Pilgrim Tales: “Not All Who Wander”

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“The Dean at Tulane thinks I’m the guy who decapitated their statue of the Virgin Mary, and I don’t know how to prove I’m innocent.” — From “Not All Who Wander”

 

“Not All Who Wander” was originally written some 8-10 years ago, and has been reopened and re-shelved countless times over the last decade. At the end of each revision session, I would stare at it and think, Well, this was fun, but I don’t know who would actually publish you. You’re so weird and Catholic. And back to the “shelf” it would go.

Until one time in 2022, I took it back out. I don’t remember why now, probably some submission opportunity that made me wonder if its quirky Catholicness would be welcome. I was sitting at my usual spot at the library. I had reached a writer’s block. I kept staring at the page re-reading the part that described the vandalized Marian statue. It used to be a statue on Loyola’s campus where Char and his friends would trespass in these vandalizing bouts. I, all of a sudden, felt a severe nagging sensation and couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. 

Then the thought came to me: Not that statue.

I thought, What?

Again: Not that statue.

Again and again: Not that statue. 

I felt like it was Mary speaking to me – commanding me – to change the statue. Why would Mary care about what fictional statue I was using in this college-centered bizarre story? 

Unless … unless she doesn’t want the statue to be fictional at all…

I started Googling. And I confess, I don’t remember how long I sat in that chair at the library staring out the window trying to figure out if I had gone insane or if Mary was really telling me to change which statue of her was vandalized in this old short story I had written, but eventually I found it. The Our Lady of Fatima Pilgrimage Statue. The true story of how that statue cried actual human tears in New Orleans. 

And I heard her say, “Yes, this statue.” I thought, Wow! Okay, Mary. This statue.

I don’t remember how many days passed before I actually started working the Our Lady of Fatima statue into the story and tossing the fake Loyola statue out, but one morning I started to feel … nagged … again. I felt I needed to look at all the dates of when this statue had visited New Orleans. So, I did. And I found that it had visited New Orleans the same weekend I did back in the summer of 2021. I thought, Okay, Mary, that’s cool. Thanks. The nagging sensation continued. I started scrolling through pictures from that trip. This picture popped up. Of a statue … an Our Lady of Fatima statue … that I had taken. I thought, No. There’s no way.

Quick back story: when my husband and I go on a trip, we try to incorporate a day where the two of us go on small Catholic

The International Pilgrim Virgin Statue of Our Lady of Fatima on her visit to St. Patrick’s Church, New Orleans, July 2021.

pilgrimages throughout the city that the rest of our travel party might not particularly care about. This was my husband’s first trip to New Orleans. So, he requested to go to the cathedral where his grandparents wed. We had already found several “God winks” about this church that were special to us and our relationship and we thought, Wow, how special that this is the church where they wed. I remember snapping a picture of the Our Lady of Fatima statue thinking how beautifully it was placed on the altar but not remembering any signage or anything indicating why it was on the altar at that time.

When I find the picture, I call the church office. The receptionist answers. I say, “Hi. I have an odd request. Are you particularly busy at the moment?” She gets just as invested as me. She has no idea if that statue in my picture is the same pilgrimage statue but promises to go investigate. She calls back, sounding breathless, “Yes! It’s that pilgrimage statue. It was here on that day thatyou visited!”

I was speechless. How did I end up here? What does it all mean?

As usual with the Lord, His mother, and their humor, I still don’t know what it all means. I just know that I wrote this story, and it’s set in New Orleans, and the statue in the story is real. I’ve seen it on a pilgrimage myself.

I’d like to think Mary was saying, “If you’re going to have someone vandalize a statue of me fictionally, make it count.” Clearly, she’s used this statue to speak to the people of New Orleans before. Beyond that, I don’t know.

The fact that this story ended up perfectly fitting the “fictional short story about a Catholic pilgrimage” niche of this anthology’s theme is beyond me. But, I’m happy to have placed it where it belongs, and I can only hope I did what I was supposed to do in revision. The rest is up to the reader.

If you’d like to read more by Rietta or connect with her, you can visit https://riettaparker.com. 

Read “Not All Who Wander” and other short stories by the Catholic Writers Guild in Pilgrim Tales: a Catholic Writers Guild Short Story Anthology available now on Amazon in print and e-book.

© Copyright 2026 by Rietta Parker.

Feature photo of the French Quarter from pixabay.com

Inset photo by Rietta Parker. Used with Permission.

Just Me and My Walking Stick

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Just Me and My Walking Stick

He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick–no food, no sack, no money in their belts. (Mark 6:8)

For years, I had a dream of walking on the routes of El Camino de Santiago (the Way of St. James), the pilgrim routes throughout Spain that lead to St. James’ burial place in Santiago. I knew there was little chance of that happening, but whenever the topic of the ancient route came up, I always said, “I want to walk that someday.” I never thought it would happen. Then one day …

Two by Two or Three

In 2022, I was planning a pilgrimage to the Holy Land for our parish, and our priest named some other places he wanted to visit. He had always wanted to walk El Camino, and I said I could look at that for 2024, but I was nervous. I honestly didn’t know any logistics about the walk, how long it would reasonably take, or which route would be the best. When I told a friend we were thinking about doing this, she said, “You cannot take a group on El Camino when you’ve never walked it yourself.”

