ANOTHER PILGRIM’S PROGRES Sometime in the mid to late 70s when I was living in Ealing, London, I met an Irish banker who was a member of Opus Dei. At the time I had started to attend the Maranatha meditation group at the Benedictine church that had been the pro-cathedral for London. I think that is how I met the banker but when I started writing these memoirs I couldn’t remember his name. Some years ago, a mother of 10 children, a friend and a patient of mine, gave me a hanging plate for my clinic. It depicts an eagle in full flight over water with mountains in the background. Around the picture are the words of Isaiah, “Wait upon the Lord and he will renew your strength, Rise up with wings as eagles, Walk and not faint.” It was the banker from Opus Dei who first told me the story of Garabandal and gave me a book about it. I believed in it from day one but have only this year started to act on its messages. I have recently had my marriage declared to be one that the church did not consider to be binding for life. In other words, it was annulled. It has been a hard two years but the eagles wings have always been there to help me rise at the last and come through it all perhaps a bit worse for the wear but wiser in many other ways. It has been good to round off this phase in my life with my trip to Garabandal. This trip eventuated after seeing material on the internet that renewed my interest in the events in Garabandal that took place between 1961 and 1965. The year is now 2013. I wrote to another follower of the events of Garabandal in America who sent me a brown scapular and more information that suggested at that time that certain prophesied events relating to Garabandal could possibly have happened on 9 May 2013. This date was based on many clues some of which had been provided through private revelation. While I was neither neither convinced by his interpretations of these clues nor his nor his prediction of the date I have to admit that for a while I was more fascinated by the prophesied wonders of Garabandal than the messages given there by Our Lady. It was this fascination that compelled me to leave for Garabandal on Sunday May 5. I choose this date as I wanted to complete my 5 First Saturday Devotions as requested by Our Lady of Fatima. Saturday May 4th was my fifth Saturday and I saw this exercise as part of my preparation for the trip. Without me planning it this way it had become more important to complete this exercise than to go to Garabandal because the promise of the graces necessary for final repentance were attached to it for those who complied with its conditions. As an added bonus, and again without me planning it this way, I was focused outside of myself on the wishes of Our Lady and because of that this exercise as preparation for the trip together with prayer and fasting came with relative ease. I had become quite depressed about the failure of my marriage but because I knew that Garabandal was in a mountainous region I decided to include physical fitness in my preparation in order to more fully enjoy my pilgrimage. This physical exercise helped to lift me out of my depression. Because we have been told that we will be given 8 days notice of the Miracle and that the Warning would come before that, I knew at the time of booking, that before I departed I would know if I was going to experience the Miracle. At first I had decided to take out insurance for cancellation of the flight if the predicted date of May 9 proved to be wrong but because I was motivated more by the messages of Garabandal and not the wonders I decided to go regardless. I wrote to the Garabandal Centre in Australia who sent me a relic medal containing a fragment of a page kissed by The Virgin during her appearances. Before I finally set off I did ask God at mass for some little confirmation that I was doing his will in undertaking the pilgrimage, that at least I was on the right track. I had taken my relic to mass and afterwards asked the elderly locum priest at Whangamata to bless it. I did not know the priest and he seemed a bit gruff to me. I explained it was from Garabandal and that I would understand if he felt he could not bless it as I knew that Garabandal was still awaiting church approval. His whole demeanor and even his voice changed as he beamed a great smile at me and said off course he would bless it and said what a wonderful place Garabandal was. This was confirmation enough for me. There were two people at mass that night who I knew but only really to say hello to. Their names were Margaret and Don. Margaret was a long time sufferer of multiple sclerosis, was wheel chair bound and totally reliant on Don. I believed the words of Our Lady who had said her Son would work prodigies through her kissed relics and I told them about mine and that the priest had just blessed it. I had intended to ask Margaret if she would like to hold the relic but noticed their faces change too when I mentioned Garabandal. It turned out that many years before this they had been to Garabandal and they invited me back to their house to show me a book they had put together as a memento of their trip and to tell me all about it. Don and his friends had literally carried Margaret up to the pines. While there they had experienced spiritual visions along with one other member of their group and they saw Garabandal as a little piece of heaven. They wanted to stay there forever but Margaret was told in her prayers to return to New Zealand. I talked to Don and Margaret about the messages of Garabandal and Don told me that in compliance with Mary’s request, he and Margaret fasted twice a week. This encouraged me to follow their example. I have let this practice lapse since my return but am determined to return to it It also transpired that Don had been a farmer not far from my place of work and had been a well known personality as he was active in sports for youth and other fields. They had gone to Garabandal with a local prayer group and it transpired that one member of this group, Pauline, was the mother of one of my patients, Michelle. I contacted Pauline and she invited me to join the prayer group that she hosted in her retirement village. Before I set off I wrote to the Garabandal web site to tell them of my travel plans and ask for prayers. In my email to them I quoted the national poet of my homeland, Scotland, Robbie Burns, as follows: “My hearts in the highlands my heart is not here, My hearts in the highlands a-chasing the deer.
