by Fr. Paul Ward

            Many of our readers are eager to know two things, as I have been endlessly informed: first, how the pilgrimage went, and second, what’s up with Trailblazers regarding the future.

            Last thing first, our next pilgrimage is World Youth Day, Madrid 2011. If you or anyone you know desire to participate in WYD with Trailblazers, ages 16-30, please get in contact with us. And please be generous in your financial support, since we will have fund raisers between now and then (starting with our bowling event on November  as all of it goes to aid for the young pilgrims.

Pilgrimage 2009 to the Shrine of the Jesuit Martyrs, Midland, Ontario

 
            It’s not as easy as it might seem to say how the pilgrimage went. To say, “awesome,” “fine,” “wonderful,” or any other such word would only cause more questions than answers. Furthermore, so many things happened that there’s no way we could fit it all in an internet article. More importantly, some of the greatest fruits of any pilgrimage are laid bare in spiritual direction and confession, and of these things no priest speaks. So I beg the reader’s patience as I try to put forth the best of our trip in some sort of orderly fashion, always aware that the beautiful experiences are more than could be told here.

 
From America to Canada

 
            Our pilgrimage started with the Sacrifice of the Mass, and a homily setting forth the urgent need for ardent charity towards one another, stranger and family and friend, on this trip. At the end of Mass, the pilgrims knelt at the communion rail for the old blessing for pilgrims, with countless invocations for their good. Thus strengthened, we hopped on the bus, with backpacks and packaged food and cooking gear and tents.

            Some already wore the superbly designed t-shirts and hoodies prepared exclusively for this pilgrimage. Mary Rose did some magnificent art for us, a tomahawk with bloodied fingers and a bloodied blade, reminiscent of the instrument under which most of the martyrs fell; and the shadow coming from the tomahawk was really a crucifix, but in mysterious greys, showing that the devout soul is able to transform the hardest crosses into the greatest spiritual transformation into Jesus Christ, yet in the manner of the “dark night” (as it is called by St. John of the Cross). Henry, of late excelling in his digital artistic work, did a great job compiling the images and words for our pilgrimage-specific clothing.

            Along the way, our support vehicle, Lisa’s van, broke down; by the end of the trip, we were saying things like, “Lisa’s van falls for the second time…” and three times it was.

            While driving in the bus, we had the first of our eight talks, about creation, reflecting on Psalm 103. We meditated on the aspects of God’s creation which are most important to us: its beauty, the fact that it is full of order and design and wisdom, and the truth that God has put us in the midst of it, and done so for a purpose. This disposed our hearts to enjoy the upcoming beauty, breathtaking in every way, not as consumers but as Christians.

            Our arrival at our first night’s location, the Tiffin Educational Centre, was in the dark, but the workers there, Greg in particular, were extremely helpful in getting us set up. I forget whether it was that night or the next morning that Charlie picked up the Penske truck, which was a wonderful support the whole way. The truck carried the food and a lot of our luggage and tents, enabling us to walk the whole journey more lightly. I have not enough eloquence to praise Charlie and Don for the huge amount of service they provided to us while manning the truck!

            So we set up tents the first night in the dark, and a roaring campfire was put together, around which we prayed and talked until about midnight… that’s when some of the ladies, who had their own area for tents and privacy, began to express (yes, shouting from inside their tents) their desire to sleep in peace. Out in the back-woods of Ontario, as we looked up, the old pines shot high into the sky, but around a clearing through which all the stars gazed down on us.

From Tiffin to St. Patrick’s in Phelpston

            The second day of our pilgrimage was really the first day of walking. We accompanied sunrise with  a Mass outdoors, with a homily about how to pray;  there was no Catholic Church anywhere within reach. Henry and Richard were our fearless altar servers, Ryan proclaimed our readings each day, and Abigail applied her careful touch and care as our sacristan.

A half hour of adoration ensued, with the opportunity for confessions. Daily Mass and adoration became one of the main features of our pilgrimage. As did the soccer ball… but more on that later.