I thought about that. She had a good point. It’s not like the Holy Land or France or Guadalupe, where I could just plan the trip and a guide would usher us from one religious site to another. This was a trek through the mountains, in the elements, walking many miles a day. I needed to know what this was like and if I was physically up to doing it myself.

Over lunch, I mentioned this to my friend, Angie, and she said, “I’ll go with you. Let’s do it.” We sat there, hovering over our phones, coming up with a plan. “There’s one catch,” Angie said, just as we decided to go for it. “If I go without my husband, he’ll be crushed. He’s always wanted to do this.”

So our pilgrimage of two on the Camino became a pilgrimage for three, and I was put in charge of making it happen.

Authority of Unclean Spirits

Fast forward about eighteen months. Chris, Angie, and I boarded a plane for Madrid with very large suitcases and oversized backpacks, ready to take on half the French Route. We had mentally, spiritually, and physically prepared for this trip for over a year. We had the right shoes, the right clothes, the water bladders, hiking socks, walking sticks, tons of snacks, evening wear for every night, supplies for making sandwiches, and everything anyone ever suggested. We were fully prepared.

However, that first night, after getting lost, missing dinner, and ending up at our hotel in the dark after walking almost twenty-five miles, I cried myself to sleep. There wasn’t a bone in my body that didn’t hurt. I already had blisters on my toes. I was physically and mentally drained, and it was only day one! I dreaded waking in the morning and telling Chris and Angie I couldn’t do this. It was too much.

I prayed for strength, courage, and guidance. I gave my pain and fears to the Lord, asking Him to help me do the right thing. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed, and something akin to a miracle took place. When I awoke in the morning, the first thing I did was pray an intentional Rosary, mentioning every person and prayer I’d taken with me. I showered and started packing my stuff, realizing I didn’t hurt. I had Compede for my blisters, and they seemed to be okay. I felt … ready.

Whatever worries I had were gone. I didn’t even think about them. All my despair from the night before evaporated like ether, floating away while I slept. I don’t think I gave a single thought to not continuing that day. Whatever doubts had plagued me a few hours before had been cast out like unclean spirits, and I felt renewed.

 

No Food, No Sack, Only Sandals

Over the course of the next two weeks, we had some amazing adventures. Every day, the world around us was more beautiful than the day before. Around each corner was a magnificent view. We watched a baby cow being born and waited around until he took his first steps. A vintner whose vineyard we were passing through offered us bunches of grapes to take with us (truly the best grapes I’ve had since sneaking them from my grandfather’s vines as a child). The pilgrim Masses each evening were inspiring. The food and wine were amazing. We became friends with Mina and her brother and sister-in-law, and are still in touch today. We met so many amazing people, from college students to pilgrims in their 80s and 90s.

The only thing still not working for us was all our stuff. We didn’t need nearly as many clothes as we thought we would. Guidebooks and extra toiletries made it hard to pack the small keepsakes we were collecting (an acorn from an elderly man who asked us to pray for him, a very small statue of Our Lady of the Oak, a beautiful stone on the path). We weren’t eating the multitude of snacks we brought, and our shoulders ached from the extra trail mix, granola bars, and sandwich fixings we never used.

Each morning, when we started from the hotel, our unused and unwanted items became the breadcrumbs we left behind. I even left my extra pair of hiking shoes when I became too tired of repacking every night and too tired of carrying them all day. I didn’t need them. By that time, I had so many blisters, I had resorted to wearing toe socks and Teva sandals every day. For eight days, I hiked in socks and sandals, not fashionable by any means, but my feet felt much better.

Shaking the Dust

Showering off the sweat and dust each evening became my favorite part of the day. Along with the dirt and dust of the hike, the waters washed away the pain, exhaustion, and any lingering fear or doubt. That time of showering and dressing became sacred for me, and even today, I say an intentional Rosary each time I shower, dress, and get myself ready for the day.

Just as the shower cleansed my body, that pilgrimage cleansed my mind and soul. I found that I actually enjoy a good long walk (which I never thought before). I realized, even in my fifties, I can do hard things. I can find God in the darkest places and hope in moments of despair. I enjoy praying the Rosary again (something I hadn’t done in years because it had stopped having meaning for me).

 

Driving Out Demons

When the man in the Pilgrim’s Office handed me my Compostela, I walked outside and burst into tears. I called my family and could barely speak. That first night, I didn’t think I could go another day. Thirteen days later, I felt like I could walk to the end of the world (still something I’d like to do at some point, but it’s another five days walk to Finisterra).

My body had fought a battle and won. I no longer doubt myself when faced with anything—sickness, pain, uncertainty, fear. I know I can make it through tough times, excruciating pain, or long, winding roads with no end in sight.

In 2024, I led a group of 29 pilgrims on the Portuguese Route. The challenges of leading a group (most of whom I did not know) were much different than walking alongside two dear friends. I still cried at night a time or two, but for different reasons. I found myself questioning why I had done this. But on the last day, I witnessed friends feel what I felt that first time. I saw a young woman and a senior citizen overcome their own fears and doubts to make it to the end. I cheered when the 85-year-old husband and wife completed their walk, inspiring our whole group.

I’m planning a 2027 walk on the English route. It won’t be a big group but a small collection of friends. I’ll be nearing sixty, but I know I can do it. I won’t need much for the journey other than my walking stick. I know the Holy Spirit will provide everything else.

 

Copyright 2026 Amy Schisler

Photos copyright 2026 Amy Schisler, all rights reserved.