A-chasing the wild dear and following the roe, My heart’s in the highlands wherever I go.” I explained that this time my heart was in the highlands, not of Scotland but of Spain. I was a little nervous about the journey but from the moment of my departure I was taken care of. I arrived in Bilbao on the evening of May 6 and was given a special deal at the airport hotel. I took a coach next morning to San Vicente from where I took a taxi to Garabandal. I stayed at the Hosteria, owned by Rosaura, sister of Mari Loli, the only visionary who has died. I was shown to my room from where I could see The Pines or Los Pinos where may of the apparitions took place. I went to the chapel and prayed the rosary. The church was empty, as was the village. Just as I finished the rosary and was about to start The Divine Mercy two locals entered the church and asked in Spanish if I would mind them praying the Divine Mercy. I don’t speak Spanish but understood them…..this happened a lot. They prayed aloud in Spanish and I tagged along in silence. It felt good. I felt part of it already. I was warming to the place. Next morning the church was closed which was unusual. Sitting on the steps was a young Franciscan lay person. He had been staying in Garabandal for 2 years. His name was Francis Joseph. He jokingly suggested that the people who were meant to have opened the church had probably slept in. We stood and talked for quite some time and discussed the messages and prophesies of Garabandal. One thing he said remains with me from that discussion. He said that you can’t carry the message unless you live it. My appreciation of that has grown since my return. We agreed that the church was closed because we were meant to meet. Every day I attended mass and tried to visit the blessed sacrament. I should have done this more often in accordance with Mary’s request. On my first day I couldn’t get the words of the Hymn “Gather your people oh Lord” out of my head as I was walking up the hill behind Garabandal and looked down to the field below that was still clear of the descending clouds as an ‘eagle’ (later discovered to be a Griffin Vulture) landed. I then realized there was a flock of them on the ground. The words of scripture came to mind “where the eagles gather there you will find the body.” We don’t have to look. We know the body is there. The Body of Christ in the tabernacle in the village church and the Body of Christ in His believing church. We don’t have to look. We only have to see. My mind started to open. As I climbed on up the hill along the Way of the Rosary I watched the clouds slowly begin to envelope the mountain. The only sounds were the occasional bark of a village dog, the cows mooing and their bells gently ringing through the valley and the sound of gurgling brooks from the mountain streams. The words of a psalm came to mind, “As the deer yearns for running water so my heart yearns for you Oh Lord.” In that instant two wild deer ran across my line of vision. I managed to catch them in the distance on my camera before they disappeared but that moment has stayed in sight. My heart started to lift.
