A slave set free...

When John went to confession in Medjugorje he was greeted with a warm welcome from the Irish American priest that sat in the box sheltering from the cold and rain outside. All went well and before he gave absolution the cheery priest asked John if he was familiar with the parable of the Prodigal Son.
John replied, “Yes, Father, I am.”
“So you will know about the significance of the father giving his son sandals to wear?” responded the priest questioningly.
John was hesitant in his answer, “Now, about that, I am not sure.”
“Well, it’s like this,” said the priest, “In those days only slaves and servants went barefoot. Free men wore sandals. So before you go I am going to put sandals on your feet to make you a free man!”

John wasn’t sure about this and glanced around to see where the priest would produce the sandals from. He didn’t realise the priest was referring to absolution until he heard the words: “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and the resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Shortly afterwards John decided to go to Mt Krizevac and pray the Way of the Cross. The rain had stopped and John took his time to pray at each station and gaze at the amazing detail cast in the bronze reliefs. It was at the fifth station, where Simon of Cyrene is forced to carry the cross for Jesus, that John’s eyes were drawn to the base of the plaque. All of a sudden, the words the priest had spoken to him in the confessional came echoing back: “In those days only slaves and servants went barefoot. Free men wore sandals...”

And as John stared at the plaque, he could clearly see that it was Jesus who stood barefoot and Simon who wore sandals.

• The feet of Simon of Cyrene and Jesus.
• photographs courtesy of Mate Tunin Vasilj.

Light of Hope

by Fr Slavko Barbaric OFM

Foundations of Hope was the theme of the retreats I was supposed to present in Italy and Austria over two consecutive weekends coming up in November.

I was upset about just that topic, and angry at myself. Already, since the beginning of November, I was experiencing a tremendous lack of hope. I was suffering at the thought of having to speak about a topic to the people, when I did not know what to do with the theme.

I had every reason to give up hope. The politcal situation is getting worse. The great world shows its great injustice. The little ones and the innocent ones are suffering and nobody is really in a position to help them. The crimminal and those taking advantage of the war are multiplying. The good which is still being done does not help to lessen the distress. Even if we have helped many today, there are still those who have not received any help, and that kills the joy of helping and doing good.

One sentence of a song kept ringing in my ears: God protect the doves and the poor, the rich will also get along in the war! – and I saw the birds and the poor without protection and the rich getting richer.

There was constant grieving in my soul. Many friends are refugees, many acquaintances live in deep mourning, and a great number of young people died. Now I was supposed to speak about love and live it! It seemd impossible. I experienced the fact that it is easier to live without love, peace, faith, rather than without hope! But still, the days did not get brighter or the nights shorter.

One very early Sunday morning, just before my departure, still in darkness, I woke up and went to Krizevac without much thinking. From station to station I tried to surrender my inner self to Jesus through Mary. I could only distinguish the stations from the rocks or the bushes because of their dark shadow. Nothing happened. Before my eyes and in my soul, there were constantly the same pictures calling to hopelessness, sadness, anger and helplessness. On the very top of the hill before the big cross, I remembered one message: Pray before the cross; many graces come from the cross. That word also fell into the deep darkness within me.

I met nobody that morning. It had been raining the whole evening before until deep into the night. After genuflecting before the cross, I looked down into the valley. In the very early dawn the houses began to be slowly noticeable. The air was totally fresh around me. In my soul, the dark night continued and the perfume of hoplessness also...

I went past the station of the Resurrection which stands at the entrance of the area where the big cross is. Across a little wall was the station of Jesus being buried. Just a little wall stands between those stations, and such a big difference. The station of the Resurrection meant nothing to me.

On my way back, just before leaving the area where the cross stands, I saw a little flame of a candle, in the little corner of the litle wall... interesting, I said to myself. It had rained through the whole night, I had met nobody, and there was the flame. It was burning behind the wall, but did not spread much light around itself between the stations of the Tomb and the Resurrection. I was similar to those looking for Jesus, convinced He was not there, and had been stolen... One little though came to me next to the flame: it survived the night and the rain. One more thought: It can and must continue... and it is true: it continues!

