Roses of Medjugorje

"How did you end up in Medjugorje?" — I am often asked this question.
To this day, I am surprised myself.
First of all, Medjugorje is abroad, and I am in Siberia.
Secondly, Medjugorje is a mystical place, and I am not one to believe in tall tales.
Thirdly, Russian priests are currently forbidden from taking pilgrims there.
But, first of all, I was curious.
Secondly, my friends invited me.
Thirdly, the Mother of God invited me.
That is why it all came together.
 *    *      * A phone call from Moscow.
"Do you want to go to Medjugorje?" — it’s Natalya, my colleague from work in television.
"Of course!"
"I arranged for you to join a pilgrim group for free. Just find a way to get to Moscow somehow! And beforehand, send your passport to Moscow with someone heading that way, give it to a girl named Lena Alexandrova. Write down the phone number and address..."
"I’m going I don’t know where," I worried, rattling along in a train car.
I knew only the train’s departure time from Moscow and the carriage number. I knew the name "Lena Alexandrova."
However, when I approached the right carriage with my bags, I easily spotted a girl, Lena, holding a list by the entrance. I went up to her for a face-to-face check. Recognizing each other, we smiled, and I stepped into the train car, almost entirely at peace.
 *    *      * "Medjugorje" translated from Croatian means "between the mountains." (As if they twisted a perfectly normal Russian word! Slavic languages do that often).
I read about Medjugorje a long time ago, back in the early nineties, in some Catholic *samizdat* publication that had somehow found its way into our house.
Some children seeing the Mother of God... She appears to them every day... Through them, She asks everyone to pray for peace...
"Old wives' tales," I decided with annoyance, stuffing this piece of information into the furthest drawer of my consciousness. I wasn't ready for it.
And many years later, Natalya, then an employee at our Catholic film studio, told me about Medjugorje.
 *    *      * ...It all began around the year nineteen eighty-one, when Medjugorje was still part of Yugoslavia, and I lived in the Soviet Union.
A few teenagers climbed up Podbrdo Hill with a very teenage goal — to sneak a smoke.
Suddenly, they discerned the vague outlines of a female figure — and tumbled down the hill in a flash.
The next day, they went back out of curiosity. Just in case, they brought some holy water with them.
In the shining figure, they recognized a young woman. They started sprinkling water on her. Then she laughed, and then she spoke. It turned out to be the Blessed Virgin Mary, nothing less.
"The world is on the brink of catastrophe!" — that is what She told the children. — "People must pray for peace every day, and also pray the Rosary daily."
In those days, nobody believed the children — not their parents, not the communist authorities, not the priests. The six teenagers faced police, psychiatric, and moral persecution.
However, other signs from the Lady began to appear in the town of Medjugorje: for instance, a strange cloud over the church in the shape of the Madonna.
More and more people listened to Her messages, choosing to pray the Rosary for world peace and to fast on Wednesdays and Fridays.
Pilgrims from all over the world flocked here. News began pouring out of Medjugorje about all kinds of miracles, cases of physical and spiritual healing, and numerous acts of conversion and repentance. Medjugorje came to be called the "confessional of the world." Many received spiritual fruits and gifts here, as well as the grace of a vocation, breaking free from evil and parting with sin.
The Mother of God continued to appear daily to the six visionaries and passed messages to the whole world through them. Once, She announced:
"Satan's main plans are destroyed! He is still very strong, but he is already in his death throes."
("And yet, World War III never broke out at the end of the second millennium, despite the crisis in the Balkans," I thought. "So much for old wives' tales").
The Church is waiting for the apparitions to end before calmly and carefully evaluating the events, but the apparitions continue to this day. The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith has not yet issued any verdict regarding the Medjugorje apparitions, but the flow of pilgrims does not decrease.
 *    *      * Natalya had visited Medjugorje several times and returned each time with a burning desire to pray for peace and to tell others about the Lady's messages.
I was incredibly surprised that she called the Mother of God "Mama." Just like that, casually: "Mama said this, Mama said that..."
And in Medjugorje, I heard many people calling the Mother of God "Mama" once again.