Before I had set out to Garabandal I had wondered if I would feel that immediate sense of having come home as I always have done in my several visits to Lourdes. Even my breathing changes as I enter the Grotto area in Lourdes with a peace and reassurance never felt elsewhere. I did not feel this in Garabandal ----at first. On my second day a busload of French Pilgrims attended mass in the village church con-celebrated with their African Chaplain. One of the pilgrims, also French/African sat directly behind me and sang beautiful hymns in a beautiful voice. During the communion they all sang the Lourdes hymn and my throat tightened and the tears fell. I was home. The damp weather had got to my chest during the climb up the mountain and I spent much of the next day in bed. Every day I added to a letter to my old mum and at the end had about 40 pages for her written on various scraps of paper. If I had written down everything that came to me during the week it would have filled a book. For instance I found that when reading my new testament I understood it in a way never experienced before. I had known the answer to many questions of faith in my head but never in my heart. I found myself asking Jesus questions I had never really asked before. On contemplating what he had volunteered to undergo I asked Him what was in it for Him. He answered “You.” And I was reminded of the words of an old priest in confession. He suggested to me that when we first meet Jesus in heaven we will be astounded at the fact we did not love him more during our life on earth. My relationship with Jesus had just become personal after all these years. It was then that I was reminded how important it was to keep my priorities right, my order of wonder and reverence. Sure, the Archangel Michael had appeared here in Garabandal ordered by God’s power to undertake this important mission and Mary the Mother of God had appeared and spoken and kissed many articles of faith. The message she carried was according to God’s will, but then it struck me that her Son, God, in the form of the Infant Jesus had also appeared in her arms. Surely that was the better part. And again I reakised in a new way Jesus is always present in the Blessed Sacrament. We only have to see what is shown. We don’t have to look but only believe and see with the eyes of faith. When I was a child in Scotland the churches were always open. It’s harder to visit now they are closed for security reasons. We had four priests in one of the two parishes in my town and masses every day from dawn until dusk. During the week there were early morning masses so people could attend before work. There were at least four fully attended masses on a Sunday. Confession seemed easier to access and more frequent. Now we no longer have enough priests. The tabernacle was in the center of the Church. Having come to church you had no need to search further. You only had to see the Body of Christ at work and believe. Christians didn’t labour on a Sunday. We knew that this sometimes caused sacrifice but that was part of being Catholic and was often willingly sacrificed. It also allowed for more family time. We ate fish on a Friday and that reminded us of our Catholic identity. The nuns wore habits and the priests Roman collars as they still do. They were easily recognized persons of respect and authority. Obedience had more to do with humility and love than humiliation.
Catechism was taught in schools so the children had a good foundation to the articles of faith. We were told stories of the saints. People participated in the mass by following the Latin translated in their missals and the same mass could be attended and understood in every Catholic Church in the world. It truly was universal. Prayers were taught in the home, however short. In the car on long trips our family said the rosary. In the church there was rosary and benediction every Thursday evening and I remember the church was full. The pass-keepers, collectors and altar boys provided great service. This is the great foundation that Vatican II had at its disposal. It was sound and strong and ready to accept the new challenges of the times. Our Lady at Garabandal approved the Second Vatican Council’s special recognition of Her as Mother of The Church and in turn I have come to believe with all my heart that the messages and prophesies of Garabandal contain the best hope for renovation and restoration of The Faith. No human intervention can halt the present inexorable advance of death and corruption in human affairs. For instance, Our Lady of Mount Carmel of Garabandal did refer to the evil of abortion. World Health Organisation figures estimate 50-60 million each year. Just in case you do not know the story of Garabandal I will summarise the events. On June 18 1961 at 8.30p.m. while it was still light the Archangel Michael appeared to four village girls, Mari Loli, Conchita, Jacinta and Mari Cruz, aged 11 and 12, and then appeared on the following days. He said nothing. Then on July 1 he spoke. He told them that on the next day the Blessed Virgin would appear to them as Our Lady of Mount Carmel. (Our Lady appeared over 2,000 times over the next four years.) On October 18th 1961 the first message from Our Lady was given to the world. “We must make many sacrifices, perform much penance, and visit the Blessed Sacrament frequently. But first we must lead good lives. If we do not, a chastisement will befall us. The cup is already filling up, and if we do not change, a very great chastisement will come upon us.” A vision of this possible chastisement was later shown to the girls during what cam to be known as the night of screams. It could be compared to the time that Our Lady of Fatima gave the children there a vision of hell. On June 18th 1965 Our Lady delivered her last message through St Michael. “As my message of October 18th has not been complied with and has not been made known to the world, I am advising you that this is the last one. Before, the cup was filling up. Now it is flowing over. Many cardinals, many bishops and many priests are on the road to perdition and are taking many souls with them. Less and less importance is being given to the Eucharist. You should turn the wrath of God away from yourselves by your efforts. If you ask his forgiveness with sincere hearts, He will pardon you. I, your mother, through the intercession of St Michael the Archangel, ask you to amend your lives.