We started every morning with morning prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours. It is policy of Trailblazers, if that’s the right way to put it, to introduce the young people into the standard forms of Catholic piety in the Church, time tested and Rome-approved. This includes, of course, the liturgy.

The pilgrims had to learn about how to use the Christian Prayer book to do their daily Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer with the psalms, in union with the whole Church, which, that day, prayed the same prayers at the rise of the sun (and vespers at the setting) everywhere in the world.

            Our first day was one of the most magnificent weather of the summer, a true answer to prayers. Warm but not hot, with a gentle breeze but not wind, white puffy clouds crowning the horizon but not overhead… it was simply delicious. Our path twisted and turned a bit, but marched ever northward, between forests shining with the green only the early morning sun can pull out of them, and fields erupting with tall grasses, Queen Anne’s lace and a variety of the small yellow and purple flowers so common to Michigan as well. We took a few short cuts, assuming that some of the “No Trespassing” signs were French words whose definitions we English-speakers certainly could not understand. A short cut through an abandoned gravel pit put us on the sandy shore of a small, artificial lake, and we all know how just seeing the water brings cheer and refreshment to us all.

            From here, we had to cross a rather busy road, then follow some dirt roads, until we hit an old railroad track which had been converted into a delightful trail. Different kinds of forestry loomed up on either side the whole way, but occasionally broke for us to view the breathtaking sight of the Ontario countryside. This led us to Fort Willow for lunch (tacos and watermelon), and then the march in the afternoon along that same trail. At Fort Willow, we decided to put Richard in the rack, but he pleaded, so we let him out.

            Exhausted, we arrived around 6:30pm at a tiny country town called Phelpston, blessed with a beautiful Catholic church dedicated to St. Patrick, in whose yard we camped… with many kinds of spiders who apparently enjoy tall grass. Fr. Derrick Ali hosted us marvelously. We provided porta-potties here and in several other locations to insure decency and hygiene both for ourselves and for the Canadians who graciously welcomed us.

            The Catholic Women’s League in Phelpston had tables spread out with the most delicious home-cooked food, a service they provided out of their own charity, giving excellent examples to our youth of what it is to be a “joyful giver,” as St. Paul exhorts, to give out of love, to receive strangers as if they were angels, and to treat pilgrims as if they were members of one’s own family. May our Trailblazers imitate this towards others in the futures of their own lives!

            Our second talk was in the evening in the Church before the blessed sacrament, and the Trailblazers did a wonderful job just trying to stay awake. We meditated on sin, some general thins about original and personal sin, and considered the first two chapters of Revelation, where St. John recorded the letters to the Churches. The Lord, in these seven letters, expresses his love for them, but also reproof for their sins; and promised great rewards to “those who conquer,” meaning, to those who overcome sin and live in divine charity.

From Phelpston to the Wildfire

            The next day was as beautiful as the previous one, but our pilgrims were tired. It was another long day – the first two days were the longest hikes – and some Trailblazers were already reaping a small harvest of blisters. We always had a vehicle or two to help those who were not in condition to walk. We began with Mass and adoration, as was our custom, however, before we started walking, and the homily was about the Eucharist, referring to some texts of the Jesuit Martyrs.

            We veered off the straight-north approach to have lunch at ToJo’s Christian Camp. We did this for a few reasons. First, to hike some more. Second, because there were showers available, and toilets (otherwise we’d have to pay more for porta-potties). Third, to introduce the youth to a place where people had campers, but without the loud music, drinking, and other less-desirable secular recreation often found in non-Christian camp sites; in this way, they might want to return years later, perhaps with families of their own, to see the Shrine, and do some camping, and have a splendid family vacation with fruits of both rest and grace. Refreshed, we set off again for the afternoon.

            As I mentioned, this was the hardest day, and by lunch the harvest of blisters was turning into a boom crop. us – like the eight martyrs, we noticed – actually made this stage of the journey.

