On Tuesday, I took my Mum along to the Mass of Thanksgiving for the proclamation of the 71^st miracle of Lourdes, the Liverpudlian John ‘Jack’ Traynor. It was at the Metropolitan Cathedral of Liverpool, attended by brigades of priests and a substantial congregation. The Archdiocese was out in force for a true civic event that brought the city together, presided over by Archbishop Malcolm McMahon who was in great form.

My Mum, now 86 and totally lacking in any independence, can think herself very much linked to these commemorations. My brother Richard was both physically and mentally disabled, and in the years after his birth, both she and my Dad thought that this disability could be cured. I think this was partly a natural parental reaction, but also linked to their faith in a God who they believed could do anything. Theirs was the Catholicism of iconography and holy water, of power and might.

When Richard was about 5 years old, they took him to Lourdes, a journey that I believe was a quest for healing. Maybe there was a tiny part of them that thought he might come back talking and walking, I don’t know. Maybe there was something inside them that they wanted healing? I know my Dad in particular found it desperately hard to come to terms with his first-born being so utterly incapable.  

The story goes that Richard took his first steps outside the grotto of St Bernadette, after my Dad did his version of ‘take up your mat, and walk!’. I suspect it happened after many efforts prior to this when initial steps had been half-made, but he hadn’t quite got there. Nonetheless, it was a big moment in our family history. His subsequent mobility was a blessing for the rest of his wonderful life.

Lourdes became a big part of our life from that point on, but particularly for Mum and Dad, who would return many times on pilgrimage with Richard. The final time, back in 2018, was one of the saddest. On their own now, Richard having died several years beforehand, their behaviours were heartbreakingly unpredictable and strange, both now riddled with dementia. The pilgrimage nurse spent a lot of time with them that particular week, and I remember her worried tone when she gave me a debrief on their arrival back. She knew what we were about to go through.

At the Mass this week, the homily was delivered by the Bishop of Tarbes and Lourdes. It was beautiful, and along with the uplifting music, it took me back to those days. My Mum, my Dad, my brother, setting off for Hosanna House, a retreat centre that overlooked the valley, the town of Lourdes shining at its feet. The bishop spoke of the healing power of God, not simply to absolve us from our sins, but to prepare us for the mission we all have, the work that is placed in our hands by God.  

My Mum was so happy, and I mean almost deliriously so. For someone with dementia, a Mass like that can return the sufferer back to clarity, identity and some degree of certainty. The only confusing moment occurred when she asked to go to communion, just five minutes after having received it.

The thing is, as Jack Traynor and his family found out, you just don’t know when a crushing blow to normal existence will arrive. For him, the chances of serious injury were greater as he fought in the carnage of WW1. For my parents, the realisation that they were to spend their lives caring for a boy with such a severe disability came gradually, but was a shock nonetheless. And for me, and thousands of others like me, caring for parents who become totally different people to the ones who reared you, suddenly plays havoc with your emotions, not to mention the bureaucratic minefield of attendance allowances, powers of attorney and social care.

A miracle cured Jack Traynor, and how the people of Liverpool celebrated that, both at Lime Street on his return from Lourdes back in 1924, and last night at the thanksgiving Mass.

But however wonderful and special, such miracles are rare. Instead, the cure that we encounter more regularly is one of grace, of God’s guidance in helping us cope with setbacks. I have said on many occasions before, that my brother Richard brought unimaginable joy to our lives and we are truly grateful for his life. Similarly, though my parents became different people with dementia, their condition brought moments of collective joy to our family and has brought us yet closer together. I probably haven’t appreciated the healing that has been required in order to get us to that point. That is God’s grace at work.

To finish with a note of realism, I got back and switched the news on, the ubiquitous POTUS there again, talking of finishing the Ukraine war as if it were a playground spat.

Our Lady of Lourdes, pray for us. We may need another miracle.