She wants prayers for world peace
MT. NIGHTINGALE/MT. KORESSOS—Of the myriad adventures planned for our wide-ranging trip across Turkey, including the chance to watch dawn break over a moonlike desert from a hot air balloon, I was most excited about the possibility of a visit “to see Mother Mary." In the end, Mother Mary actually did meet me at her hutlike house, but the reason turned out to be heart wrenching.
Her two-room rock cottage, now restored, stands on a slope about 30 minutes from the ancient capital city of Ephesus, on the southwestern coast of Turkey. Yes, this is the location of the early church that received St. Paul's epistle, now known as the New Testament book of Ephesians. Tourists swarm this place, especially in the summer and fall. It was a pleasantly warm Saturday in October; we had rushed through our coffee and toast to beat the crowds, but even so, lines of charter busses had already begun to roll into the parking lots. Things felt ordinary for a shrine visit. We had no inkling of what was about to burst open. I could hardly wait to see the remains of her dwelling.
The stone hut is believed by many to be where the Virgin Mary spent the final years of her earthly life. She was brought to Ephesus by her adopted son John the Apostle, who built her this house. Or so the story goes. The other major church tradition says that Mary stayed in Jerusalem until her ascension, which is celebrated every year on August 15. I prefer the idea that Jesus's Emma immigrated to Asia Minor with John the Beloved, who is buried in a neighboring village close to Ephesus. It makes sense that where he went, she would have gone.
As with so many antiquities, Mary’s house fell into disrepair over time. Bushes surrounded it and vines choked the tumbled-down walls, until eventually it was hidden. Following an ancient text, two French Catholic priests rediscovered the hut in the late 19th century, with the help of local peasants who knew about Mary's connection to that piece of land. Later the Vatican approved Mary's House as a Catholic pilgrimage site.
Previously I had visited two world-famous Marian sites, Lourdes in France and Medjugorje in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Lourdes felt like a Catholic theme park—imagine larger-than-life plastic renderings of Mary and tacky little gift shops. Medjugorje, while spared such commercialism, was basically a short climb up a steep hill to see a fenced-off statue of the Virgin. Neither experience had much moved me. But those were sites were made famous by purported apparitions of Mother Mary; this felt different, as if part of her might still be connected to the hut where she had walked, slept, lived, and died.
Our private tour guide, a secular Muslim, tried to prepared me in advance. There was not much to see. It only took a few minutes to walk through the entire house. Usually our guide set the pace and explained the history or culture as we visited a museum, mosque, church cave, or other tourist destination. This time, I arranged to go through without his shepherding so that I might linger to meditate and pray.
Soon I would discover that this was not allowed!
Following a line of pilgrims, I stepped into a dark and narrow enclosure. It was rather like being inside a shoebox with only a few small windows. An altar featuring Mary and several burning candles was the focal point of the main room.
To the right of the altar, Mary had a sleeping corner about the size of a small walk-in closet. Two frowning docents controlled the hut, one near the entry, the other near the altar. Together they urged the stream of visitors to pass quickly through the dwelling and exit. It was like this: walk in, glance around, and leave. I could picture Mother Mary standing there, her arms open in welcome, as the hurting souls marched rpast her, never sensing her love and concern.
I was resistant to being rushed. Folding chairs were lined up on each side of the carpet marking the designated pathway through the cottage. Yet someone had cordoned off access. I pantomimed to the nearest docent, tenting my fingers together and nodding questioningly toward the chairs. She shook her head. The disappointment on my face must have softened her because, to my surprise, she motioned that I could stand against the wall over in a corner.
That little bit of grace was all that I needed.
I was standing inside, about where the olive tree can be seen in the picture. Closing my eyes, I felt surrounded by a loving presence. Mother Mary. Her sweet spirit palpated around me. Her motherly love embraced me. A warm feeling of peace washed over me. Just to be near her mother’s heart was to know that God Himself is Love. After several calming minutes, I felt Mary invite me to join her as she prayed for world peace. This is not outside of her wheelhouse. In most of the documented Marian apparitions, Mother Mary calls on her children to love one another, pray devotedly, and follow in the footsteps of her son Jesus. Many times, she has warned against dire bloodshed (as in Rwanda and Yugoslavia) in advance of atrocities.
This time, I was getting the memo after the fact.
Mary's spirit communicated via what we would call telepathy. (I have read many times in Near Death Experiences that mind-linking is how disincarnate beings talk.) I sensed a wider prayer circle beyond the two of us; prayers for peace were going up from many saints and angels on the Other Side. Somehow my small efforts could be magnified and strengthened by piggybacking on theirs. This prayer session felt urgent. The Holy Spirit led me to focus on world peace for about ten minutes. The docents left me alone during this time, and I was only vaguely aware of the pilgrim parade about a foot in front of me. Eventually, I sensed that the session was complete.
Feeling grateful, I exited the house and lit a candle in the garden, still awash with calm. Yet within five minutes, my joy was turned to horror. It was October 7, 2023. Someone read a notification on his cell phone. Hamas had just launched the now-infamous strikes on Israel during a music festival. Many had been killed; others had been kidnapped. Chaos writhed like a poisonous snake.
After the warm bath of Mary's presence, this atrocious news hit me like a gut punch. This was not another flare up in the ongoing struggle for Jerusalem and the Holy Land. This resonated as a threat to the entire planet. We have lost sight of the brotherhood and sisterhood of our species. God created each and every one of us and loves us all, exactly the same. He calls out for each soul to return to Him as his child.
Only by living with the Risen Christ, by following and obeying Him, by bending our souls into alignment with God's revealed will, can we know how to live peacefully with one another. When we become a new creation in Christ, holy love enables us to live beyond ourselves. The prayers and daily obedience of the current disciples of Jesus have a power beyond what we can comprehend. All is lost without this. And yet, there are those from other religions whose prayers are heard and answered by Christ, as in his mercy, He hears all who truly seek union with the Divine.
The wideness in God's mercy should remind us that God is One. We must take our prayers more seriously and listen to the voice within, to the Holy Spirit as He leads us on. This is our last and best hope.
Notes and scribbled prayers line the walls around Mary's house.
Next post: ballooning over Cappadocia
