To France and Back: an unexpected journey

Our Lady of Lourdes Basilica is one of the locations staff writer Emily Woodham visited during her recent trip to Europe. (ICR photo/Emily Woodham)

By Emily Woodham

Staff Writer

I admit I wanted to sleep late on my last morning in France, contemplating making a lazy exit from the City of Light after 11 days of travel.

I thought of the book, The Hobbit, how Bilbo rested in Rivendell before going back to the Shire, and that maybe I should just sleep as much as I could before my journey home. But I had an important appointment for later that morning that I did not want to miss.

I had planned to embark on a shortened version of the Camino de Santiago in Spain since last February. I bought the tickets and made reservations. For months, I prayed a rolling novena to St. James, the patron saint of pilgrims, especially for the Camino. My 18-year-old son and I left Boise on Wednesday, Sept. 17 with a very well-planned itinerary. We were supposed to take a mere 100-kilometer trek from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela. Our plan was to make it in time for Mass at the cathedral in Santiago on Sept. 25 and then take a plane to Paris for two days of sightseeing.

But that’s not what happened.

When we landed in Paris on the morning of Sept. 18, our plane arrived 30 minutes late, and we missed our connecting flight to Madrid. It took just 30 minutes to create a domino effect on all our other plans. We sighed a prayer to Mother Mary, Seat of Wisdom.

If we continued on to Spain, we’d be winging it because all our reservations now had to change. Or we could wing it in France. As tired as we were, we chose to forgo another plane ride and stick it out among the French.

The saints say pilgrimages give you a new perspective on life. In the ups and downs of the journey, the twists and turns, getting lost, being found and all that lies in between, pilgrimages give us a fresh picture of our journey from birth to death and to the life to come. It’s normal on pilgrimages to encounter the unexpected, to get lost, and for many, even to get sick.

My son became sick and had to go back to the States only two days after we arrived. So, I went against the sound advice never to travel alone.

“Always take a friend with you,” I’ve told my children. “Just like in The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings, you need a companion for your adventures!”

A view of the alter inside the Basilica of St. Theresa of Lisieux. Lisieux is a small city in the region of Normandy in northern France. (ICR photo/Emily Woodham)

However, at one point, Frodo and Sam were separated and each had to journey alone. Bilbo also became separated from his party and had to bravely go where no one else could. There are lessons for us when we walk alone that we could not otherwise learn. To be sure, we are made for communion, but to be alone for parts of our journey with just the Lord reminds us that he alone is God. This builds our confidence and trust; it builds our courage to fulfill the mission entrusted to us.

I’m sure I will never hear the end of it from my kids, but I decided to make Jesus, Mary and the saints my only companions as I traveled in Paris, Lourdes, Rouen, Lisieux and Amiens, by foot and train, without a plan. Thankfully, on my unexpected journey, I never met an orc.

During my first days in Paris, I attended Mass at the Chapel of the Miraculous Medal, where St. Louise de Marillac and St. Catherine Laboure are interred (two of my favorite saints). I went to Mass at St. Sulpice and visited St. Etienne-du-Mont (St. Stephen’s of the Mount), which has St. Genevieve’s tomb (another favorite saint). I stumbled upon St. Severin’s Church. I attended Mass at Notre Dame and heard the newly restored bells ring out beautifully.

Despite all these wonderful, holy sites, while on the train to Lourdes on Sunday, Sept. 21, I felt a bit heavy. I was thankful to be in France and to be on my way to the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes, a place I had longed to visit since I was a little girl. Yet still, I wondered if I had truly done the right thing in choosing to stay in France.

All the saints say to flee from doubt and discouragement. However, I kept wondering if I was being foolish and setting myself up for something more akin to Mordor than to Rivendell. I went to the grotto, where Bernadette saw Our Lady, but my heart still struggled with a lack of confidence in my decisions. I prayed for direction and encouragement.

The next morning, I went to daily Mass at the Sanctuary. To my surprise, as I stepped into the line for Communion, Beth Ann Kavanaugh, a parishioner of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist, also stepped in line from the pew opposite mine. We immediately hugged each other.