Old stone church in the country surrounded by trees.

Pilgrim Tales: Kyrie

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“I had taken the first steps on my pilgrimage, a pilgrimage that was only just beginning…Kyrie eleison.”

The Quick and the Dead

“He will come in glory to judge the living and the dead,” reads the Nicene Creed, or as we used to say, “the quick and the dead.”

The words resonated with me more than usual, following a series of losses over the past couple of years. First, my mother, then my father, and lastly my German Shepherd, Rex, my heart dog, passed away.

The quick and the dead. What could I do with those words? Surely a basis for a story – or a series of stories – lay within that short phrase. As I mulled it over, the “quick” became Jonathan Quick, a bereaved composer, and the “dead” became Meredith de’Ath (spelled like “death” but pronounced “Deeth”), his recently deceased fiancée. 

I have long enjoyed reading and writing ghost stories. So Meredith became a ghost, though not a haunting revenant, but returned by the grace of God to guide the faltering Jonathan to perform various works of mercy and restore him to faith. Hence, the title of the first of what has become a series of stories, “Kyrie”. Lord, have mercy.

Both Jonathan and Meredith are on pilgrimage – a pilgrimage to heaven. Jonathan in this life, Meredith completing her pilgrimage in the next – returning from purgatory, perhaps.

“Kyrie” takes place in England because I am English and enjoy writing stories set in my homeland, sometimes using locations that I have visited as background.

We, too, are on pilgrimage, and “Kyrie” illustrates the unexpected twists and turns our pilgrimages may take and how we might be surprised by the mysterious and unfathomable mercy and grace of God. 

 

Copyright 2026 by Andrew M. Seddon

Edited by Paula V. Babadi

Photo credit: Trek_Jason, Pixabay

Read “Kyrie,” and other short stories by the Catholic Writers Guild in Pilgrim Tales: a Catholic Writers Guild Short Story Anthology, available now on Amazon in print and e-book.

E-book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G5VZ7WV8

Print: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G5WZF1PV

 

The Intermediate Steps

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Editor’s Note: We lost Jane’s December reflection due to website issues — now resolved — but can enjoy once again reading about the inspiration for her story that appears in the Catholic Writers Guild’s first anthology, Pilgrim Tales. 

The Intermediate Steps

How do you send an angel on a pilgrimage?

That was my first thought on reading the subject of the Catholic Writers Guild anthology, and no answer presented itself. I love writing about angels (ten of my books feature angels as main characters) and I would have jumped at the chance to write another one here.

Being pure spirits, angels are understood to move between Point A and Point B without traversing the intermediate space. You’re at 83rd and Park but want to see the ducks at Choate Pond Park? There you are. A friend calls for help? You’re immediately on hand. (Well, not “on hand” if you’re a pure spirit, but I’m human, and, well …)

A pilgrimage for an angel would go something like, “Well, I’m here. Cool.” I wasn’t getting five thousand words out of that.

An angel would, however, have to traverse the intermediate space if he were accompanying someone else who had to, though. So … a guardian angel of a human.

Even so, pilgrimages imply a spiritual journey as well as a physical journey. We accept that angels aren’t perfect (Job 4:18), and since God is mysterious and beyond even an angel’s comprehension, of course an angel would always be delighted to learn more about Him. For a creature who’s existed for thousands of years, though, conditions would have to be extreme to reveal a new aspect of God, or to draw him closer to God in a way he’d never needed to before.

And that’s why I sent my angel to Purgatory.

“Way Stations” begins with a guardian who’s still shaken by his charge’s last hours and the stress of her judgment. She’s saved, but she’s in Purgatory. She’s also “secluded,” meaning she can’t sense her own guardian. The Purgatory angels assure him she’s safe, and he can leave, but he refuses. He’s not leaving her side until she enters Heaven.

Purgatory is a wasteland, and his charge starts walking.

The angel, who up until now was secure in his identity and his job and his work, walks with her. For the first time, he feels useless and stalled out, and it’s in that position that he sees how his charge’s soul begins to respond to the Holy Spirit. It’s not easy.

I say, “But I’m not the one in Purgatory.”

“Look around.” The other angel snickers. “Traveling? Struggling? You most definitely are in Purgatory.”

Of course an angel would never sin, nor want to sin, but I suspect it’s possible to get “stuck” in one way of relating to God. Everything can be “good enough.” Except God isn’t interested in “good enough.” He wants all of us, and sometimes, that may mean taking a journey you never intended, through all the intermediate steps — even for an angel.

© Copyright 2025 by Jane Lebak

Feature photo: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RCk-dg0blH4Z1O0BOv1JSSVEYau71gvYTB2MqOR9Wr0/edit?usp=sharing

Pilgrim Tales: Pilgrimage to L5

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… Lucy and her mother aren’t just Catholic tourists. They’re seeking a new life after the death of Lucy’s father, and Lucy’s mom took them on this pilgrimage for help finding her new way forward. — “Pilgrimage to L5”

 

Churches were boring. And sad.

I’m tired of being bored and sad, she thought, casting her eyes upward. God, couldn’t something exciting happen?

Not everybody thinks pilgrimages are exciting. Eight-year-old Lucy Granger sure didn’t. In Pilgrimage to the L5 Space Station, she gets the chance to go to the home of the founder of the famous Rescue Sisters—St. Gillian of L5—on the anniversary of her sainthood, even. But it’s a lot of listening, looking, and praying, and she’d rather be doing something more exciting.

