This blog was first published on February 22, 2017
In the village of Chimayo, nestled high in the northeastern mountains of New Mexico, there is a shrine that pilgrims have journeyed to for hundreds of years. A small chapel sits in the center of the vast Christian complex; A sort of Disneyland for the faithful, minus the rides and costumed rodent. There are a variety of buildings that house testimonials of those who trekked to this 'off-the-beaten-path' sort of place. They came seeking healing and wholeness in a world that is sorely missing these needed attributes. Some came bringing their crutches and ailments, which they miraculously left behind!
It was these stories that attracted this believer. I came to see the 'crutch room' of the shrine. I went to receive the 'holy dirt' that is credited to have miraculous powers. In a world where such things are discredited, labeled as 'superstitious,' and then dismissed out of hand, I yearned to see for myself what mysteries Chimayo contained.
As soon as I walked onto the property, I sensed that this was a special place, a holy place. There was a peace that passed my rationale explanations. As I walked through the shrine, I passed alcove upon alcove filled with the worn photographs of loved ones. Here was a place where you brought your fondest hopes for the ones that are dearest. I could just imagine the faithful with trembling hands as they pinned the photo to the wall, praying for things that the mind knew were impossible. Like a moth drawn to a bright light, I found myself being drawn past the displays of foreign piety to the center chapel. A silence overcame the multiple visitors as we shuffled through the 'crutch room' to the small door in the rear of the chapel.
Although I'm of average height, I had to duck to enter the tiny room, which contained a sand pit in the center. There you could fill containers of 'holy dirt' (Luckily the gift shop sold containers; I bought a hand painted clay jar). Holding in my hand the fine sand, I noted its ordinary nature. What was it about this dirt and this place that was so special?
I contemplated these questions as I made my way out of the chapel, passing the grotesque crucifix fastened to the stucco wall. Here was clearly a place where both Jesus and his faithful followers were accustomed to suffering. As I passed a small church office, I saw an official 'disclaimer' from the local diocese. It proclaimed that the dirt wasn't magical, it was procured by the janitor who went to the local hillside with a bucket. Instead of magic, the broadside gave credit for all healing to the grace of God. God was the healer who brought transformation to the lives of the faithful who came with a prayerful posture yearning for healing. Found in this place was not the transactional but rather the relational. Those who came did so trusting in the relationship that they had with the crucified Christ. They came with all their ailments to honor the one who shares their suffering on a cross.
I left this holy place full of a sense of mystery. Even though I couldn't explain what I had experienced at the shrine, I have come to the realization that my explanations or judgments don't matter. Trust, Faith, and seeking God's healing are the things that are important. These are things that enter into divine mystery. These are the things that live at Chimayo, alongside the donated crutches that no longer have a use.
Thank you for reading this weekly blog. If today's reflection was helpful, please 'like it' or leave a comment below or feel free to share it with others. I appreciate your help in extending my writing to as large an audience as possible. In the Resurrected Body of Christ, Walt.