You are now receiving the last warnings. I love you very much and do not want your condemnation. Pray to Us with sincerity and we will grant your requests. You should make more sacrifices. Think about the passion of Jesus.” There is much more to discover from the visionaries of Garabandal but I will confine myself to the three prophesies. This first will be frightening although Conchita herself wrote in 1967 “Terror and fear are not the best means to move souls.” Our Lady referred to the first prophesied event as the Aviso or Warning. It will consist of a purely supernatural sighting in the sky that will have the effect of revealing to each and every human being (except the innocent – eg babies and handicapped, chronically sick and dying and those who have reached the highest stages of the interior life ) their sins and their effects and the good we have failed to do. It will be felt physically and interiorly. It will bring us to true repentance. This will be a personal, private and individual experience. Some may die from the shock of this experience which could cause a heart attack. Conchita said “it would be preferable to die beforehand than to suffer five minutes of what awaits us.” She also said that practicing Catholics would endure it better than others. The Aviso will correct our conscience and prepare us for the second prophesy, The Miracle which will take place in Garabandal within one year of the Aviso. It will be the greatest miracle that Jesus has ever worked for the world. Its date is known by Conchita and that will be announced 8 days in advance. Something will happen before the Miracle to undermine faith in this prophesy. However, the sick who are present in the village on the day of the Miracle will be cured, sinners converted and the incredulous will believe. A permanent supernatural sign confirming the reality of the Miracle will remain. It will be possible to televise, film and photograph this but not touch it. It may be that all this will still prove insufficient to bring about a true and permanent change for the better in human affairs and that people will return to their old ways eventually. Even after all this some will never turn away from their old ways at all. Conchita has been given good reason to fear this sorry state of affairs. But those who persevere in faith will be saved. So as you can see my day of rest was not wasted. I was even forced to fast each day as lunch was never served and to take exercise in climbing the rosary trail up the mountain! I will have to get back to those things. As I lay in bed and gazed up at Los Pinõs I saw that a bus load of pilgrims had climbed the steep rocky path to the trees and had stopped where the path divided. To my way of seeing, the divided lines of pilgrims formed the shape of two sides of a cup or chalice and then the stem formed as the two lines of people came together again. The cup was upside down. It was not only overflowing but had toppled right over. Perhaps this was the cup of human sin referred to by our lady on October 18 1965. Perhaps only the body of the church, headed by Christ and represented by good pilgrims such as these was the only way to contain and control such an overflow.
The next interesting people I met in Garabandal were three travelling folk. Normally the chapel was a place of quiet or at least controlled reverence. One day I was sitting there quietly when the door burst open and in burst a young female traveller. She walked right up to me and said in a loud clear Irish voice, “My name’s Angela, what’s yours.” Then she introduced me to her mother, also Angela and to Timothy, a young lad they seemed to have adopted. I knew right away they were travellers and my prejudice came to the fore and I was initially wary of them. I even thought they might steal something from the church and I was reluctant to leave them alone there. Much to my surprise, however, I learned a great deal from them over the next few days, not least about myself. They had no fear although they were often attacked, were full of faith and were truly authentic. What you saw was what you got. The older Angela told me her daughter, the younger Angela, had been in and out of mental institutes and the younger one was quite happy for me to know that. The fact that I knew this about her, didn’t stop young Angela from telling me she was looking for a husband! The young man worked as a mental health nurse and wanted to be a priest. They had visited all the major European shrines and had great devotion to the Saints. They knew more traditional prayers then most Catholics I know. They said many rosaries each day. They were very devout but never in a sanctimonious or onerous way. The older one could neither read nor write but was full of knowledge especially about the Faith – a bit like some of the apostles. I learned from them how to let go of some of the rubbish in my spiritual life how to lead the more authentic life and how to pray with integrity, humility and sincerity and to let go of my fear. They had a great sense of humour and were full of stories which obviously helped them cope. Their only true boss was God. But He was in charge of their lives. They had absolute trust in Him, a great love of Jesus, His Mother and the Saints. They gave me a reliquary containing a small piece of rock from the sanctuary of St Michael which they had visited and told me the story of that place, how even St Francis of Assisi had felt too unworthy to enter it because of the Angels visit. They did not know I had been Christened in the parish of St Michael. They gave me a rosary as a gift for my old mum in Scotland. It had been handmade by a friend of theirs and contained a relic kissed by Our Lady in Garabandal. I believed the rosary relic was authentic but through my prejudice I was a bit suspicious of the rock from St Michael’s and thought it may have been just part of traveller folklore. I explained my suspicions to the village priest who did not really speak English but who waved aside my doubts and blessed both of them. One morning at breakfast I was listening to the traveller tales of their travels to the Catholic shrines of Europe and the discoveries they contained. An envelope containing labeled items from my sister Dorothy had arrived and was waiting for me on the table. When I opened it, it made me cry. I had composed myself by the time the travellers arrived for breakfast. They were their usual talkative selves and told me that in the course of their travels they had come across the story of The Holy Child of Atocha and they told me that devotees often left locks of hair at his statue with prayer requests for their owners who could not be there. Unknown to the Gypsies my envelope contained locks of hair from my sister