When the station’s cat leads her to the escape pod, she’s in for more excitement than she expects!

When CWG decided to make an anthology based on pilgrimages, I admit I was a little stumped at first. I’ve been on a couple of pilgrimages myself, but I’m a sci-fi writer. How could I make a pilgrimage in space—and even more, make it exciting in the way people expect sci-fi to be exciting?

I have a standard Catholic SF universe I write in: The Rescue Sisters (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09L59B69G). This is a group of intrepid women religious who do search and rescue operations, run orphanages and hospitals, and work in safety capacities—all in outer space. My husband and I came up with the idea and we have six short stories and two books in the series so far, three of which are for children.

So I wanted to do another Rescue Sisters story for the anthology. The pilgrimage part wasn’t too hard. I had my own built-in-saint, St. Gillian of L5, founder of Our Order of the Rescue (a.k.a. the Rescue Sisters). It would be fun to return to her old stomping grounds. I’d already done an L5 story, “These Three,” so it let me bring some favorite characters back.

Next, I had to set up the rescue. What could be more natural than a bored child wandering off and getting into trouble? Toss in a cat who’s only too glad to help, and some fun complications, and that part was taken care of.

But what makes a Rescue Sisters story really good is the secondary plot—something tying into their identity not just as rescuers but as Catholics. That’s when I came up with the idea that Lucy and her mother aren’t just Catholic tourists. They’re seeking a new life after the death of Lucy’s father, and Lucy’s mom took them on this pilgrimage for help finding her new way forward.

I think the most life-changing pilgrimages happen when someone comes seeking a new way — a new way to live, a new way to love, a new way to heal.

Jesus said, “I am the Way,” yet how he leads us can be very different. Lucy’s mom finds her way—but in the course of her adventure, so does Lucy—and discovers church isn’t so boring after all.

Read “Pilgrimage to L5” in Pilgrim Tales: a Catholic Writers Guild Short Story Anthology starting this December on Amazon.

© Copyright 2025 by Karina Fabian

Edited by Mary McWilliams

The Meaning of Life – Part 3 of 3, Being Fully Alive, Happily Ever After

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 I will seize the occasions that present themselves every day; I will accomplish ordinary actions in an extraordinary way. (Cardinal Francis Xavier Nguyên Van Thuân, Five Loaves and Two Fish)

Life is a journey on which we grow, learn, discover, and become. We begin that journey with many questions. Who am I? What is my purpose? What should I do? Where should I go? Where will I end up? The questions are large, small, simple, and complex; and often, the answers we discover lead to more questions. We long for answers with tidy endings, but life is not a book with a happily ever after!

Or is it?

Discovering the Meaning of Life

Think about how many self-help books there are out there. How many articles and podcasts and Ted Talks are there about finding yourself, knowing your purpose, or discovering the meaning of life? We are surrounded by authors, psychologists, doctors, talk show hosts, podcasters, TikTokers, journalists, and more who purport to know what we’re seeking and where we can find it. They all claim to have the answers!

I’d like to propose that many of those books should be tossed out, articles ripped from the seams of the magazines, and recordings silenced! We all have inside of us what we need to discover the meanings of our lives and the directions in which we should be heading. All we need is to have faith, lead with mercy and compassion, and love one another. Through faith and prayer, we can discover how to follow our paths and live life abundantly, the way God intended us to.

We need to open our eyes to the gifts and talents God has given us and learn to use them, and use them well. We need to look deep inside ourselves and find what we are good at, what we are passionate about, and pray about what we are to do with that knowledge, those skills. We need to keep asking questions and keep looking for God to answer them.

We must seize upon the words of Cardinal Francis Xavier Nguyên Van Thuân: “I will seize the occasions that present themselves every day; I will accomplish ordinary actions in an extraordinary way.”

I will admit, this isn’t easy. It’s taken all my life—over fifty years—to find my path and discover answers to my questions. And I’m not alone. We live in a world in which we are surrounded by so much noise, we can’t hear God calling our names and don’t know which way to turn to find the right answers and the right path.

Finding Our Calling

The truth is, we can’t live our lives abundantly until we discover our callings, and we all have a calling. We all have a path that has been laid out for us. It has always been there, waiting for us to find it, to ask the right questions. It’s up to us to discover the path and up to us to choose to follow it. God will not force us to do anything we don’t want to, but He will lay the path and give us clue after clue, prompting upon prompting, and sign after sign. We can look for and acknowledge them, or pretend they don’t exist. There is always an answer to our question. We may not like the answer, or we may not be prepared to accept it, but it’s always there. Psalm 16 tells us, “You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand” (Psalm 16:11).

Don’t get me wrong. Even when you find the path, you will still have questions and will continue to search for meaning. However, the longer you follow your path, the more answers you will receive. It won’t always be easy. Sometimes the path will be clear and obvious, paved and lighted. Other times, the path will disappear around a bend into the darkness, and we must find our way to the light. Those are the times the answers aren’t readily apparent. Those are also the times when staying on the path is the most rewarding. Those are the aha moments we have when we look back and see the answers so clearly, we can’t figure out how we missed them along the way. Pope Francis said, “If we wish to follow Christ closely, we cannot choose an easy, quiet life. It will be a demanding life, but full of joy” (The Spirit of St. Francis: Inspiring Words from Pope Francis, p.87).

