my labyrinth pilgrimage: surprised by grace at Chartres

Visiting Chartres Cathedral was one of the highlights of our French pilgrimage last month. I expected our visit to be grand and momentous. I even expected it to be spectacular, and it was.

What I didn’t expect was to be surprised by the encounter. 

One of the first things I noticed when we walked inside this majestic grand dame of Cathedrals is that its legendary labyrinth was uncovered, and people were quietly making their way.  I was instinctively drawn in, called to silently follow the path that pilgrims have walked in this holy place for almost 1,000 years.

I love being surprised by God’s graces…

I wrote about walking a labyrinth as a beautiful tool for prayer--a unique personal prayer experience--in our book, “The Journey” published by Loyola Press:

“Labyrinths have long been used as meditation and prayer tools. A labyrinth is not a maze or a puzzle to be solved. It does not require logical, sequential, analytical activity aimed at finding a correct path. A labyrinth is unicursal, has only one path. The way in is also the way out. There is no right or wrong way to walk a labyrinth. You can walk as fast or as slow as you want. You can stop along the way or dance your way through the path. Once at the center, you can stay as short or as long as you want  before following the same path to walk out… At its most basic level, the labyrinth is an ancient metaphor representing a journey towards our personal, deepest center, and then back out into the world––hopefully, with a broadened understanding of the journey and/or of the self. 

 During the Middles Ages, labyrinth designs in various forms were often found in Gothic cathedrals. The most famous of these remaining labyrinths is found on the nave of Chartres Cathedral, about 60 miles southwest of Paris. Built around 1200, the Chartres labyrinth is laid on the floor in a style sometimes referred to as a pavement maze, with four meandering quadrants that lead to the center. At the center of the labyrinth there is a rosette design, a Medieval symbol of enlightenment… 

[W]alking a labyrinth serves as a centering tool for me. It reminds me that when I am tired of walking this life journey and I feel like the way is too long, there is only ONE path that I must follow, the path to the One who is my center. It suggests to me that if life feels like too much work, I may be acting like my pilgrimage is a maze or a puzzle to be solved. My call is… to simply stay on the path. I breathe in the Spirit as I walk and allow the way of the labyrinth to take me home to Him who is my Life and my Love. The only choice that I must make is whether or not to walk. This, too, is a metaphor for Christ’s call to discipleship. Will I begin or continue the journey? Will I choose to stay on the path? Will I let Him lead me home?“

~The Journey: a Guide for the Modern Pilgrim 

The nave of the Chartres cathedral is normally lined with chairs that cover most of the labyrinth, making it unaccesible. Yet in recent years the Cathedral has set up a program of regularly uncovering the labyrinth every Friday during the summer months.

But we did not know about this until after the fact. 

We came back the next morning for a more thorough tour of the Cathedral (which I'll write about at a later date) -- but-- my labyrinth was covered by lines and lines of chairs.

hungry for poetry

“On our earth, before writing was invented, before the printing press was invented, poetry flourished. That is why we know poetry is like bread; it should be shared by all, by scholars and by peasants, by all our vast, incredible, extraordinary family of humanity” 

~Pablo Neruda

“In one crucial way, food differs from writing: food is temporary. It is exactly this fact, as many a writer will tell you, wherein the sublime pleasure of cooking really lies. After a long day of trying to be immortal, or at least get to the end of the blank page or screen—rather symbolically hitting SAVE—there is something satisfying in getting your hands dirty, in making something that has, necessarily, an obvious end point. With food, the better it is, the less it sticks around. (Except the way good food ‘sticks to your ribs’ in the parlance of where I come from.) Temporariness is one of food’s best qualities, making it something other than the chore that good writing can be. This is the opposite of good reading, in which the better it is the faster it flies. It is these fleeting yet everlasting pleasures that this anthology explores.”

~Kevin Young, Ed of 

“The Hungry Ear, poems of food & drink”

To bring my trio of consecutive food posts back to the beginning, I have chosen a poem that takes me back to my Caribbean roots, and cleverly recalls one of my favorite beach treats... coco frío! 

From “The Hungry Ear,” a great anthology interweaving poetry, food and drink.

Coca-Cola and Coco Frío

 by Martín Espada

On his first visit to Puerto Rico,

island of family folklore,

the fat boy wandered

from table to table

with his mouth open.

At every table, some great-aunt

would steer him with cool spotted hands

to a glass of Coca-Cola.

One even sang to him, in all the English

she could remember, a Coca-Cola jingle

from the forties. He drank obediently, though

he was bored with this potion, familiar

from soda fountains in Brooklyn.

Then at a roadside stand off the beach, the fat boy

opened his mouth to coco frío, a coconut

chilled, then scalped by a machete

so that a straw could inhale the clear milk.

The boy tilted the green shell overhead

and drooled coconut milk down his chin;

suddenly, Puerto Rico was not Coca-Cola

or Brooklyn, and neither was he.

