Day 1: Travel and Arrival
Today began our pilgrimage to Medjugorje, Rome and Loretto! 46 of us, invited in various ways by Our Lady herself, moved from Indianapolis to Philadelphia, then to Rome, Dubrovnik, and finally to Medjugorje. Some pilgrims come from my current parishes, others from my former parish, some from the parish where my good friend Fr. Jack used to be (Fr. Jack just got reassigned in July so none of his current parishioners would have been able to sign up), and a few from the parish where I grew up, St. Charles. Some from other places. Each person was called here by Our Lady for a purpose.
Providence arranged the day perfectly. We left on the vigil of the Feast of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary and then arrived on the day itself—what better day to begin a Marian pilgrimage? The feast, of course, traces back to the Battle of Lepanto in 1571, when Pope St. Pius V called all Christians to pray the Rosary for victory. Against impossible odds, the Christian fleet triumphed. It was a victory of faith more than force, and ever since that day the Rosary has been celebrated as a weapon of peace and prayer. On this feast day, as we traveled toward Rome, I could feel the thread of that same faith winding through our band of pilgrims.
The flight to Rome was pretty full. I ran into some old priest friends just as we were boarding. Then I asked for a seat upgrade so I wouldn't be in a middle seat. The lady told me it would cost me and I said I was willing to pay. Then, when she proceeds it, the thing turned up FREE! Praise God. I sat next to a lady who wasn't Catholic, and then a nun took the seat on the other side of her. I told her she is bound to become Catholic being between a priest and a nun! HA. But I was happy when I spotted a seat open next to Fr. Jack, so I went over that way so we could catch up. I'm so thankful to have such a good priest brother and friend on this trip! We came to Medjugorje together once before, just four days after he became a priest! Flashback to 2023:
When we landed, the first thing that struck us was the smell of espresso in the air and the music of Italian voices echoing through the terminal. Rome never disappoints. It’s loud, chaotic, and utterly alive. We celebrated Mass in the Eternal City—in the airport! We found a little chapel there for Mass. There, something beautiful happened—a couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary wandered by and asked if they might join us. It was one of those quiet divine appointments that only heaven could arrange. They stood before us like newlyweds, their hands clasped, their eyes moist with gratitude. It was a small encounter, but it set the tone for our journey: unexpected grace, right in the middle of an airport terminal.
I kept thinking of Pope Leo XIII (the Pope Leo before our current Pope Leo), who was called by some the “Rosary Pope,” who wrote so often about the power of this prayer. He once said, “The Rosary, by its very nature, is adapted to every condition and rank of persons. It gives strength to the just, converts sinners, and brings to all hearts the sweet love of Mary.” I am sure that these words will come alive for us on this trip.
After our Roman layover, we boarded a short flight east to Dubrovnik. As the plane descended, we circled around a few times (it was fun!!) over the Adriatic, which shimmered below us in impossible shades of blue, the coastline rugged and radiant. Dubrovnik is a jewel of stone and sea, its medieval walls rising like a fortress of faith. More than 85% of Croatians are Catholic, and it shows. Crosses crown hilltops, and from the windows we could see chapels appearing where in other countries you’d find convenience stores.
Yesterday morning, before we even left Indiana, I had celebrated a funeral for a Croatian woman from my parish. As we arrived in Dubrovnik, I couldn’t help feeling that she was with us in spirit, smiling at the sight of her homeland. Croatia itself has suffered much—wars, occupations, and earthquakes—but like its old city walls, the faith here endures.
It sure was a beautiful and winding drive from Dubrovnik to Medjugorje. The road hugs the coastline for a while before turning inland, climbing through mountains that seem to touch the sky. Olive trees, vineyards, and stone houses drifted by. Each bend revealed a view more beautiful than the last, especially as the sun was setting. We crossed from Croatia into Bosnia and Herzegovina, a country shaped by layers of history and faith. Roughly half the population here is Muslim, about fifteen percent Orthodox, and another fifteen percent Croatian Catholic—most of them in the southern region known as Herzegovina, where Medjugorje lies.
The name “Medjugorje” means “between the mountains,” and that’s exactly where it sits—quiet, humble, and drenched in peace. Before arriving, we decided to do something ambitious: pray all twenty mysteries of the Rosary during the bus ride. The bus itself became a kind of moving chapel. The Rosary has a way of making family out of strangers.