Called by Name

So many throughout the Bible were called, some by name. God called out to Abraham, Jacob, and Moses, using their names twice to get their attention (Genesis 22:11-13; 46;1-4; Exodus 3:1-10), and I wonder how many times He has to call my name because I’m too busy to pay attention. I think of Samuel in 1 Samuel 3:4 who was called by God but didn’t recognize that it was the Lord calling him.

How often do we hear the call but don’t realize it’s the voice of God?

I lovingly recall Mary Magdalene weeping at the tomb, asking the “gardener” where Jesus’s body was. It was only when the man addressed her by name that she recognized it was the Lord (John 20:11-16). How often have I stood and looked at something without understanding that it was God trying to get me to see Him?

At some point, each of us is called by name, and at that point, we will know that we are fully alive, ready to answer God’s call. If we listen and turn toward the voice with an openness and readiness, we will see our paths illuminated before us, littered with the answers to our questions. Yes, there will be twists and turns and many crossroads as we continue to question the way, but the path is there, and so are the answers. All we need to do is be willing to follow the path wherever it leads us, and open ourselves up to living life in abundance. And that is how we will find our happily ever after.

To wrap up this series, let us reflect on these words of St. John of God:

If we look forward to receiving God’s mercy, we can never fail to do good so long as we have the strength. For if we share with the poor, out of love for God, whatever he has given to us, we shall receive according to his promise a hundredfold in eternal happiness. What a fine profit, what a blessed reward! With outstretched arms he begs us to turn toward him, to weep for our sins, and to become the servants of love, first for ourselves, then for our neighbors. Just as water extinguishes a fire, so love wipes away sin. (Cartas y Escritos 18)

Copyright 2025 Amy Schisler

Images copyright 2025 Amy Schisler, all rights reserved.

Attribution Ikiwaner, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Meeting Bruder Klaus 

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Meeting Bruder Klaus

 

On our third day in Switzerland, guide and driver Tony … took us into the rural hamlet of Flüeli, near the town of Sachseln, to visit the home of St. Nicholas von Flüe. I had no idea who this man was. How had I never heard of him?

 

Part I

A mysterious experience, and perhaps the most meaningful pilgrimage of my life, began in January of 2006. An advertisement in the local diocesan newspaper jumped out to me with that feeling I’d come to associate with lectio Divina – highlighting words that seemed to be meant specifically for me, a request from the Holy Spirit to pay particular attention.

Miraculous Journeys, a group from Omaha, Nebraska under the direction of a woman named Leona Kavan, was planning a trip to Roman Catholic shrines in Switzerland, Germany, and Austria the following October.

I’d long dreamed about visiting this part of Europe because so many of my ancestors had come from that Alpine region. My mother’s four grandparents emigrated to the United States from the Swiss Cantons of Bern and Basel.

So, I called Leona to ask for more information. We both felt an instant affinity in that first telephone conversation, and I told her I wanted to pray about it. I’d get back to her if I was interested.

As I entered the Perpetual Adoration chapel in my parish, a lay Carmelite friend I often joined for First Friday and First Saturday vigils, was praying in the rear pew. She beckoned me over, and whispered, “I understand you’ve just been talking to my friend Leona in Omaha.”

The signs continued. After I formally registered, making my own airline reservations because I would be flying out of Des Moines on American Airlines rather than from Omaha on KLM with the group, it transpired that Leona had a request.

Sister Frances, an Oblate Sister of Mary Immaculate from the National Shrine of Our Lady of the Snows in Belleville, Illinois, had received a large donation of American Airline miles from a patron of the shrine, as a gift for her retirement. She wanted to use them for this trip.

Sister Juanita, a younger vowed sister of the same order, had been assigned by their superior to accompany and assist, because Sister Frances would still be in the latter phase of recovery from knee surgery at the time this pilgrimage would take place.

We were all using the same airline. Would I please meet the sisters at Zurich airport and help them find the group when we arrived?

My original itinerary on American had routed me through Chicago, and their international transfer hub was going to be Dallas-Fort Worth. I’d never flown to Zurich and had no idea what that airport even looked like. I decided to change my ticket and meet them in the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, where I had at least some experience.

We, too, found immediate fellowship when I met Sister Frances and Sister Juanita at our international departure gate. Once we landed in Zurich, it required two trains and my best Canadian French to find out where the Omaha group had arrived – as it turned out, in a completely different terminal, invisible to us, on the other side of major construction.

But fortunately, nuns stay together in one place when you ask them, and the Holy Spirit was looking after us all. Sister Frances and Sister Juanita were waiting patiently where I left them when I returned with a map showing the correct location, and a safe route around the construction zone.

On our third day in Switzerland, guide and driver Tony, a former member of the Pontifical Swiss Guard, took us into the rural hamlet of Flüeli, near the town of Sachseln, to visit the home of St. Nicholas von Flüe.

I had no idea who this man was, and I had been a voracious reader about the saints since I joined the Church in 1989. How had I never heard of him?

Through our Omaha translator, who was fluent in German and carefully translated Tony’s exact words, it became apparent that he regarded this shrine as holier than even Engelberg Abbey, one of the greatest Benedictine houses of the high Middle Ages, and felt that our visit to Flüeli was the most sacred honor he could bestow on us during our visit.