The Grotto at Lourdes — officially called the Grotto of Massabielle — is the small cave in Lourdes, France, where St. Bernadette Soubirous reported 18 apparitions of the Virgin Mary in 1858. (ICR photo/Emily Woodham)

We were overjoyed at our providential meeting. She was in Lourdes with her husband, Cole, to volunteer for two weeks. She was supposed to be working that morning, but the Religious Sister in charge told her to take the day off. Unsure of what she should do, she decided to attend Mass. Of course, I wasn’t supposed to be in Lourdes at all, let alone Mass at the Sanctuary. Seeing her and having lunch with her and Cole was just the encouragement I needed, that the Lord had my every step in his loving hands.

I went to Confession that afternoon, and all the worry and doubt were lifted.

From Lourdes, I took the train to Rouen. I visited the Church of St. Joan of Arc and the site where she was martyred, followed by Mass at the Cathedral of Rouen. I took a day trip to Lisieux and marveled at the thought that I was walking where St. Thérèse had walked. I went to her house, her parish church (St. Peter’s Cathedral), and the basilica. Then, finally, I went to Carmel and visited her at her tomb.

I visited the cathedral in Amiens, the largest and best-preserved Gothic cathedral in France—its statues and art survived the demolition and defacing of churches during the French Revolution. I went to the cathedral specifically to see the tomb of St. Honoré, patron saint of bakers, a saint I have loved long before I became Catholic. I could have spent hours more at the cathedral learning about all their relics and art. They even have a relic of St. John the Baptist!

All the churches and relics served as a constant reminder of the importance of perseverance, especially in the little things of life. It was striking to see two churches of nearly the same age in the same city, yet one was well-maintained and looked gorgeous, despite the centuries, while the other was neglected and in disrepair. The contrast was like a parable of the importance of where we put our time, treasure and talent. It matters that we are prudent; it matters that we persevere. If we don’t take care of the little things, we will end up with big problems.

I returned to Paris on Thursday, Sept. 25, the one thing I had in my original plans from the beginning of the year.

I visited the Basilica of Our Lady of Victory and the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Montmartre, and so many churches in between. With stories of saints on my mind, I walked for miles each day, praying, lighting candles and giving alms. I thought of the billions of faithful throughout time, from the first disciples of Jesus to the present day, and how for two millennia we have all found comfort in sauntering through countryside and cities to venerate relics, light candles and pray. However, there are so many churches in France, so many saints’ tombs I didn’t have nearly enough time to visit.

Inside the Church of the Miraculous Medal in Paris, France. (ICR photo/Emily Woodham)

The night before my last day, I wondered how to spend my time. I had not visited any museums or secular historic sites. I walked past them all to follow my heart to altars and stained glass. And then I remembered that I wanted to see St. Vincent de Paul. I looked up his chapel online, and it was ablaze with an announcement for a big Mass to celebrate his feast day. I had forgotten that his feast day was Sept. 27!

This was all the more momentous because they were celebrating the 400th anniversary of his founding of the Congregation of the Mission (the Vincentians).

All my ideas for other things to do during my last day in Paris vanished. I knew I had a divine appointment with yet another wonderful saint.

When, at last, I knelt down at his tomb and was face to face with St. Vincent de Paul (his body is entombed in wax), I had nothing but inexplicable joy. I arrived at the chapel early and was able to be all alone with him in the special alcove above the altar. As I looked into his face, I felt like all of time slipped away. At each sacrifice of the Holy Mass is a glimpse into eternity, and I had that same sense of the eternal as I looked at him. Then it struck me once again the importance of perseverance and how it is made possible with love.

All the saints’ lives are marked by love. Their love is not a messy, “sloppy agape” love. Their love is not a disordered love that makes idols out of people or ideologies; their love is not lazy nor scrupulous; their love was marked by courage and strength; their love was heroic.

If love is, as St. Thomas Aquinas said, to will the good of the other for the sake of the other, then it is far deeper than making people happy, and it’s far broader than any political or social agenda. After all, our true home, the ultimate end of our pilgrimage, is nothing less than heaven.

Life is an unexpected journey. May we all have the grace to persevere to the end with heroic love and courage.