            We arrived, had a lasagna dinner and camped at the Wildfire Lodge. Our spiritual talk that night was about the eternal truths, namely, death, judgment, heaven and hell.

            A certain adventure on a Canoe had some pilgrims attempting to jump over a floating log by paddling really fast, but it seems they failed in the attempt.

Another superb campfire was built, and Tim stumped us all – all except Don – with lots of riddles from Escanaba. The Wildfire was lots of fun.

From Lodge to Marsh

The Wildfire Lodge gave us an opportunity to repose until lunch time, and we had archery, art with canoe paddles, and some went canoeing. Among the paddles, Marci painted for me a small masterpiece of a Jesuit being martyred, and on the other side, all of us marching along – big, white Penske truck included. This paddle is an especially dear keepsake of this trip.

            On we went, then to the Wye Marsh that afternoon. Sheila, Carmel and Bernie, with the help of Ryan, and my own occasional meddling, managed to keep the soccer ball bouncing along for many kilometers along this route, even while we stopped for a snack and rest by a local Protestant church not far from the Marsh campgrounds.

            The way was surrounded not by wild nature, but cultivated nature. The green which filled the landscape and our eyes was the green of cultivated fields, especially corn and beans, but lots else, too. These vast fields have a beauty all their own, different from the wild, but showing the glory of God’s wisdom in the growth of living things for the sustenance of men in the midst of fields drawn up and cultivated by the intelligence God created in the human person.

We arrived just in time to have dinner, and then we saw a birds of prey demonstration. It wasn’t really a “devout” activity directly conducive to the spiritual content of the pilgrimage, but it did provide some context regarding the landscape and wildlife among which the Hurons, Iroquois and Jesuits lived in the 1600’s. The presenter was awesome, as funny as informational, and each one of us got a chance to land a bird of prey on our arm.

            There’s a bit of a history regarding this last point. Miss Amy, our fearless secretary, had found out what the Wye Marsh had originally told me, that only one of the youth would have the privilege of landing the bird of prey on his or her arm. So she began immediately trying to convince me why that one person should be her; honestly, her reasons were all very valid, for no one put as much into the organization as she, I and Lisa. I told her I would have to come up with a competition, the winner of which would be chosen for the bird.

But as we headed out that night, at about 7pm, and with rainclouds just beginning to hide the sky, our presenter told me that probably no one would be able to, as it was too misty and dark, and the conduct of the birds might not permit it. So by good fortune, if that’s what you call it, we all got a chance; and Amy was the second of the 21 of us whom the presenter chose, and she was so, but I mean so happy.

            We had evening prayer in a cloud of mosquitos, and the spiritual talk with hot chocolate – thanks to Don and the moms – about the Incarnation, going over the passage of the Annunciation step by step, with a small review of the principal Marian dogmas.

            Rain settled in, and there were cabins which we had not rented, but were empty, and the Wye Marsh staff mercifully let the pilgrims use them.

From Marsh to Martyrdom

            The fifth day of our pilgrimage dawned, and we were greeted with a sunrise and breakfast – Mass and adoration would be later that day. Our breakfasts were quite big, sometimes even with things like bacon and eggs, always with boiled water for coffee, tea and oatmeal, fresh fruit and other delicious things.

            We had canoeing on the schedule, but the weather was still ugly. It wasn’t raining, and we saw on the radar that rain was still a foreseeable hour off coming from the west, so we went canoeing. I insisted this be part of the trip, to get a feel for what the Jesuit missionaries so often used and so much depended on while living with and traveling among the Hurons. But a terrible thunderstorm broke when we were farthest from the land, so we paddled back at full speed, and were thoroughly drenched by the time we got back to the Center. An exploration of the forest around the swamp was scheduled, but with the bad weather, they had a very interesting wildlife (turtles, etc.) demonstration for us. The morning cleared but late, and on time for lunch; the Canadian youth cadet corps, something like the Civil Air Patrol and the like in America, swarmed our location for lunch time.