Sister Frances, Sister Juanita, and I all looked at each other, and shook our heads. They’d never heard of this St. Nicholas, either.

The historic log chalet in front of us looked pretty rustic, and the pathway down to what our guide called “The Ranft,” on the banks of a rushing river, could only be described as treacherously steep. At least, we observed to each other, it was paved.

We composed ourselves with appropriate reverence and disembarked. Our driver pulled out Sister Frances’ foldable wheelchair from the belly of the bus, and Sister Juanita put on her game face.

We were about to learn how a 15th century farmer, soldier, hermit, and visionary became the patron saint of Switzerland, how he changed human history in his own time and for ours, and why his fellow countrymen call him simply Bruder Klaus, with great affection, to this very day.

Stay tuned for Part II next month.

Peace.

 

© Copyright 2025 by Margaret King Zacharias

Feature Photo: The Home of St. Nicholas von Flüe 

File URL https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e7/Flueli-Ranft_Wohnhaus_Bruder_Klaus.jpg

Page URL https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Flueli-Ranft_Wohnhaus_Bruder_Klaus.jpg

Attribution Ikiwaner, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons

Inset photo The Ranft of St. Nicholas von Flüe, Hermit – Page 4

Page URL https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ranft,_Chapelles_sup%C3%A9rieure_et_inf%C3%A9rieure_de_Nicolas_de_Fl%C3%BCe.jpg

File URL https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d8/Ranft%2C_Chapelles_sup%C3%A9rieure_et_inf%C3%A9rieure_de_Nicolas_de_Fl%C3%BCe.jpg

Attribution Paul Bissegger, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Emily Henson

Jubilee: A Coming Out of the Wilderness

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Jubilee: A Coming Out of the Wilderness

Years ago, when my dad was stationed in Italy, I was blessed to be able to take part in Italy’s jubilee in 2000. I didn’t think I would get the opportunity again. Jubilees only come along every 25 years and I live far away from Italy now.  When I stepped through St. Peter’s Holy Door in 2000, I never would have guessed that I would not only get to participate in Rome’s jubilee again, but that I would have a husband and three children in tow!

A jubilee is a time of forgiveness and spiritual renewal. The word jubilee means a time of celebration. We are celebrating God’s merciful love during a jubilee. Everyone is encouraged to participate, whether locally or through a pilgrimage to Rome and to receive the plenary indulgence. https://www.usccb.org/jubilee2025

When my husband first mentioned a possible trip to Italy for the Jubilee, I panicked. I’m a bit of an anxious person to put it lightly. All of the things that could possibly go wrong when bringing a family of five to Italy immediately filled my mind. I put our family on a strict “Don’t talk about the trip to Italy” notice in order to mentally avoid the inevitable. For the next several months, my husband quietly researched, planned, and bought tickets for our pilgrimage. I quietly brushed up on my Italian but stubbornly remained in denial.

In March, we landed in Venice and made our way through cities such as Siena, Assisi, and Florence, visiting many holy sites and preparing ourselves for the final stop in our pilgrimage – Rome. Italy, like America, has grown farther and farther away from God. It is hard to imagine the existence of a world where political – and even church– governance was heavily influenced by faith in the one, true God. This, however, is what the elaborate paintings in their government houses depict. God first, high above mankind, and all those below searching the Heavens and sometimes even pointing above in the realization that true governance comes from God.

That is what jubilees are about. An opportunity for us as individuals and, hopefully, as a society to renew our focus on God, His teachings, and His boundless love for all of us. Now, more than ever, the world needs this awakening. We need this hope.

Without this hope, however, I would never have even made it to Italy. Remember, I was so worried about all that could go wrong on the pilgrimage to Italy that I secretly preferred not to go at all. This was a grievous lack of trust in God on my part. Instead of turning to Him, instead of surrendering to Him, I almost missed out on a beautiful opportunity to allow my family a trip to the Holy City! I needed to surrender my heart to Him and ask Him to enter under my roof before I could enter under His.

This year’s jubilee calls us to be Pilgrims of Hope. Before I could even depart on this pilgrimage – I needed hope. As soon as this realization dawned, I was able to see this huge trip we would be undertaking as a just what it was meant to be – a pilgrimage. Pilgrimages are not easy. The first jubilee was decreed after the Israelites made it through 40 years of wilderness. Only after their desolate pilgrimage and only when they finally surrendered their stubbornness and made it to the Promised Land did the people enjoy their jubilee. “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you.” (Leviticus 25:10)

Looking back, I find it poignant that the hardest challenges for my family came prior to us even leaving and these challenges seemed to be allayed only when I surrendered and trusted the Lord with abandon. All at once, the wilderness cleared and our path to the Holy City unfolded.

Any pilgrimage we take during this jubilee year, whether to Italy or within our hearts, must start very close to home. Though I’m home now, my pilgrimage of hope should not be over. I’m to be an example to those around me of God’s loving mercy, at home and at work. This pilgrimage of hope starts in our heart. What does it benefit us to walk through the Holy Door at St. Peter’s if our heart is not as beautifully decorated as the basilica’s walls? Will I carefully place jewels of patience, love, and mercy into the altar of my heart? Will I perfume the chamber with oils of humility and kindness? When the Holy Doors close and the jubilee ends, how much more radiant will my heart be?

