am Antony. I used to live in a monastery but the monastery felt like a prison after a while. I left the walls behind and travelled through Europe to visit the holy shrines,” said Antony who had big brown eyes and dark hair.
“How do you like Mount Mary?” asked Steve. He was almost a head taller than Antony.
“It is one of my favorite pilgrimage sites. I visit Mount Mary at least once a year.”
“Which is your favorite place of pilgrimage?” asked Steve curiously ignoring all the noise of the market. He had heard of all the holy sites scattered all over Europe but had never been there.
“It depends. The place is not important. It is about the spiritual experience. You can have amazing encounters with God at little sites.” Antony had been on more than a hundred pilgrimages in his young life.
“Where have you been before arriving at Mount Mary?”
“I have travelled from Milan all the way over the mountains. My next destination is Paris. I am following the spirit of Mary and the Archangel Michael invigorating the city,” said Anthony.
Steve could feel a mystical light rising in his heart; the light of spiritual adventures.
After a pause Antony said:
“I receive visions of Jesus Christ every day. I feel as if I am living in heaven. I am meditating on the story of the Good Samaritan at the moment.”
“Are you a soul painter?” asked Steve becoming ever more curious.
“Yes I am. I have painted many paintings in churches and monasteries in Rome, Colonia, Milan and Paris. I help people to find their inner self. I follow the Holy Spirit like children pursue butterflies. You cannot put a butterfly under captivity or he will die. The same is true for the Holy Spirit flying from one village to another.” Antony took his bag from his shoulder.
“Would you like to come to Saint Peter? We need soul painters to enrich our community,” said Steve watching as Anthony unpacked a piece of bread and cheese.
“Would you like to have a bit? I am glad to share my meal with you.” Antony cut a slice of bread.
“No thank you. I am not hungry.” Steve stood over Antony who sat on a stone eating his dinner.
“I would like to come to Saint Peter. But first I have to see my friend Julian,” said Antony, chewing the rye bread
“Is Julian from Atlantis here?” asked Steve surprised.
“Yes, he is. He told me that he would celebrate Annunciation at Mount Mary when I saw him on the Mountain of Jesus a few weeks ago. I have walked with him across half Europe,” said Antony rising from the rock.
“I shall tell him when I find him. I will see you after the evening mass,” Antony and disappeared in the stream of pilgrims walking up to the monastery.
Steve stood in front of the store admiring all the beautiful wedding costumes. The best tailors from near and far were employed at Mount Mary to produce the world’s finest wedding dresses. Steve thought about Jack, who had bought his wedding dress for his fiancée here. How beautiful Catherine would look in these dresses. All of a sudden he felt a tap on his right shoulder. He was frightened for a moment but then recognized Benedict standing behind him.
Benedict had observed Steve gazing at the beautiful wedding robes.
“Which is your favorite cloth?” asked Brother Benedict putting his right hand on the shoulder of his friend.
“This one here,” said Steve pointing at a white dress with colorful flowers sewed in.
“That is my favorite too,” said Brother Benedict. He could not keep his eyes of the wedding dress.
“Come in. I buy it for you Steve.” Benedict opened the shop door.
“You cannot do that,” said Steve.
“Yes I can, Steve. I want Catherine to wear this dress. She is the most beautiful girl in Saint Peter. She deserves a special garment,” said Brother Benedict.
The tailor, a short man with a dark moustache, lifted the dress from the shopping window.
Benedict took a leather purse out of his pocket and paid the shopkeeper.
“This dress will fit her body like wax,” said Brother Benedict as they marched up the hill accompanied by the bells of the church of Saint May inviting the pilgrims to the evening mass.
They hide the dress in the wagon as they did not want Catherine to see it. The wagon was already loaded with all sorts of marvelous goods. The abbot had requested incense and myrrh.
They walked towards the statue of Mary in the park in front of the church where a big crowd gathered. When the pilgrims saw Benedict in his black robe the stranger, who was at the youth hostel the night before, came to him and said:
“See these pagans here! They are kneeling in front of Mary mumbling funny words.”
Brother Benedict went towards the statue. Three ladies were kneeling in front of Mary. The old women looked up to Brother Benedict waiting for a punishment.
“We do not mean any harm to any of you. Our villages have been looted. Our sons have been killed. We have prayed for peace for many generations to our goddess Helvetia. We all prayed for help. When Jesus Christ was born, we knew it was him, we were praying for,“ said one of the ladies.
Her long gray hair fell to her shoulders.
“What do you accuse these ladies of? Without their prayers Jesus Christ would not have been born. These ladies knew Jesus Christ before you knew him,” said Benedict and looked angrily at the accuser.
