Hargausiumei: Medjugorje

We were wide awake when the tolling church bells shattered the morning quiet at 6am. Half an hour later our group of 60 pilgrims was striding through the fields, past the vineyards, loudly declaring the Sorrowful Mysteries. It was beautiful, the early sun bright but cool, the first stallholders setting out baskets of fruit as we strolled by.

Half an hour later, after passing the home of one of the visionaries (Vicka’s, I think), we began our ascent of Apparition Hill. I must confess that G and I felt a little over-dressed. We had followed instructions and were equipped with proper hill trekking boots and two trekking poles each. The majority of our companions were middle aged and elderly Irish men and women, many without sticks, some wearing sneakers, plimsolls or court shoes, a few barefoot. There were even kids, one girl wearing plastic diamante-decorated plastic sandals. They were dressed for an afternoon stroll while we were ready to ascend the Himalayan foothills!

It was incredibly rocky and steep, a few patches of sun-baked mud between the rocks, sharp thorn bushes everywhere else. Our trekking poles were soon put to good use and G soon lent one of her poles to an elderly and overweight lady who was struggling.

Up we climbed, stopping every 50 metres at a plaque illustrating one of the five Joyful Mysteries where we took out our beads and said a decade, led by one of the Irish priests. In 45 minutes or so we had reached the top and veered right to the place where the Virgin Mary allegedly appeared to the visionaries.

It was now marked by a statue of the BVM, a copy of the one outside St James’ Church. For the first 20 years of the apparitions, the location was marked by a wooden cross; the Communist authorities occasionally tore it down but the villagers promptly replaced it. The location has a great view over the valley, fields and vineyards to the village of Medjugorje. Many pilgrims knelt and prayed before the statue of Mary or at a nearby crucifix.

We saw two seriously disabled people being carried up in chair-litters, borne aloft by four men, one at each corner. What a wonderful thing to have such caring and practical friends (I suspect their ancestors did the same and removed part of the thatched roof to lower their friend into the room where the great Healer waited!).

G, who has a talent for lightening burdens, had acquired two gardener’s kneeling pads - one Euro each from a local shop - which made sitting on the rocks more comfortable. (They were also invaluable for placing on the wooden kneelers in St James’ Church – if you plan to visit and have a wonky knee or a tender bottom, please acquire a kneeler and a couple of trekking poles – the latter were useful on the way up, invaluable on the way down.)

After a late gulped breakfast - with a hard-boiled egg takeaway for later - we shot off to 10am English Mass at St James.

In the afternoon we took taxis (5 Euros for a car of four) to Cennanolo, a community for recovering alcoholics and drug addicts that has a large house and workshops on the outskirts of Medjugorje. The place was absolutely swarming with organised tours of visitors. As we arrived a large group of several dozen was leaving and half an hour later another group arrived. Our lot of 60-70 was treated to a lecture by two former addicts, now part of the community...and invited to visit the gift shop. It was not the most meaningful and informative visit to a charity – but one thing sticks in my memory. Joseph was proud of the fact that many of the addicts who had entered the community had transformed their lives to the extent that several had become priests and nuns. ‘You can recognise the nuns’ he said with a smile ‘- they still have tattoos on the neck and arm.’

some of the languages in which Confessions may be said

In the early evening I visited the Confessions area; Medjugorje is well known for encouraging examinations of conscience. There were several priests offering Reconciliation in Croatian, Italian, Polish, German and several other languages, including two English confessors. There number of queuing penitents was about 60-70 with the Italians predominating. I joined a queue of merry Irish pilgrims who were joking about the relative severity of priests they knew. In no time at all I was in the confessional, it was face-to-face with a kneeler separating us, and then I was out again, lighter.