For years afterward, the boy marveled at an island

where the people drank Coca-Cola

and sang jingles from World War II

in a language they did not speak,

while so many coconuts in the trees

sagged heavy with milk, swollen

and unsuckled.

the poetry of food

WARNING:
don't read this blog post on an empty stomach!

"Poetry leads us to the unstructured sources of our beings, / to the unknown, / and returns us to our rational, structured selves refreshed" 

~AR Ammons

On our pilgrimage last month, one thing became very evident to me--something I long suspected about France, but had to verify with my own eyes... er, mouth! 

The French make food beautiful! 

Whether breads--sweets--or sit down meals, astounding beauty surrounded us every single day.

Even a simple croque-monsieur--a grilled ham and cheese sandwich--ordered at a bar, was served with care and beauty!

a summer recipe treat: Cuban rum cake!

As I've noted before, along with music, tradition, and the Catholic faith--food is a major part of Cuban (and all Hispanic) culture.

Today's recipe comes courtesy of my cousin Marina Páez, a fabulous cook! 

What makes this rum cake uniquely Cuban, you ask? Choosing Bacardi rum, of course--whose beginning as a company dates back to the 1860s in Cuba!

Rum Cake

1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts

1 181/2 oz. pkg. yellow cake mix*

1 31/4 oz pkg Jell-O* Vanilla Instant Pudding and Pie Filing

4 eggs

1/2 cup cold water

1/2 cup Wesson oil

1/2 cup of Bacardi dark rum (80 proof)

*If using yellow cake mix with pudding  already in the mix, omit instant pudding, use 3 eggs instead of 4, 1/3 cup oil instead of 1/2.

Glaze:

1/4 lb butter

1/4 cup water

1 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup Bacardi dark rum (80 proof)

Preheat oven to 325 degree F. Grease and flour 10" tube or 12-cup Bundt* pan. Sprinkle nuts over bottom of pan. Mix all cake ingredients together. Pour batter over nuts. Bake 1 hour. 

Cool. Invert on serving plate. Prick top. Spoon and brush glaze evenly over top and sides.  Allow cake to absorb glaze. Repeat till glaze is used up.

Glaze: melt butter in saucepan. Stir in water and sugar. Boil 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Stir in rum. 

An optional idea is to decorate with a border of sugar frosting or whipped cream. But honestly, there's no need. 

praying through the cracks

Beauvais

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,

my memory, my understanding,

and my entire will,

All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.

To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.

Give me only your love and your grace,

that is enough for me.

 ~St. Ignatius of Loyola, 

Suscipe prayer

At Medieval Chauvigny

 Besides the fields of yellow, on our recent pilgrimage of the French countryside and its astonishing Cathedrals, I became obsessed with doors.

In particular, the juxtaposition of doors, or openings, and light. I was fascinated by the fusion and separation, whether the door was wide open or there was light pouring through the gaps, the door’s cracks.

windows and door at our French farm home

I feel full of questions about my writing projects and what, if anything, I have to offer. But my physical tiredness doesn’t help me think very clearly these days.

Keeping everyone’s intentions in my heart. And from here, praying to have a heart that is an open door—one that allows the Christ Light to shine, even through my cracks.

at Mont-St-Michel

France, Mary, and me

in a side chapel at Rouen Cathedral, I discovered this treasure

On our recent pilgrimage of the great French Cathedrals we encountered countless pieces of religious art.  But as my insightful mother in law MarySue Schriber noted, 

“good art shows you something new that you haven’t thought of before, as distinct from confirming what you already know.” 

I've been pondering on that, and came up with a few images of Mary from our pilgrimage that helped me discover something about the Mother of Jesus, by opening up my memory--and my imagination.

the "hipped" Mary at Amiens

AND at Compiegne--love her stance!

My first draft of  “The Seekers Guide to Mary” was completely journalistic.  I covered everything:  Mary in relation to scripture, history, other faith traditions, shrines and prayers. 

But my editor at Loyola Press kept pushing me, urging me to say it, “in my own voice.”  It was the hardest thing I had ever faced as a writer—and the best thing I've been pushed to do. 

Mary has always been part of my life as a Hispanic Catholic.  But how do I explain that to you?  The process of rewriting and editing that book made me focus on my own relationship with Mary, and it made me work on how to explain it to other people. 

Caen

Crypt chapel, Chartres

Notre-Dame-la-Grande, Poitier

I had to learn that it was—or rather, it is—through my own stories as a youth, as a mother,  with my own family that I can best tell you about Mary. 

I once heard author Madeline L'Engle say at a writers’ retreat that, yes, it's all been said before. But we have to tell it in our own voice.

At a personal level, that’s how Mary makes sense to me. 

the three kings, Epiphany at St-Pierre de Chauvigny

and the Annunciation (back), with demons and angels watching (front)