And in general, the spirituality here is special. Faith is strong in a child-like way, and Heaven is so close that the relationship of the faithful with Jesus and Mary is trusting, almost familial. It is filled with love and completely devoid of fear.
Sometimes the people of Medjugorje seem to me like real, kind wizards.
 *    *      * We encounter the magical power of their faith even on our way to Medjugorje, while riding the bus through Romania, Croatia, and Serbia.
Literally at every border, customs officers pull us over, even though our documents are perfectly in order.
"They are just extorting a bribe!" the Moscow ladies realize.
But Lena doesn't want to give them money on Christian grounds:
"After all, we are on a pilgrimage."
As a result, we are delayed at every border, and we reach Belgrade on Friday evening, at the very end of the working day, including the visa service at the embassy.
"What should we do?! The office is about to close for the whole weekend!" Lena worries.
Half of the group consists of Ukrainians who don't have visas. On top of that, there is a sick girl in the Ukrainian delegation who moves only in a wheelchair.
Poor Lena, sitting in the bus, anxiously calls a certain Teresa from Medjugorje on the phone, who is responsible for our delegation. She promises to call the officials to... persuade them to stay late at work! How about that!
"Don't worry, Gospa will take care of everything," she soothed Lena.
We don't know yet that this tranquility is the essence of Medjugorje spirituality, so we all worry anyway, praying the Rosary in unison.
We reach Belgrade only at sunset.
Lena and Father Andrzej, a Polish priest who accompanies the Ukrainian delegation, head to the visa office.
They return from the Ukrainian embassy pale and tired, but victorious.
"The woman in the office looked at us sternly and said: 'Not only are you late, but you also came without the Ukrainians!'"
"You can understand her — instead of Ukrainians, a Russian girl and a Polish priest show up, demanding visas for Ukrainians, ha-ha!" Father Andrzej chimes in.
"...And then she waved her hand and said: 'Sit down!' and stamped the visas into the passports!" Lena finishes joyfully.
There is your first Medjugorje miracle — a victory over bureaucracy. A miracle for those who understand.
 *    *      * Around my neck is a small silver medal. One of those that, at the request of the Mother of God, nuns usually hand out to believers and non-believers alike for protection from evil.
Actually, there are many like it. But this one is special.
Two years ago, it was given to me by Viktor Kotov, who is in the same community as me.
"Can you believe it, it was blessed by the Mother of God Herself. I have a lot of them. Take two — for yourself and your daughter," he opened his palm and took out two medals.
"What do you mean — by the Mother of God Herself?" I didn't believe him.
"Blessed during an apparition, specifically for Russia, can you imagine!"
"You're lying!"
"I'm not lying at all! Yesterday in the Franciscan church after Mass, some Slovak woman was talking about Medjugorje, and then she handed out these medals. So I scooped up as many as I could. And she told the story so interestingly that I even wanted to go there myself."
 *    *      * Our delegation is met by Teresa, a very beautiful, tall young woman. She is dark-skinned, with a mop of short curls and a straight, fine nose. But her beauty is not just in her curls.
"What is so special about her that makes you want to be near her all the time?" I ponder, looking closely at Teresa, and finally, I understand: "It's her gaze! Open, pure, happy, and calm."
This is the face of a person whose soul is ruled by peace, tranquility, and unconditional love for people. And at the same time, there is a healthy irony. Here is the first thing she tells us:
"Just don't even think about saying you saw the Mother of God! We won't believe you. Only six people see Her in Medjugorje."
She gets to know each guest individually, and now she approaches me.
"Where are you from?"
"From Novosibirsk."
Teresa has a strange reaction:
"It can't be! How did you get here?!"
"Like everyone else," I wonder. "By train, then by bus."
Teresa impulsively hugs me.
"Good for you for coming! It was meant to be!"
I don't understand a thing.
We are accommodated in a guesthouse at the Franciscan parish house. At Mass, we meet the priest who will stay with us for all five days.
Father Ljubo strikes our imagination. He is a strikingly handsome man — immensely tall, with a chiseled face and absolutely the same gaze as Teresa. What beautiful people serve the Mother of God!