Dorothy, Jim her husband and my nephew Ciaran and my handicapped nieces Catriona and Rebecca – and their pet dogs Tinks and Cosmo who were regarded as members of their family. For some reason I had been moved to ask some patients in New Zealand if they would like me to take a lock of their hair and bury it at the Pines where Our Lady and St Michael appeared in Garabandal. I made the same offer to my sister. I had not been sure if this was really appropriate but the traveller’s story and its timing confirmed it was. I had the locks sprayed with holy water and buried them at the Pines. This was a Friday and I had absent mindedly bought and tasted a local sausage. As soon as I remembered it was Friday I stopped eating it and gave it to a village dog who was always on a long chain and I was a bit wary of it. The next day the same dog was playing at the Pines with children and adults alike as friendly as could be and this confirmed in my mind that Our Lady cared for the animals too. On that same day two Scots from Dunfermline arrived in a motor home. I can’t remember their names even though I spent some time with them. When I was a child my family used to process through the streets of Glasgow praying for the canonization of John Oglivie. That prayer was eventually answered and the last time I was in Rome was for his canonization. The travellers knew all about him. The other place we used to make pilgrimage to was Dunfermline Abbey where St Margaret of Scotland is buried. We always said a rosary on the long car journeys to there. Although I can’t remember the names of these pilgrims let’s call them Tony and Maureen. As soon as they opened their mouths I said “Oh, you’re from Fife.” My ex-wife and her parents are from Fife and I recognized their accents. My wife had asked me not to write to her parents after we split as it would upset them. That always felt like a loose end I would have like to tie up. They very much reminded me of my former parents in law. It was almost like a chance to talk and say goodbye. The other thing that drew my attention to Tony was his crutches. It turned out that Tony had represented Scotland at the Olympics in wrestling and as a result had injured his back. He underwent surgery which was successful but three weeks after the operation had a nasty fall that caused further damage which the surgeons could not rectify. Tony had been given a Bene Merenti from the pope for services to the Catholic Church. My old father in law had been given a medal of honour for service to his Presbyterian church. My own Dad had been given two knighthoods by Pope John Paul II. Tony’s papal award made me think of Dad. With me being an osteopath, Tony’s spinal injuries held particular interest for me. I listened carefully as Tony and his wife told me their story. She was a convert and very loyal and supportive lady. Tony was a great stalwart of the church but even that had turned against him with the arrival of a new pastor who for some reason was extremely antagonistic. Tony was greatly concerned with the crisis and scandals in The Catholic Church in Scotland and the priesthood in general. Despite their best efforts their children no longer practiced the faith and had failed marriages. They were a source of great suffering and sadness. And yet Tony and his wife clung onto each other and their faith. Talking and listening to them somehow helped me to come to better terms with the failure of my own marriage. I had been advised in
confession to pray that my ex wife, Avril, and I would discover life in the ashes of our marriage. That day I place my wedding ring in the sealed donations box at the back of the church. Thus I turned over our lives to God’s care in the hope that they would be renewed through the Infant of Prague, The Infant of Atocha and the Infant of Garabandal. My ex wife has now settled in America with her old University sweetheart. Like the travellers, they too had spent many summers touring the shrines of Europe. I showed them relic from the gypsies from St Michaels Sanctuary as I was still suspicious of its authenticity. They told me they had a smaller version of mine and that it was the real deal. They did not know that I had been Christened in St Michaels Dumbarton in Scotland and that the first home I had lived in was adjacent to the chapel and had been named ‘Loreto’ by my mum and my Grand Uncle Willie who was a Jesuit. Without knowing any of this Tony gave me a small bottle of blessed oil that said on it that it came from Loreto, the home of Jesus and Mary. I sent this home to my old mum with the relic from St Michael. I also returned two relics to her of St Catherine Laboure and Blessed Margaret Sinclair that she had given to me. I felt they had given me the help I had needed and that mum’s need was now greater than mine. One day while looking for the house of Conchita, the main visionary, I said hello to a lady who turned out to be her aunt. She told me that I was standing in the street and at the spot where the Archangel Michael gave communion to Conchita and the host appeared on her tongue. All the other communions had been invisible to onlookers but this was visible to all and was even recorded on film. Sadly I could not gain access to Conchita’s house as it had been sold and the new owner was not around to let people in. But Conchita’s aunt led me to her house and at least I saw it from the outside. I am sure Conchita did not want it to be a shrine to herself. Our Lady had actually blessed all the houses in the village by her presence, not just Conchita’s. The whole village was a shrine to Our Lady. I moved on from Conchita’s house to the follow that new concrete path up to the Pines. This had been especially built for access for handicapped people. This is surrounded by lovely views of the valley and its verdant fields. I stopped briefly to say hello to an old villager who was wearing wooden clogs. I asked if I could take a photo. He said yes. I had seen another old villager wearing clogs as she purchased groceries from the back of the van that visited the village on a regular basis. There are no stores in the village apart from the religious souvenir shops. As I approached The Pines my attention was taken by the sound of the wind going through their branches. It made me think of the sound of the wind that had attracted St Bernadette at Lourdes. (I am no saint!!!!!!) It was a different sound that did not fit with the very small movement of the branches. There was one pilgrim lying prostate on the ground in front of the tree where Our Lady appeared. There was a Spanish lady cleaning the candles around the base of the tree. I said a little prayer at the tree and moved to St Michael’s tree. As I got closer there was a strong scent of incense. I sniffed and sniffed and there it was. I could not find where it was coming from. There were candles around that tree too and I sniffed all of them but they had no scent.
