ROVING, LIKE THE APOSTLES
Vic is a blessed city. Except for distances, nuances and circumstances Vic was for Fr Claret and his first companions what ‘Capernaum’ was for Jesus and his first community of disciples. In Vic Claret lived, suffered, dreamed…there he received his formation; there he was called to ministry by the Church; in the city’s seminary he founded his Congregation of missionaries. From there too, although it didn’t last long, he established his ‘headquarters’ of missionary operations. Ancient Ausona, in deep Catalonia, was the strategic centre from where Claret deployed his evangelizing efforts. There his mortal remains will rest forever, a silent witness of love and adventure.
Vic was a springboard, never a gilded cage, much more a launch-pad than a base. If you still haven’t been able, dear reader, I urge you to take a trip to Vic. You can always make a stop there. Stroll through the streets and squares, allow yourself to be caressed by the wind which blows from heights of Montseny, its neighbouring sentry. Allow yourself to be moulded by the humid cold of its interminable winters or the suffocating heat of summer. And, with ears pricked, let the stones of the streets speak to you, listen in silence to the message of its chapels and churches, its courtyards and alleys… linger there, where, in sacred silence, Fr Claret’s remains rest, to pour out your soul before them. May you, as a blessed gift, be permitted there in Vic, to feel what Fr Claret himself felt in that same place in his great, pure soul, so long ago. I once heard a wise missionary say that ‘Vic electrocutes’. It’s true: no-one is the same when they leave.
Dear reader, isn’t it true that there are places which light an essential light in our being? Isn’t it true that there are places which improve us like blessings? Isn’t it true that Vic isn’t that far away?
