BRONAGH HAS BEEN HERE...

I began to call this post Bronagh's Miracle, but then I considered my audience~a bunch of mostly Protestant folks, many Presbyterians, with a few Catholics in the mix~Bronagh's Miracle seemed a little strong. But I'm already ahead of myself. Let me begin at the beginning.

After the daily celebration of the Eucharist, I left the sanctuary of Holy Cross and headed down the tiny two lane road that then leads downhill for 1.5 miles into the town of Rostrevor. I looked at the road before me and thought it looked rather level for at least a while... so I walked in the few inches of weeds off the road. Emboldened with this little bit of success, I decided to walk down a little further. If there was a car coming towards me, I crossed the road to the other side... when I heard one behind me, I did the same thing. There are no city noises here -- so I can hear a car a mile away.

I don't know exactly when I decided that I would walk all the way down to the Old Kibrone6y Graveward, where I'd find Bronagh's well... but it was after all on my list of things to do. Even realizing what goes down...must come back up, did not deter me from making this the day. I'm on a pilgrimage, I thought... as I reminded both myself and God, and asked the He provide any strength I might need on the way back up. I continued my criss-cross pattern the mile and a half down.

Arriving at the old gates to the cemetery it was easy to see that it was jam packed with the graves of folks from many centuries. Yes centuries. But even from the road I could see the grotto that had been erected over Bronagh's Well. What surprised me as I approached, was the small hand pump and stainless steel cup used to bring water up from the underground well. Someone had left the cup half full of water to prime the wee pump.

There were other folks in the cemetery this cloudy Saturday afternoon and it wasn't too long before I learned firsthand the meaning of "the rain falling softly." You could hardly feel the drops as they began. It was one cloud just overhead that was so softly letting loose of rain no harder than dew.

Looking back up Kilbroney Mountain from whence I came... I could see that there were many more of these watery black clouds on their way. "Whose idea was this?" I thought...as I put my camera into the sleeve of my sweater to protect it from the soft rain. I now needed to pay the price for my impulsive walk.

The cemetery (like everything else here) is on a steep incline and I began to make my way up the loose gravel. I noticed on the way up that just outside the gate is a sign that says Rostrevor City Limit. I did indeed walk all the way to town. Just then a car turned into the bit of road off the two-lane and a man with white hair and a bag from a bakery exited. He bent back in towards the car and I noticed he was pulling money from his pocket. The Taxi! The taxi just happened to be letting off a fare right in front of me.

I hurried across the street likely scaring the older gentleman with his bag of donuts. I also surprised the driver when I knocked on the back window of the cab. "Want another fare?" I asked. "Sure, come along" he said. I found out that Mr. Sloan had gone to Derry... this was his brother-in-law who takes over business when he needs to be out of town. I explained to him that walking down to the cemetery seemd like a good idea at the time, but when the rain started I began re-considering...only too late. "It's a far bit to walk up" he said, stating the obvious.

I didn't tell him about my pilgrimage to the well of Bronagh, or how I'd mentioned to God that I might need some help getting back up. Truly in my prayer I was hoping for will, determination and stamina. I'm guessing it was Bronagh herself who sent the taxi. GOD'S BLESSINGS AND MUCH JOY TO YOU! Kathleen Bronagh Weller, THE CELTIC MONK