At the end of September, three members of Madonna House — Amy Barnes, Joanne Slugocki and Kathryn Nugent — walked about 200 km, over the course of nine days, from La Verna, Italy, where St. Francis had received the stigmata 800 years previously, to the town of Assisi. Here are some impressions and highlights from their pilgrimage.
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Joanne: I first heard of this pilgrimage about five years ago when I was stationed at Madonna House in Robin Hood’s Bay, England. Fr. Gabriel, a Franciscan Friar of the Renewal, used to come to our poustinia (prayer cabin) for his monthly hermitage days. He had recently completed the St. Francis Way during his sabbatical year.
I had already felt drawn to the idea of a pilgrimage, and his descriptions of the beauty and solitude of this particular trail, retracing the key moments in St. Francis’ life, captured my imagination. The desire percolated in me for a few years.
Last year in Combermere, I began talking about wanting to do this pilgrimage and a fire caught in Amy, one of my Madonna House sisters. We were given permission and a blessing for our trip. When we heard that Kathryn Nugent (currently in our Edmonton house) also had it on her heart to do a walking pilgrimage, we invited her to join us. And so we were three… a little traveling community of love.
It was a pilgrimage that had brought me to my vocation in Madonna House. The 780 km Camino de Santiago, which I walked in 2013, shook me to the core. It put me in touch with a deep dissatisfaction with my life as it was then, and with my desire for “something more” which eventually led me to Madonna House. So it seemed fitting that the Lord chose this year, the year I made my final commitment to the Lord within Madonna House, as the year for a new pilgrimage, the Way of St. Francis.
One of the ways in which God spoke to me during our pilgrimage was through the Scriptures. Each day as we walked, we read the Mass readings of the day, and then had a long period of silence for reflection.
During our first day, we read about Jesus’ miracle of feeding thousands with the multiplication of the loaves in the wilderness. The question which arose and remained in my heart was, “Lord, how are you feeding us in this wilderness?”
Little did I imagine with what abundance the Lord would respond throughout our trip. One example of this was when my feet were left blistered, after our first day of walking. I had discovered that my boots were too big, and it was obvious that I would not be able to continue without a change in footwear.
After settling into our accommodations, we went into the town of Pieve Santo Stefano in search of Mass, food, and boots. It seemed highly unlikely that a town this size would have any shoe stores, and on a Saturday evening at that!
We spotted an athletic-looking young man and asked if he knew where we could find some hiking boots. He looked at us doubtfully and gave us directions to the only place he could imagine would have anything remotely athletic.
We entered the store, but there were no shoes in sight. I walked up to the sales clerk with little hope and pointed to my boots. She enthusiastically went to some back room and came back with two styles of women’s hiking boots. With genuine concern, she very patiently helped me as I tried on various sizes before deciding on one.
It was incredible how well we communicated with my non-existent Italian and her non-existent English. I was brought to tears of gratitude as I experienced God’s loving goodness through Nunci.
For me, this was the beginning of what we were to experience over and over again on this pilgrimage: God’s provision and care for us through those we encountered along our way.
Another example took place after a difficult day. We were in the town of Citta di Castello and had gone our separate ways to explore. I had directions for evening Mass at a small church but had lost my way, and now I had little time left. I asked a woman passing by for help. She repeated the name of the church, and I nodded enthusiastically. She motioned for me to follow her, and we wove through the streets to a small church. We arrived just in time for Mass, and I discovered that the Lord had not only led me to someone heading to the same church as I was but that she was also the lector for that weekday Mass. I was moved by this simple “coincidental” encounter.
One of the beautiful places I discovered in La Verna was called the “Sasso Spicco” which means “rock split.” It is an area outside the sanctuary with cavelike nooks in which St. Francis would spend long periods in prayer, meditating on being in the wounds of Christ and on his Passion. Nestled in one of these cracks, I experienced a profound stillness.
Throughout our pilgrimage, I was surprised at how often the theme of childlikeness came up… whoever humbles himself like this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matt 18:4); whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me (Mark 9:37), to mention just a couple.
But it was upon our arrival in Assisi, when I spent some time in the stark and barren chapel of the Renunciation, that the threads of our pilgrimage came together for me. This was where St. Francis, after having been being dragged before the bishop by his angry and hurt father, Pietro Bernardone, stripped naked, renounced his possessions and inheritance, and said he would call no one on earth “father” except his Father in heaven.
Before going on this pilgrimage, I had had a sense that God would teach me something about poverty. I thought it would be something austere and ascetic. However, he showed me something different through all the places, scripture readings, and tender care which accompanied us throughout our pilgrimage, and it all culminated here. Francis’ poverty was that of living in the truth of being a child who receives all from the hands of his loving Father. In his first “renunciation” and each successive one, he was not simply giving something up; he was claiming and entrusting himself to the care of God as his loving Father.
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Amy: Two things I gained during this time of pilgrimage were an increased sense of the importance of sobornost (Russian word for a unity of mind and heart) and an increased confidence in God’s Providence.
While we were walking, sobornost became very concrete: we literally could not go forward unless we all moved together. We started to learn this lesson immediately, as when we tried to leave La Verna on our first day of walking, it was not at all obvious which path we should take.
