Fatima - Palm Sunday
After Santerem, I returned to Fatima for Palm Sunday. It was really a gift to be there during this time. In the previous few days, the shrine had its share of pilgrims, but it wasn't crowded by any means. This afforded me easy access everything without the burden of waiting in line.
But Palm Sunday also gave me a feel for what the shrine was like when it was filled with the faithful. I don't remember too many details from that day (over a month ago) but I do recall the strong impression being there made on me of a faithful and simple Portuguese people flocking to pay tribute to the apparition heaven chose to give them.
One thing I found interesting, Palm Sunday isn't really so much Palm Sunday as it is Olive Branch Sunday in Europe. I'm not sure if there is a shortage of palms here, or a difference of opinion in the biblical translation. Either way, it was charming to see tens of thousands gathered for prayer and mass, waving olive branches, a sign both with divine symbolism (in Genesis the dove brings the olive branch to Noah's ark to signify land), and human symbolism (olives are a bumper crop for the Portuguese). When I returned to Italy later in the week, my housemates told me the same occurred in Italy - olive branches over palms.
There were also people processing prayerfully on their knees across the shrine's humungous square, designed to hold 1 million people on May 13, the feast day of Our Lady of Fatima, as well as people devoutly praying the rosary at the Chapel of Apparitions where Our Lady appeared to the shepherd children. Particularly moving, were the many offerings of flowers at the graves of the shepherds inside the basilica. From artists to saints, how often is it we appreciate people so much more after they are dead? Far from bouquets, the little ones received mostly beatings on account of the apparitions. Only Lucia lived long enough to see the apparitions approved and persecution end. Francisco and Jacinta died of the Spanish Influenza before they reached their teens.
(The little shepherds are not saints just yet, though Jacinta and Francisco are blesseds. Lucia died only last year, but the process for her beatification is well underway.)
Another strong impression on my memory was the approximately thirty priests, accompanied by white umbrellas, who spread out among the masses to distribute communion. They seemed to glide, lighter than air through the dense crowds under the shade of these parasols, which were used to show people where to go to find the precious Body of Christ.
I did quite a bit of fighting with myself before I left. I had planned to spend Monday in Lisbon, then fly out Tuesday. I don't really need to see Lisbon, I kept telling myself. Why not just stay here another day?. But finally, I forced myself to say goodbye to the little shepherds that had become so dear to me. Only a few days before I hadn't really known anything about their story, and yet, I felt like I was leaving loved-ones I had known for my whole life. But off I went to Portugal's capital. We can't stay on the mountain forever, after all.
But Palm Sunday also gave me a feel for what the shrine was like when it was filled with the faithful. I don't remember too many details from that day (over a month ago) but I do recall the strong impression being there made on me of a faithful and simple Portuguese people flocking to pay tribute to the apparition heaven chose to give them.
One thing I found interesting, Palm Sunday isn't really so much Palm Sunday as it is Olive Branch Sunday in Europe. I'm not sure if there is a shortage of palms here, or a difference of opinion in the biblical translation. Either way, it was charming to see tens of thousands gathered for prayer and mass, waving olive branches, a sign both with divine symbolism (in Genesis the dove brings the olive branch to Noah's ark to signify land), and human symbolism (olives are a bumper crop for the Portuguese). When I returned to Italy later in the week, my housemates told me the same occurred in Italy - olive branches over palms.
There were also people processing prayerfully on their knees across the shrine's humungous square, designed to hold 1 million people on May 13, the feast day of Our Lady of Fatima, as well as people devoutly praying the rosary at the Chapel of Apparitions where Our Lady appeared to the shepherd children. Particularly moving, were the many offerings of flowers at the graves of the shepherds inside the basilica. From artists to saints, how often is it we appreciate people so much more after they are dead? Far from bouquets, the little ones received mostly beatings on account of the apparitions. Only Lucia lived long enough to see the apparitions approved and persecution end. Francisco and Jacinta died of the Spanish Influenza before they reached their teens.
(The little shepherds are not saints just yet, though Jacinta and Francisco are blesseds. Lucia died only last year, but the process for her beatification is well underway.)
Another strong impression on my memory was the approximately thirty priests, accompanied by white umbrellas, who spread out among the masses to distribute communion. They seemed to glide, lighter than air through the dense crowds under the shade of these parasols, which were used to show people where to go to find the precious Body of Christ.
I did quite a bit of fighting with myself before I left. I had planned to spend Monday in Lisbon, then fly out Tuesday. I don't really need to see Lisbon, I kept telling myself. Why not just stay here another day?. But finally, I forced myself to say goodbye to the little shepherds that had become so dear to me. Only a few days before I hadn't really known anything about their story, and yet, I felt like I was leaving loved-ones I had known for my whole life. But off I went to Portugal's capital. We can't stay on the mountain forever, after all.
posted by Amy at 4:48 AM
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