Homily at the Conclusion of the Killaloe Diocesan Pilgrimage
to Lourdes
Monday, 3oth June 2025
+ Eugene M. Nugent
“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…”
Luke 1:46–55
Brothers and sisters,
We have come to the final hours of our pilgrimage to Lourdes. The road that brought us here, perhaps dusty with longing, weariness, or unspoken hopes, now begins to turn us homeward. Yet before we go, let us rest for a moment in the song of Mary—the Magnificat—offered not only with words, but with a soul wide open to the mystery of God.
Mary’s song rises not from ease or comfort, but from wonder. She sings from the threshold—between what has been and what is yet to come. In this, we find ourselves close to her. Lourdes, too, has been our threshold, our place of encounter, where heaven brushed against the ordinary and made it radiant. In candlelight processions, in whispered prayers beside the Grotto, in the water and the waiting, something in us has leaned forward, listening for the voice that called Mary.
Her song is not just gratitude. It is revolution.
It is the world turned upside down. A new order. A new protocol.
The lowly lifted.
The hungry filled.
The proud scattered.
It is God’s justice unfolding—not in thunder, but in the whisper of a girl who said yes.
In the quiet of a spring where Bernadette once knelt.
Have we not glimpsed this great reversal in our days here?
In the fragile who have become strong with hope?
In the sick who teach us joy?
In the tired who discover that to serve is to be renewed?
In ourselves, perhaps, now a little freer, a little more open, a little more like Mary—ready to carry something new home with us.
The Magnificat is not only Mary’s song. It is the song of all who dare to believe that God sees them.
That He remembers.
That He acts.
Let your soul now echo hers: “He who is mighty has done great things for me…”
Not only in the healings or the signs, but in the still, small ways:
A hand held.
A tear shared.
A moment of peace.
We do not leave Lourdes empty.
We leave filled—perhaps not with what we asked for, but with what we needed.
We carry this song—this Magnificat—as pilgrims who have tasted mercy.
So let us go, not as tourists who have seen,
but as disciples who have been seen.
Let us carry the water of this place—not in bottles alone,
but in hearts that will pour it out in kindness, in justice, in faith.
And when we return to our homes, to our daily routines,
may Mary’s words rise again in us.
May our lives become Magnificats—
living songs that magnify the Lord,
so that others, through us, may glimpse the face of God our loving Father. Amen.