Men of Cyrene

• One Friday afternoon, three men, Brian, Izzy and Inky, arrived at the foot of Mt Krizevac when they were approached by Robert, a Frenchman in a wheelchair. Communication was difficult as Robert kept pointing up to the mountain. Izzy and Inky had never been up the mountain – this was their first pilgrimage to Medjugorje – but with the help of Brian they lifted Robert, a heavy man, out of his wheelchair and started to carry him up the steep and rocky path. Soon they were joined by other willing helpers, Mario from Austria, Andrea from Italy, Dragan from Croatia, Jim from Ireland and Bertenauld from Reunion Island. It was a difficult and tiring climb as each man took a turn in supporting and helping to carry Robert. Priests on the mountain came forward to bless the group. Crowds parted to make way and joined hands to offer prayer and sing praises. Eventually, the summit was reached and Brian, Inky and Izzy lifted Robert and sat him on the altar ledge at the foot of the white, concrete cross. He turned to each of them and said: “You my Simon, you my Simon, you my Simon.” It was a very special experience for all concerned, but particularly for Inky and Izzy, making their very first ascent up Mt Krizevac. Had they known what lay ahead they may have decided not to go to the mountain. But like Simon, they responded. This was their ‘Medjugorje’. How God works in mysterious ways!

The Way of the Cross

• This is a most beautiful and uplifting booklet by the late Fr Slavko Barbaric ofm, produced to provide comfort for pilgrims as they make the Way of the Cross on Krizevac. In truth, it can be used anytime, anywhere, as we continue the Way through our lives.

The book contains scripture, meditations, prayers, messages of Our Lady, as well as illustrations of the images to be found at each station on Krizevac, lovingly sculptured by Carmelo Puzzolo. The Italian artist has also included his own description of each station.

Until recently, copies of the book were only available from the Franciscan book shop in Medjugorje, but now the U.S. based Medjugorje Web has started selling this and other Fr Slavko titles from its online store.

• The Way of the Cross, by Fr Slavko Barbaric ofm, is published by Information Centre Mir Medjugorje, ISBN 953 6264-25-0 (Zagreb)

The lady on the mountain...

This abridged testimony by Phil Read-Shaw relates to an experience on Krizevac when he first went to Medjugorje some years ago. The full story, as well as an inspirational musical recording produced by Phil after his visit, can be found at the website: Gospa Oratorio.

• Our pilgrimage leader had decided to spend the night in prayer on Cross Mountain. He spotted me in the bar and, quite rightly, made oblique comments about it ‘being late and a heavy schedule, tomorrow’. On learning of his plans to go to Cross Mountain I asked him to hang on until I finished my drink. He, no doubt thinking that I had drank more than enough already, said he wasn’t going to wait, “Come now if you want to come with me.” I had always been brought up with the Victorian edict, waste not, want not, and this particularly applied to alcoholic drinks as far as I was concerned. I’d paid for the drink so Id drink it! So off he went into the night.

About half an hour later I left the bar and decided to go up Cross Mountain, but before setting off I went to sit by the beautiful white-stone statue of Our Lady, outside the parish church of St James. Apart from a taxi driver asleep across the bench seat of his old Mercedes taxi, I appeared to be the only person in the whole of Medjugorje. It was a black, moonless sky, lit only by thousands of twinkling little stars. There was a breathtaking, all-pervading peace about the village.

The words of that beautiful Christmas carol, O little town of Bethlehem came to mind, and for the very first time in my life I found I was praying to Our Lady for her intercession.

After about 20 minutes in peaceful prayer to Our Lady I had to decide whether to go back to my hotel to sleep, or go up Cross Mountain. Commonsense dictated that I go to bed; it was well past midnight by then. However, caught up in the fervour of the aftermath of my prayers to Our Lady, I decided I still wanted to climb Cross Mountain. So with a deep breath and best foot forward, I started to walk the mile or so journey to the base of the mountain.

I’d been there once before, as part of a small party a couple of days earlier, and thought that I knew the way. I picked the right road out of the village and patiently walked alone in the darkness. I’m sure that I didn’t pass anyone or, for that matter, no one passed me, although I have a dim recollection of perhaps two or three cars passing. I got to the T-junction about a mile outside the village and with great confidence turned left.