I called over the Spanish lady and explained to her that I could smell incense. She understood as the Spanish word is nearly the same for incense. I asked her to sniff but she could smell nothing. I sat down by Our Lady’s tree and prayed but soon returned to St Michael’s tree. This time there was no scent of incense until I pressed my nose against the bark. Then I smelled the incense again but not as strongly. I quickly called the poor Spanish lady over again and asked her to sniff but she could not smell the incense. I asked her if the incense was a sign of the presence of St Michael but she said no it was the sign of the presence of Jesus. This did not really register with me as the idea of Jesus doing this for the likes of me was too much to consider. Then the Spanish lady said that the sign was for me alone, not her. After I prayed for a short while again at Our Lady’s tree and then I walked down the hill wondering if I had conjured all of this up in my own mind. I arrived at the plaque at the base of the hill that marked the first visit of St Michael. I asked St Michael to confirm it had all been real and in that instant a whiff of incense immediately replaced the whiff of the cows and filled my nose. I felt that poor Michael was throwing up his hands in frustration at my doubt. I continued down into the village and there I met Barry from Australia who was a retired banker. This made me think of how I had first been introduced to Garabandal all those years ago. It was as if the circle was completing. He told me of his friend from New Zealand who was living in a house owned by an Irish doctor. He took me to meet his friend whose name was Michael. Michael was a retired photo journalist from the New Zealand Herald. His home was Henderson, Auckland and her was making a film documentary about Garabandal. He had been involved in Garabandal from the outset. There is a little chapel in Coromandel, New Zealand, dedicated to St Colman. My ancestors come from Ardboe on the shores of Lough Neigh in Northern Ireland. There stands an ancient Celtic cross marking the site of an Abbey founded by St Colman. I spent many happy childhood holidays there with my cousins who were professional eel fishers and on the wall of my clinic in New Zealand there is a photo I took of my cousin John on one of our days fishing on the lough. These cousins were simple and poor but would have given you their last dime. One of my cousins there died giving birth to her eighth child and when it came to her husbands burial many years later she was found to be incorrupt. The old parish priest kept it quiet and civilized and told the children who were able to see their mother almost as she was in life. They never spoke of it except to my dad who was their trusted and highly respected friend and advisor as was my grandfather Joe after whom I am named along with my Grand Uncle Joe who was a Jesuit. The final editing of Michael’s documentary was to be done in Armagh, the cathedral town of my cousins in Ireland, St Patrick’s Cathedral Armagh. It was as if my whole life and world was coming together in Garabandal. The parish we moved to after St Michael’s in Scotland was St Patrick’s and my parish in
Whangamata in New Zealand is St Parick’s. My home town Dumbarton in Scotland stands in the foothills of Old Kilpatrick and Bonhill where St Patrick lived. Michael the journalist showed me some of his film and during it I learned of the one and only time that the Archangel Michael kissed an object passed to him during an apparition at the Pines. It was a scapular from a brother of the order of St John of God, an order that had suffered great persecution by the Communists in 1936. This scapular was kissed by St Michael at the Pines in Garabandal on August 6 1962. That was my 9th birthday. Michael the journalist had a fragment of this scapular which he let me handle and touched it to another relic kissed by Our Lady which he gave to me. We watched his documentary in a room that for may years had been used for mass because in the early years of Garabandal there was a ban on visiting priests saying mass in the village church. The well known priest Fr George had said many of those masses. My Dad’s name was George as was my brother’s and they had died several years ago within six month’s of each other. I went home to Scotland to see both of them when I heard they were dying. Dad had taken a strong and very public pro-life and Catholic education stand during his life and through this had made many political enemies. Because of this he had been denied a permanent position on the bench and he and mum lost their pension rights. On his death bed dad quoted to me St Thomas More’s last words to his daughter Margaret Roper. “We will not meet again in this world but we will meet merrily in heaven.” The last words of my dad, heard by his friend Fr Eustace and reported in the Catholic press on being given the last rites were, “Now I am ready for the