As we prayed, the mysteries seemed to mirror the world around us. The Joyful mysteries unfolded under bright morning light as we passed small Croatian villages. The Luminous came as the sea sparkled beside us, a reminder of Christ’s radiant presence in the ordinary. The Sorrowful found us climbing steep mountain roads—rough, rocky, and demanding. And by the time we reached the Glorious, the clouds had broken, and sunlight poured across the hills. The timing felt almost divine. By the last decade, our voices were tired but joyful. Every bead, every prayer, seemed to draw us closer to the heart of Mary and, through her, to her Son.
Then came the moment every pilgrim remembers: the first glimpse of the twin towers of St. James Church rising above the plain. Someone shouted, “There it is!” and we all turned to the windows. After hours of travel, after months of preparation, after decades for some of longing and curiosity, there it was—the simple, beautiful church at the center of Medjugorje. I’ve seen it before, but it never loses its power. The sight of those towers always stirs something deep inside.
This is my fourth time here, but it still feels like coming home. I like to tell people I was “tricked” into coming the first time. It was 2017, and I was organizing a pilgrimage to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Our Lady of Fatima. Kathy, the woman who plans our pilgrimages with Mary’s Tours, suggested we include Medjugorje. I wasn’t sure what to think. I had heard about the place, of course—the apparitions, the conversions, the doubts people have—but I didn’t know if it was for me. Still, I said yes, and I’m so glad I did. There is no place like this in the world.
Medjugorje’s story is as simple as it is extraordinary. In June 1981, six teenagers from this tiny village reported that the Virgin Mary appeared to them on a rocky hill, holding a child and calling herself the Queen of Peace. The authorities tried to silence them, but the message spread. People came from all over the world, drawn by an inexplicable peace. Whether one believes in the apparitions or not, the fruits are undeniable: long confession lines, full churches, thousands in adoration, and lives changed. I’ve heard people say that heaven feels closer here, and I believe them.
When we arrived, it was pretty late. I took a little late night walk. I stepped out onto the square and watched as candles flickered to life. As I sat there, I thought again of Pope Leo XIII’s words: that the Rosary “brings to all hearts the sweet love of Mary.” I could see that love glowing on the faces around me—all of them gathered under the same moon, praying to the same Mother.
Pilgrimage does something mysterious to the soul. It loosens the knots of routine, stretches patience, and fills the cracks of the heart with grace. Traveling with 46 people is not without its challenges, but every little difficulty becomes part of the offering. The laughter that bursts from shared exhaustion is its own form of prayer. I think God enjoys the humor of it all as much as our hymns.
And yet, amid the joking and the long bus rides, something deeper is going to happen on this pilgrimage. I am sure of it. Pilgrimage has a way of changing people quietly.
The night has now fallen completely. It’s hard to describe the peace of Medjugorje. It isn’t loud or showy; it’s the peace that seeps into your bones, that settles behind your eyes, that enters your heart. I can't wait to see what Our Lord and Our Lady do for everyone on this pilgriamge.
I keep thinking of that first couple we met at the airport—the ones celebrating fifty years of marriage. They met "by chance," but actually not by chance at all. Their quiet faith, their tears, that shared rosary around thier hands. Their life together began with a little I DO, a simple YES. And every YES opens a door for grace to walk through.
Pilgrimage isn’t about the miles we travel but the hearts that open. Each of us was called here for a reason: to heal, to listen, to give thanks, to fall in love with God again. And Our Lady, in her gentle way, led us here bead by bead, step by step.
This is my fourth visit, and yet it feels brand new. The first time, I thought I was coming as a leader, a guide for others. Now I know better. I came because I needed it too. Every priest, every person, needs to be reminded that faith is not just something we preach—it’s something we live, something that surprises us in airports and mountain villages alike.
When I first saw the twin towers of St. James rising in the distance, I felt that same tug in my heart that I did back in 2017. It was as if Our Lady herself was whispering, “Welcome home.”
And home is what it feels like—home not in geography but in grace. Here, between the mountains, heaven and earth meet quietly. People laugh, weep, confess, pray, and sing. The Rosary beads click softly in every language, carrying the same eternal words.
As for me, I’m just grateful—to Our Lady for calling us, to our pilgrims for their faith and humor, and to God for weaving it all together so beautifully. I came here once by accident. Now I come by desire. And every time I leave, I know I’ll be back.
Because there is no place like this in the world.