I walked and walked, then walked and walked some more, until I had to admit that I was lost and had taken the wrong turn at the junction. I retraced my steps and after an age I was back to the junction. At that moment a cock crowed. My instant reaction was, “How biblical is this?” and I struggled in the darkness to read my watch. It was about ten minutes to four; I had been walking for between three and four hours. Perhaps it was the Lord’s way of helping me to work off any alcohol in my system.

Again I needed to make a decision – should I go back to my hotel and get some much-needed sleep, or should I go up Cross Mountain? I took a deep breath; I’d gone this far, and I’d carry on. It was only months later that I realised that I had been given three opportunities to back out, firstly when I left the bar, secondly after I had prayed at Our Lady’s statue and finally just after the cock crowed in the vicinity of the junction.

I set off to walk the last few hundred yards to the base of Cross Mountain. Suddenly I became aware that a lady dressed in a long dark, full-length hooded cloak or coat was walking about ten yards ahead of me. Whilst I never saw her face from beginning to end, I had an impression that her hair was brown rather than black and her skin colour was quite pale. The only detail I can give with any certainty was that she had strong sturdy ankles and she was wearing robust, old-fashioned shoes, the type that no western lady would be seen dead in today.

They were built to last for years, with no concession to transient fashion. English readers will know what I mean if I refer to them as Widow Twanky pantomime dame shoes. I didn’t notice at the time but, whilst I could see her feet walking along the road in front of me, it’s only now, as I write this, that I realise that I couldn’t hear her footsteps. The thought crossed my mind that this lady shouldn’t be out alone in the dead of the night like this. Blame my lack of imagination, but it never occurred to me that she was anything other than a local peasant women.

I followed her the remaining few hundred yards to the apron area at the base of Cross Mountain. As soon as I tried to walk across the small stones of this relatively flat area I knew had bitten off more than I could chew. This was by far the easiest part of the climb; in fact, at this stage it was only a walk, yet because of the dark and cold night dew on the stones I was in grave danger of doing myself serious harm. To make matters even worse, I was wearing my favourite comfortable, casual shoes and the soles had been worn glass-smooth over the years. I couldn’t really see where I was walking. Really, I wasn’t walking, I was slipping and sliding. I knew I would need assistance.

It was quite a scary moment. I approached the lady who was now standing by the signs to the left of the apron area. Firstly, in English, then haltingly in Italian, the local second language, I attempted to explain that I was a married man so as to try and put her mind at rest and that I wasn’t about to attack her. After all, it was the middle of the night!

I found myself, me an arrogant male chauvinist, asking this total stranger, this unknown lady, if I could go up the mountain with her. Without saying a word she produced a light and proceeded to light my way. She walked in front of me the whole way shining the beam of light behind her to assist me. Every time I stopped, she stopped, and every time I started, she started again. The only time she turned the
beam forward was when we stopped at each of the large bronze plaques depicting a scene from the Stations of the Cross. She would point the beam forward for a while so as to illuminate the scene for my benefit, and turn the beam off. Then she climbed the pile of boulders supporting the plaques and caressed the faces of all the participants in the tableaux, with great reverence and devotion. I had the extraordinary sensation that this lady knew the people depicted, personally. I can’t prove what happened either way, but please take my word on this; it was one of those hairs-standing-up-on-the-back-of-the-neck moments; like watching a blind person stroking the face of a loved one. It wasn’t at all frightening, just achingly beautiful to see. She was an object lesson in love and total humility. I’d never understood before, humility doesn’t necessarily mean servitude, it’s actually a selfless act of extreme love.

After she had spent a couple of minutes caressing the tableaux she would then lie prostrate on the ground for another five or ten minutes in prayer. If you have never been to Medjugorje you will not know that the route of the Way of the Cross winds up the mountain like a dried-up riverbed. You don’t walk up, you pick your way using the boulders as stepping stones. Everyone else I have ever seen on the mountain, either finds a smooth rock to sit or kneel on, or when they pray support their weight by only going down on one knee. In fact it’s so rocky many pray standing with just their head bowed. Not this lady, she was spread-eagled on the rocks, and because of the length of time she prayed, it must have been distinctly uncomfortable, if not down-right painful. But I never got any indication it was done for gratuitous display, it seemed to me it was a genuine expression of total love and humility.

