Czestochowa

In the middle of the city of Czestochowa (pop 260 000), there is a hill. And towering on the top of the hill is the Jasna Gora monastery began in the late fourteenth century by Hungarian Pauline monks. Through the ages, it served as a fortress and endured seiges. But more important than the military history is the spiritual history. In the shadow of the 17th c. Baroque church is the smaller 15th c. Gothic chapel of our Lady of Czestochowa. In this chapel is the mystical Black Madonna, and the reason for the influx of pilgrims into this tiny town.

Legends abound about the origins of this painting of mother and child. The story goes that St. Luke created it on a tabletop from the home of the holy family. After being in Constantine's possession for a time, it was brought to Poland and entrusted to the Pauline monks. In one attack, it was slashed by some robbers. The face of Mary began to bleed and scared off the robbers. The monks wanted to clean her, but had no water. Miraculously a spring rushed out and provided the needed water. Despite being restored, her face still bears the scars. Various other legends exist. Art critics say it is a Byzantine icon dating from the 6th to 9th century. For more information, please check out http://www.jasnagora.pl/english/

From our safe abode in the House of Pilgrims where thousands of Poles have stayed when making their pilgrimages, we wandered into the monastery complex and found the information center in hopes of finding something in English so we could navigate our way around the complex. When we asked if anyone spoke English, a woman wandered into the back to find someone to help us. We were expecting the younger lady who we had spotted previously. Instead, out came Sr. Salvatora, a gentle older nun. She sweetly found some English stuff for us and then told us all about the bus schedule to Krakow for the next day. She told us to take the bus because it was safer and that if we needed a cab to get to the bus depot to try get number 345. She gave us a map from Catholic World Youth Day in 1991 and corrected a couple of thigns on it. We thanked her for her help. I said, "God bless you." She returned my greeting and then added as we were walking out, "And thank you for your presence here." I was overwhelmed by her beautiful spirit. Mer and I have decided that when we get to heaven, we're going to have coffee with her. Well, maybe tea. I like that better.

We were fortunate enough to not be there for a Marian feast or another religious holiday, but even still a lot of people were there. Tour buses were lined up in the parking lots. Groups of older people wandered around clutching purses and canes. Young people with backpacks meandered in packs. No one seemed unhappy to be there. They all were content. Young nuns, monks and priests joked with those around them. A girl accidentally stepped on a priest's robe and instead of a reprimand, she received a hardy laugh as the priest dusted off his robe. The atmosphere was joyous and yet reverent as if everyone heeded the signs which said, "This is a holy place. Come here as a pilgrim." A huge grass field in the front lined with statues depicting the lives of Mary and Jesus faced a podium where John Paul II, the Polish pope, had addressed gigantic crowds. People would sometimes stop us to ask us a question, and then would smile and still be friendly when they realized we had no idea what we were staying. During our whole time there, I was conscious that we were somewhere special and it was the people who made it so special.

We followed a group of pilgrims into the baroque chapel and then into a side area, and found ourselves in the chapel of the Mother of God. Behind a set of bars was the altar and hanging above the altar was the Black Madonna. The picture itself is indeed quite dark. The mother and child look out with soulful faces, the mother's face marred by those telling scars. They were decorated by gilded outfits which seem to changed periodically. The room was hushed as some pilgrims kneeled to pray and others stood in amazement. I wondered how many of them were there for the first time. I wondered if any of my ancestors had made this pilgrimage and I felt some strange kinship to great great great grandparents whose names have been lost in the ravages of time. Earnest expressions were on every face.

We filed through in a line to walk along the edges of the altar for a closer glimpse of the miraculous picture which has survived so many conflicts and assaults. I saw an older gentleman tear up. Many stopped to kneel and pray. The picture itself may not appeal to my artistic tastes, but there is something unique about it. I could not stand there and look at it and not be moved.

After gazing at the picture, we assembled back in the chapel for mass. We were a little too close for comfort with some people, but in such a friendly atmosphere, even that close contact seemed comfortable. Elderly women with canes would lower themselves to the floor to pray. Old men sang their hearts out and other people sang out of tune, but they made a joyful noise. All together, the sound was beautiful. I understood very little of what was said other than Kyrie Eleison, amen, alleluia, and the Polish word for thank you. But it was all very special. It was one of the longest masses I'd ever been to and I tried to follow the order as best as I could remember it. Near the end, the organ broke out in trumpetry for the lowering of the curtain over the Madonna. We shuffled out in the midst of the dedicated Poles and found fresh air in the courtyard.

We wandered into the park in front of the monastery near a fountain. There for the sum of three dollars, we feasted on a Polish sausage with a bun and a Coca-Cola. There are tons of little weiner dogs here. I said that I would adopt a weiner dog but Mer is not interested. She would rather get a tortoise.

The afternoon passed quickly as we explored the rest of the monastery. The bell tower in the center gave us an opportunity to look out over the city. We climbed up the stairs, and I thought how cool it would have been to be friends with Quasimodo just to help him ring the bells.

The monastery has three little museums. We first headed for the Treasury where the priceless treasures and gifts received by the monastery are housed. Instead we found ourselves in a gift shop with a gentle old priest who told us in English what would be good to buy. Back up the stairs, we were overwhelmed by the riches the monastery has been given. Military medals, jewels, reliquaries, pocket watches . . . Another museum had ancient charters and robes belonging to Poland's own Jana Pawel II aka Karol Wojota. The armory detailed the military history of the monastery with a lot of Turkish bootie from a triumphant battle in Vienna.

We wandered around the wall to see the beautiful stations of the cross and reflect on the significance of Good Friday. We had supper at the cafeteria of the House of Pilgrims and finished the day by a final walk around the grounds.

Yesterday was such a blessed day. God gave Mer and I good times of conversation. We were blessed with sweet fellowship with other Christians with whom we cannot communicate. It was so refreshing and so different from any place we've been so far.

This morning, taxi 345 - the one recommended by Sr. Salvatora - took us to the bus station and we left Czestochowa on the Polskie Express. Now we are in the beautiful city of Krakow where many more adventures await us.