            Off we went on the Tay Trail, along the coast of the Georgian Bay, after lunch, to visit St. Ignace II. The whole way was paved and very beautiful, and we made good time.

            This was the location of the martyrdom of St. Jean de Brebeuf and St. Gabriel Lalemant, a brutal and prolonged martyrdom which gave great glory to God. It was a field cut out of a forest, mowed and clean for several hundred feet in diameter, but then forest for miles in every direction. A pavilion was set up, being nothing more than a cement slab with a park-style roof and beams but no walls or seating. An altar was set facing east, the ancient tradition of the Mass being to offer the Sacrifice, laity and clergy, facing the sunrise, which is a natural image of Christ the light of the world. Facing the altar, but ahead more and far to the right, posts marked the location of the martyrdoms.

            We had Sunday Mass and adoration. There were three homilies about the Holy Eucharist, and this one was a meditation on that part of St. Thomas Aquinas’ Pange Lingua wherein Isaac was mentioned, providing associations between the Eucharist, sacrifice, Isaac, and the Jesuit martyrs. During adoration, Ryan read for us the narration of the martyrdoms. This was no hagiographical tripe; it was the report which Fr. Paul Ragueneau himself provided to the Jesuit superiors in 1652, under the title, De l’heureuse mort du Père Jean de Brébeuf et du Père Gabriel Lalemant. The narrations were deeply stirring, and more moving still was the fact that all these things happened right here, and their blood sanctified the very earth upon which we tread.

            Don and Charlie got a fire going, even though it rained on us – the last rain of the trip, and, thank heavens, only good weather followed us the rest of the way. The rain also got some of the tents wet on the inside; it does take some art and experience, we must admit, to know how to pitch a tent and keep it dry on the inside.

            Our spiritual talk that night, once the rain stopped, was around a fire. The mosquitoes were thicker here than any other place, so we had bug spray, and tried to sit close to the smoke of the flames. We discussed several passages of the public ministry of our Lord: the Pearl of Great Price (Mt 13:46-46). the Royal Wedding Banquet (Mt 22:2-14), and the Darnel and the Wheat (Mt 13:24-30; 36-43) about the mystery of evil in the world. I had intended to get into the Good Samaritan, but the tired pilgrims needed to get rest.

From St. Ignace to St. Marie

            We were happy to find the sixth morning dry, and the sun was coming out. We began the day with Mass, and a homily about “pilgrimage,” and adoration, as our custom, at the same location (the site of the martyrdoms). After breakfast and loading up, we walked back along the Tay Trail almost to the exact location of the Wye Marsh, but the Marsh’s neighbor to the west, Fort Ste. Marie.

            A mental line was drawn, I think, in the perception of all the pilgrims. The warm-up was over, and now the seriously spiritual part of the pilgrimage began. No more canoes, paddles, archery sets or Christian camps; and only little more beautiful countryside to explore. But all our hours from here on would be saturated in the spirituality of the great and holy Jesuit martyrs.

            On the way, never had we walked so fast. The pilgrims were now in outstanding physical condition, and I think the visit to the place of martyrdom of the two Jesuit martyrs (remember: there were six others, too) really boosted everyone up. This was good, for I had only learned the day before that Ste. Marie closed at 5pm! Egad, we had to hurry! We stopped for a delicious lunch, delivered by the fearless truck team.

             Fort was one of the most beautiful, interesting and memorable parts of the pilgrimage. The Jesuits built it as their own base, with the best they could manage of French technology. These magnificent men, and the many French helpers who gave years of their lives – many, the rest of their lives, even if they weren’t martyred in the end – for the mission of the Church to pass on both culture and salvation, with ardent love, to the men and women of New France.

There was even a longhouse, about which we had already read much, as the Jesuits lived in them with the Hurons and wrote about the experience (by and large, a rather nasty one for their French sensitivities).