“Who wants to throw the first stone? At the beginning was the word. Jesus Christ is the word. He is older than Abraham. Prophets predicted his coming. Stars signaled his birth. John the Baptist knew that he was going to become the Messiah. The three wise men from the East knew about him and followed the Morning Star to Bethlehem. These ladies and many other mothers in this world anticipated the coming of the Redeemer.”
They could hear the bells of Saint Mary church ringing to invite the pilgrims to another ceremony.
“Let us go to the chapel and worship Jesus Christ. And let us celebrate and enjoy our friendship,” said Brother Benedict speeding up the small path to the church of Saint Mary.
Abraham, the old priest of Saint Mary stood behind the altar. The white clothes of his Robe hung down like the wings of an old eagle t
ired from the flights over the mountains.
“Welcome to all pilgrims who came in great numbers to Mount Mary today. Some of you were walking through darkness and found light.
“Friends, I did not know what to preach when I woke up yesterday early in the morning. I felt like in the old days when I was conducting the ceremony at the cathedral. I asked God to give me an inspiration which he eventually did. I was so excited. Whilst I was cleaning the chapel I was thinking how to weave my ideas in a beautiful robe. Green shots grew and my ideas became strong like an oak tree growing leaves in spring.
“By the time I had framed my thoughts I had also finished cleaning. But when I looked behind me, the chapel was dirtier than before I started. I was looking around me to find the person messing up the place. But there was nobody around to blame. Not even a child. I closed my eyes to detect any ghosts which might have come into the church. But
I was only aware of the Holy Ghost. Then I looked down on my feet and saw my dirty sandals which had caused the mess on the floor. I cleaned the mess. I mopped the floors again. Dirt was still pouring out of my sandals. I washed my sandals time and time again but dirt was still dripping out of them. I was angry when I realized that all the cleaning had been in vain.
“Ask and you shall receive, was the spontaneous word which came to my mind,” said the priest,” and I asked:
“Lord help me!”
“John chapter 16,” said Brother Thomas to Brother Benedict who sat next to him on the church bench.
The priest continued.
“I saw Jesus and his disciples sitting at the table at the last supper. Jesus was washing the feet of his disciples.”
“John 13,” said Brother Thomas.
“When God wants to tell me something he sends me stories of the Bible. I can see the pictures but the interpretation is not always easy. Thank you Jesus! I took my shoes off and looked at my feet. They were as dirty as the path to the shrine of Mary on a Monday morning after the coronation of our Lady. If shoes could talk! The shoes of a pilgrim would not stop telling…,” said Timothy and looked around him as if he had lost something. After a pause he said:
“Now I cannot remember what I initially wanted to tell you. Yes, the brothers of the monastery asked me to tell the pilgrims to take their shoes off before entering the dormitory.”
After a little pause he added.
“Now I know what I wanted to say. I cleaned my feet and started mopping the floors all over again saying thank to the Lord for the message. I was quite satisfied as I was progressing fast. But to my surprise I had forgotten the ceremony which had been beautifully woven into my mind before. I went to the abbot of Saint Mary’s monastery and told him that I would not know what to preach. The abbot said that there was nothing to preach. There had been enough preaching but nothing has ever changed,” said the old man raising his hand in the air.
“By their fruit you will recognize them!” he said.
“Mathew,” said Brother Thomas.
“We invited some monks from Saint Mary monastery and started crafting shoes. I was surprised at the outcome. The shoes were as solid as an elephant’s foot and as comfortable as a bear paw. Not these cheap shoes you get in the valleys. They are so useless. You cannot walk over a culm without breaking them. We have been blessed recently with leather we received in exchange for our wedding dresses. We are now in a position to give every pilgrim a pair of these sandals for free. Every pilgrim who comes to Mount Mary will receive a new pair of shoes today,” said Timothy.
“It’s a miracle, a miracle!” said a pilgrim who came barefoot to Mount Mary.
“Yes. It is a miracle indeed. God wants to bless us for our diligent work. But my dear pilgrims please do not start worshiping your sandals.
“I still remember the wagon getting out of control and rolling down Mount Mary causing widespread horror and panic in the valley. Some farmers collected water from the mountain well at Mount Mary’s to bath their cows. They had figured out that the holy water on Mount Mary would increase the milk production of their cows. It took them one week to take the wagon down from the mountains filled with water. Two horses died of exhaustion on the way to the valley. Just before they arrived at the village, they lost control and the wagon rolled down the steep slope and smashed into the village walls leaving a trail of devastation behind. Some of you will ask now, what is the moral of the story? There is no moral in this story but a lot of muscles. These farmers learnt how to work together. They became the most ferocious fighters in the spring carnival football tournament. The farmers defended Saint Andrew and nobody could touch him. Not even Brother George found a way to break into the defense.