It normally takes about an hour to climb Cross Mountain; it took us about two. There is a huge, white-painted, concrete cross at the summit and there are a number of steps leading up to its base. The first faint hints of the new day were starting to paint streaks across the sky as I stood behind the kneeling lady kneeling a few short feet in front of me. After about ten minutes I felt that I couldn’t stand there any longer, I just had to go and find somewhere to sit!

Moving up to the lady’s right shoulder I knew I had to thank her for being my guide and protector. There was no way I could have made it without her help. I didn’t want to disturb her but I owed her my sincere thanks. Summoning up my smattering of Italian I said, “Bella donna, a mille gracia,” which I fervently hope means, Beautiful lady, a thousand thank you’s. At that, without looking up from her prayers, she gently raised her right hand and waved very gracefully to me, as if to say, “Don’t mention it.”

As you can imagine, I was quite shaken by the total experience and I went over to the flat area behind the cross to find a boulder to sit on. A few minutes later our team leader, who had been on an all-night vigil on the mountain, was surprised to stumble across me and offered to walk back down with me. Before we started down, I asked him, “Can you see that lady praying on the steps at the base of the cross?” He was a bit puzzled as to why I should ask the question, but peering through the gloom and to my great relief, he said “Yes.” I was starting to worry that I had imagined the whole thing.

On the way down I told him what had happened to me and at one point we bumped into Father Slavko, a priest of the Medjugorje parish. Our leader, who had led a number of previous pilgrimages, knew him and engaged him in conversation, trying to arrange for him to address our party with one of his talks. All the time they were talking, Father Slavko appeared to be looking intently at me. It was most disconcerting – it felt like he was reading my soul! At the bottom of the mountain, I turned to my friend and said, “Do you know, I never saw that lady’s face from beginning to end. Did you see her face?” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “No, but when we stopped to talk to Father Slavko she passed us, and I caught her eyes, they were full of love and seemed to say, ‘You’re safe now.’“ He had been on so many trips nothing seemed to faze him.

Six months later, I was received into the Catholic Church. Just prior to this I invited friends and those that could make it from my ‘pilgrim family’ to a small party at my home. I was explaining to a few people there about what had happened to me on the mountain and turning to the leader of the pilgrimage who happened to be stood by me I queried if he saw where the lady had gone. His reply blew me away. “No,” and then in his matter-of-fact-way he continued, “The last I saw of her was as she floated off down the mountain.”

People ask me who or what I think I saw on the mountain, and in a sense it doesn’t matter. Whoever or whatever I saw was undeniably and literally heaven-sent. Was it a devout local lady, was it my Guardian Angel, or was it Our Lady herself? I make no claims, but in my heart I feel I know.

A new path for Dave...

• Like the three wise men who returned to their own country a ‘different way’, Dave Sheehan explains how he was also ‘invited’ to return home from Krizevac by a different path. Conversion or change is the basic message of Medjugorje.

Special thanks to Dave and to June Klins for their help in publishing this testimony.

• The weather in Medjugorje had turned cold but dry near the end of our week long visit. The rain that had marked our earlier days was gone. In its place, a cold front had come in with strong cold winds from the North. The locals call this a bura and say that these winds come in from Siberia. We had planned on going as a group up Mt Krizevac after Mass. This mountain overlooks the Church of St James in Medjugorje and has on its summit a concrete cross erected by the villagers in 1933 as a commemoration of Our Lord's death and resurrection and as a supplication to God to protect the village from crop-destroying hail. Since the time of its construction, the village has not suffered from hail damage. The Stations of the Cross are marked at various intervals on the pilgrim's trail that reaches to the top of the mountain. From a distance and on postcards, the mountain looks picturesque and inviting. In reality, a climb up it will drive home the point of Our Lord's difficult climb up Calvary.

Our noon Mass was delayed about half an hour from its start as the Croatian Mass went a bit longer than usual. The villagers had a special prayer session after their Mass to honour Our Lady on the Feast of her Immaculate Conception. By the time the English-speaking (our) Mass was over, it was about 1:30pm. As our small group of seven huddled outside the church, we debated on whether to climb the mountain or not, given the severity of the winds. The majority agreed to postpone it a day and see if the weather would improve.