            When French politicians, soldiers and traders were barely making inroads, with armed forts and great fear, the Jesuits were already a thousand miles inland, living with the natives, participating in all their primitive customs, learning their language (Brebeuf wore the first Huron dictionary), suffering with them, preaching to them, baptizing their children, and helping a small few even become Saints of the Church!

            From here, we walked under the bridge over to the Shrine. The breathtaking experience of that first turn from the bridge, before entering the gate by the Wye River, was that of looking up a beautiful hill to see a magnificent Church on top, a sight which elicited gasps of awe from many of the pilgrims – I don’t know why, but that surprised me, and it was a happy surprise, showing, I think, the deeply spiritual dispositions and expectations that the young pilgrims carried in their hearts. I encouraged all to bring petitions and prayers here, as this was a place of miracles.

            Here we didn’t have to camp. We had clean rooms, and beds, and mattresses, and showers… the labor was done, this would be a place of rest and prayer. Also, we found time to hop in the vehicles, and, in two shifts, take turns having some ice cream in Midland.

            After dinner, a talk about “vocation” in the Catholic Church ensued. I always give a lot of importance to this talk, on all our pilgrimages, given especially the young age of our pilgrims; an age which comes with the decisions, trials and occasional agony common to vocational discernment.

From Holiness to Holiness

            Our last real day of the pilgrimage greeted a beautiful sunrise, even if one more day remained during which we’d return to Detroit. It was truly the most important day: we had reached our goal, our goal physically and spiritually. We slept in a bit to make sure everyone was well-rested and attentive during prayers.

We had Mass in the old Church, with it’s simple but beautiful architecture. Most paid visits to St. Jean de Brebeuf, whose tomahawked skull was in a class case for the veneration of the faithful. The homily was about the communion of the saints, wherein I stressed that the saints were protectors, examples, intercessors and teachers. With this in mind, our visit to the Shrine to these magnificent saints should prove more fruitful still. At the end of Mass, we were privileged to each kiss a relic of the martyrs, asking for their aid.

Talks, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, filled in a good part of our retreat. Both were outdoors, and the weather was splendid, as was the general view of the rolling green campus. Grasses spotted with robust trees, slopes of lawn and devotional spots, flowers everywhere; golden-colored statues of the expansive Way of the Cross provided superb inspiration, and everywhere twin spires of the stone Church poked out above the rest.

The first talk was about the passion and death of our Lord, re-counting the narrations of the passions in the Gospels, with particular emphasis on Gethsemane. The afternoon talk was about the resurrection, with a meditation on the encounter between Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ outside the empty tomb. The youth did the way of their cross on their own, following the beautiful stations sculpted at the shrine. This was a day in which I was able to spend more time speaking with the pilgrims one on one about their spiritual lives, trials, goals and other such.

At three o’clock we met before the shrine of the passion, built by the Italians, whom God has blessed with such praiseworthy artistic prowess, and there prayed the Divine Mercy chaplet. That marked the end of the retreat. The rest of the afternoon was leisure, but some chose to do more prayer, even deep into the evening.

A soccer game broke out, and a trip to the waterfront pier in Midland at sunset was a must. The great conversations kept going on among the pilgrims, who by know had become spiritual friends, even late into the night, and were marked with both humor and faith.

From Grave to Waterfalls

            Our last morning came enveloped with a beautiful and mysterious fog, almost as a natural symbol of the grace of God which pervades the soul in a holy darkness, as happened to Moses, and as so many saints discuss. We packed up and went over to Fort Ste. Marie, descending to the river and crossing under the bridge.

We turned to grab one last sight of the Shrine on top of the hill, with the sunrise crawling up behind it, only to be struck breathless at the strange beams of sunlight that blasted beautifully through the morning fog.

The fort was completely closed, and no one was there, since we had arrived so early. Our worry was that we were forgotten, and no one would let us in on time for Mass. But soon enough they came and let us in.

