The Procession of Saint Sara

Finding Mary Magdalene Blog Series.

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, Part 2: The Procession of Saint Sara

Originally Published: June 7, 2014

Celice and I awoke in excited anticipation for the day’s events, as if children on Christmas morning.

We quickly readied ourselves for the walk into town. The streets were lined with parked campers and horses stood in stalls awaiting riders. The outskirts of town were calmly buzzing with the hum of flamenco music. As we approached the center of town, we entered the festivities. There, it was packed with people: tourists, gypsies, free spirits, photographers, and those anticipating a little piece of magic.

We followed the music to discover it came from inside the basilica. 11am Mass was under way and the church was packed to the brim, reminiscent of my morning subway commute. Celice and I tried to enter, with no avail.

Suddenly, the service ended and the wall of people broke. People began to flood out of the church and onto the streets, followed by ornately robed priests. Within his orbit a priest administered blessings amongst the oldest and youngest of the crowd, softly touching their foreheads with sincerity and warmth.

Celice and I made our way into the church. The space had a quality of arid lightness to it, similar to that of the churches I remember visiting in Sicily. The church was strewn with various depictions of Saint Sara greeting the Three Marys on the shores of France. A real sense of the feminine spirit was at play in this space.

I found myself meander toward the crypt. I descended the steps, touching my hand along the arched ceiling as I entered the cavernous space below. A thick wave of moist heat enveloped me. Votive candles baring Saint Sara’s image lined the cavernous wall. The crowd of people pushed forward into the furthest-most right corner of the crypt. The ceiling was low and the temperature stifling. I lit my candle and began a quiet prayer for Saint Sara. The move toward her was a dance - or more like a shuffle - with people moving in and out. Eventually, I heard the cries of the people in the back, “Avancé! Avance!” Advance! Advance!

Steps away from Saint Sara, I pulled out my camera in time to snap a few shots of pilgrims touch their hand to Saint Sara’s face…And then, my turn. I gently placed my hand upon Sara’s anja chakra, or third-eye chakra, and then over her heart. Closing my eyes, I then placed that same hand over my own heart. I prayed that Saint Sara would deliver me a message of meaning or purpose to my life. Or at least to assure me that my search for Her, the Divine Feminine, was not in vain.

Thanking Her, I quickly left the crowded underworld for the fresh air above ground. Natural light hit my face and I found Celice, calmly preparing herself for the descent into the crypt.

I sat in meditation on the stone floor for some time. Hundreds of people meandered by, approaching Saint Sara in the crypt below for their turn at a blessing.

Reunited, Celice and I gradually made our way to the shore, resting on the sand, waiting for the event of the day.

Crowds began to gather on the rocky breeches that overlooked the center of the ritual activity. Celice and I hurried to find the perfect vantage point. Minutes stretched into eternity as we waited for the procession of Saint Sara. At last, the procession approached the shore. Celice and I preened our necks to catch a sight, any sight! “Alas,” I thought to myself, “perhaps I’ll see a splash from her dive in the Mediterranean.” Disappointed, I resigned myself to being a far observer of the main event.

Suddenly, I heard Celice call out to me, “Anna, follow me! We did not come all this way not to see Her.” We weaved our way through the crowd to find an opening along the sand. Swarms of people pushed me this way and that as Celice and I continued to move ourselves closer to the shore. Miraculously, we broke through and found ourselves at full view of the procession. The Priest came through, followed by several more clergy. And then, there she was: The Black Madonna–Saint Sara, adorned in white, and held high above the crowds, for all to admire. 

We furiously snapped photos as she passed by. There was a commotion in the crowd as the procession suddenly turned about face. The statute of Saint Sara had been submerged in the Mediterranean and would now make her return to the crypt within the basilica. The crowds pushed and shoved as a throng of men atop white horses came out of the water and lead the procession back into town. Celice and I found ourselves as if a two-person island, surrounded on all sides by beautiful white horses. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the procession receded. My head spun as I tried to process what has just taken place.

Celice looked at me, a smile spreading across her face, and said, “See, I told you. We couldn’t stay on that rock. Sara was calling us.”

That night held laughter, music, and dancing. We played and listened, losing ourselves in the passion of the place and the people. But little did I know that Saint Sara was not quite done with me.

READ NEXT BLOG: Saint Sara’s Final Procession to the Sea

The Gypsy Festival of Les Maries

Finding Mary Magdalene Blog Series.

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, Part 1: The Gypsy Festival of Les Maries

Originally Published: June 2, 2014

As Provençal legend has it, Mary Magdalene arrived on the shores of Gaul with Mary Salome and Mary Jacobe, and possibly Joseph of Arimathea. The mystery and intrigue of this legend involves a woman named Saint Sara. Some claim she was a native of Gaul who greeted the party fleeing the Roman Empire. Others say she arrived on the boat with the Marys, either an Egyptian handmaiden to Mary Magdalene, or better yet, the secret daughter of Jesus and Mary. Either way, Saint Sara has become the patron saint of the Romani people the world round, and I was headed there for the annual festival in honor of Saint Sara.

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer is a tiny beach town in the Camargue region of France. It is surrounded by a national park that is filled with long green grass and canals, all of which accommodate migratory birds from Africa. The feel is somewhere between American west and Spanish Conquistador.

But before I found myself in Les Maries, I first had to find a way to get there from Arles–an exquisitely BEAUTIFUL town in France. So, I made my way to the tourist office and started a conversion with another woman looking to get to the festival. As it turns out, Celice, a Venezuelan national, was also on a pilgrimage. Hers revolved around the Camino de Santiago in Spain, but overlapped with the western French sites associated with my Mary Magdalene pilgrimage. Celice and I became fast friends. In fact, we were inseparable for those few days at the festival.

Celice and I found the bus, (super easy and way cheap), to Les Maries. We chatted the whole time about our pilgrimage experiences thus far, and also about all we hoped would happen at the festival.

As the bus approached our destination, it turned out that our hotels were right next to one another. (Kind of strange for a small town with several hotels). I laughed at the synchroncity. She told me she stopped seeing our similarities and meeting in Arles as coincidences, but as something more predestined. I walked her to her hotel first, and made a plan to meet her in two hours, but she insisted on walking me to my hotel for check-in, as well.

The moments that followed were very telling of what would come: My hotel had never received my reservation and down payment from the third party site I had originally booked through. And to top it off, they were completely booked for the festival. In her fashion, Celice said, “No problem, she’s staying with me.” In disbelief, I gladly accepted her offer.

My ex-hotel invited us to their private dinner/flamenco show that night. We gleefully arrived amongst the colorful guests, and were seduced by the home-cooked food and soulful Spanish gypsy music. Gypsies from the crowd, including a family from Brazil, danced and sang, as we shared wine and a love for the beautiful music.

Exhausted, yet in anticipation for the following day’s culminating fesitval event,The Procession of Saint Sara, Celice and I returned to the hotel, hardly able to sleep a wink. For my part, I thanked my guardian angels for the new friend, and angel, they sent my way.

READ NEXT BLOG: The Procession of Saint Sara