"How did you, such a handsome man, choose monastic celibacy?" the Moscow women wonder.
"She chose me. The Mother of God is to blame for my vocation," the monk replies.
 *    *      * "...That was your last dinner," smiles Father Andrzej, after a rich and tasty meal with wine. "Starting tomorrow, we begin our fasting recollection."
"That’s just great... Brought us to the edge of the world, and now they are going to starve us," I thought resignedly, and judging by the bleak faces of the Muscovites, I wasn't the only one.
However, we came here specifically to learn how to fast properly. And anyway, for once, we had to find out what fasting is and what its meaning is.
For some, fasting is a diet; for others, a tribute to tradition; for a third group, a burdensome sacrifice. But true fasting, they say, is something else entirely. But what?
"Fasting with a prayerful intention has a huge power of intercession," the spiritual directors explain. "If only you fast with joy."
The Medjugorje fast has nothing to do with starvation. We were told to consume as much bread and water as needed so as not to feel hungry.
The next morning, I mentally prepare myself for a difficult ordeal. However, for breakfast, large woven baskets with the most fragrant, hot bread are served on the table. The cooks baked it right in our guesthouse.
The varieties of bread are like those in a European bakery: white, grey, black, flatbreads, loaves. By tradition, they always mix seeds into any dough here, so each loaf is not only sprinkled on top, but the crumb also contains various seeds. I recognized only sesame and sunflower, but I hadn't tried the other local seeds before. In short, I have never eaten such delicious bread as during this mysterious fast!
Along with the bread, they offer us many varieties of tea — black, green, or even red.
And so it goes for all five days.
 *    *      * "...When my mother was alive, I often traveled to see her from Moscow to Anapa," one woman shares. "In the morning, I would wake up to a southern floral fragrance, and with my eyes still closed, I would realize: I am at Mom's! And Mom has been gone for a long time. But today I woke up with the very same feeling: I am at Mom's! And indeed, we are — at Mom's!"
 *    *      * I return to the room from a walk and notice that everyone is writing something — some on chairs, some on beds.
"We are writing letters to Mom, meaning the Mother of God," they explain to me. "Why are you stalling?"
"Ah... And what are you going to do with them? Where do you send them?"
"We will give them to Teresa."
"And Teresa?"
"And Teresa will give them to Ivan."
"And Ivan?"
"And Ivan will give them to the Mother of God. (!) During the apparition."
"Ah..."
I sit down to write.
"Dear Mary!..."
What next? I painfully try to take this matter seriously. I gather all my prayers for all my family and friends. For Sasha, for Innochka, for mom, for dad, for my friends, for the priests, for my film studio... For Vitka Kotov, who is lying in the hospital right now with a heart attack... For me, so that I can get rid of my constant, unaccountable fears...
There is less and less space on the sheet. My letters are getting smaller. My handwriting is getting worse...
"Is it okay if the handwriting isn't beautiful?" I ask the others.
"Oh, come on, nobody is going to read it!" they laugh at me.
"But will the Mother of God make it out?"
"She already knows everything anyway."
I take my piece of paper to Teresa.
"Now she’ll say I'm crazy," the thought flashes by.
But she nods nonchalantly and shoves the letter into a thick stack.
What things are happening!
 *    *      * I have a long-standing allergy to spring blossoms. For about twelve years. I don't even try to treat it anymore — I just eat pills in terrible quantities all spring.
"Is anything blooming there?" I checked with Natalya before the trip.
"Oh! Everything is blooming there! There are so many roses!"
This information did not please me at all.
"All I need is to drop dead in a holy place," I sighed. "I’ll at least pack some pills for the road."
Soon, I saw with my own eyes that Medjugorje is millions and millions of scarlet roses, and white ones, and yellow ones, and tea roses, and climbing roses. In short, the capital of roses. Fields of roses. Walls of roses. Arches of roses. In front of any door — a pot of roses.
"Well, yes, a real Rosary under the open sky in honor of the Mother of God," I realized.
And a bit later, I discovered that I... had no allergy symptoms at all! The blooming was there, but the sickness was gone! Vanished, evaporated... Is this a miracle of healing?
Thank you, Lady!