No matter where we find ourselves this jubilee year, let’s start with the heart. I plan to take time during daily prayer to look within and check on the progress within the basilica of my heart. Hopefully, at the end of this jubilee, I will be able to hand our Lord a heart I’ve done something to improve. All hearts can be like an ugly, rough stone, but each heart is greater than a precious jewel in the eyes of the Lord. With careful refinement, our hearts can shine like the beacons of hope God meant them to be. Let us renew our hope in Him and take up the pilgrim’s staff. God speed on your journey!

Copyright by Emily Henson 2025

Edited by Maggie Rosario

 

2025 by Margaret King Zacharias

Rocky Times

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Rocky Times

Taxi drivers shook their fists at each other as I stared out the tour bus window. Blaring horns assaulted my ears. Sunset turned to twilight, and still we sat motionless in Tel Aviv traffic gridlock.
My heart was breaking for my fellow travelers. Although I’d been looking forward to visiting the Carmelite monastery’s public areas for a second time, I’d already been blessed with indelible memories of a daylight Mass in the gardens, followed by a tour that included rooftop views of the fertile valleys below. (See https://www.catholicwritersguild.org/2023/06/mount-carmel/). For the passengers with me on this trip, their visit here was meant to be the pinnacle of a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The bus driver’s scowl mirrored my own frustration, but only an air of resigned disappointment filled the bus.
By the time we had navigated a winding road to the top of Mount Carmel, full darkness had descended. The harried greeter who’d waited for us outside made humble apologies. Unfortunately, no tour would be possible. The brothers had already prayed Vespers, and the vowed community was cloistered for the night. But our host said he’d given the lay oblates permission to reopen the gift shop. This announcement immediately cheered the ladies. At least they could still bring rosaries to their loved ones back home. They trooped off together toward the few still-lighted windows, smiling.
Dominick, a public elementary school principal, quietly pulled his carryon suitcase from the bin above his seat and got off the bus behind them. I’d learned that in his traditional Italian neighborhood, parishioners had sacrificed for years to buy a small triangular lot adjacent to their
church. Dominick was building there, a shrine for Our Lady of Mount Carmel. I watched him engage our greeter in animated conversation.
The other pilgrims eventually returned, with full souvenir bags in hand. But where was Dominick? Finally, he appeared again at the bus door, grinning. A middle-aged but muscular man from a contractor family, Dominick did not seem daunted by the weight he now carried. He climbed right up the bus stairs, and raised his suitcase with both hands, in a victory stance, as soon as he reached the aisle.
“That brother was so kind. He took me all the way back to the mountain!” Dominick’s voice resonated through the bus without benefit of the microphone. “He said I could have as many rocks as I wanted! He found me a spade, and held the flashlight while I pried the stones
free.”
Whoops, whistles, and cheers from every seat greeted his enthusiastic news.

***

I found myself behind Dominick in the El Al security lines for our departure flight back to the United States. He patted his suitcase, and whispered with a wink. “Don’t worry. I’ve got them all right here.”
I heard the uniformed Israeli guards ask, as Dominick slowly wheeled his suitcase to the counter, “What’s in there? Rocks?”
Uh, oh, I thought, looking around. Is this even legal? Archeological artifacts, and all that? Where’s our guide!  Dominick just nodded. “Gifts for Our Lady’s new grotto, from our Holy Land pilgrimage,” he said. Seeing the stern looks on their faces, he hastened to assure them.
“Everyone gave me permission. Those monks at Mount Carmel were really helpful.” Dominick pulled a paper from his vest pocket. Apparently, he’d somehow managed to wangle a document from the Carmelite brother who’d assisted with the excavation. Dominick handed his paper to one of the security men.
The first guard examined it and showed it to his partner. Then he refolded it carefully, and gave it back to Dominick. These officials, who now appeared a bit bemused, heaved Dominick’s suitcase up to the metal counter themselves. After looking inside, they exchanged a humorous glance, and waved our hero through, with his suitcase, to the gate. As I placed my own tote on the counter, I couldn’t help wondering how Dominick could have fit in all the stones I’d seen him collect, at the shore of the Sea of Galilee, and other sacred sites we’d visited.

But from the glimpse I’d just garnered, they did look– tightly packed.

***

Dominick engraved each stone from the Holy Land with its place of origin. He mortared them in where they fit, like puzzle pieces, among larger local boulders. Pilgrimage memories endure in a curved rock wall that shelters the consecrated granite altar in the new grotto dedicated to Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
Today, Mass can be celebrated at the grotto as well as the church, often in both English and Spanish. The parish maintains its long and faithful tradition of Corpus Christi processions with the Blessed Sacrament, visiting and blessing individual family homes throughout the old neighborhood. The parish school pioneered for our diocese the first cohort in an optional Spanish immersion curriculum for grades K-8.
Dominick’s spirit of humility, simplicity, and faith lives on.

May we all be blessed this Lent with trust and grace to find joy in whatever God sends.

 

© Copyright 2025 Margaret King Zacharias

Feature photo by Margaret King Zacharias. Used with Permission.

 

Visitation

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 “… Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home:

Heaven lies about us in our infancy …

 

… The Clouds that gather round the setting sun

Do take a sober colouring from an eye

That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality …”

William Wordsworth

Ode: Intimations of Immortality from

Recollections of Early Childhood (1)

 

Visitation

May is the month our church sets aside each year to honor the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

In 2024, May includes at least five significant liturgical celebrations:

  • Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, Thursday, May 9 (or Sunday, May 12);
  • Optional Memorial of Our Lady of Fatima, Monday, May 13;
  • Solemnity of Pentecost on May 19;
  • Memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church, Monday, May 20;  
  • Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary on Friday, May 31.