I thought about it, and decided to give the mountain a go. I asked the Lord to accept my effort as a gift to Our Lady on Her feast day. I also asked His help to make the climb. I have climbed the mountain four times before in good weather and it has always kicked my butt. I have gone up there with a hangover. I have gone up there cold sober. It does not matter. The last time I went up there in June 2001 with one of the Grey Friars from the Bronx, Brother Gerard, I got us both lost and finally found our way back to the right trail when I spotted a Coca-Cola sign on an old, abandoned shack. I think Our Lord had a bit of fun with that one; I know our Croatian guide did. Unsure of whether I could make it to the top, I told our group that I was going to go up the mountain as far as I could and that if conditions got too bad, I would turn back. My wife Peg asked me if I had a death wish. I smiled in reply but I did not tell her that I thought God had something for me, but that it was a surprise.

So, I walked a mile or so up the road from St James’ Church to the road that runs along the bottom of Mt Krizevac. I then turned right (west) and walked another half mile until I got to the start of the trail. There are a few shops and cabs for the pilgrims, for those who have just come down from the mountain and for those who may have second thoughts, like myself. Nevertheless, I began the climb with my little Croatian/English prayer book in hand. The wind that was strong and loud at Church was still present, but seemed to be going over my head as I hugged the mountain on my way up.

Around the third station (Jesus falls for the first time), I saw where the path split in two. Here is where I got Brother Gerard lost as I went left in the dark instead of going right. As I continued my climb, I noticed an American woman in her late fifties/early sixties climbing with a young guide. The young guide, being a local, was able to pick her way up quickly through the stones. The middle-aged American was a bit slower and more cautious. When I caught up to her, she told me that she was Helen from Wisconsin and had climbed the mountain ten years before, but that this time it was a bit more challenging. I told her that she was a great inspiration to me for her effort. The cold weather and the mountain were taking a bit out of both of us. We climbed together for a while.

At the seventh station (Jesus falls for the second time), I noticed a group of people coming down. They were Croatian and carrying a young man in a makeshift chair. At the site of the seventh station, they lowered the chair and challenged the young man to walk. He was game to give it a go. Two women supported him, one on each shoulder and a third woman kept helping him move his feet, one after the other. In the meantime, the group was very loud, praising God for everything under the sun. They seem to me to be charismatic in their prayers. I stood off to the side and studied the young man's face. There was joy in his eyes despite his infirmity. Whether he was going to be cured or not, I do not know. Regardless, it was obvious he was surrounded by love, LOUD LOVE, I might add!

I continued onward now alone, but on God's mountain, you are never really alone. The wind continued to roar, but seemed always several feet above my head. I likened the experience to a rock concert in my youth where the sound seem to go right through you but physically you were untouched. As I neared the final station, I came to the spot where Father Slavko died on Friday, November 24th, 2000. They have placed a plaque commemorating the event with a facsimile of Father with his glasses and his grin. It is a good likeness.

I reached the top with the great concrete cross. I thank God that I have made it. During the trip up this time, I could feel His strong presence encouraging me, guiding me. There is an indescribable closeness to God now. He invited me to come up the mountain and I made it. Now on top, the wind is definitely to be felt. I huddled down near a small stone wall to drink some water and regroup. Normally, when you reach the top, you want to stay a bit, talk to God, and recollect. For me though, I feel closer to God when I am in motion but dependent upon Him for my safety and well -being. The time was about 3:40 in the afternoon. I left the Church about 1:30. I had told Peg that most likely if I succeeded in climbing Mt. Krisevac, that I would get a bite to eat in town and then get back to our lodgings about 6:00pm.

Peg and the group would be eating dinner at about 4:00pm. Under normal circumstances, there would be no way that I could climb down the way I came and get back in time for dinner. However, God began to work with me. I remember our group leader, Steve Shawl, mentioning about a back way down the mountain that is steeper but quicker. I look around and see the beginnings of a path. It seems like an invitation. I start down it, reciting the prayer of St. Patrick... Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right hand, Christ on my left...