 *    *      * "...If you want to buy souvenirs, go to the Italian brothers — they are so glad when they see believers from Russia that they give discounts," Teresa advises.
I have long wanted to buy a silver crucifix. I see a suitable one on the counter. I ask how much it costs.
Instead of answering, the younger Italian brother shoves it into my hands and immediately turns away to other customers.
A gift! Another miracle!
 *    *      * In Medjugorje, Mass is allowed to be celebrated only in the church and in the chapels.
"Otherwise, they would be celebrating Mass under every bush here," Teresa explains.
The church is spacious, very beautiful. It is always crowded.
Every day at six o'clock forty minutes, silence falls over the church, everyone kneels, and beautiful music plays.
Everyone knows that at this very moment, in Ivan's house (with the stress on the first syllable, in the Croatian pronunciation), the session of the apparition of the Mother of God begins. Heaven is so close, and people feel their involvement in the miracle like nowhere else.
And once, during prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, a roar suddenly erupted. It sounded like a human screaming, but the voice was, as they say, non-human — an incredibly, impossibly low bass turning into a growl.
"A demon!" I thought.
It seemed that every single person in the church understood this too. Because the singing suddenly grew louder, more united.
"Gospa Majka mo-o-ja-a, Kralica mira-a-a-!!" (Our Lady, my Mother, Queen of Peace!)
The roar also intensified, sounding more frantic, then began to recede rapidly until it fell silent — its owner had run out of the church.
"...What was that?" we asked Teresa later.
"There are many possessed people here," she explained calmly. "People don't always know about the demons sitting inside them."
So, I crossed paths with a demon too!
 *    *      * In the neighboring village lives a Franciscan priest named Father Jozo Zovko, who was the first spiritual director for all six children.
On the road winding between the forested mountains, we take the bus to his monastery.
Father Jozo is old, but very bright and kind. Striking eyes.
"He is a saint!" the Moscow women whisper reverently.
Quite possibly.
Father Jozo tells us how at first he refused to believe these doubtful stories. He decided that the secret services were staging another provocation to compromise the Church.
Until one day, during a service, he clearly saw the Blessed Virgin Mary herself walking down the aisle straight to the altar!
Afterward, he sat in the empty church for a long time and prayed.
"If You want me to believe in this, send a sign!" he asked.
At that exact moment, the church doors flew open, and the six children rushed straight into his arms, fleeing from the police.
"...And that is how I understood that I must protect them..."
Since then, Father Jozo has been one of the most ardent promoters of the Medjugorje messages of the Mother of God.
Later I learned that he was the spiritual director of Father Ditmar, the hero of one of my films.
...A young, successful German programmer visited Medjugorje and suddenly realized he had to drop everything and become a priest.
Many years have passed, and Father Ditmar serves here in Siberia, in Kainsk.
The Mother of God is "to blame" for this too.
 *    *      * "Today at three o'clock, a meeting with Ivan," Teresa warns. "Don't be late!"
Ivan is one of the famous six visionaries, and he still lives in Medjugorje.
He is thirty-something, about my age. A baggy, clumsy fellow, his face focused, unsmiling. He doesn't give the impression of a saint, and he doesn't even try to.
He enters the hall exactly at three, sits down in the middle, and immediately begins to speak without waiting for stragglers — and without looking around at all.
"...I asked the Lady: 'Why me? I'm not the best!' She answers: 'I do not choose the best.'"
Ivan tells us how he first saw the Mother of God, what he felt then, and what he experiences now.
"For me, every apparition is a cross. But I wouldn’t part with this cross for anything!"
Ivan refuses to answer questions, stands up immediately after his speech, and leaves.
He protects himself — in the evening, he has another meeting with the Lady.
 *    *      * "...Can you imagine, the wounds on the leg of the statue of Jesus are bleeding!" a lady with wild eyes came running into the guesthouse. "It's because the Bishop of Mostar does not recognize the Medjugorje apparitions!!"
"Teresa, is it true?" we ask.
"Ah!" Teresa waves it off. "Who cares if something started dripping from the statue's leg. Jesus must be in the heart."