This month opens with the second Glorious Mystery of the Rosary, encompassing two additional Marian holy days as well as another Solemnity, the third Glorious Mystery, and concludes with the second Joyful Mystery — enough to make anyone’s head spin.

Decades ago, when our planet seemed safer and more civilized than it does today, I was blessed with opportunities to visit several Catholic shrines as a pilgrim.

It’s impossible to do justice to the full set of liturgical crescendos this month contains in a brief article for a first Saturday. But I offer a few reflections here about the opening solemnity and the closing feast from my pilgrimages to shrines in the Holy Land.

***

Christian Chapel of the Ascension on the Mount of Olives – Jerusalem, Israel
Fallaner, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

A small Christian monument called the Chapel of the Ascension stands on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, not to be confused with the larger mosque that looms nearby.

This probably does mark the place where Jesus proclaimed his majestic final commission to the apostles, the ‘go out into all the world’ speech we hear in the gospel reading for the Solemnity of the Ascension, Mark 16:15-20. (2)

But even though the chapel contains an ancient footprint in its rock floor that legend describes as made by Our Lord’s right foot when he departed, this holy place on the Mount of Olives may, or may not, be where Jesus actually ascended into heaven.

Some scholars, as well as many local Christians whose families have lived here for generations, believe the Ascension might have occurred elsewhere.

Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter – Tabgha, Israel
Berthold Werner, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia
Commons

 

Another possible location hosts the small Church of the Primacy of Peter, on the northwest banks of the Sea of Galilee, believed to be where Jesus fed his friends one last breakfast of freshly-caught fish, as described in John 21. (3)

That rocky shoreline is also visited by thousands of Christian pilgrims, both Catholic and Protestant. It’s an alternative place where some believe the Ascension might actually have taken place.

View of the Sea of Galilee – from the Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter, Tabgha, Israel
someone10x, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

Shore beside the Church of the Primacy of Saint Peter – Tabgha, Galilee, Israel.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/emeryjl/, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via
Wikimedia Commons

 

Wherever it occurred, the description of the Ascension in Acts 1:6-12 (4) tells us that the gathered apostles received a visitation from ‘two men dressed in white,’ usually interpreted as angels.

These men appeared ‘suddenly,’ admonishing the disciples to stop looking ‘up at the sky,’ and promising that Jesus would ‘return the same way he departed.’

***

Two distinct Visitation shrines hold importance in the town of Ein Karem, once a small village in the Judean hills, now considered a ‘suburb’ of sprawling modern Jerusalem.

The first is the Church of St. John the Baptist, in downtown contemporary Ein Karem.

Courtyard and Entrance to Church of Saint John the Baptist, Ein Karem, Israel.
Chris06, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

By tradition dating back to Saint Helen, mother of the Byzantine emperor Constantine, and supported by archeological research through layers of Crusader construction, there is evidence to believe that John the Baptist was born in the now-underground cave on this site.

Birth Cave of Saint John the Baptist, Ein Karem, Israel
Pikiwiki Israel, CC BY 2.5 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

A fountain in the courtyard appears to have been the original village water source, probably located on the temple property where Elizabeth’s husband Zacharias was serving as Jewish priest when an angel appeared to him to announce the news of his son. Their primary dwelling is believed to have been here, or very close by.

Higher into the foothills is a site traditionally identified as the family’s summer home, and many scholars believe that this would have been where young Mary went to visit her much older cousin.

A curving, terraced brick pathway with very wide steps winds around the steep mountain trail today, leading up from the main village to the Church of the Visitation.

This shrine is a much larger complex, a former monastery. In contrast to the lower church in Ein Karem, where John the Baptist’s family is highlighted, the Church of the Visitation contains imagery devoted almost exclusively to Mary.

Detail of Front Facade – Church of the Visitation – Ein Karem, Israel. Elizabeth is pictured at
upper left.
Berthold Werner, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia
Commons

 

The exception is a sculpture in strikingly contemporary style, portraying two pregnant women, facing each other.

***

Paradoxically, as liturgical time runs forward in May, divine time seems to spin backward, in earthly terms, to the moment when two unborn infants recognized each other from within their mothers’ wombs.

It was only after a very young woman — who had said “yes” to a divine act with consequences she could not possibly have fully understood — had received affirmation and confirmation from her wiser, more experienced cousin, that she burst into the Magnificat.

Sober sunset clouds will gather. One of these babies will be beheaded. One will die by crucifixion.

But these are the moments when Wordsworth’s “… eye that hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality …” is most deftly invoked by the poet.

Penance, Baptism, Resurrection, and Ascension will change the whole game.

“The ‘clouds of glory’ that these babies ‘trail’ contain Eternity for those who believe.”

May enduring faith, hope, and love guard your hearts this May.

Veni Sancte Spiritus.

 

 

Featured Photo: Panoramic View – Church of the Visitation – Ein Karem, Israel Attribution Tombah, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Notes:

  1. Quoted from https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45536/ode-intimations-of-immortality-from-recollections-of-early-childhood.
  2. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/050924-Ascension.cfm
  3. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/john/21
  4. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/acts/1

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