“I do not suggest cutting any pine trees on Mount Mary either. I know that many people consider the wood as holy. We had an incident when some young men cut trees around the source of his river at midnight. They transported the wood to the valley. The young men did a tremendously good job and God knows how they managed to bring the massive logs down from the monastery. Close to their village they became a little bit boisterous and lost control over their cargo just above their village. The logs rumbled down the mountain. We could hear the rumbling noise in Mount Mary and thought an earthquake had erupted. Somebody even suggested that the noise came from an avalanche. Luckily the logs did not roll into the village of Saint Andrew. The damage would have been extraordinary. You always have to see the positive in the negative not to get depressed in life. The concerted action of these men strengthened the team spirit and formed one of the best attacking squad in the history of village football. Their endeavor built strength and stamina into the team forming a team able to win against anyone,” said the old priest.
The big wooden gate opened and a young man shouted:
“The Madonna is crying!”
A sigh of excitement went through the congregation. The Madonna was believed to react to natural catastrophes. She only wept when something very bad happened. People moved towards the wooden door of Saint Mary’s church. Steve followed Brother Benedict into the shrine. Hundreds of pilgrims were leaving the caves in panic. Brother Benedict stepped into the shrine. He could see the Madonna holding Jesus Christ in her arms. Tears were rolling over her white face.
“A miracle,” exclaimed a pilgrim.
Another pilgrim started praying.
Brother George Slays the Dragon
A black cloud was rushing over the walls of the cave. The day turned into night. People looked frightened to the windows. Screams came from outside. People panicked and everybody wanted to leave the shrine at once.
Brother Benedict had to reassure the pilgrims to prevent a stampede. He stood on a chair saying.
“Calm down. There is nothing to worry about. Everything is under control.”
But the people would not listen. Everybody wanted to leave the caves as quickly as possible.
A monk opened a side door leading into the garden where another statue of the queen of heaven stood. She was wearing a crown with twelve stars on her head and the moon was under her feet.
Black shadows moved over the mountains in the north towards Mount Mary. The sun was covered in thick clouds of soot hanging like lead over the mountains suffocating the environment. Nature was dying.
A terrifying noise came from the distance. The pilgrims looked around to find the source of the noise but could not see anything disturbing apart from the black clouds. Then the sky opened widely. A dragon appeared on the horizon spitting fire and ashes on Saint Mary.
“The woman and dragon,” said Brother Benedict watching the spectacle in the sky.
“The dragon turned towards the woman because it wanted to kill her child as soon as it was born.”
“The boy was snatched away. He was taken to God and placed on his throne,” said Brother Thomas.
“And the woman ran into the desert to a place God had prepared for her,” said Brother Benedict.
The dragon charged down from the sky right on the statue of Mar
y with the crown of twelve stars. The air was saturated with the smell of burnt oil. Everybody was running around in panic.
A red sign appeared in the distance charging towards the monastery of Saint Mary rapidly.
A guard standing on the tower in the monastery shouted.
“The red riders of the apocalypse are approaching. They bring pestilence, war, famine and death to the earth. Close the gates of the monastery at once or we will be doomed!”
Brother Thomas fell down on his knees as the gates were shut.
“God have mercy on me,” he muttered looking at the ground.
A monk recognized only one rider holding the flag with a Red Cross in his left hand and the Holy Lance in his right arm.
“Leave the gates open, your fools. It is Brother George with the red cross of Christ,” shouted the monk to his colleagues, who were standing baffled on the wall not knowing what to do. They eventually decided to follow his advice and opened the gate. The mighty wooden door opened like the wings of a huge bird taking off to heaven.
Brother George burst fast like the wind through the gate on his dazzling white horse. He stormed straight towards the dragon that was attacking the queen of heaven. The Holy Lance sat loosely in his right hand. His arm bent backwards whilst Pegasus reared upwards. When the horse descended he threw the lance, Pegasus bent downwards. The vigor of the horse merged with the strength of Brother George’s arm, giving the lance an awesome moment.
The Holy Lance bolted toward the dragon like a falcon toward his prey. It hit the dragon straight in its jaw with the sound of a cracking nutshell. The slain dragon fell to the ground like a huge rock. The earth trembled as if hit by an earthquake and the air was filled with the smell of burning oil.
Brother Thomas eyes were still closed and his head leaned forward to the ground.
“The end of the world has arrived. God have mercy on my poor soul,” he whispered folding his arms over the chest.