Solid as a rock

Faith can move mountains; and men can move mountains because of their faith.

It was a blessing to be in the bosom of one of the most visited shrines of the Virgin Mary — Our Lady of Montserrat in Barcelona — on the eve of Mother’s Day.

On the Friday before Mother’s Day, it felt good to venerate the Mother of God, Mama Mary, in a shrine associated with many miracles, with many intercessions attributed to the compassion of a mother.

Faith is a very personal thing. It differs from soul to soul. But for those who believe, and who draw strength in the intercession of Mary, a visit to a shrine dedicated to her is a powerful spiritual anti-oxidant. It moves inner mountains.

Our Lady of Montserrat is nestled in a cathedral tucked into a rugged mountain range called the “saw mountains,” about 45 minutes by car from the city of Barcelona. The peaks of the mountains, which rise 1.2 kilometers, resemble the teeth of a saw. In fact, “Montserrat” literally means “serrated.”

It is no breeze to venerate Our Lady there, especially in the days when the only way to reach the shrine was on foot, or through mule-drawn carriages. I’ve always believed that when great effort and sacrifice are exerted and expended in the exercise of faith, the pilgrim is strengthened. The effort is a prayer in itself.

To get to the Benedictine monastery and the Cathedral of Montserrat attached to it, one may go all the way up by car, or park in the foothills and then ride a cable car (about 9 euros for a round trip) to the top. The cable car ride to the shrine was the steepest, yet most scenic, I had ever taken in my life. It takes you on a 14.5-kilometer ride. It is not one for those with a fear of heights or vertigo. But for those with no such problems, it is exhilarating, a physical ascension amid the mountains.

According to Catholic history, the image of Our Lady was buried in the stone mountains of Montserrat to keep it safe from non-believers. It was rediscovered by shepherd boys in the 9th century and the Bishop reportedly ordered its transfer to a place closer to “civilization.” But the statue was so heavy, it could not be lifted, a sign to the Bishop that it should stay where it was rediscovered — in the mountains.

The Romanesque image of Our Lady of Montserrat, said to be reconstructed in the 12th century, is now black. One version has it that it has been darkened through the changes of weather through the centuries. Another has it that it was blackened from the soot rising from candle flames.

Whatever the reason, the statue being black is symbolic. We all associate white and fair skin with perfection. Billions are still spent the world over to achieve the immaculate look associated with white skin. Fairly or not, not everybody thinks black is beautiful — certainly not in the Philippines where glutathione is the new miracle drug of beauty worshippers.

Mary, conceived without sin, is always depicted as immaculately white, with complexion like Dresden china.

But Our Lady of Montserrat is black, it is, in fact, called “La Morenita.” It is as imperfect as you and me. Here she is, looking truly human. She is not immune to the ravages of time, she has aged through time, if only symbolically. There is nothing intimidating about the Black Madonna of Montserrat. She is depicted sitting on a chair with the baby Jesus on her lap and a ball on her right hand. In her imperfect state, she seems just like one of us. Our mother.

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It is a 10-minute walk to the cathedral from the cable car station. There is a side door in the cathedral leading to the glass-encased image of Our Lady. One must line up for at least 30 minutes before one can get to see the Madonna. She is not a tourist attraction, so most of those who line up to see her are believers — young, old, mostly relatively able-bodied unlike those who make a pilgrimage to Lourdes. (Able-bodied because of the sheer effort one must make to get to the top of the mountain, even by car.)

There is something edifying, almost enchanting about being in Our Lady of Montserrat’s presence. One of the Indonesian journalists, who, like this writer, was invited by Singapore Airlines and the Spain Tourism Board to visit Barcelona, wept before her. He is Catholic. He told Rita Dy, marketing communications services manager of Singapore Airlines in Manila: “I had not cried in a very long time.”

Since I was conscious of the queue, I could not pray long in the little alcove where Our Lady of Montserrat was enshrined. She looked golden to me. Then my high school classmate Maite Duarte, who took great lengths to bring me to the sacred mountain of Montserrat to fulfill a long-time wish, and I retreated to a chapel behind the alcove. I felt Mama Mary’s grace. One need not travel far and wide to a sacred shrine to receive Mary’s grace, but being in one makes the connection to Mary almost palpable.

The word “Mother” has always been associated with the kindest, most unselfish acts in the world. My mother Sonia has always cared for me. Mary, the mother of God, is mine, too.

Kneeling behind Our Lady’s alcove, thousands of miles away from my home, I felt I was home. I remembered the line taught to us in school. “Remember oh most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known, that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help or sought thy intercession, was left unaided…” I was teary-eyed.

Maite told me that she always just prays for two things: “Good health and wisdom.” Wisdom to know how to appreciate the good things in life and to get over the bad.

I prayed for both and made a secret wish. It was a non-essential, but if fulfilled, it would make me very happy. Twenty minutes after we left the shrine, I got my wish. It was told to my face.

Luck or Mother Mary’s intercession? I believe it was the latter. Because mothers just don’t give you what’s essential. Sometimes, they like to give you a treat, too.

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