We went to the shrine to have our final Mass together, at St. Joseph’s church, a replica of the Jesuit church built for the evangelization of the Hurons. A consecrated Catholic altar and Church, there buried in the ground are the bones of Ss. John de Brebeuf and Gabriel Lalemant. This grave was a holy grave, and there we all silently prayed our last farewell before departing, a moving farewell, full of praise and petition, meditation and admiration. The Homily that day was a meditation on the virtues of faith, hope and charity, plus devotion to Mary, as I found it in a small passage of St. Brebeuf’s writings.

Our host at St. Marie, from the day before, a certain , cheered us as he joined us for Mass; somehow we instantly struck a friendship with him, and so it was a joyful occasion when he accompanied us for Mass. There was something about him… some of us discussed the fact that we had perceived it in him, and wondered whether it might be a priestly vocation. So we pray for him, whatever his vocation may be later in life, that he may be generous with God in serving Him and His people with holiness.

            Breakfast was a “everything else” moment, because Don cooked up everything we had left. Lisa left with her family in the van towards the USA, but the rest of us hopped on the bus for a lunch stop at Niagara Falls.

            Our visit there, besides good food (except for a few forlorn pilgrims who didn’t manage to find good restaurants), was refreshing and delightful. The crowds there contrasted with our pilgrimage; for they were there as tourists, but the pilgrims were there after having achieved a great thing, a true foot pilgrimage to the shrine of great martyrs. Once again we could admire the beauty of God’s creation, but now, after the forests and fields, rivers and marshes, birds… and mosquitoes!... now we stood before the thunderous roar, the endless drumming, of the greatest of the falls anywhere in the world. We decided to take a closer look at the edge of the fall, but got drenched in the process. No worries! It was a hot day anyway…

            Somewhere in there, we managed an ice cream, and then on the bus for Detroit.

            This is when we learned that Lisa’s van broke down again. It seemed that the angels didn’t want them to separate from us so quickly, because we were able to pick them up – our bus drivers from Indian Trails, both there and back, were splendidly helpful and gracious – and bring them back to Detroit with us. Naturally, to their great satisfaction, we found them at a Tim Horton’s! This only livened the atmosphere on the bus on the way home, which we mixed in with prayer and hours of conversation. And naps. In the case of some, many or long naps! But well deserved, after our pilgrimage.

            So we came, not through Sarnia, but Windsor, back to America.

            A final blessing in the parking lot of Assumption Grotto, the old blessing for pilgrims upon their return, clinched it, and it was especially nice that we finished all together, including Lisa’s family. So many graces, blessings and indulgences in this whole last week!

The Measure of Success

            The real measure of all our pilgrimages in Trailblazers is not the fun, even though there’s plenty of that. Nor is it the food, for which I get regular complaints that there’s too much. Nor is it the excellent planning, which many people help develop with endless hours of work and phone calls.

            The measure of the success of Trailblazers Youth Pilgrimages is the degree of holiness with which the pilgrims return home. On this account, I am happy to report, we were very happily successful.

            We put all the fruit of this pilgrimage, as our own souls and lives, entirely in the hands of the Blessed Virgin Mary, asking the eight glorious Jesuit Martyrs to accompany Mary in their devout intercession for us, as we still here below carry our crosses, battle with temptations, and strive with great difficulty to attain God forever in heaven, which is the true desire of our hearts.

One Last Farewell…

                I wish to offer, as a postscript, a final and formal thank you to Miss Amy, who has helped us for many years as our secretary of Trailblazers. She has been my closest assistant in many of the difficult labors entailed in launching such an ambitious enterprise as youth apostolates. As she moves on to the demanding studies required for a professional physical therapist, may God reward her, both now and in heaven, for her years of dedication, and this I pray for her and her predecessors in office. Blessings in abundance!

Holy Jesuit Martyrs, apostles who brought the faith to New France, brave sons of St. Ignatius of Loyla, and now teachers of the youth, pray for us!

-Fr. Paul Ward