Years ago, when I went to Poland, the icon of the Black Madonna at the Jasna Góra monastery in Częstochowa, was one of my must-see sites. It is the most venerated Catholic shrine in very Catholic Poland. Legend has it that this icon was painted during the time of the apostles, by St. Luke the Evangelist. It has been at Jasna Góra since the fourteenth century, surviving many wars and at least one attempted theft.
The legend goes that in 1430, Hussites stormed the monastery, took the icon, and loaded it into a wagon. The legend continues that when the Hussites tried to drive the wagon away, the horses refused to move. In frustration, one of the Hussites struck the icon two times with his sword. When he tried to strike it a third time, he fell over, consumed first by pain and then by death.
I really wanted to see the Black Madonna. I was staying in Kraków, and Częstochowa would be an easy train ride. I got on an early train from the Kraków Główny train station and set out for the shrine.
I sat across from a priest – an American. When I told him where I was going, he told me that I was crazy to think that I would get anywhere near that shrine on a Sunday morning. It would be completely mobbed. I should make other plans.
I grew up on Long Island, in the shadow of New York City, one of the greatest cities in the world. Not for nothing, but in the seventeen years that I lived there, I like to think that I learned at least a little something about crowd control. There was no way that I was going to miss seeing the Black Madonna.
I got off the train and walked to Jasna Góra. I found a site map, studied it, and then did what any savvy traveler would do. I scoped the place out, walking around the perimeter and through part of the interior, carefully observing potential paths and potential bottlenecks. Then, I did the only rational thing.
I followed the little old lady.
There was just something about the woman. I don’t remember exactly how I picked up on this, but it seemed clear enough that her goal was the same as mine. I followed her. The little old lady soon realized what I was doing. If she thought she was about to lose me, she would motion to me, pointing and gesturing, to keep me on track.
The little old lady bobbed and weaved – and I bobbed and weaved right behind her. For senior citizen, I must say, she moved really well. Finally, she went the wrong way up an exit ramp. She motioned to me, crooking her finger, beckoning me to follow. I continued not far behind her, until something got in my way – a big, Polish security guard.
OK, that’s it. Game over. I’m screwed. He spoke no English but made it very clear that I was now to follow him. I had visions of a Polish police station or – worse – a Polish jail cell. I was terrified. Most Polish hotels were spartan enough in 1993; I didn’t want to imagine what awaited me in an actual jail.
The security guard did not lead me into a squad car. He led me right up to the icon – about 20 feet in front of the Black Madonna! He then said something to me in Polish and walked off. Before I realized what was going on, I had to sit, because Mass was about to start and there were now a ton of people behind me.
I sat through my second Mass that Sunday morning and then turned to leave – and there he was again – the big Polish security guard. He crooked his finger for me to come. My stomach sank, and, terrified, I complied. The security guard led me to the back of the shrine, to a box of holy cards. He gave me one – and appeared to wish me a good day.
Scarcely believing my liberty, I all but ran out of Jasna Góra. Once I realized I was safe, I grabbed some lunch and got the next train back to Kraków. I relaxed in the threadbare elegance of — by European standards — a ridiculously cheap first class train cabin, the kind that existed in Communist and barely-post-Communist Poland.
I have told this story to many people, and they usually smile when I tell it – except for two different people on two separate occasions. They each gave me a slightly exasperated look and asked hadn’t I realized that the security guard wanted money? If I had realized that, I would have gladly given him some! Anyway, I found really funny that both of these comments came from Catholic priests.
Random Musings of A Quasi Educated Person 