The living sacrifice - a visit to the Rosa Mystica
It would be impossible to retell the layered and long story of Pierina Gilli, who had the apparitions of Mother Mary which brought to light the Sanctuary of the Rosa Mystica today. Instead, I will briefly tell you about my experience and the things that came up which were important for me. I encourage you to visit the site for yourself, and learn about this story more.
My heart was still beating fast as I sat on the bus and watched the flat, grassy fields pass by. I scanned the other passengers... who was also going to visit the Rosa Mystica with me? As we wove through little villages, I noticed each person press the bell and disembark one by one. Was it truly only me who would be walking the pilgrimage?
I pressed the bell, and the bus slowly pulled over beside the road, where there was nothing but a deserted store, an empty parking lot and fields of yellow grass. As the bus left, I stood alone, wondering if I had made the right decision.
The heat of the morning was already making me uncomfortably warm, and when I looked around and only saw an old man poking around a tree, it didn't help matters. I took a breath and started walking down the pathway towards the supposed sanctuary.
A gravel road slowly became a dirt road, and any trace of village life was replaced by stretches of corn fields and country homes. I continued to walk in deeper. There were no signs pointing the way, I was only guided by what my map was showing me... the reliability of which I was slowly beginning to question.
There was not a sound. Complete stillness with the occasional rustle of something within the long stalks of corn, the occasional trickle of a stream running through the fields.
It took a little under twenty minutes. I finally reached a sign pointing in the direction I had to go: Le Fontanelle.
Around the corner of a tall green hedge, I found what I was looking for:
Santuario Rosa Mistica Madre della Chiesa Luogo di silenzio e preghiera
Sanctuary of the Rosa Mystica Mother of the Church Place of silence and prayer
At the end of a gravel path lined with trees, nestled within the corn fields of Brescia, was the sanctuary. A small, simple building with a curved roof that let in gentle, soft light. A delicateness reminiscent of the Mother herself. At the entrance, and at several places within the sanctuary, stood the same statue of Mother Mary as Pierina Gilli had described her. She wore a long flowing, white robe and veil, with three roses on her chest. One white, one red, one gold. For prayer, sacrifice and penitence. The Rosa Mystica is one of many ancient names for Mother Mary found in the Litany of Loreto.
This name and place had been chosen for prayer and healing of the sick, but in particular for those who are religious in their vocation, such as priests. As I had mentioned earlier, sometimes we know better but yet we struggle to do better.
Even the Apostle Paul wrote about this in Romans 7:19: For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.
The Rosa Mystica, amongst many other things, clearly acknowledges the difficulties we face day to day as humam beings when it comes to living a life in rememberance of God.
I sat in the sanctuary for some time reflecting on this. Listening to the flowing of water, where the spring was found, and watching people climbing up the steps on their knees, deep in prayer. Everything had a special echo to it within the chamber, a special glow. There were only few people there, and I could see the sincerity and longing in each of their faces as they looked up at their heavenly mother, with their hearts ready to pour everything out to her. I couldn't help but be touched.
I felt a slight desperation in my own heart start to rise to the surface, but I stopped myself. I could be caught up in the flow of emotion like the others, or I could be true to my own heart. I did not have anything overflowing from within me, but rather, I had a deep desire to be still. I meditated on the three roses, and how us imperfect humans could live up to them. Prayer, sacrifice and penitence... these were three big words. Too much to take in all at once.
It struck me that the red rose was important for me in this moment. The rose of sacrifice. What was I sacrificing? For so long, I had thought that sacrifice demanded pain of some sort. The same logic I had based my previous way of life on - work hard, and you'll get there. No pain, no gain. I realised in that moment that I had gotten this wrong.
Sacrifice is not the same thing as pain. Rather, sacrifice is an act of worship that is meant for us and not for God. God doesn't need sacrifice, only love and attention (Psalm 40:6). It is us who needs to sacrifice something, as a way to express our return to loving and remembering God in the way hope to live our lives. The living sacrifice, as the Apostle Paul writes in the same book of Romans, is true worship (Romans 12:1). In my understanding, it is that I give up being unloved and accept that I am loved. To appreciate and recognise the beauty of God that is around me instead of remaining ignorant to it. This is what I felt in that moment, and I invite you to ask yourself whether that resonates with you or not.
In that moment, I stopped retreating to the fears I had as a little child. I did not need to cry or feel defeated by my circumstances. There is a time to feel this way, of course, but it is not all the time - otherwise there will be no end to suffering. Instead, I saw that I could choose the living sacrifice. To see how God gives life and to live from this perspective as best I could. That means to choose gratitude at a time when I might feel more inclined to swim in the pain of lack.
This is a discovery, a lesson, that I will keep in my heart. A red rose that will mean much more to me than the beauty of its petals.