Day 2: Apparition Hill and Amazing Graces!

Day two in Medjugorje began beneath a sky washed in pale gold, the village stirring quietly to prayer. Morning light fell on the stones and vineyards, on pilgrims already walking toward St. James Church. There’s a peace here that needs no words—every breath feels like a prayer.

Before writing father, I want to preface everything with this. From a faithful Catholic perspective, it’s important to understand that the apparitions at Medjugorje are still considered “alleged”—that is, not yet officially verified by the Church. This is perfectly normal and in no way a condemnation. The Church always moves carefully in these matters, waiting for time, fruit, and discernment to confirm what is truly from God. In fact, the same was true of Fatima, Lourdes, and other approved apparitions—the Church did not give formal recognition until years, even decades after they occurred. The Church’s wisdom here is pastoral and protective; she wants to ensure that the messages lead people to Christ, the sacraments, and authentic conversion, not confusion or sensationalism. Traditionally, there are three categories used in judging private revelations:

1. Constat de supernaturalitate – “It is established as supernatural” (meaning the apparition is judged authentic).

2. Non constat de supernaturalitate – “It is not established as supernatural” (meaning it’s not confirmed, but not ruled out).

3. Constat de non supernaturalitate – “It is established as not supernatural” (meaning the apparition is found to be false or fabricated).

At present, Medjugorje falls into the middle category: “Non constat de supernaturalitate.” This means the Church has not confirmed the apparitions as supernatural but also has not rejected them. In recent years, Pope Francis has shown pastoral openness to Medjugorje by allowing official pilgrimages and by appointing a papal envoy and resident apostolic visitor to care for the spiritual life of pilgrims. While the Church withholds final judgment about the apparitions themselves, she fully acknowledges the spiritual fruits—the conversions, confessions, vocations, and prayer—that continue to flow from this remarkable place.

Our morning began with Draga Vidović, our guide. She has lived the story of Medjugorje from the first day of the apparitions—June 24, 1981, the feast of St. John the Baptist. She grew up with the visionaries and is the first cousin of Marija (one of the visionaries). Her voice carries the passion of someone who has witnessed grace unfold over decades. She spoke of those early days when frightened children described seeing a beautiful lady on the hillside, and of how the whole village was swept up in something far larger than itself. Under communist Yugoslavia, faith had to hide, yet the people of Medjugorje gathered anyway to pray the rosary, sometimes under cover of night. She was one of them. 

Draga reminded us that the message has always been simple: prayer, fasting, confession, Eucharist, and Scripture—five stones against the Goliath of our age. “Our Lady,” she said, “asks nothing complicated. But we make it complicated.”  I thought back to 2018, when Pope Francis appointed Archbishop Aldo Cavalli as the Apostolic Visitor for Medjugorje. I was here for his installation—the first time the place had a shepherd of its own. The Holy Father wasn’t ruling on the apparitions themselves but recognizing the fruits: countless confessions, conversions, and vocations. The Church, in her wisdom, walks patiently, but she also sees holiness when it blossoms.

After Draga’s talk we went to Mass at St. James. The church and courtyard were packed—people standing, sitting on curbs, kneeling wherever they could. Before Mass, Fr. Leon, chaplain to the English-speaking pilgrims, gave a lively reflection. He said, “Men must be men of prayer. If your wife goes on a diet, do you lose weight? Then why think you can get to heaven on her prayers?” LOVE IT.

There must have been 40 priests there. The reading was from Jonah, and the celebrant—himself a priest born of one man’s conversion—shared that his father had come to Medjugorje years ago, moved the “idiot box,” the television, out of the living room, and replaced it with a Bible shrine. That small prayer group he began eventually produced twelve priests, his son among them. “Never underestimate the power of one conversion,” he said.

Afterward I met a few old friends—among them Fr. Cassian, who had helped me discern my vocation and concelebrated my first Mass. To meet him here felt like divine choreography. A few other familiar faces from my Bloomington days appeared too. I love these kinds of unexpected encounters. 

After lunch, we set out for Apparition Hill, or Podbrdo as the locals call it. The climb is steep, all sharp stones and winding paths. Along the way stand bronze panels of the Joyful Mysteries, each inviting prayer with every step upward. Our group prayed the rosary together, voices rising and falling like waves against the rocks.

