On our way to Santiago, we stopped in the city of Coimbra, Portugal, famous for its university and its role as a major cultural center for many centuries.
We drove to the top of the city through small winding streets where we stopped at the Carmelite convent where the primary seer of the Virgin of Fatima, Sister Lucia, spent the last years of her long life.
One of the pilgrims remarked that it reminded her of Florence with its valleys packed with terracotta rooftops against a background of swooping hills. Lucia escaped the fanfare that followed the visions by isolating herself here in the order of nuns founded by Saint Theresa of Avila, one of three female doctors of the Catholic Church, as one of the sisters proudly remarked.
Even though the church was small, the art within was breathtaking. Since I was feeling nauseous from the winding bus ride, I sat in the back of the church during the mass celebrated by Father Steve in the event that I needed to run outside for an emergency.
From this perspective, I was struck by the beauty of several statues: (1) St. Teresa of France; (2) The Holy Family and; (3) Jesus bleeding on the cross. This last statue was placed directly in front of the section of the church where the cloistered nuns sat hidden from our view.
I wonder what it must be like to look at that particular face of Jesus full of suffering every single day for extended periods of time… What is the message?
One pilgrim asked, “If the main message of Catholicism is love, why is there such a emphasis on suffering?” We are taught that Jesus loved us so much that he suffered crucifixion on the cross in order to save us. We know that his love involved suffering, but does that mean that in order to love we must also suffer? Are love and suffering indistinguishable? Can we have one without the other? Doesn’t it hurt sometimes to love our neighbor? Is the pain we endure when we open our hearts to love our enemy the same suffering that Christ underwent on the cross?
The life of Jesus teaches us that once we overcome that suffering, the joy that comes as a result is unlike anything else because it is eternal. Unlike the things that produce momentary satisfaction (drugs, sex, food, alcohol, entertainment, etc.), love is eternal.
As we strive to open our hearts more and more by loving those that have hurt us, or those we can’t stand, or those we don’t understand, joy inevitably follows. Seen in this light, the pyramid of drawers on the altar at the church – a metaphor used by St. Teresa of Avila to explain the different doors that we open and explore to access God according to her method of meditation – is fitting.
The joy on the face of the many photographs of Sister Lucia that we saw in the slideshow at the museum next to the convent was what really convinced me that what happened in Fatima is true. But it wasn’t simply the smile; it was the light that emanated from her whole being that convinced me that this woman spent her whole life very close to divinity.
Sister Lucia continued to experience apparitions throughout her life. She went from being a poor shepherd girl isolated in the countryside of Portugal to becoming a woman who shined on center stage as she humbly shared the message of love with peasants, popes and anybody else who wanted to know.
Instead of isolating herself completely from society, she took advantage of the silence of the convent to answer thousands of letters from people all over the world. She continued to write letters even on her deathbed.
If we could all die with the same peace as Sister Lucia that was so evident in her smiling face, wouldn’t we all be much happier and much less afraid of death and dying?
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