A Case for Establishing Queen of the Holy Rosary Shrine
MANRESA ─ SUMMER, 1974
At work, Fridays would always drag on; but this particular Friday was everlasting. Driving home, the expressway seemed endless. It was the summer of 1974. The weather was hot. The traffic was stop-and-go. I was thinking about the retreat which I had booked for this weekend.
I had been on a silent retreat once before, many years earlier. However since then, I had put on hold all but my core spiritual devotions as I was working at several jobs to make a down payment for a home. I had also been working with my friend John Rooney to establish in Canada the Right To Life Committee. As a result, there had been no time for such spiritual luxuries as a weekend retreat let alone a day alone to pray and reflect. Now having achieved these goals, I sought to re-establish my normal spiritual practices. This retreat would be a welcome opportunity to rekindle those devotions and to reflect on the path ahead.
Arriving home, I quickly showered and dressed. I grabbed the suitcase which I had packed the night before. Bidding my wife and kids goodbye, I jumped back into the car again and set off toward Manresa retreat centre in Pickering, Ontario. The road leading to Manresa was natural and inviting. There ahead at the end of that road was my refuge of truth.
In the reception area, I was greeted by the retreat master. There with him were some people from my parish and my best friend, John Rooney. During our chat over coffee, I told John about how deeply I had missed my formal Marian devotions and how much I was looking forward to a public Rosary planned for the next day. John talked about his affiliation with the Legion of Mary and how glad he was to see that I had taken the time to come and to touch base with him. A few jokes and our expectations of the weekend was our last chance to talk until the end of the retreat. We said good night and retired to our respective rooms.
The room was small but it had an inviting aura to it — austere but neat: a single bed beside the window, a small writing desk and chair, a lamp, and wash basin. On the desk was a copy of The Imitation of Christ by Thomas A Kempis, and on the wall hung a small carved wooden crucifix. I had an extremely good and refreshing sleep. Having been used to four hours or less for the past several years, even eight hours would have been heaven. Those ten hours were bliss.