It is apparent that this route is taken by the few. It is narrow with the thorn bushes close in, but it does descend quickly. On my way down, I slide a few times and chide my guardian angel, Sean, for pushing me so hard. Like a child in the front seat of a roller coaster, I am both scared and excited at the same time. If I fall and break something, it may take a while to find me. The sun is slowly setting in the West behind the mountains and I do not want to get caught up here in the darkness and the cold. Nevertheless, I do feel the protection of God and that is what makes it exciting. I pray for a young Irishman who lives somewhere in the area. He came over here to help the Croats fight in the Bosnian War and had the bad luck to step on a mine. He has lost both his legs. I have never met him, but I pray he receives the peace of God.

As I continue down, there are no markers to note descent. On the regular pilgrim path, you can use the number of the station to measure where you are. On this path, occasionally you get a glimpse of the town below slowly rising to meet you. There are no other markers. Then, at a certain point, the path splits. Which way to go? There is a small wooden cross there with the Roman Numeral III, the third station (Jesus falls the first time). If I go right, there is quite a bit of water there, and the path seems to level out. It might take me up again instead of down. I go to the left as I see the path continues to descend. I continue downward. Finally, I come out on to the main road. I turn around and all that marks this entrance/exit is a little white cross. So, this is the path for the locals to use if they want to avoid the crowds of pilgrims in the summer times.

It is 4:05pm. I can still make it for dinner if I can catch a ride or a cab. I know that I am on the road that runs along the foot of the mountain, but I do not know how far I am from the starting point. Instinctively, I start walking east. I tried to thumb a ride as a car passes by, but no luck. Nothing looks familiar to me, but I continue to walk east hoping for some sign. After about a mile, I see the start of the trail. It all comes into view very quickly. There is a cab there, which I gladly take. The driver is familiar with Mirjana Brecic's house and has me there in five minutes. If I had walked it, the distance would have taken me an hour. They have just started dinner. I am in luck. My wife is relieved to see me and quickly pumps hot soup, warm bread and whatever else she can, into me. I must look a sight.

The next day when I look up to Mt Krizevac, it is no longer the adversary that had kicked my butt. Somehow, the mountain and I have become friends. This was the fifth time that I climbed the mountain, but the first time that I climbed it alone. The strong wind deterred my fellow pilgrims. Perhaps, God used the strong wind so that He could speak to me alone. In the midst of that awesome sound, I felt protected and loved. God has His own way of speaking to us.

A miracle for Alice...

• by Virginia Spaeder

It was October 13, and my husband and I were scheduled to ascend Mount Krizevac. We were up early so that we could be to the bottom of the hill by 7:30am. Our guide said that the climb would be less crowded if we went up early. After picking out a nice walking stick from the assortment that was lying there, I was ready. It began to sprinkle lightly, so I donned my rain bonnet. As soon as all of our group had assembled, we began our ascent. The guide warned us that if any of us had back problems, a bad heart, breathing problems, or anything that would render us incapacitated, when the heart gets taxed to its limit, not to attempt this climb. This ‘Hill of the Cross’ is one mile of steep climbing, very rocky, and it could be dangerous since a light rain had begun to fall, making the rocks very slippery. She did not want any heroes since the helpless victims would have to be carried down. One lady decided to bow out. It was probably a very wise decision.

We were now ready and eager to get to the top. We began our journey with the first station – Jesus is condemned to death. We meditated at each station as we went. Whoever decided to put Stations of the Cross along the pathway was a very wise person. It was the only thing that provided an occasion to rest a bit and catch your breath. The climb at first did not seem to be too treacherous… until the eighth station. From this point to the top was very steep. I began to breathe heavier. At about 11:00am, we finally reached the top. We took group pictures and then began to pray the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. The guide said that we could lead a decade if we wanted to. I thought about this and decided that I would do the Third Mystery – the Crowning of Thorns – for my friend Alice.