It’s often noted that Our Lady did not appear at the top of Apparition Hill, but about halfway up—and there’s deep meaning in that. She didn’t wait for the children to climb all the way to heaven; she came down to meet them on the way. That’s the heart of her motherhood: she meets us where we are. We don’t have to be perfect or have made it to the summit of holiness before grace reaches us. Mary descends into our struggles, our halfway points, our uneven paths, and from there she leads us gently upward toward her Son.

At the apparition spot, we reached the white statue of Our Lady, gleaming under the sun. Around her, pilgrims knelt in silence. I found a place to sit and pray, and there, in that quiet, I renewed my priestly promises—to serve, to love, to forgive, to bring Christ to His people. I offered every intention entrusted to me on this pilgrimage—names, sufferings, hopes, all placed into her hands. I stayed a long time. And I prayed that beautiful prayer by St. John Berchmans: Holy Mary, Mother of God and Immaculate Virgin, I choose thee this day for my queen, patroness, and advocate, and I firmly purpose and resolve never to abandon thee, nor say, nor do anything against the honor which is due to thee, nor suffer those under my charge to say or do anything against thee.

When I finally started down the hill, I noticed my rosary was gone. My pocket was empty. Something in me said, Go back. I climbed again, knowing Our Lady must have her reason.

Sure enough, when I reached the top once more, I saw a small boy with his mother near the statue. The boy had a scar across his chest—he’d survived heart surgery and now lived with a pacemaker. His mother was in tears. She told me it was a miracle he’d made it up the mountain at all. “Father,” she said softly, “will you bless him?”

I placed my hands on his head and prayed. The air felt thick with grace. Others nearby began to pray too; one woman started crying, asking for a blessing herself. In that moment, I realized how easily God uses the smallest detours for His greatest plans. We can never underestimate the power of a blessing.

When I finally looked down where I had been sitting, there was my rosary, lying right where I had been sitting earlier—half-buried in the soil. I picked it up carefully, certain it had soaked up the graces of that holy hill. Those beads had just been charged with the prayers of so many hearts. I thought, every Hail Mary I pray on these now will carry that power forward.

As the sun began to sink, we descended in silence, each of us carrying something unspoken. That evening, the open-air program at St. James began again—rosary, Mass, and the prayer for healing of soul and body. The church courtyard was thick with mercy, the setting sun painting Cross Mountain red. Confessions went on for hours. Fr. Jack and I joined the long line of confessors, and the lines of penitents never seemed to shorten. Grace was flowing like a river. The hum of many languages became a single word: mercy.

Then came another small miracle. After I finished hearing confessions, a little boy approached me—this one smiling shyly, not speaking a word of English. He handed me a rock. I didn’t understand at first, but soon his family came over—pilgrims from Switzerland—and we exchanged smiles and laughter. That little stone in my hand instantly reminded me of the five stones of Medjugorje: the daily Rosary, fasting on bread and water, reading Scripture, monthly confession, and frequent Eucharist. These are the weapons Our Lady gives us to defeat the Goliath of sin and fear.  I slipped the stone into my shoe, deciding to keep it there as a constant reminder. Every step since has felt like walking on prayer itself.

Later, over dinner, Fr. Jack and I with some pilgrims shared stories and laughter—the day’s blessings, the crowd, the miracle boy who maybe just thought I was the tooth fairy, the rediscovered rosary. There’s such joy in our friendship in Christ, especially in a place like this, where heaven seems to brush so close to earth.

As we walked back under the stars, I thought of Draga’s words from the morning: “People come here and realize they can’t keep living the way they’ve been living.” That’s the essence of this valley. It’s not about spectacle or secrets—it’s about conversion. Hearts open, burdens lift, lives change.

Before bed, I took the rosary from my pocket one last time. Its beads, dusty from the soil of Apparition Hill, seemed to hum with prayer. I smiled, thinking of that boy, his mother, the penitents whose sins had been forgiven, and all those who had received blessings today.

God is so good. Medjugorje reminds us that grace hides in ordinary things—in tiny stones, in lost rosaries, in children’s smiles, in detours that lead straight to heaven.