road.” Dad had a huge concelebrated funeral mass and the police escorted his body out of the church and to the cemetery to the verses of “Mine eyes have seen the coming of he glory of the Lord.” My brother George had 1500 mourners at his funeral many of whom were people he had helped deal with addiction. At our farewell my brother promised he would stay near and told me he was heading straight for heaven. And here they were in Garabandal, truly a little slice of heaven. Michael the journalist thought I had been led to meet him after I confided that I had spent thousands in advertising the events of Garabandal in the New Zealand press. I was not boasting in telling him this – I have nothing to boast about as it was a gift to me to be able to do this. We are so far away in New Zealand and I just wanted to be part of our early warning system. On my final Sunday the statue of Our Lady of Fatima was carried from the back of the village church to the altar and the priest said a few words in Spanish that I did not fully understand. I think it was on or near the feast of Our Lady of Fatima. Near the top of the handicapped way is a bronze bust of Padre Pio who had confirmed that the visions of Our Lady in Garabandal were real. Under his face are his words to the effect that the world has more chance of surviving without the sun than without the Holy Mass. I cannot remember the exact quote. I
learned when I got home that Padre Pio had been cured of a fatal cancerous tumour by Our Lady of Fatima on the day that her international pilgrimage statue left Padre Pio’s home. This took place on August 6 1959 – my sixth birthday. My maternal grandmother had met Padre Pio and her friend Mrs DeGiacomo had gone to confession to him. She had been overwhelmed and did not know what to say – just like Joey – and just like Joey Padre Pio told her all her sins without her having to say anything. On my final day in Garabandal I climbed right to the top of the mountain behind the village. As I neared the summit there were two deer again and above them the circling vultures. I was puffing and panting a bit so perhaps they thought they were in for an easy meal! This time I was the body. The climb up the hill to the pines is marked by the stations of the cross and the twenty mysteries of the rosary. Sometimes we don’t even have to look. We only have to see. The signs are there. On my final day in Spain as I entered San Vicente to catch the bus to Bilbao I saw the pilgrims on the ancient pilgrim route to San Diego de Compostella. When I arrived in Bilbao I decided to treat myself to a very special last lunch in an expensive restaurant. The chef and the waiter could both speak English and were very hospitable. I had a magnificent lunch of tuna and steak and fois gras and truffles and profiteroles filled with chocolate mousse and served with iced cream and jam accompanied by a fine half bottle of local red. As I started my desert I noticed that the background music had changed from Spanish to Irish and a beautiful female voice was singing ‘The Isle of Innisfree” which refers to the dreams and pain of the exile who is separated from loved ones by great distances. This was followed by “Danny Boy” during which the waiter brought me a complementary glass of single malt and then the voice sang “Ave Maria.” The voice reminded me of that of a professional singer who is one of my patients in New Zealand. By this time I could not even speak to say thank you for such a lovely lunch I was so choked with emotion. I left them a very big tip and set off for my home in New Zealand. I had brought many rosaries and relics from Garabandal back to New Zealand and sent many home to Scotland. I had one of these relics in my wallet when I attended mass shortly after my return in St Michaels Rotorua, a parish that I have visited before when on conference in that town. During mass the priest asked us to pray for the intercession of Blessed John Paul II for a little girl called Tara who was terminally ill. I passed this relic to the priest for her after mass. My own relic rosary from Garabandal broke shortly after my return to New Zealand and I went online to see if I could find an unbreakable rosary. There was one left and it was called “St Michael’s Rosary” hand made in Florida, unbreakable with normal use. I bought it and received this beautifully crafted rosary two weeks later. Soon after it arrival I managed to accidentally pull out the first link. I sent it back on Carm’s request (Carm makes them) who quickly repaired it and returned it. It may be that I was being reminded never to think of myself as unbreakable without maintenance and repair through the grace of God