Alice is a dear friend of mine who had gotten up one morning and fell. She discovered that her left side was not functioning properly. She could not navigate without some help from her husband. She was hospitalized twice with no improvement. Her husband decided to check her into a convalescent home for physical therapy. Alice spent a month there, but was unable to achieve any improvement in her motor skills because of the extreme pain she was in. Her body began to deteriorate – her left side was virtually paralyzed while the right side was almost completely non-functional. She had been reduced to living in a wheelchair, couldn’t feed herself – just wasting away. The doctors ordered an MRI – a sophisticated X-ray scan. They discovered that Alice had two vertebrae in the neck area that were pressing on her spinal cord.

Surgery was scheduled, but first Alice had to be put in traction. They put a metal ‘halo’ around her head which was secured by four metal screws – which were drilled into the skull - two in her forehead and two in the area behind her ears. From this contraption hung 20 pounds of weight. She could not turn her head or move in any direction without help from the nurses. To look at her, you would think Bride of Frankenstein. It was truly her crown of thorns. I watched her suffer like this from last August through October and into November. She had to wear this fashion statement from the medical profession for three months.

Meanwhile, back on Mt Krizevac, the third decade of the Rosary was fast approaching. When this decade was announced, I jumped in with the Our Father. With each Hail Mary I thought about Alice and how much she had suffered with her surgery. By the third Hail Mary, my emotions took over, my voice was cracking and coming out between sobs… the tears were streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t think that I could go on. But I was determined to finish my decade for Alice. At this point, a lady standing next to me reached out, put her arm around my shoulder and reassuringly whispered, “You can do it... you can do it.” She whispered these words of encouragement throughout the rest of the decade. When I turned to look at her when I had finished the tenth Hail Mary, my eyes went to her name tag. Her name was Alice. (Thank you, my dear Blessed Mother, for sending this woman to me when I needed her, I thought.)

When I returned home from Medjugorje, I found out that my friend Alice had had a tremendous improvement in her physical condition and would be able to go home sooner than expected. When I asked her husband when all this had happened, he told me that “it was about a week ago...” the same time that I had been praying on Mt Krizevac for her. When I visited Alice and related to her what happened to me on Mt Krizevac, she told me that her decade (which was assigned to her by our Rosary Society) was the Crowning of Thorns!

Today my friend is the Alice we all remembered. It is truly a miracle. Thank you again, my dear Blessed Mother.

• This story is reproduced from the recently published book:
The Best of The Spirit of Medjugorje

• Special thanks to June Klins for her help with this testimony. June edits the newsletter:
The Spirit of Medjugorje.

The way of life

• Walking the steep and rocky ascent up Mt Krizevac is as life itself, a journey never identical.

Some pilgrims walk the path to the left, some prefer the right side, some take the middle line while others prefer to criss-cross the bouldered track. But no walk is ever the same or repeated.

Each trek is unique, even for those who are carried – and yet all are heading in the same direction to arrive at the same destination, alone or together, in front or behind, each in their own time.

We make our own journey but share the same desire – to reach the summit, where waiting is a welcome of love to fill every heart with joy.

Krizevac is our pilgrimage, our life.

Signs to strengthen faith

• Another occasion that Our Lady referred to Krizevac was after many people had witnessed the Cross on the mountain transform into light and then into a silhouette of Our Lady. This happened in the third week of October, 1981.

When asked by the visionaries to confirm if the ‘whiteness’ of the Cross was a supernatural phenomenon, Our Lady responded, “Yes, I confirm it... all of these signs are designed to strengthen your faith until I leave you the visible and permanent sign.”

The ‘permanent sign’ is a reference to part of the third of ten ‘secrets’that Our Lady has given to three of the visionaries so far. The sign, promised from the very early days of the apparitions, will be indestructible and visible at the place on Podbrdo where Our Lady appeared on June 24, 1981, and will be the cause of many conversions.

One week later, on October 28, 1981, the visionaries asked Our Lady to confirm if it was her that appeared on Krizevac for thirty minutes the previous day. “Yes, didn’t you see me?” she replied. Many people had.

The following month, on November 6, Our Lady spoke with the visionaries and said to them, “I am often at Krizevac, at the foot of the Cross, to pray there. Now I pray to my Son to forgive the world its sins. The world has begun to convert.”