Still, we run to look behind the church, where a huge bronze statue of Jesus on the cross stands in a modern style.
Under the crucifix, there is a crowd of people. Everyone takes turns approaching, touching the knee, and sprinkling their crucifixes and Rosaries.
I wait for my turn. I look closely from below at the giant leg of Jesus — indeed, drops are oozing right from the bronze knee. In the sun, they look red for some reason, but if you catch a drop, it is clear on your hand, like water. And there is no smell of any secret plumbing!
I am stunned. A miracle!
I sit down nearby and take out my Rosary.
A young guy approaches me. In Croatian, he asks where I am from. In Russian, I answer. The guy invites me to a restaurant in the evening. He does not hide his intentions.
I explain that I am here on a pilgrimage. I point to Jesus. Does he know that His wounds are bleeding?
"He used to drip there," and the guy indifferently points to the other leg. "And now it’s here. So, shall we meet?"
"No!" I answer shortly, stand up, and leave.
Yes, Teresa is absolutely right: Jesus must be in the heart. Otherwise, no miracles will help.
 *    *      * We climb the Apparition Hill. We pray the Rosary.
Some walk barefoot, paying no attention to the thorns.
The whole mountain is overgrown with pomegranate, and the bushes bloom with stunning red flowers. In the distance are blue mountains, and between them is the village. The higher we go, the lower it gets.
For each mystery of the Rosary, there is a statue. We ascend from one to another. Teresa passes the microphone to different people, and each takes turns praying the "Hail Mary" at the corresponding monument representing the station. The summit is not far away.
Finally, it's my turn.
"Here, pray for Siberia! The next decade is yours," she hands me the microphone and walks beside me. "And still — how did you get here from Novosibirsk?"
"By train, then by bus..."
"I don't mean that. You see, I came to Novosibirsk, I told people about the messages of Medjugorje, but nobody ever came!"
"So it was you handing out the medals?" and I show her mine on its chain.
Teresa stops, stunned, touches the medal with her hand, and says deeply moved:
"My God! Gospa brought you! Were you at that meeting?"
"No, my acquaintance was, his name is Viktor. He gave me the medal and told me about you."
"Give him my regards!"
"By the way, he is having heart surgery today!" I remembered. "We should pray for him!"
"We will pray. Don't worry, he will be fine."
Meanwhile, we reach the very top.
I read the "Hail Mary," and everyone chimes in as a choir. Teresa smiles happily. I know she is praying for Russia. And for Kotov.
Above us is a huge white statue of the Mother of God. She looks down at us from above, and I realize that we are all under Her protection.
...Later I will learn that Vitka's surgery went well, and I won't be surprised at all. He was even able to drink vodka afterward, just like before.
 *    *      * On the last day, another miracle happens. Before dinner, an excited and happy Father Andrzej hands out a blue Rosary string to everyone.
"The Mother of God Herself blessed them for us!"
It turns out that on his way out, the priest went into the Italians' shop to buy some souvenirs. In addition to them, the brothers gave him a whole pack of rosaries for free to distribute in Russia.
"I’m walking with the bundle when suddenly Teresa comes running towards me: 'Hurry up,' she says, 'Ivan allowed you to be present at the apparition!' She led me straight into his house. One of the rooms is converted into a chapel. A regular little chapel — icons, flowers, a crucifix. We are sitting there, a few priests, and Ivan. We are praying the Rosary. When suddenly Ivan seems to switch off... He falls silent, looks up, moves his lips... And we don't see anything... For about ten minutes he communed with the Lady, and then he seemed to go limp. He looked tired, even older.
Ivan said that She blessed these Rosaries for Russia.
Your letters were lying there too. Ivan said that She answered all of them at once. Here are Her words: 'Dear children! I know everything and I pray for each of you. Do not be afraid of anything! I want you to strengthen your veneration of the Infant Jesus.'"
 *    *      * After returning from Medjugorje, I fasted on bread and water on Wednesdays and Fridays for quite a long time, for two and a half years.
I regret that I gave it up — it really is a very effective spiritual practice.
But I still pray the Rosary to this day.
*Novosibirsk, 2010*
I kept my par