and the intercession and assistance of Our Blessed Lady, the Angels and the Saints. Yesterday was the feast of St Maria Goretti patroness of young people and while listening to a CD for the encouragement of youth I was introduced to another patron of the young, Blessed Chiara Badano 1971-1990 the first of generation X to be beatified. I recommend you read about her on the web. Just before this I I had visited the Parish of St Michael in Remuera, Auckland. I phoned my step son to invite him to join me for dinner. He asked why I had travelled all that way for Mass. I told him there was a special connection between me and St Michael and that I had been Christened in St Michael’s Dumbarton, Scotland. The next day I received in the mail here in New Zealand, my original First Holy Communion certificate from St Michael’s, Dumbarton. My baby sister had found this in the loft. I had not asked for it and did not even know it existed. Thank you St Michael. So many times and places and people of my life had come together in Garabandal in answer to the simple prayer I made in Whangamata for confirmation that I was on the right path. Indeed I was. “And I will raise you up on eagles wings, Bear you on the breath of dawn, Make you to shine like the sun, And hold you in the palm of my hand.” God bless you as he has blessed me – in great abundance. Joe PS I have recently remembered the name of that Irish banker who first told me about Garabandal way back in the 70s. His name was Michael. And I have just discovered that Pope Paul VI, in my humble opinion the greatest prophet of our times and the Pope to whom Conchita disclosed the date of the Great Miracle, died in 1978 on August the 6th, my 25th birthday.
What can I say? Truely a remarkable testimony to God's Love and providence. The love of God was confirmed/stamped/established/defined and verified for Joe in every breath he took on that pilgrimage. We should never doubt the love of God nor His providential protection. I think the testimony would lift the spirit for many if posted on some of the other threads of the MOG forum at the moment; the ones that are currently discussing 'what will happen to us, during the coming years? etc'.
Oh...I just loved reading every bit of this! Wished there was more....like a book that isn't finished....actually, it really isn't .....yet.
You are right, there was more and it took me to Akita. I have a shorter story about that too. Not quite so dramatic but one I would not have missed for the world. I could not upload this Garabandal story from my Mac so I emailed it to Padraig and he did it for me. Page 2 is missing and I have asked Padraig if it can be inserted. He's pretty good with computers. Thank you for your comment
Loved the idea of burying lockets of hair at the pines...you'll know a piece of you is there when the miracle occurs
Hi Beth Seeing your interest in Akita I thought you may like to see a part of the story of my journey to Japan or rather, what happened after. It is posted on the Guardian Angel Stories thread and starts on May 21 with a photo of the crash I survived with a brief account of the amazing care I encountered. This is followed by a sequence of photos that reveal the transformation of an old piece of timber into our very own New Zealand version of Our Lady of Akita that now has its own wee shrine in the foyer of my church. To see the 12 stages of creation just click on the jpg. I can't remember how I figured out how to upload them from my Mac. You can see more of our church in the photos I posted in the Aviso News thread. When praying infront of the carving the Blessed Sacrament is in full view through the foyer window into the church. Through Mary to Jesus. We pray the Rosary of the Seven Sorrows every Tuesday night. I hope you enjoy these postings too. May God bless you heaps.
I am afraid I missed page two of Joe's story and have inserted it in now. It is always interesting reading an affirmation of Garabandal. . I will have to make the effort and get out there next year, please God.
Our Lady of Akita is not only truly beautiful but is also immensely powerful and capable. She reflects the Lady of All Nations on whose image She is based. At the same time as She beckons to all Her children to take refuge under her mantle She crushes the sepents head under Her heel. She is not to be taken lightly. Her mission is universal and her Authority conferred by God Himself. She tells us in no uncertain terms that She and She alone can save us from the calamities ahead. What a Mother! What a Lady! In Amterdam she asked formal recognition from the Church of Her titles The Lady of All Nations and Mother of All Peoples so that through these persona she would be appropriately promoted to fulfill Her mission. In her humility she still awaits recognition and the proclamation of the 5th Dogma. Just as She was asked to give her Fiat to God so the Church is asked to give its Fiat to Her. So far her patience has prevailed but like any Mother whose children test the boundaries I fear She may be approacing the end of Her tether. No wonder those men in red fear her words, "cardinals will oppose cardinals etc" and then the reckoning. Quick.....under her mantle before the battle begins.