There seemed to be red and white trail markers on all kinds of paths all over the place, so we had to turn back to the Sanctuary and ask for directions. Kathryn and Joanne waited in line to talk to a woman who seemed specifically there to receive pilgrims. I got impatient with waiting, so I went to talk to the woman at the reception desk of the hostel.
The woman at the reception desk spoke only Italian and was very busy with questions from patrons. From what I could understand, she told me Pieve Santo Stefano (our next destination) was “right below” la Verna, and we should go “directly there!” “Just go straight!” she said to me repeatedly in Italian, “Diretto! Diretto!” I tried to say “Well… but then what?” but I didn’t have enough Italian to articulate the question. She just repeated “Diretto! Diretto!” and then came out from her desk, took me by the shoulders, and guided me “diretto” (in a straight line) out the door. This was unhelpful.
Meanwhile, Joanne and Kathryn obtained much more helpful directions from the lady at the pilgrim help desk, who could speak English and gave us specific notes about where to turn and which paths to take (and not take).
So we started walking along beautiful paths in the mountains. The sun was shining, the forest was shimmering, we were in great spirits.
All of a sudden, our path ended abruptly in front of a pasture with a gate, and on the gate was a sign: “Bestie al pascolo! Attenti al toro! Chiudere il cancello!” I tried to translate it, saying, “There are animals in the pasture, and a bull! It seems to say the way is cancelled!”
We were dismayed, because there was no other obvious way to go. My sisters were ready to cross the pasture anyway, but I was hesitant. We went through the gate with fear and trembling, but when we saw all the fresh cow pies, we ran back and closed the gate. I thought, “Let’s see if there’s a path that goes around this pasture.” We explored for a while, hoping to find another option, but there wasn’t anything obvious.
Stymied about what to do, Joanne said, “Let’s call the Sanctuary at La Verna.” We phoned, but got the same woman at the desk who had told me to go “diretto.” I threw some Italian words in Joanne’s direction: “Pilgrims!” “Help!” “Bull!”
The woman was not impressed. “Do you want to make a reservation?” she said in broken English, and after hearing us trying to explain our predicament, she said, “Look, there’s an emergency here; call me back after lunch.”
Lunch was still a long way off, and it was clear the receptionist couldn’t help us anyway. Having no other option, we decided we’d better try to cross the pasture.
I was reminded of our Madonna House sister Blanka, who once ran up a mountain with bears visibly present, reciting her rosary as she went. Strengthened by this memory, I was now ready. We all crossed that pasture full of cow pies together, fervently praying the rosary. We made it to the other side alive and never saw the bull. Phew!
After a few more attempts to interpret Italian signage, including several more pastures in the middle of our path with gates across them, it dawned on me, belatedly, that “Chiudere il cancello” doesn’t mean “The way is cancelled.” It means “Please shut the gate.”
This was one example of many when we simply could not move until all of us were ready. It didn’t work to take shortcuts, settling for “two out of three pilgrims” in agreement; it had to be all three of us, and there was a huge grace in listening and waiting for us all to be on board.
The pilgrimage was also an extremely important lesson in God’s providence. Sometimes we did receive a taste of the “perfect joy” of St Francis, * being told when we arrived at hostels, “If you made no reservation, there is no place for you.” More often, though, we were struck by the kindness of people who made room for us, who took care of us.
There were many little miracles, where God gave us a little light to show us where we could spend the night. Many days, in the morning (and sometimes even in the late afternoon) we did not know where we would sleep that night, but as time went on, this stopped disturbing our peace. We developed a total confidence that God had a place for us and that he would let us know where, when it was time.
This was also an important witness to other pilgrims who met us, who worried about us, and who watched how we were provided for. Because we did not make reservations for each night of our pilgrimage a month in advance, we developed much closer connections with the people we encountered along the way; they could be a sign for us of God’s providential care, a care we now feel encouraged to offer others in return.
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Kathryn: What did I learn while walking the countryside of Italy on the Way, this path that a saint, and many other pilgrims who hope to be saints, have trod before?
I learned that God cares about the Way. God is totally interested in the details of the Way. And he is pleased with the time given to him there.
When we arrived in Assisi, I almost didn’t want to stop. I liked the walking, and I still had inner stuff I wanted to work out with God. I felt that I needed more time. But how could you not stop in Assisi? We ended up staying four days instead of two. And I am very glad we did.
If not, I wouldn’t have met St Clare. Or the cross that spoke to St Francis, urging him to rebuild the Church. What struck me about the cross is that through it, God called him to a great mission. I’m sure that since then, God has used it to speak to generations of others who humbly and simply came before it in faith.
St Damiano, the church and convent where St Clare spent most of her life and where she died, was so full of prayer. May my life be full of prayer.
For me, the Way was an effort to give God time to speak. And more importantly, for me to listen. Whether I listened well or not, I don’t know. But I think the pilgrimage continues. He is not done with me yet.
He spoke words of encouragement that I want to hold onto. He showed his loving care for me, for us, as we walked, and I want to keep that awareness in me always.
*For St Francis, perfect joy was rejoicing in sharing Jesus’ humiliation and suffering in this life, knowing we will share in his resurrection and glorification.
