Posted by
Anthony on Wednesday, July 29, 2009 12:03:37 PM
Sadly enough, another scandal regarding a priest unfaithful to his vows has hit the media. His involvement with the visionaries of Bosnia has cast a shadow over the whole phenomenon. Some reports now suggest that he contrived the whole affair, and that the people of Medjugorje used the whole thing for profit. To these charges and the disciplinary actions of the Church, I can say nothing. I can only ponder these events against my own experience over twenty years ago. If you are aware of other accounts of recent events, please let me know. Up to now, my sources for this story are:
http://tiny.cc/dDmdt
My visit there in Easter 1986 was a beautiful experience for many reasons, not the least of which was the witness of the Catholics of that little small town. We stayed in the farmhouse of Nedo and his family. Heart warming meals were prepared on a wood burning stove. We considered ourselves lucky because we had indoor plumbing - not all the members of our group had this luxury. It was about a mile to the village itself and walking in that countryside was beautiful. Old Croatian peasants could be seen tending small flocks of sheep. Tiny little fields of tabocco and other cash crops were tucked in around the houses. If they were Christian, people greeted one another with "Thanks be to Jesus and Mary," and if communist, "Good Day."
What was most memorable for me was the faith of the peasants. Here we were in a poor communist country with none of the conveniences of our own and the little parish Church was packed for the whole Easter Triduum. It was not simply pilgrms who filled the little church, but the locals. Weather beaten faces and fierce eyes of determination: these were men and women who knew how to endure persecution, for whom the cost of discipleship was deeply felt. They were watched and spied on by a government that did nto respect their way of life or family values. But they did not despair. Like the generations in that little valley had done before them, they turned to God. Some walked for miles everyday to participate in the liturgies of Holy Week. Most of them came from families where the fathers and older brothers had to be gone months at a time to work in factories in Russia or Eastern Germany. Yet for the days before Easter it seemed like many of those fathers and brothers were able to make it back to pray with their families. Nedo was one of these. After the services, some of which would last into the night, most everyone would walk back to their houses. I do not remember very many cars.
One of my favorite memories was gathering illegally in the basement of a farm house with some members of their local youth group. I was with a group of students from Franciscan University of Steubenville. They liked the worship music we sang and so we quietly prayed together. Just before we were to depart, they said they wanted to sing one more song. With tears in their eyes, they softly intoned the Battle Hymn of the Republic, in their own language. Any lingering fear of the authorities gave way to a deep sense of courage as we joined together with them "Glory, Glory, Halleluia!"
That apocalyptic song which roused the defenders of our own Republic at a dark time in our history joined us together for a few moments strengthening our bonds of friendship and unity of faith. It was before the fall of communism that would allow them to meet together freely to pray. This was before the civil war that would rock their country. I do not know whether very many of those young people we prayed with are still alive. But I do know their witness and the witness of their parents strengthened me and helped me to understand the hope which faith in God can give.