Fr. Roger J. Landry
The Anchor
Putting Into the Deep
November 7, 2008
One of the most enjoyable and exhausting pilgrimages of my life began on Christmas night during my first year as a seminarian in Rome. With classmates from Illinois and Oklahoma, as well as one from the womb — my identical twin, Scot, who was a seminarian with me overseas — we flew to Paris and began our ambitious adventure to visit all, or nearly all, of the sacred spots in France.
On December 26, we “did” Paris. We visited Notre Dame Cathedral, the famous sanctuary of Sacré Coeur on Montmartre, the Shrine of the Miraculous Medal with its tombs of SS. Louise de Marillac and Catherine Labouré, and the Church where St. Vincent de Paul was buried. We went to the Louvre and the Eiffel tower. We even had the chance to visit the Church of St. Germain L’Auxerrois, where there is a chapel that prior to the revolution housed the remains of the most famous of the four St. Landry’s, who was bishop of Paris in the middle of the 600s. We collapsed at the end of the day, but we were just getting warmed up.
The following day we picked up a brand new rental car and drove to the world famous Cathedral in Chartres, where he marveled at its beautiful stained glass windows. We headed next to the Rouen and visited various sites associated with St. Joan of Arc. Finally we proceeded to Lisieux and prayed at many of the places associated with the Little Flower. We stayed in a Catholic mental institution and slept on hospital beds. The price was right. 182 miles.
After praying in Lisieux the next morning, we drove to the beautiful quasi-island monastery of Mt. St. Michel, then to Solemnes, a monastery famous for its Gregorian chant. From there we made our way to Tours, visited the ruins of the once tremendous cathedral built over St. Martin’s tomb that was destroyed during the French revolution and prayed before St. Martin’s relics. This third day added 249 miles to the odometer.
The following morning we drove to Poitiers to pray over the tomb of St. Hilary. Then we got more adventurous, left the main roads and traveled through treacherous mountain roads to visit the famous medieval shrine of Rocamadour. During the middle ages, this was the fourth greatest pilgrimage spot in Christendom, after Rome, Santiago de Compostela (where St. James the Greater is buried in Spain), and the Holy Land. It supposedly holds the relics St. Amadour, which legend said was the husband of the St. Veronica who wiped the face of Jesus. They supposedly moved here during the diaspora and while he was here, he allegedly sculpted a miraculous image of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The isolated sanctuary with a dubious foundation eventually was abandoned after the French Revolution, but it bore witness to the faith of millions who hiked there. After patting ourselves on the back for being among the few American seminarians alive to have made the perilous trek to such an historic but deserted spot, we drove through the mountains and arrived at Lourdes, where we indulged ourselves by spending a whole day. 297 miles.
After a great day of prayer and a little rest in Lourdes, we embarked on the most ambitious day of our pilgrimage. We drove to the exquisitely-preserved medieval city of Carcassone, where we were fascinated by the moats, drawbridges, crenellated walls and more. Then we move to Avignon, the seat of the papacy from 1308-1378, where we saw what only previously we could only imagine. After visiting the tiny Church of the Popes as well as museums of the Avignon years of the papacy, we concluded that the Popes made the right call in returning to Rome! We journeyed Lyons, where we crashed, after 495 miles of driving, at the majestic and huge Grand Seminaire.
By this point, you’re probably getting tired just reading this. Imagine how we felt! But Scot and I were 25, Pete and Steve were 22, and we were grateful that at least we were pilgrims in the age of the automobile!
The following morning we went to see the tomb of the famous Saint Ireneus, only to be tremendously disappointed that this giant in the history of the Church, the first real theologian who heroically battled to preserve the faith against so many heresies, had the tiniest of churches built over his sepulcher. On a cold day that Church was even colder, totally empty and unkempt. We prayed there for the grace to be good and bold theologians. We then visited the beautiful Basilica of Notre Dame de Fourvières overlooking the city of Lyons and headed, with great expectation, on the 25 mile journey north to Ars, the city made famous by the patron saint of parish priests, St. John Marie Vianney.
It was New Year’s Eve and the village was almost totally empty. All the stores, including places to eat, were closed, but thankfully the Church in Ars and the old rectory were open for us to pray. After several hours of praying, we were voraciously hungry, so I asked one of the nuns who was praying the Church where starving seminarians might find some boiled potatoes — a reference to the Curé D’Ars famous staple — on New Year’s Day. She was Franciscan and she told me that she could beg her mother superior to allow us to come to eat with them at their celebration in honor of our Lady later that afternoon. La mère supérieure gracefully consented. We thought it would be a small affair. Actually that’s where all the folks in the town were hiding. We were treated, frankly, as royalty, and not just in terms of their hospitality: the meal began with caviar and got better from there. I’ve been back to Ars several times!
The following day we drove from Ars up until the French Alps to Annecy, the city made famous by the great St. Francis de Sales, where we prayed for wisdom and prudence at his tomb. Then through a steady snowfall, we crossed the border into Geneva and visited the Cathedral St. Francis was never able to occupy. Next we traveled to see the ruins of the Church in Cluny that once was the largest Church in the world. Finally we sped to Paray-le-Monial, where St. Margaret Mary Alacoque received the revelations of Jesus Sacred Heart. After 359 miles on the road, including many through the mountains, we heard Jesus’ words, “Come to me, all you who are weary… and I will refresh you” in a new light.
The next day we journeyed to Nevers to pray at the tomb of St. Bernadette, the incorrupt Lourdes visionary who appears merely to be sleeping. Then we headed to the great Cathedral of Orleans and finally back to Paris. 246 miles somehow seemed short.
On our last day we made our way north to France’s most beautiful Cathedral in Amiens, then southeast to another spectactular one in Reims and finally to Charles de Gaulle airport for the flight back to Rome. 272 miles.
I still remember the reaction — a startled “incroyable!” — of the young woman at the airport rental car agency when she read the odometer and realized that we had put on 2,125 miles the past nine days. She asked where we had gone. We retraced for her the counter-clockwise circle we had done of her big, beautiful country. She was intrigued by many of the destinations. Taking us to be American soldiers on a leave — a common occurrence whenever fit young seminarians travel — she wondered why we chose those places. That’s when we were able to witness to her that we were soldiers in another army visiting the tombs of many of our Church militant’s greatest heroes.
On Tuesday, we’ll celebrate the feast of one of those we visited, St. Martin of Tours, who made the transition from a soldier for Caesar to a soldier for Christ — and was quite a traveler himself. I’ll write about him next week.