Saint Sara’s Final Procession to the Sea

FINDING MARY MAGDALENE BLOG SERIES.

“Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, Part 3: Saint Sara’s Final Procession to the Sea”

Originally Published: June 9, 2014

Sunday I awoke feeling as if the day before had all been a dream. Celice and I had a LUXURIOUS breakfast complete with freshly baked croissant, creamy yogurt, fresh juice, and house-made cappuccino topped with whipped cream. The proprietor of our family-run hotel was more than willing to make our stay memorable. He even offered to drive us into town, saying for him, it is only a “promenade.”

Having experienced the grand procession the previous day, I walked into town feeling light, and free of expectation. As it turned out, Saint Sara granted us the privilege to re-witness the procession, from beginning to end.

This time, we came face-to-face with the same head priest who had led the procession the previous day. As before, he was blessing the pilgrims along his processional route. Once again, he was followed by men riding atop those same beautiful white horses. The men on horseback parted the crowds, allowing the statue of the Two Marys to pass through, toward the sea. I thought this curious that the third Mary, Our Lady Mary Magdalene, was not represented as well.

Quickly, Celice and I ran ahead, cutting through town, in an attempt to beat the head of the procession to the sea. In a matter of moments, we made it to the shore to witness the sea-bound processional ceremony unfold before our eyes.

Along their route, the priests chanted over blow horns, “Long Live Les Saintes Maries!” and “Long Live Saint Sara!” The crowd soulfully repeated the chant.

Suddenly, a waive of an other-worldly spirit took over the crowd. Time and space seemed to expand, taking me and my fellow pilgrims back to the moment the Three Marys landed upon the shores of French Gaul, greeted by our lady of honor, Saint Sara.

Entranced, I watched as the pilgrims steadily processed the Two Marys, followed by Saint Sara, into the sea. Moments later, the procession turned face, and began its march back toward the town. I turned to see that Celice and I, just as the day before, were surrounded on all sides by the riders and white horses. To me, this double experience was a clear sign that the spirit of Saint Sara was taking special care of us.

The next moments passed like a blur: Saint Sara approached me, flanked on all sides by pilgrims willing to carry her load. My body filled with the chanting of her name and my heart ached to embrace her. Suddenly, I rushed toward her and reached out my hand. One of the young women carrying Saint Sara grabbed my outstretched hand and placed it upon Saint Sara’s dress. Tears flooded my eyes as I gently backed away, feeling into the immensity of the moment.

Time stood still as I watched the procession disappear into the streets of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. In a moment of clarity, I took a tiny glass bottle, and dug it into the sand, collecting a bit of the earth that once welcomed “The Three Marys of the Sea.”

Trying to catch my breath, I turned to Celice with tears in my eyes. She pulled my hand, and off we went in the direction of the basilica.

Once there, I took myself down to the crypt. I wanted to see Saint Sara one last time. I quickly made my way to the front of the line and looked Her in the eye. She spoke words of love to my heart for having completed another piece of my soul’s journey.

Before leaving the church, I noticed numerous rose garlands descending from the ceiling. They seemed to point to a large wooden box, placed high upon the altar, delicately painted with the story of the Marys. Following the motions of others around me, I gently placed my hand upon the box, thanking the women one final time for their great love and courage.

Later, I learned the box is said to contain the remains of Mary Jacobe and Mary Salome. This led me to deduce that the reason Mary Magdalene was not “physically” included in the procession is because her journey did not end at Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Rather, it is believed she was guided by angels to the cave of La Sainte-Baume, where she continued to pray and work in the name of Love.

Celice and I made our way to the Arles train station, the place in which we had met three days earlier. We hugged goodbye, knowing in our hearts that our time together had been a reconnection, rather than an introduction. She left for her final pilgrim site, Rennes-le-Chateau, while I remained in Arles, the city that would quickly steal my heart.

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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