It
was early morning, a gray dawn, All Saints Day 2008. Poland closes on All
Saints Day, nothing but the churches are open on this festival celebration.
Even the Pilgrims Hostel across from Jasna Gora Shrine where I spent a silent
simple night is not serving meals. The vending machines are locked up behind gates.
On
this misty November morning, the streets are empty. It is not tourist season,
so the only congregants at the masses today are locals or extremely devoted
pilgrims. As I approached the shrine, I heard a distant silvery voice chanting
a solitary hymn in Latin. I followed the haunting melody through the front
entrance and interior of the pink and white baroque cathedral of the main
sanctuary. As I walked by numerous chapels dedicated to the victims of the
Holocaust, The Solidarity Movement and various saints, the voice became louder.
It was as if an Angel was beckoning me on with her ethereal melody. As I wandered
deeper into the Shrine, I entered the Chapel of the Black Madonna, and found
the source of the song. Mass had started and there was a young nun singing the
liturgy. The priest was from Italy, and he was conducting the early morning
Italian Mass to about seven people. This mass would be immediately followed by
Masses throughout the day in other languages, as announced by the flashing bill
board in front of the Shrine.
As I
sat in the chairs before the Altar and the Image that has sustained and inspired
countless souls for the last one and a half millenia, I started to weep
silently from the utter depth of my being. Tears flowed as never before, as if
I had been holding them in for decades. Tears for myself, for others, for our
world streamed from my eyes, my heart felt as if it would break in two. I
sensed all of the sorrows that had been brought to this room, all the desperate
hopes.
The
ancient scarred dark face peered out from behind her golden frame. The Icon did
not seem of this Earth. It was as if this image was a window between the
worlds, as if I was looking into the abyss of the cosmos. The Madonna’s
features were barely discernable within her adornments, but I felt her
penetrating stare. I felt all the failures of humanity swirling about, all the
violence, rape, wars, fears, sickness, pollution, oppression, and economic
injustice. What pleas had this image heard? No wonder she looked so sad.
Time
stood still for me, as I felt the bittersweet emotion of grief and release
during the responses and communion. Since it was early and there were not the
usual throngs of pilgrims, I had the opportunity to sit through several
subsequent Masses in various languages. During the Pilgrim season, the faithful
are quickly hurried out after each service with efficient, cheerful precision
by the blue coated ushers. It was as if I was having private multi-lingual
masses for my own personal benefit, and I could stay as long as I liked in the
front chapel, able to gaze uninterrupted on this ancient looking icon of the
Jasna Gora shrine.
As
my tears stopped, I wondered, how did I get here? How did we all as humans get
to this particular point in history and where were we going? The biggest riddle
ruminating in my mind as I sat for hours in front of the altar was; who or what
was the Black Madonna I had been researching and writing about, crossing oceans
and continents to witness, for these many years? The answers that came to me
were complex, vast and so incredibly beautiful, they restarted my tears. Only
this time they were tears of gratitude. Gratitude for the many gifts we humans
receive, in spite of our numerous shortcomings, failures and distractions. I
felt gratitude for what the Black Madonna tells us about where we come from,
where we are now and where we can go, if only we wake up to the glory of our
potential. It was a great day indeed, in this small chapel, under this
incredible Icon of hope and endurance. It was a great All Saints Day in Czestochowa,
2008.
No comments:
Post a Comment