Later there are renewed reports of Our Lady appearing as a shining silhouette in place of the Cross on Krizevac, and when asked by the visionaries about this, appearing to them on November 22, Our Lady responded, “Why do you ask me, my angels? Have you not seen me? The world must find salvation while there is time. Let it pray with fervour. May it have the spirit of faith.”

The luminous signs on and around the Cross began to appear again in April of the following year. This time the Cross changed into the shape of ‘T’ (Tau cross) and ‘S’ (Salvation). “They are signs of God and not of natural phenomena,” said Our Lady to the visionaries. “S and T are the signs of salvation.”

In August of 1982, on the night of the Feast of the Transfiguration, two luminary signs in the form of rays of light were displayed on the Cross at Krizevac, and on the parish church of St James. Before the sign appeared, Our Lady had said to Ivan (one of the visionaries) who was praying with a group of young people close by on the Hill of Apparitions, “Now I am going to give you a sign in order to strengthen your faith.” Many members of the prayer group saw this sign.

On August 31, 1984, Our Lady appeared to the visionaries and said, “I love the Cross, which you have providentially erected on Mount Krizevac, in a very special way. Go there more often and pray.”

The previous day, in her weekly message to the parish given through the visionary Marija Pavlovic, Our Lady stated, “Dear children, the Cross was also in God’s plan when you built it. These days, especially, go to the mountain and pray before the Cross. I need your prayers. Thank you for having responded to my call.”

• The picture above is a photo-montage

Will there be Mass on Krizevac?

• Our Lady’s first reference to Mt Krizevac was in response to a question put to her by the visionaries on September 1, 1981 – would there be a Mass on Mt Krizevac?

The likely reason for asking this was because at the time the communist authorities of the region were trying to restrict any public gatherings that could be seen promoting the apparitions in Medjugorje. Up to then it was always a tradition for the parish to celebrate the Feast of the Triumph of the Holy Cross (later that month) on Krizevac.

Our Lady’s simple reply to the visionaries was, “Yes, my angels.”

In the Year of Our Lord, 1933...

• The Cross that stands on the top of Mt Krizevac was raised to commemorate the 1900th anniversary of the death of Jesus Christ.

Built by parishoners of Medjugorje in 1933, the white concrete cross stands 8.56 metres high and is inscribed: To Jesus Christ, Redeemer of the human race, as a sign of their faith, love and hope, in remembrance of the 1900 years since the death of Jesus.

Some say that a piece of the True Cross is enclosed in the structure, but parish officials will not confirm this and say only that some relics sent from Rome are embedded in the crossbar.

Another local story as to one of the reasons for building the Cross was to invoke protection from God for crops of tobacco and grapes, particularly from storm damage.

All the construction material and equipment was hand-lifted up the mountain by the parishoners. It is not unusual still to see pilgrims taking up sacks of sand and cement for any repair work required from time to time. Not an easy task by any means, but undertaken by willing hearts, and often for penetential reasons.

It has always been the custom for the parish to celebrate Mass at the foot of the Cross to commemorate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, which takes place on the first Sunday following the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

But when the apparitions of Our Lady began at Medjugorje in June 1981, pilgrims started to pray the Way of the Cross on the mountain, marking the stations with simple wooden crosses. These were replaced in 1988 with permanent structures, bronze reliefs sculpted by the Italian artist Carmello Puzzola.

Welcome to the Hill of the Cross

• Anyone blessed to have made a pilgrimage to Medjugorje will be familiar with the high hill, known as Mt Krizevac or the Hill of the Cross, that keeps watch over the parish; of its importance and influence in the lives of millions of pilgrims who have made the difficult ascent to reach the high Cross at the top.

Since the Blessed Virgin Mary first appeared to six children of the Medjugorje parish in June 1981, pilgrims continue to give testimony of conversions, healings, miracles, signs and varied wonders experienced on Krizevac – and there are many. It seems no one leaves the mountain untouched.

This weblog is dedicated to Mt Krizevac – a holy mountain; to give witness to the countless blessings received; to affirm God’s love for all of mankind; to encourage others to ‘come and see’, as Fr Slavko would say, and avail of the special graces which Our Lady wants to give everyone when she states: “I desire to bestow my love upon you..”

If you have a story, an experience, or even a photo to share about Krizevac, then please email.